by Umut Ersezer
“Ferox, I get it, the world has gone bad, my family is dead, what can I do about it. You have the eshin now, why do you still need me?”
Ferox gave a deep groan.
“Volare, I with Gandizar, created the eshin to promote life in this world, to ensure there would be ample nature to feed the needs of the eshin, humans and dwarves alike. The dwarves would serve as builders of vast civilizations across this world and the humans to serve as its protectors. For a long time, this was the case, but the destructions killed many, too many, burying the civilizations and the memories of the gods with them. This event also trapped the dragon gods on this planet, unable to respond to its needs. Unable to contact their veleon riders. It was a scenario none of us could have predicted for we had never taken such drastic action against Mirardos.”
Volare stared back, still not understanding his role in all of this.
“Why can’t you contact Gandizar, your rider?” Volare wondered out loud.
“It is the work of Mirardos. You see Volare, the dragon riders can be considered gods themselves, they are able to open portals to other worlds across the cosmos. These riders are known as the veleon, we joined forces with them many millennia ago, in an effort to resist Mirardos. He can also create these portals, to stream an endless horde of darkspawn, systemically conquering the universe many planets at a time. We suspected that he was learning ways in which to also block the use of portals by the veleon, to stop them from teleporting. This is why the dragons stayed behind on this world. We weren’t sure if the veleon could return here via portal to fight. This planet is one of our last hopes, our greatest creation, we poured our powers into our lifelings, hoping this planet, could prove to be different and be able to resist the darkspawn hordes.
“We don’t seem to be doing a very good job of that,” Volare said quietly while looking down. Feeling overwhelmed with such knowledge.
“Volare, we must wake the other dragons, we must destroy the portal in the forest in which Mirardos is streaming his horde through.”
“So, not much then?” he said sarcastically, not sure if dragons understood sarcasm.
“Volare, you prove yourself brave once more, of course, it is much, it is no small task we must accomplish.”
That’s a no to sarcasm then, Volare thought.
“Why do you need me? Why is Mirardos doing this? Who is he, or she, or it?” Volare asked.
Ferox drew in another long breath, there was so much to explain, he understood the burden he was placing upon Volare to understand and cope with. The boy had to know.
“Mirardos was once a veleon, he has changed into something else, something more, or so we believe. He has not been directly seen for millennia. He was outcast from veleon society for vile crimes he denied committing. The punishments were severe. It left him with a twisted state of mind, to say the least. Mirardos despises veleon society and more broadly the lifelings that permeate the cosmos. He wishes to control, to give purpose to life, his purpose. He wishes to be the single god of the universe, destroying the veleon, dragons and other beings of power, while controlling the lesser. He has sought powers that have corrupted him deeply during his conquest for dominance,” explained Ferox with a more subtle yet still deep tone.
Volare, drew breath, trying to process what Ferox was explaining to him. So much of it was still above his head, there was a cosmic war occurring as he stood there, how did he manage to stumble right into the middle of it? Some of the eshin were bowing their heads while others couldn’t take their eyes off Ferox. He was a majestic being of tremendous scale. One couldn’t help but be in awe in his presence.
“What about me, Ferox? Where do I come into all of this?” asked Volare.
“You young Volare, are able to use keystone technology. Although you are the creation of the veleon and dragons, it is only they who could harness it, not even I can manipulate its technologies,” explained Ferox.
“So why can I use it then?” asked Volare as he reached under his shirt to take hold of it, warm to the touch as usual.
“It is unexpected, I am not sure why you are able to use the keystone, but I suspect your lineage to the great Koralinth Huma is more direct than usual. I was also able to meld my mind with you as easily as I do with the eshin, also a strange circumstance. You are able to also harness the power of the gems you carry upon you with little training, an advantage and curiosity once again. Humans were gifted the ability to harness the powers of diamond strength and ruby fire, but not others. I sense something within you, something hidden, it is in your very blood, your essence, I would have it come to surface during our journey.”
“You need me to open the doors to the other dragons, don’t you?” concluded Volare.
“Yes. I suspect Mirardos is also using veleon technology to hold the portal open, stopping any other being establishing another one with this world,” continued Ferox.
“You want me to close it?” Volare once again concluding.
“Yes.” It is our only hope in saving this world, at least for the time being.”
Volare looked down at his palms, half expecting to see something crawling under his skin, but there was nothing, he just seemed his usual self. Ferox let out a bellowing laugh.
“You won’t find anything in your hands Volare, your gifts come from within.”
An eshin approached Volare holding a pair of brown leather boots. He had a scar running across his face and wore a serious expression. He stretched out his arms, signalling Volare to take the boots. They were much lighter than he was expecting, they seemed to weigh almost nothing.
In the heel of each boot was embedded a large sapphire gem. Looking even closer at the boots, Volare could see intricate carvings of patterns similar to those he had seen in the cave and Ferox’ sleep chamber.
“Take these boots Volare, they will gift you with an unparalleled swiftness, aiding you to defeat your enemies.”
“My enemies?” Volare asked, looking up at Ferox.
“The darkspawn Volare, the children of Mirardos.”
Volare looked down at the boots again, they were beautiful, the sapphires slightly glowing with a deep blue. He replaced his boots with these new ones, jumping up on the spot as if to test them. They did feel exceptionally light for boots, he did feel like he could jump without effort, but nothing majorly different. He looked back up at Ferox.
“Patience young Volare,” Ferox reassured. Gather your things and bid farewell to your beast, we must leave.”
“Where are we going?”
“We will fly to Zelogh, he will have insight into your nature and gain us significant advantage against the darkspawn hordes. I will be able to sense his sleeping chamber once we reach Ozos. The eshin in the meantime will prepare for their own advance into the forest when I call them for they too have an important role in taming the evils that dwell in the Pointed Forest.”
Volare nodded in response, his mind too full to ask any more questions. He turned on his heels with a coordination that seemed better than usual and set off for the stables, before realising, he had no idea where he was going.
He turned back, the eshin with the scar running across his face having read his mind walked towards him, holding out his hand, beckoning him to follow. He was a much more serious and older looking eshin, lacking the natural happiness that the rest of them seemed to exude. Perhaps the scar indicated experience with the invasion all those decades ago. Volare didn’t want to pry, but the eshin sensed his curiosity.
“My name is Cicatrice. I earned this while trying to defend my people against yours,” he said while pointing at his scar. “I would have died the day I was struck with it, if not for the bravery and kindness of one man risking his life, to save mine. I wish to return the favour someday, I can start with you here and now. You remind me of him.”
“Thank you,” replied Volare.
The two of them entered the stables which looked remarkably similar to the ones back in Vicus. Brun nickered and neighed in exciteme
nt and Volare approached. He was clearly ready for his next adventure, but this is where it would end for him.
“Sorry Brun, you can’t come this time, the eshin will take real good care of you. Be a good boy, and I’ll come back for you once this is all over,” Volare said in a quiet and comforting tone while stroking the bridge of Brun’s nose. Brun clicked in response.
Volare was sad to say goodbye to his friend, they had started this journey and even discovered a god together. But the journey was long, too long to be held in Ferox’ talons the whole time. With a final kiss, Volare said his goodbyes, determined to return once this was over. The last step was to pack his bags and refresh his supply of food and water, which he did so eagerly.
With one hand waving the eshin goodbye, the other gripping the reins on Ferox, the two of them took to the sky. The eshin below were on their knees, praying in respect to their god, sending Ferox their energy to aid in safe passage as they flew off into the distance.
Volare had a feeling it certainly wouldn’t be the last time he saw the eshin. He was glad for it, there was still so much to learn and get to know about them. The times were pressing; however; so they needed to depart as soon as they could. It would take them several days, maybe weeks to reach Ozos depending on the winds, but it’s a journey they had to make.
** Chapter 19 **
The March – Part 1
A slave with a shaved head named Seritum walked a plate of steaming chicken and vegetables to Trajan’s desk. The smells filling his private barracks were mouth-watering.
Trajan kept a consistent circle of slaves around him to serve. Trust was important in a now overpopulated garrison town of new slaves, recruits, merchants and other strangers.
Seritum bowed as he placed the plate down. Trajan gave a nod of approval and Seritum proceeded to taste each portion of his food, checking for poison.
Although his personal chefs were well paid and had worked in the military for several years, Trajan grew increasingly cautious with time. It was disconcerting for him to know so little of the enemy and their movements.
Once Seritum had finished, he waited for a few more minutes while scrutinizing the food carefully, gave a final bow and left his master to his peace.
Trajan looked down at the now messier plate. He was hungry only a few moments ago, but now his appetite seemed to be extinguished. He prodded his food with his fork, half expecting to see something ominous about it, but he didn’t. It was just chicken and vegetables. Only the crackling fire provided him comfort.
Shala gave a knock at the door, it was open so she could see Trajan staring at his food. She gave a small smile as Trajan looked to her.
“I have contracts for you to sign, sir,” she said.
“Very well Shala, come,” Trajan replied with a sigh.
Shala entered his barracks approaching his desk, noticing the messy uneaten plate. She handed the contracts to Trajan.
“These are the final preparations then?” Trajan asked.
“Yes, sir, I have filled in the minor details for you, but the merchants and mercenaries require your signature on the contract before marching with us,” explained Shala. “ With the help of Captain Mitchim, I’ve organised them into their own formations. It should keep them out of trouble until they’re needed.”
Trajan took a pen from his coat and signed. Shala, feeling braver than usual sat on Trajan’s desk, next to his plate of food. She took a salted pod of peas between her fingers and snapped it in half with her teeth.
“Delicious!” she exclaimed with a smile as she chewed.
Trajan looked up at her, unable to hold in his smile. He found her to be beautiful, her competence and strength only making her more attractive to him. His eyes lingered down, appreciating her body, noticing her dress riding up and showing her thighs. Shala also noticed his gaze.
“You need to eat to stay strong, Trajan,” she said nervously. It was the first time she had used his name.
Trajan stayed silent, processing the situation. So many protocols being broken, yet he didn’t mind, in fact, he liked it. He didn’t have much experience with women, he could never trust them, and he wasn’t sure what to do next. So he started cutting up his chicken and began eating.
Shala smiled and hopped off his desk with a bounce. She reached across him, her bust coming close to his face as she picked up the contracts.
“I’ll see to it these are distributed immediately,” she said.
“Shala…” said Trajan.
“Yes?”
“We are scheduled to march on the Pointed Forest in two days. I’d like you to join me.”
“Of course, I will be with you. I have no intention of staying behind,” she said firmly.
“It will be…dangerous. You will see things. Things I did not wish you to,” he tried to explain.
“Then we will see them together, and I will support you where I can,” Shala stated.
Where had she grown this confidence? It was Trajan’s lack of discipline. He recognised his weakness for her, it was perilous at such a critical time. His caution still held him back; however, did she have her own motivations, or was she genuine?
The battle to come would reveal her nature he concluded.
“Very well, pack your belongings, only the necessary,” he responded.
Shala spun on her heels and hurried out. Trajan gave another sigh as he ate. The darkspawn still hadn’t attacked the garrisons along the border in weeks, but reports of attacks on villages were increasing.
The darkspawn were being selective with where they were attacking. A sign that they are not so mindless, or at least suggested they were controlled by an intelligence.
The order came through to march. The population of soldiers and war machines had built to a climax along the border. The time had come for Trajan to lead his garrison to war.
He had never controlled such a massive operation. He was desperate for a fight himself. Running a garrison was far more tedium than glory, he ached for the battlefield. Soon he would have it.
**
Trajan stirred in his sleep, rolling and tumbling within his bed. In his dream, he saw only death, a flood of darkspawn flooding the armies of mankind. Utter destruction lay before him.
All colour from the scene seemed to have bled away. He saw only monochromatic shades of blacks and greys. All lay dead around him. It was crushing. He had failed. They all had. Shala lay lifeless next to him, her gorgeous face, mangled. He found it difficult to breathe, as if a crag was sitting on top of his chest, crushing him.
“Come, Trajan, witness your destruction,” a voice called out to him.
“What is this!?” Trajan cried in return.
“This is what waits for you. You will march all to their death. You will fulfil your destiny, Trajan. Come to us. Bring all to us. We will use you all.”
“I will not!”
“You will Trajan, you have no choice. All will die, and it will be your fault. You will fail.” The shadowy voice said.
It seemed to come from everywhere around him, filling his head. Shala’s lifeless body twitched and jerked. Her eyelids opened, showing empty sockets. She rose to her feet, barely able to stay upright. She moved towards Trajan in a terrifying jerked motion.
“No!” Trajan cried.
“It is your fault she is dead Trajan,” said the voice. “She rises to serve the Shadow Lord. As will all of you, in either death or life, there is no escape, no alternative, all will submit. Only you can save her. Only you can save them all.”
“What!? How?” Trajan asked in a panic as he stumbled back, trying to get away from Shala, tripping over dead bodies.
“Serve the Shadow Lord Trajan, declare your loyalties, turn the tide of battle and see his enemies crushed.” A figure in a black hood appeared before him. Condensing from the very air around him. “It is the only way to survive,” the figure before him said.
Trajan tried to peer into his hood, but it was only blackness, no face, no features, jus
t darkness.
“I will not!” he bellowed in return, his defiance growing.
“You desire power, Trajan. The Shadow Lord knows it. He senses it. Hastam is weak. The lord requires someone stronger, with more vision to take the throne once the conquest of this planet is complete. Join him. Save everyone. Be the hero you want to be. Gain the power you hunger. All will be yours. Reward for servitude. Submit Trajan.”
Trajan breathed heavily. Was this a dream? The scenery was so unreal. The sun was high in the sky, but it looked like night. No colour. A sea of black blood washing the grasslands and hills around him.
“If you do not, this is what awaits all of you, Trajan,” said she hooded figure as he raised his arms.
Around him the dead became living, eyelids opening to show empty sockets. Lifeless faces all staring at Trajan.
They began stumbling towards him, trapping him, there was no getting away, he was surrounded. They reached for him, lacerated and broken hands grabbing at his clothes, his skin, tearing at him. They climbed on top of him. Where was his sword? His armour? He was so exposed. He was alone. The soldiers piled on top of him. Shala was amongst them.
“Shala!” Trajan cried out.
Trajan woke in a panic, his heart racing, his bed soaked with his sweat.
“What was that!?” he said out loud.
He heard a sound as if a wind was blowing into his room. He turned his head, and for a moment he thought he saw a black cloud evaporate out of his room.
**
Trajan sat atop his massive black warhorse, peering out and surveying his army marching out of the gates of Honour Haven. The time had come for the High Commanders to lead the charge against the darkspawn.
Reports had their origins somewhere in the Pointed Forest. They could not march an army through the forest, but they could undoubtedly destroy it if they had to, flushing the darkspawn out.
Winter would be upon them in a couple of months and marching a massive army with war machines even a short distance could take weeks, even longer if they were to trudge through snow in freezing conditions.
