Chapter 71

Day 261:

With herculean effort, John staggered upright, and brushed off the debris coating his arms and helmet. He searched frantically through the too-slowly-dissipating dust cloud for his friends. After tripping twice on the churned-up slope, he stumbled onto both, crumpled into a pile and covered with a thick layer of earth. Heart in his throat, he pulled the pair apart and laid them side by side on a slightly less-torn patch of ground. Uncapping his canteen, he splashed water over Veronyka’s, then Dulgan’s face.

“C’mon guys!” John urged, smacking their cheeks. “We’ve got to get up before they get here! I can’t carry you both. C’mon, wake up!”

It was several long moments before they began to stir. Dulgan was first, sitting up abruptly.

“Ghah! Wha’ happened?” The Dwarf demanded.

“I don’t know.” John admitted. “But we’ve got to move; help me get her up!”

“I’m up! I’m up.” Veronyka protested. “Just give me a second.”

“I don’t know if we have a second!” John argued.

“All right,” Veronyka levered herself over to a knee, “I’m coming. I’ll be ... right ... b—what the ... hell?”

John looked at her, then followed her gaze through the clearing dust.

“Thedus?” Dulgan gasped.

He took off at a sprint.

“Thedus!” He called fearfully as he went.

“Holy shit.” John breathed, surveying the carnage.

“You said it.” Veronyka seconded, using his arm to stand, then leaning on it.

The entire hillside was one giant crater, ending immediately behind the stone marker. Pockmarks of blast-fused glass dotted the lowest parts and lighter stone fragments were scattered from the edge to the next hill over. Rhys was carefully picking his way down from the top, testing each step for stability with his staff as he went.

Sygraid stood by the marker, cradling Thedus in her arms. Dulgan skidded to his knees before her, sobbing inconsolably after she shook her head sadly. She led the way, and Ililyan helped the Dwimar to his feet so they could follow the Titan up the slope. Behind them, the melted, twisted metal spike lay in pieces at the foot of the smooth rock base. A fitting monument to the events of that day.

“Wha—what happened?” John coughed as they intercepted the others and fell in behind.

“Thedus finished the Amethyst dragon’s Challenge years ago.” Ililyan informed them over his shoulder. “While I wouldn’t call him anything like the most powerful Sorcerer around, he was quite adept at using his power to stun or disrupt enemies in battle. Quick with it, faster than most, which takes a good amount of skill. Today, his desperation led him to attempt something even the most learned Sorcerer would fear to try. I’d venture that the Mage King himself would’ve shied away from such action.”

John glanced back at the marker. “He channeled a full-on bolt of lightning from the sky?”

“He did.” The Warden confirmed. “The air here swirls constantly, heavy with energy. Most of the time, the discharge is random. But with a little ... help?”

His hand waved to encompass the destruction around them.

“And it... ?” John ventured.

“Killed him, yes.” Ililyan answered. “As I said, it was a foolish, but brave effort. I think he knew what the cost might be, but there was no hesitation in him.”

“It worked.” John added dryly.

“He couldn’t get them all, though.” Rhys said as he joined them and turned around. “The scouts will bring more, soon. We should hide.”

“Hide?” Dulgan growled. “There’ll be no hiding! I’ll kill every las’ one o’ ‘em!”

“Master Ironhand,” Rhys said gently, “while I admire your enthusiasm, I do not believe we can stand for long against even twice that number.”

“He’s right.” John agreed. “The question is: where do we go from here?”

They continued to the north, then swung wide to the west. Their hope was that any scouts brave enough to venture past the line wouldn’t go very far. At full dark, they made cold camp in the lee of a hill about a mile away from the battle site. Back there, torches sprang up, moving around in a testament to Rhys’s accurate prediction. The group quietly discussed options, keeping their voices low in case scouts were already combing the area.

Occasionally, an electric bolt would touch down on the Plains, followed by thunder at an appropriate interval. So John planted his captured lance on top of a hill, one over from their spot. He hoped it would serve as a makeshift lightning rod for the night.

Dulgan meanwhile lay next to his half-brother’s body, staring up at the night sky. Sygraid had cast a ‘preservation spell’ on Thedus, a mixture of cold and healing power that would stave off any decay for a day. It would make carrying the Dvergyr back to his kin easier, and keep the smell from gagging them.

They’d already discussed burying the Marshal and making for the Anvil, but Dulgan wouldn’t hear a word of it. Until his half-brother resided in the Oakfall Clan Crypt, the Dwimar was keeping his body in sight.

“Then I say we move at night.” John argued. “Their scouts and pickets will be far less effective in the dark.”

“Can’t we ... use your, um dragons?” Ililyan whispered the last word.

“Too many of us. They’d be unable to get off the ground.” John explained.

“And if we relayed people using them, guaranteed one group would get caught in the meantime at half strength. We don’t want that.” Veronyka added, with John agreeing.

“Going for help wouldn’t do much good, would it?” Rhys mused. “You’d still have to fight your way back to us.”

“No, staying together’s the best option.” John stated. “And if we can get a little farther away, I’m guessing they’ll have pulled enough people to where we were that we might have a chance to slip through.”

At John’s words, Rhys craned his neck to peek at the distant site.

“Once we go, I say we—d” Ililyan urged.

Rhys shushed him, cutting off his words. The group went silent for a minute.

“Is that ... a battle?” John asked finally.

“It sounds like one to me.” Rhys confirmed. “Coming from there.”

He pointed at the torch-lit area. The others all flattened to the hillside and crept up to look for themselves. While they watched, several lights went out, and others looked to have fallen on the ground. One by one silhouettes stomped them dark.

“Who do you think it is?” John asked Rhys and Ililyan after the last torch was snuffed.

“Tis my cousins.” Came a matter-of-fact voice from behind them.

The group all spun, hands going for weapons.

“Peace! Peace.” A darkly-shrouded short-statured figure held up two empty hands. “I am no threat to you.”

“If you say so.” John replied, hand staying on the Tooth. “Who are you, and what do you want with us?”

“He’s a Wraithguard, one o’ th’ city’s rangers.” Dulgan answered tonelessly.

“I am.” The figure bowed. “Thank you, Master Ironhand.”

Dulgan snorted. “Take your thanks. Where were you when my half-brother was bein’ kilt?”

The Wraithguard stepped toward the two supine Dwarves.

“The Marshal?” He asked sadly. “He was... ?”

“He sacrificed ‘imself ta give us a chance ta ‘scape.” Dulgan muttered. “Called th’ dragon’s own po’er down ‘n their Clanless heads.”

“Can I ask what a ‘Wraithguard’ is?” John interrupted. “And why we should trust him?”

“They are the Clan charged with keeping watch for threats to Gluboskal. All Clan members must perform this duty, or be removed from the Clan lists.” Ililyan explained.

“The Clan and its charge are more complex than that,” the Wraithguard added, “but what you say is accurate enough for the moment. Please, I mean you no harm, guests of Clan Oakfall. You must come with me, back to the city. Even here I think they will discover you before too long.”

“And how do you expect to accomplish that?” John asked reasonably. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s a big enemy force in the way.”

The Wraithguard sounded amused. “They are large in number, yes. But most are not adept at night watching. They stick together in larger groups along the boundary. We can easily pass between encampments.”

“Wait a minute!” John accused. “If you know all about them, why didn’t anyone support Thedus when he took our prisoner to the Council?”

“Moving quietly is slow.” The Wraithguard excused. “The Mage King’s mounted warriors streamed into the area too quickly. Word of the invasion only reached the Shademaster this very afternoon.”

“And that?” John hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

“As I said, tis my cousins.” The Wraithguard repeated. “Now that night’s fallen, and the warriors aren’t riding anymore, we’re teachin’ ‘em a lesson.”

Dulgan sat up. “Good! C’n I help?”

Amusement tinged the Wraithguard’s voice. “I believe, given the absence of light that we are victorious this night.”

“Aye.” Dulgan sounded disappointed. “Bu’ wha’bout th’ rest?”

“If you mean to offer your rather famous services to my Clan, you would need to reach an accord with the Shademaster. Is this what you mean?” To John’s ear, the Dwarf sounded eager for Dulgan’s answer to be:

“Aye, tha’ I do.”

“Excellent.” Satisfaction came through clearly in his tone. “If you would come with me, I will take you back to the city.”

“Any objection to going with him?” John put to the group.

The answers were all negative.

Day 262:

A whole group of identically-dressed Dwarves joined them as they passed the boundary heading south. The coterie formed a cordon around John and his friends, and the sound of their travel (made worse by the Wardens who couldn’t see well at night) faded to near silence. John also caught Sight of several bound, gagged and guarded soldiers trailing their march.

Neat trick. John thought.

I see that the Dark Watch’s skills haven’t been lost. Duin mused back. Be alert, their abilities to remain unseen and unheard were only a small part of what they could do.

Dark Watch? John wondered. What should I be looking for?

They were an order founded long, long before my birth. Duin told him. Charged with ensuring that my people’s knowledge of enchanting remained secret from the other Races of this world. It was a sacred duty, for our skill at marrying thaumaturgic power with our crafted items is the core of our purpose in life. There is no higher calling than to perfect the ability in some way, or discover something new within it. Those who seek to steal our knowledge are our sworn enemies.

Nobody ever succeeded? John asked.

Not at the time of my death, no. Duin answered. I do not know if that is still true. The dragon reward items bear some resemblance to Dwarven crafting, but with greater power and precision than anything I ever knew of.

Another shrouded figure met them at a small house right on the outskirts of Gluboskal. During their entire walk, none of John’s friends saw any sign of scouting Regimentals. The new person wore a misty-gray covering rather than the darker ones sported by the Dwarves surrounding them.

“Nightwalker Durhas,” the gray-wearing Dwarf greeted the first Wraithguard, “who is this with you? Prisoners?”

“Watcher Garsit,” Durhas replied, “I found those who initiated battle with the enemy. The Shademaster must hear their story, but know that they are guests of Clan Oakfall. Behind them, we captured six enemy soldiers. Proof of the Mage King’s faithless Compact Violation.”

“Then it is war?” Garsit asked angrily.

“It seems so.” Durhas admitted. “Mounted warriors are found in all directions. Have any approached the city yet?”

“None.” Garsit confirmed. “But if you fought them, they cannot think their surprise holds.”

“Will you take these to the Shademaster, then?” Durhas asked. “While we secure the prisoners?”

“I will.” Garsit accepted the plan. “Come, follow me.”

He motioned for John and the others to trail him as the two groups separated.

“Thank you.” John bowed as they departed.

“Walk softly, and may your enemies never know you’re coming.” Durhas returned.

Garsit produced a small orb-capped rod. He activated it with a touch, making it cast a dim, reddish glow. Without another word, they were led through the city, right to Wraithguard Clan’s black tower. The very same one described in detail by Sibul the day before. At Garsit’s approach, the ‘never-opened’ iron door at the tower’s base swung wide.

Garsit paused on the threshold. “Survivors of battle with the enemy, guests of Clan Oakfall to see the Shademaster.”

The Dwimar inside the gloomy interior had on a dull brown robe and worn, drab clothing. John did note a semi-concealed blade or two on his person.

“Enter, guests of Clan Oakfall,” he told them motioning, “I am Mokul, Shademaster Dhokhuiri’s assistant. If you come in peace, we will treat you as our own guests.”

Be wary of this one! Duin warned. Dark Watch Slayers carried the same flavor of enchantment about them, I would recognize it anywhere.

Inside they found circular stairs going both up and down along the wall, and a small armory of melee weapons and shields. Mokul eyed Sygraid after she squeezed through the doorway.

“Is your companion injured? I can send for a healer, if you wish.” He offered.

Sygraid shook her head as Dulgan spoke up.

“Nay, he’s dead.”

Mokul’s eyebrows shot up. “In the battle that Garsit mentioned? Was it against soldiers from the Mage King’s army?”

“Aye.” Dulgan confirmed.

Mokul peered closer, then stepped back with eyes wide.

“Understood.” He bowed. “I will convey you to the Shademaster now. Please follow me.”

On the level above, three other identically attired Dwimar were quietly drinking something warm and talking in low voices at a small table in a spartan room. They glanced over at the group, but remained seated after Mokul waved them back, as the friends continued upward.

Mokul ushered them through a door at the top of the next flight, and into a warm, cozy study. Plush couches and chairs filled the space, all oriented on a large, stone fireplace. A massive, thickly-furred animal skin filled most of the room’s wood floor. Its head was still attached, a nightmarish mix of bear, alligator and cat. Vertically-slitted eyes stared emptily at the roaring fire. Thick, velvet curtains covered the walls on all sides.

“Please, be seated. I will tell the Shademaster you are here. Would you care for something warm to drink? Tonight’s chill is the first of the season.” Mokul offered.

John took a quick visual survey. Even Sygraid nodded after placing Thedus on one of the bigger couches. Dulgan pulled a chair over next to it and plopped down beside his half-brother.

“Sure, that would be great. Thank you.” He said.

Mokul nodded and opened a second door, which apparently lead farther up.

“I’m assuming we’re being watched.” John remarked. “But is there anything we should know about this ‘Shademaster’?”

“He is the oldest Clan leader in Gluboskal. Possibly of any Clan in the world, though there are a few deep cities my people have no trade with, so we cannot be sure.” Rhys stated. “My information is that he is definitely not a Vampyr, which tells me that we verified that fact recently enough to have confidence in it. How he carries his great age with no sign past a certain mature weathering, I do not know.”

A dry laugh preceded the Shademaster’s entrance. He too wore an unremarkable chocolate robe, darker and less threadbare than Mokul’s, and covering fine, all-black clothing. An image of a faceless ghost was embroidered on his chest with darker gray thread. Rhys’s description was accurate: he looked elderly, but not old. And carried himself with fit confidence, not stooped from a sedentary lifestyle or great age. His cold eyes evaluated each of them before settling on Thedus’s corpse with a frown.