Chapter 5

Damen Hitema crossed the ravaged clearing with Drue Arden keeping pace at his side.

The battle-weary druid moved slowly, using Boetiadre’s Vengeful Wrath to support his weight. The artefact was still shaped as a long-hafted spear and served the purpose handily. Its crimson glow was gone - reassuring confirmation that demons no longer threatened the vicinity.

“Maybe you should transform it into a walker,” Drue suggested helpfully.

“Maybe you should go back up your tree,” Damen retorted, but he couldn’t manage to put much heart into it.

It had been a long time since the veteran druid had felt this drained ... not since that season of chaos back in Vyk’Tohl. He felt totally exhausted, deeper than bone deep. The amount of qi he’d channeled in the battle was mainly to blame but the lingering effects of the voidwight’s life-sapping tendrils was the other part.

“Jokes aside,” Drue said in a more sympathetic tone, “you gonna be okay?”

“I’ll live,” he replied. “But the vivification almost worn off.”

Damen referred to the infusion of artificial life force the team had received back at the base. Its primary purpose was to fortify the Lightbringers against the very type of energy-draining attack he’d been subjected to. Without the vivification Damen doubted he’d have lasted even half as long as he did.

“No more enhanced stamina,” Drue nodded. “Back to your regular, tired old self.”

“Stella would beg to differ,” Damen said. “I’ve got plenty stamina on my own.”

Drue’s cheeks coloured and Damen chuckled at her embarrassment. Despite her fighting skills Drue was young for a Lightbringer and her inexperience in personal relationships was well known. Drue’s squadmates - well, Damen mostly if he was being honest - teased her for it gently. But if anyone outside the team dared do the same Damen was the first to charge to her defense.

The two Lightbringers reached the fortified enclosure just as the spent arcane flare dimmed and fell from the sky. The far edges of the clearing faded into shadow. The settling clouds of Blight and the desecrated soil were shrouded from view by the return of the night. The immediate area around the rough wall - jestingly dubbed ‘the Last Stand of the Lightbringers’ by Damen - remained lit by the electric lamps within the camp.

Damen eased over the waist-high battlement, much more slowly than when he’d gone out. Drue followed him over with an agile flourish, like a gymnast after a successful dismount. Their squadmates greeted them warmly and Damen returned the favour but his eyes were drawn to their leader’s red-stained bandage.

“That seems like a lot of blood, sir,” Drue said, concern clear in her voice.

“I’ll be fine,” Oathbinder Trevor Blythe replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The Oathbinder sat cross-legged on the ground, a field dressing wrapped around his head. It was slung over his hair then tucked past his ears and tied off under the chin. While it seemed to hold its place the arrangement looked rather haphazard to Damen’s eye.

“Excellent technique, Brother Siòn,” Damen said. “You sure you weren’t in the medical corps back in your Army days?”

“It stopped the bleeding,” Siòn shrugged from where he squatted not too far from Blythe. A shattered rifle was in his hands and the squad’s gunner was beside him. “As to the rest, that’s why we have you druids, isn’t it?”

“Brother Lao and Horgal aren’t back?” Damen asked.

“He was headed straight here but I ordered him to trace the Blight instead,” Blythe explained. “They should return soon.”

Damen nodded then turned to looked at Siòn when the rifleman waggled his fingers suggestively.

“But since you’re here now you could do that magic thing and heal the Oathbinder yourself,” he said.

“I don’t do blood magic,” Damen grunted, annoyed.

Siòn’s eyes fell on the crimson spear which supported Damen’s weight and widened as if in surprise.

“My what a magical spear you have,” he said. “It wouldn’t happen to be that incredible bloodsword you carry around, would it?”

“Enough,” Blythe said. He looked at Siòn and the rifleman nodded without any real contrition.

It was a long-standing argument between Siòn and Damen as well as with society at large. A druid who healed someone else technically engaged in blood magic since a portion of the recipient’s life force was consumed in the process. Bloodswords were also forged with blood magic, sometimes - as in the case of the legendary artefact in Damen’s hand - the most heinous kind. But whether or not their continued usage after their creation could be considered active blood magic was fiercely debated.

The Oathbinder’s attention turned to Damen’s armoured chestplate and the fist-sized hole drilled through the craggy exterior. Damen’s white bodysuit was visible through the hole though it too was damaged, blackened and lacking its usual shine.

“You had your own close call,” Blythe observed.

Damen half raised a hand to his chest unconsciously. He was keenly aware of the damage to his druidic armour. The solidified exoskeleton was a part of him, an extension of his physical self and magical being. He’d felt the voidlance disintegrate the hardened carapace. Thankfully not as pain, just the sensation of the impact and resulting damage.

“I’ll fix it in a minute,” Damen said. “Just need to catch my breath.”

Blythe started to nod, then seemed to think better of it as his field dressing shifted. He pointedly didn’t glance at Siòn.

“You pushed yourself pretty hard out there,” the Oathbinder said to the armoured druid.

“It was going pretty good.” Damen’s armoured shoulders lifted in a shrug.

“Right up until the manure hit the rotary impeller, as they say,” Siòn murmured. “Pardon my Delmiran.”

Blythe’s lips quirked in a half smile. It faded quickly and he shook his head, careful of the bandage.

“I should have sent Sister Arden in sooner,” he said.

“And I should have provided better intel on the wights’ ambush,” the woman in question sighed. “And the Void shouldn’t have invaded Durant. And the Ancestors should really see their way to sending me a pet unicorn, thank you very much.”

“Point taken, Sister,” the Oathbinder said with another quirk of a smile. He looked to Damen’s immobile faceplate and his eyes softened slightly. “Rest, Brother. That’s an order.”

Damen nodded then lowered himself to the ground with a barely contained groan of relief. There wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t ache with fatigue.

He laid Angry Betty beside him then stretched out on his back and let his druidic senses fold outwards. Verdant essences registered on his consciousness. A grouping of bright flames represented the lives of his team and countless scattered tiny sparks the plants within the earth and insects all around him.

His reverie deepened as he basked in this pervasive sea of vital essences. The meditative state helped his lagging strength to slowly begin to recover. The veteran druid could have chosen to speed his recovery even further. Physical contact with the grass and soil allowed a deeper connection, one he could have used to snuff those tiny sparks and bleed their vitality into himself. But as Damen had told Siòn he refused to practice blood magic. He’d had his fill of its seductive allure in his ill-begotten youth and swore to put it behind him.

Damen drifted in this druidic reverie, eyes closed and breathing deep. He only roused when he sensed two new life essences approach from afar. To his unguarded perceptions one of the verdant beacons outshone all those nearby. If the wildlife were sparks and Damen’s squadmates were campfires, then this particular aura was a bonfire.

Damen opened his eyes as the two essences halted nearby and the bonfire spoke.

“I apologize for the delay, Oathbinder,” Xi-Pen said. The Mashalan druid was still in his white druidic armour. Its smooth surfaces gleamed in the light of the lamps.

“Your task was more important,” Blythe replied. “Did you sense anything?”

“The trail of Blighted terrain leads to the east,” Xi-Pen answered. His armoured head turned and the vividly blue eyes of the faceplate centered on Damen. “When Brother Hitema finishes his reverie he can help me confirm.”

“Good work,” the Oathbinder said then looked to Xi-Pen’s companion.

The green-skinned troll stood beside the shorter man, her head and shoulders above him. With Damen’s consciousness enlivened by his druidic reverie an alluring symmetry struck him with sudden clarity. A dreamlike vision part introspection and part flight of fancy.

Xi-Pen Lao. A compact human male adorned in white armour. A druid infused with the magic of Life.

Horgal Lad’ja Tanegra’ma. A towering female troll dressed in a black uniform. A necromancer in command of the power of Death.

They were a story in contrasts. Yet despite their differences they’d stood together to face the demonic hordes. Life and Death united in harmony against the Void, as if by grand design.

Something stirred within Damen, a feeling he found difficult to describe. As if a puzzle piece he didn’t know was missing finally locked into place. Touched to the core yet also profoundly reassured, he propped himself up to a seated position. Blythe continued to speak, unaware of Damen’s uncommonly existential thoughts.

“Thank you for your assistance, Master Lad’ja,” the Oathbinder said gravely. “We might have been lost without your precognitive gift.”

Horgal clenched both fists and crossed her arms before her chest. On either side of her head the long, pointed ears lowered.

“Z’juul rolta mak’thor, Oathbinder Blythe!” she declared. “The Infinite War rages on!”

Damen shook his head at Horgal’s theatrics, the lingering wisps of his reverie fading from his mind.

Xi-Pen stepped away from Horgal’s side and moved to join Blythe. The squad’s second in command dismissed his druidic armour as he walked. The armour dissipated into a white cloud which obscured him briefly then disappeared, drawn into his body as he became visible once more.

“Z’juul rolta mak’thor, Master Lad’ja,” Blythe repeated respectfully in the troll language. Then he added, “And may the Ancestors guide us.”

Xi-Pen Lao crouched at The Oathbinder’s side. Blythe exchanged a brief word with his second in command then addressed the whole squad. “Remain vigilant, Bringers. We’ve won a victory here but the hardest part is yet to come.”

Xi-Pen placed his hands on Blythe’s shoulders. He closed his eyes and the Oathbinder followed suit.

“Z’juul rolta mak’thor, Horgal Lad’ja Tanegra’ma,” a seldom heard basso voice rumbled.

Damen looked to the squad’s taciturn troll gunner. Brother Rak’ja’s yellow eyes shone with pride as he gazed at Horgal.

Siòn also glanced at their squadmate and smiled, but it was somewhat condescending. “With all due respect,” he said. “If the Void really is waging an eternal war against the trolls, I doubt It even noticed this little scuffle.”

“Not just against trolls, my worthy young ally,” the orange-eyed female troll replied. She raised both large hands in the air and turned her face towards the night sky. “The Void seeks the destruction of all life on Torvus and dominion over the stars themselves.”

Rak’ja nodded his head in agreement while Siòn scoffed mildly.

“Troll legends are as likely an explanation as any of your pet theories, Brother Siòn,” Drue Arden admonished quietly. The scout sat with a small backpack beside her and an electronic datapad in her hand.

Damen paid the developing discussion only half a mind. Siòn’s skepticism of anything not explained by his precious science was nothing new. Instead Damen observed Xi-Pen and Blythe with his druidic senses. From where he sat Damen could feel the experienced Mashalan druid extend his qi from himself and into Blythe, like a heated bonfire embracing a lesser flame. Xi-Pen was then able to manipulate Blythe’s body as an extension of his own to accelerate the recovery of his wounds. This shared healing was one of the only benign applications of blood magic.

“Sapient dark matter and dark energy,” Siòn was insisting to Drue. “An oldie but a goodie. It made a comeback recently when a famous blogger slash astrologer got interviewed on the news. It’s been trending on social media for at least two whole days now.”