Chapter 7

Oathbinder Trevor Blythe gingerly settled his armoured posterior onto the floral-pattern sofa.

After they’d left the forest, Blythe led the remainder of his squad to the agreed upon rendezvous point. They’d secured a landing zone at a farm vacated in the evacuation and the helicopters had dropped off the two new squads of reinforcements. Blythe’s second in command was currently preparing the combined Lightbringer forces to leave the farm while Blythe himself met with the squad leaders privately inside the farmhouse.

The cozy living room was a welcome contrast to the darkness of the forest Blythe had left behind. He would have felt like an unwelcome intruder in his reflective white armour and military gear but the hand-drawn sign taped to the unlocked front door helped to absolve any lingering guilt. It was a simple drawing of a figure in white armour standing against a swarm of black monsters. The words KICK SOME VOIDSPAWN! scrawled in a child’s hand made it clear at least one little resident wouldn’t mind his imposition in the least. Blythe had searched the farmhouse for a pen to add a brief thank you, then signed it with his name and rank.

“How much of these tunnels have they explored so far?” a male voice asked, bringing Blythe’s attention back to the present.

Blythe turned to his left and faced the white-armoured figure who sat in the cushioned chair by the window.

“About half of what Brother Hitema can sense,” he responded. “They’re proceeding with caution.”

“A prudent course of action,” the other man agreed.

Christof dun Woldun was a thin-faced human of Nurdelese descent. He was an accomplished arcanist specialized in scrying magics - arcane methods of gathering information from afar - and forceshields. Christof led a six-person squad of arcanists, snipers and heavy weapon specialists. His preferred tactics were to lock down a strong defensive position while he destroyed his enemies with a hail of weaponry and magic.

Blythe and Christof complemented each other well in training though they’d never actually deployed together in the field. If anything, Christof was a little too defense-oriented for Blythe’s taste. But he knew the older Oathbinder would follow his orders without undue complaint or resistance.

Blythe couldn’t say the same about the third individual present.

“The time for caution is long past.” The green-skinned troll to Blythe’s right said loudly. “We must discover the fate of Waking Dreams! Damen should have found something by now!”

Blythe held back his immediate response and schooled his expression. “Your opinion is noted, Oathbinder Mar’ja” he responded shortly.

Erkas ‘Berserker’ Mar’ja Tanegra’ma was a powerful druid. He led a squad of trolls from the Tanegra’ma - the ‘Wildfires Clan’ as translated from the ancient troll language. Erkas’ preferred tactics were to charge ... and if that didn’t work, charge harder. In Blythe’s opinion Erkas was a strong frontline warrior but as a leader he was hampered by his reckless attitude and total lack of subtlety. As soon as Blythe had learned that the volatile troll Oathbinder was on his way to Durant he’d known there’d be a conflict of wills between them.

It already looked like he wouldn’t be disappointed.

Christof raised a greying eyebrow. “Save your animosity for the Void, Oatbhinder Mar’ja,” he scolded Erkas mildly. “Oathbinder Blythe has done well in a fluid situation. We owe him nothing less than our full support. Keeper Talon has confirmed he’s in overall command.”

“For now,” Erkas replied unrepentantly.

Oathbinder Trevor Blythe’s eyes narrowed. “And what do you mean by that?”

The green-skinned troll leaned back in his chair. The wooden legs creaked under his weight and he grinned with amusement.

“It means that if Minerva Talon has a lick of sense then command will be given to me,” he said confidently. “There hasn’t been an Incursion of this size in the Empire in decades. Longer even.” Erkas shook his hairless green head. “Your narrow escape from that obvious ambush and the unacceptably slow progress you allow from your scouts makes your lack of experience abundantly clear.”

Blythe barely checked the scathing remark on the tip of his tongue. Christof watched Erkas incredulously, speechless at his rudeness.

“I’ll ignore your disrespectful tone for now,” Blythe said tightly while Erkas snorted. “Your simplistic interpretation of events as well. Instead I’ll simply ask what makes you believe you have this ‘experience’ you claim that I lack.”

“Z’juul rolta mak’thor,” Erkas replied. “By blood and by deed, my experience speaks for itself.”

“‘The Unending Crusade against the Demons of the Void’,” Christof said hurriedly. His hands were clasped in his lap and eyes fixed on the table in the centre of the room as if it were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “That’s the literal translation from the ancient troll language but ‘The Infinite War’ is more common. I’ve always wondered how much truth there is to those legends. The story is quite compelling really. The Ronan’ma have kept to the ancient traditions for longer than anyone can remember. Well ... anyone but them, obviously. Or dragons, I suppose ... Eldest Qwòla dun Fiorel as well, come to think of it. Maybe the rest of the Council of Elders ... Oh! Then there’s that really ancient woman on that mountain in Mashalla...” he trailed off, mumbling, then nodded absently. “Quite a few people, actually.”

Christof chuckled to himself softly. He rubbed the back of his clasped hand with the opposite thumb. But then his chuckle cut off and he looked up from the table with a startled expression, as if he’d suddenly remembered something.

Erkas was looking at Christof as if he’d suddenly sprouted fur and started howling at the moons. Blythe was also looking at him strangely, though there was a quirk of a smile on his lips.

Christof blinked slowly and cleared his throat. “You’ve been to Vyk’Tohl, haven’t you Oathbinder Mar’ja?” he asked quickly.

Blythe could tell by his frown and the perplexed turn of his long ears that Erkas was confused by Christof’s odd behaviour.

“I have ... and fought alongside the Ronan’ma as well,” he said. He turned his yellow eyes with their vertically-slit pupils towards Blythe. “They’ve protected Vyk’Tohl from demons for longer than the Order of Lightbringers - or even the Soelanar Empire - has existed. I learned things that would send you running back to the Chapterhouse with your tail between your legs.” The green-skinned troll snorted derisively. “Or begging to Astagar for reinforcements.”

Blythe shook his head slowly while Christof’s thumb rubbed the back of his hand nervously. But Blythe’s ire had cooled and he wasn’t about to be drawn into trading insults with Erkas.

“Your boasts impress me not at all, Oathbinder Mar’ja,” Blythe said evenly. “Quite the opposite in fact. And they matter little, regardless.”

“Listen here, Trevor... !” Erkas started to retort but Blythe spoke over his words.

“Whatever opinions you harbour inside that thick green skull are yours,” Oathbinder Blythe continued. “You may even voice them to me in private. But until I hear otherwise from Keeper of the Flame Minerva Talon herself I am in command here! I will only tolerate your insubordination so far. Is that clear, Oathbinder Mar’ja?”

His face hard like carved ebony, Blythe’s brown eyes met Erkas’ yellow ones as the two Oathbinders stared each other down.

If ‘Berserker’ Erkas thought Trevor Blythe would simply roll over and surrender his authority, then he would soon learn the error of his ways. Blythe guessed that Erkas cared only about making as big a name for himself as possible. He’d apparently decided that commanding the combined squads was the best way to do so.

Blythe couldn’t imagine a worse possibility. Void demons aside - assuming Erkas’ simplistic tactics didn’t get everyone killed - the troll Oathbinder lacked the temperament to represent the Order in this expanding crisis. The Incursion in Durant was quickly escalating into a major military and political firestorm. The world would be taking note and the Order of Lightbringers needed to show it had the situation firmly in hand.

“It’s clear, Trevor Blythe,” Erkas snapped eventually. “For now,” he added as he broke eye contact.

Blythe noted Erkas still hadn’t addressed him by title. But at least he’d used his full name which was the most Erkas did, even for the Keeper of the Flame.

He’d chalk this one up as a victory, Blythe thought wryly.

“Good,” he nodded firmly. “Now let’s move to more important matters.” Trevor Blythe leaned forward in his chair. “Brother Hitema is due to contact us soon. I want to be on our way to the dragon Enclave before we’ve heard from him. Oathbinder dun Woldun, your squad...”

While Oathbinder Blythe clashed with ‘Berserker” Erkas, Damen Hitema and his companions continued their exploration of the underground Enclave.

With Drue Arden scouting invisibly ahead, the Lightbringers had hoped to find something by now. But so far all they’d discovered was winding tunnels and empty caves. No sign of Siòn’s hoped-for secret treasures, nor the Enclave’s draconic master. There wasn’t even any hint of where the void demons had disappeared to. Wherever the demons had gone, Damen had started to believe it wasn’t into these tunnels after all. Siòn agreed and though they remained alert, the rifleman and the druid had allowed their guard to relax.

“You can’t be serious!” Damen said to Siòn.

The two walked along the rough-hewn tunnel, their magical nightbands allowing them to see almost as clearly as in daylight. The tunnel’s height and width varied slightly as they travelled though never by any large degree. It was always wide enough for both of them to walk comfortably side by side and even stretch their arms without brushing the walls.

Which made perfect sense. The tunnels were home to a creature the size of a transport truck. From its tooth-filled maw to its sinuous tail, a dragon in its natural form would need plenty of room to maneuver.

“Dead serious,” Siòn replied. “The odds were too good to pass up.”

Damen shook his head. “No reputable necromancer would participate in gambling. They’d lose their bond with the I.G.N.M., which can cause all sorts of problems.”

“For her maybe,” Siòn shrugged. “Not me. Besides, the Guild has no jurisdiction in the Wyverntails.”

“An astrologer, a necromancer and a pirate.” Damen stated wryly and Siòn grinned. “Quite the multi-talented individual, this woman. A hacker too, to be selling anonymous betting advice through a ScarNet website. What could possibly go wrong?”

The Free Islands of the Wyvern’s Tail Archipelago - known as ‘The Wyverntails‘ - were a string of islands in Torvus’ equatorial zone. They spanned the ocean between the troll continent of Vyk’Tohl and the nearest human-settled continent, Rajaan. On a map the Wyverntails formed a long and sinuous line, just like the lizard-like tail of their namesake predator.

But while the visual resemblance was the most obvious reason for the name, the Wyverntails’ wild and sometimes deadly reputation was the other. The thousands of islands in the archipelago were home to free spirited peoples who had little patience for mainlander rules. Their main industries were tourism, banking ... and headaches for mainland law enforcement agencies.

“You boys do know sound carries underground, don’t you?” Drue asked quietly over the radio.

“There’s no one down here but us,” Siòn replied confidently. “Waking Dreams must have abandoned the Enclave. The void demons aren’t down here either.”

“You sound very sure of that,” Drue said. “Sure enough to bet our lives? Or do you want to consult your astrologer first?”

Siòn smiled winningly though only Damen could see it. “I merely stand in awe of your scouting abilities, Sister Arden. Between your stealthy skulking and our druid’s heavily enchanted bloodsword, I feel safe in the knowledge that we’ll detect any voidspawn long before they’re a threat.”

“He’s right,” Damen said. Even though Angry Betty was on his back they were still linked. If the ancient artefact detected any demons he would sense it immediately. “There hasn’t been a single sign of demons since we’ve been down here. Maybe they’re somewhere else. Or even if they did come down here, maybe Waking Dreams didn’t feel like waiting for us to show up so took care of them by itself.”

“That possibility had occurred to me,” Drue admitted. “Based on the age of these tunnels, Waking Dreams must be ancient. A single voidreaver would be child’s play for a dragon of significant power. Even if there were more than it could handle it could always just teleport away.”

“Teleportation,” Siòn grinned. “Now there’s a handy trick. Bet you wish you could do that!”

“No human arcanist has ever learned how to teleport that I’m aware of,” Drue replied then continued sweetly. “But if I could you’d be the first to know because I’d teleport back there right now and smack that silly grin off your face.”

The look of feigned hurt on Siòn’s face caused Damen to chuckle.

Up ahead the tunnel opened out as a three-way intersection came into Damen’s view.

“We’re coming to that cross-tunnel,” Damen said.

“I’ll set a relay,” Siòn said. “Then we can report in.”

“I’ll keep heading down the left tunnel but I’ll listen in,” Drue said. “I didn’t check the right since you said it’s a dead end.”

“No sense wasting your time,” Damen agreed. “I’ll take a quick look while Brother Siòn sets up.”

Siòn took a comm relay from his pack while Damen went a short way down the right. He embraced his qi as he walked and extended his druidic senses around him. Siòn’s life essence burned strongly behind him while the sparks of life in the earth surrounded him.