《Tales of Enroth》 Tales of Enroth Prologue
Theodorus mutters under his breath as he scrawls another jagged passage in the pages of a leatherbound tome. The night air is gloriously clear atop the astronomy tower, and if the chill is slowly worming its way into his robes it is nothing another nip of firewine cannot handle. High above, where even the mage''s heightened senses cannot reach, a flock circles. Maegara casts a wary glance over her shoulder, marking the descent of her subordinate sisters. They are a long way from home, and much care and forethought has gone into their arrival. She notes the sloppy disposition of her right-side wingmate. Only the sharpest fighters are recuited to Lady Lorelei''s unit, but it takes years of experience to master the finer points of special operations. If the damnfool girl survives the mission she will be taught a painful lesson about the primacy of proper preparation. Approaching their target, Maegara''s enomotia peels off from the rest of the flock. At the head of the formation she begins to describe a tight circle to bleed altitude without excessive acceleration. From behind her and to the right comes a clinking noise that is deafening after hours of soundless flight. The glare she sends backwards would make a beholder balk. Chastened, the offending harpy adjusts her harness. They are all traveling light, so as to enable the incredibly long journey over lands inhospitable to conventional forces. -¡Â- It is all for naught in the end. Far below, Theodorus runs through another hasty calculation in the margins of his journal. Cursing softly, he returns to the eyepiece of a finely-crafted telescope. The magnificent view affords him unprecedented opportunity for astronomical research, but the new observations are handily disproving months of painstaking work. A faint clink reaches his keen ears, and he nearly dismisses it as an artifact of a long night in the absence of company. One does not long survive as an Enrothi stargazer without an abundance of caution, however. He disengages from the eyepiece, a look of irritation wrinkling his cold-reddened face. A spell is uttered curtly, and a faint glow suffuses the astronomer''s eyes. He scans the heavens, and with shaking hands confirms his secret fear. "Nighon." In a panic he grabs a gnarled length of wood from its resting place on a nearby parapet. The focus in the tip of the staff flares to life as arcane energy is channelled through it. He punches a rune scrawled on the kiln-baked hide of an Earth elemental. The medium crumbles to dust, but the burning lines of the sigil remain as clear as the day they were inscribed, hovering motionless in the night air. -¡Â- Erinyes dips a shoulder and begins to yaw as she makes her approach run. Her sharp eyes pick out Maegara''s dim silhouette up ahead as it wheels ever closer to the peak of the observation tower. One of the lead harpy''s talons unfurls to signal the start of their attack. She signals in kind to the sisters following in her wake, and draws her soot-dulled blade in anticipation. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Erinyes bleeds speed as she angles herself towards the platform at the tower''s summit. A few seconds too late, she notices the glow of the alarm sigil and realizes the element of surprise has been lost. Before she is able to cry out to her sisters, a blinding flare of light reduces her torso to a cloud of ash and feathers. -¡Â- Theodorus scans the horizon for the next threat, and a blur of motion in his peripheral vision forces him to duck under a whirling ball of talons and hate. He throws up a hand, palm wreathed in glowing energy, to deflect a thin steel blade. Light flashes, blood sprays, and a finger tumbles to the marble underfoot. The head of his staff arcs into the bird-woman''s neck and discharges a thunderous clap of energy, flattening her and snapping her spine. He lifts the staff to track another dark silhouette across the horizon, before the bright green discharge highlights the doomed harpy. As her embers rain to the ground below Theodorus glances left and right. He closes his eyes and mumbles an incantation, drawing walls of invisible force around the edges of the tower. A foolish juve swoops down to attack and is crushed by her own weight and speed. The force-walls have the interesting side-effect of muffling the sound of the wind, and of the infiltrators'' terse calls to one another. Despite the sudden quiet, he doesn''t hear a whisper of the silver feathers rustling behind him as he hurriedly stuffs his journals and loose parchment into an ornate satchel. It is the tingling of his mage-sense that finally warns him of his approaching doom. -¡Â- Maegara stalks the distracted mage triumphantly, suppressing her snort of disdain as a young sister slams into the his shields. Lady Lorelei will not be pleased with their losses, but the crucible of combat exists to burn off the impurities and temper the survivors into the firmest steel. The man stuffs written materials into a messenger bag. This must be the intelligence we were sent to collect. The tip of her long, narrow tongue curls idly around one of her fangs as she contemplates the killing blow. Suddenly she lunges forward, and her wicked blade is buried to the hilt in the man''s thick robes. Immediately the warm glow at the tip of his staff is extinguished, but his eyes still blaze defiantly as he turns to face his assassin. "Any last words, Bracadan scum?" the loathsome bird-woman jeers. In reply Theodorus barks one final spell. -¡Â- Omnisophix rouses itself from a long slumber. An ember glow fills its darkened eye sockets and stone lips creak wide to reveal wicked obsidian fangs. Though it cannot see in the traditional sense, it is aware of its 3 brethren waking concurrently. Its master is dead, and master had been very clear about what was to be done IF he was no longer alive. It steps down from its pedestal with a lightness and grace that belies its sturdy construction. It has a bag to secure. -¡Â- Tales of Enroth Chapter 01 -¡Â- Omnisophix rouses itself from a long slumber. An ember glow fills its darkened eye sockets and stone lips creak wide to reveal wicked obsidian fangs. Though it cannot see in the traditional sense, it is aware of its 3 brethren waking concurrently. Its master is dead, and master had been very clear about what was to be done IF he was no longer alive. It steps down from its pedestal with a lightness and grace that belies its sturdy construction. It has a bag to secure. -¡Â- Maegara is no stranger to Bracadan tricks. "Gargoyles!" she shrieks to her sisters as she scrambles to take off while clutching the bundle of books and parchment. She isn''t fast enough. A glossy black form slams into her, and in an instant of rending claws and gnashing jaws her long and glorious career is brought to a close. Omnisophix turns wordlessly to its companions, silent communication passing between them. The bundle of parchment is grasped in a single bloody paw and the onyx figure launches into the air. The remaining gargoyles turn in unison to watch it go, scanning the sky for threats. Several stichos veer off from the formation to follow the gargoyles'' wingmate and the silent flock shoot into the air on tight intercept courses. Deadly fighters in their own right, the harpies are no match for the finely-crafted constructs. Shards of obsidian and volcanic stone are shorn loose by Nighon steel, but in return their flesh is rent to tatters by fangs and claws of igneous glass. The air fills with red mist, cooling and falling as crimson snow, as one by one Omnisophix''s pursuers are slain. -¡Â- The skies above the tower are not the only site of chaos and violence, the wizard not the only objective of the infiltrators. The hamlet surrounding the Astronomy Tower is filled with screams as the harpies wreak their toll on the wintry town. -¡Â- Gannulus awakens with a start, the blurred lines of a warning-sigil growing clearer as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. An uncommon warning, it takes him a moment to parse the glowing glyph. His heart leaps into his throat as he decyphers the meaning. Their hated subterranean foes are never truly out of reach, but an attack so deep within Bracada''s borders is nearly unheard of. He grabs his focus and steadies his voice before he channels it into the twisted warren of gremlin-dens in the workshop below. "Arise and make ready to defend the town, we are under attack by forces from Nighon. Dress and arm yourselves, masters are to assemble their cohorts and meet me at the doors." He hears grumbles at their rude awakening, then chitterings of fear at news of the attack. The blue-robed masters growl at their subordinates, who reluctantly fall in line. He spins protective charms through the fibres of his scarlet robe. It brooks no comparison to Erathian plate mail, but should give sharp blades and wicked talons equal pause in a desperate melee. He girds his focus in spells of warding and striking to amplify its potency in close combat. Finally, he dons a pair of brass-and-leather goggles, their lenses a wine-red glass. With a whispered word the darkened corners of his study sharpen and resolve into focus. Magelight from his staff, visible only to the goggles, bathes the room in an ethereal glow. He speaks the tripword to awaken the golems, one of iron and the other gleaming marble. The massive figures creak and groan as magic limbers their joints. He notes Greem''s excellent repair work on the iron golem''s finicky knee. If the enterprising little gremlin survives the violence ahead he''ll be forwarded for consideration as the shop''s newest shiftmaster. Battle-ready, he leads his company through the broad wooden doors of the ''shop and out into the cobblestone street. Chaos greets their senses immediately, the glow of a few growing fires lending dim illumination to the nighttime streets. Though the sky is not filled with them, darkened shapes wheel and curl overhead as they pick their targets and ready themselves to swoop. Gannulus shakes his head at the disorderly state of the militia response. It costs him precious spellpower, but he fires a mighty flare skyward. It does double duty, both blinding the attackers and highlighting them starkly against the midnight backdrop of the starry sky. He directs Flig and the rest of his shift to take position on a nearby rooftop as he goes. The diminutive shapes clamber up the access ladder and spread out on the flat surface. Marked by the flare, a wing of harpies are caught mid-descent. The night air becomes a shooting gallery as the gremlins whirl and release their slings. -¡Â- Diaphane screeches and shields her eyes as the radiant orb screams past. It carves crazed lines into her retinas even through her dry, papillated eyelids. She shakes her head to try to clear the blazing afterimage, but the damage has been done. She banks furiously in a tight zig-zag, hoping to throw off the shooters on the ground, but she is too close to miss. A leaden bullet smashes into her wing and the hollow bone cracks. She spirals downwards, shrieking fiercely. In spite of her impaired vision she spots a blue-robed gremlin co-ordinating the aim of his coterie, and angles for his rooftop. She lands atop him in a blizzard of silver feathers and whirling talons. His slight frame offers little resistance, and in an instant she turns on the rest of the unit. They swing their slings like tiny flails that sting each time they pelt Diaphane''s skin, but they are not strong enough to bring her down. They scream like rabbits as her vicious blade and deadly claws paint the air and ground with their blood. She howls skywards for her sisters to rescue her, and a pair of neophytes descend to render aid. -¡Â- Gannulus winces as his sense-link to Flig is forcefully severed, shaking off the feedback of living through another''s death. He fights the urge to vomit as he casts through the aether to link himself to the iron golem. It is hefting gremlins from the street up to a vantage point that lacks ground access. They grumble as it deposits them in an undignified heap, but Gannulus ignores them as he directs the golem towards Flig''s post. He spends more power to hasten its movement with concentrated gusts of wind. It builds up a head of steam as it goes. -¡Â- "My wing is broken, fools! That is why I called you down here!" The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "We barely made it here carrying just our blades and rations, do you expect us to carry you all the way back to Nighon?" "Of course not, you imbeciles! But I do expect you to carry me out of a hostile city!" "Gah! So be it then. Steel yourself, it will hurt when I grasp your wing." "I know that, fledgling! Now get down here, or the Lady herself shall hear of your reticence!" Lost in the hissed conversation is a growing rumble, like the pounding of a rapid-fire millstone. The rooftop beneath Diaphane''s feet begins to tremble with the bass thud of some immense weight at immense speed. Gritting her fangs in pain as her sisters grasp her wings, she becomes dimly aware of the sound just as it seems to stop. -¡Â- Gannulus huddles in a stony alcove, flanked by a pair of gremlin minders to alert him to danger. His attention is several blocks away, occupied with keeping several tonnes of high-speed iron balanced and in control. Through the link, his eyes see stone and brick buildings flash by as the golem''s heavy, loping gait drinks up the cobblestone streets. His destination lies ahead, on a rooftop which emanates the screams of the dying. Nearly a decade ago, a yet-unknown Bracadan alchemist by the name of Josephine discovered the process that enabled the construction of golems. Building on the principles of gargoyle animation, the process is slightly easier on one''s mana reserves and treasury whilst resulting in a larger, more durable - and commensurately slower - magical construct. She immediately licensed her process and soared to the highest echelon of Bracadan society. Not long after her overnight success, she refined the process to allow working with smelted metals rather than rough stone to allow for lighter, equally sturdy golems at only slightly increased cost. Praying that he has judged the distance properly, and that Greem''s knee repair was as thorough as it looked, Gannulus plants one of the golem''s massive feet so hard that individual cobblestones spray outward like clods of dirt. As its mighty bulk slides forward, he plants the other foot and heaves the entire metal frame skyward. For an instant he is soaring through the air with an absurd grace for such a large hunk of iron, bending the golem''s tortured knees to gather its legs below him. Then he slams into the side of a stout building so hard it cracks the walls. An access ladder breaks free from its mooring as the building sags on its foundation. The final, dying breath of the haste spell lends its aid as the mage-captain hauls with all the golem''s might to pull it over the edge of the rooftop. Most golems are built with proud, impassive human faces. Gannulus was met with great disdain from his colleagues when he asked the artificers to fashion his in the image of the fearsome Tatalian jagh-war. Gannulus locks eyes with Diaphane as the golem''s head crests the ledge, and her look of terror satisfies every internal debate he''s ever had about his golem''s appearance. Her sisters turn at the sound of her fearful shriek, and Gannulus'' sense of satisfaction only deepens as their features twist with cold fear. Up in the mountains the air is thin, and their harried wingbeats do far too little to lift them away from the roof. In two great juddering strides the golem crosses the space. Its huge hand clamps shut like a steel trap on Diaphane''s talons, the fracturing of her hollow bones lost in the howl of enchanted iron carapace. Before her sisters can release her Gannulus bends the construct at the waist and pitches the group hard into the rooftop''s stone slabs. Organs burst, bones splinter like kindling, and liquified avian sprays the adjacent building''s wall. The roof slab breaks in half, and the mess of feather and jellied remains tumbles into the space below. The building groans in protest, this last blow finally destabilizing the reeling structure. The shattered building begins to list with the incredible weight atop it, and Gannulus bends the golem''s knees to slide along the smooth surface. Sparks fly and masonry sails through the night. With careful timing, he leaps again into the air. The golem reaches out on its way to the ground and snatches another harpy as her enomotia wheels by, bringing its massive iron hands together with a deafening thunderclap that drowns out her death cry. Gannulus severs the sense-link with a command to return to Snick''s unit and resume the defense of the market district. His own senses rush back to him with disorienting suddenness, and he places a hand on the cold stone wall to steady himself. "You all right sir?" queries one of his minders. "A little unsteady from all this aethercasting, I just need a moment Smig." "Could travel on foot, sir. Allows you to replenish your reserves." "Are the harpies no longer a concern?" "Numbers thinned, sir. Others withdrawing or moving to reinforce elseplaces." Gannulus'' brow furrows in concern. "Then we are entering the next phase of their attack. We should move quickly." The gremlins don''t need to respond, already forming up to keep an eye on his blind spots as they make their way through the streets. -¡Â- High above the unfurling chaos Aphame labours under a terrible weight. Her sticho has a special task. Though it has been a burden thus far, their role in the attack is among its most important objectives. Just a wingspan away her sister stares ahead in hateful determination as she beats furiously against the thin air. Close enough behind her that she can hear the wind through their feathers, another pair of sisters strain themselves just as dearly. They lag behind the main body of their unit for more than one reason. Their detour, slight though it was, is also why they fight to remain aloft now. They are carrying between them a shining slab of wrought metals and alchemical components. A fearsome Bracadan land-mine pilfered by a turncoat with a personal vendetta against the college of mages. One of the insular nation''s finest weapons against a siege, these hefty contraptions can make casualties of an entire infantry column, or render a siege engine into kindling and scrap. Their creation is one of Bracada''s most carefully-guarded secrets. In the hands of her worst enemies, there is no estimating the damage that could be wrought by a well placed mine at just the wrong moment. -¡Â- Tales of Enroth Chapter 02 -¡Â- Ameliese winced as she heard a heavy impact on the roof above, knowing it signaled the end of yet another of her valiant gremlins. The unfortunate irony of the golem manufactory being too unstable to put golem defenders atop it was in no way amusing to the apprentice alchemist. She knew she should be up above, fighting - and dying - with the gremlins, but she wasn''t at the bottom of her combat-magic classes by choice. Fear clouded her brilliant mind like a handful of saltpetre in a flask of vitriol. In a lab, where variables could be controlled and reactions precisely predicted, she was possessed of firm hand and steady mind. The chaos of the field of battle undid her as completely as any alchemical rendering process. The warning sigil had come unexpectedly, but unlike most of the town''s occupants Ameliese was at least awake to receive it. She had prayed without conviction for it to be some sort of terrible error until the first harried screams seeped through the ventilation ducts. Blood turning to ice in her veins, she had haphazardly applied protective wards to her drab apprentice''s robes as she frantically locked any windows and skylights that could grant access to an infiltrator. She was too panicked to feel ashamed of herself as her gremlins assembled without her and made their way to the rooftop. Another thud served to deepen her anxiety. As one of the largest structures in Skyreach the alchemical lab had a large, but not inexhaustible pool of gremlin defenders. Theodorus'' gargoyles were supposed to provide the first line of protection for the valuable building, but for all the good they must have been doing it seemed that harpies were still able to slip by them to get at the shooters. Then she heard what she had most feared, a shattering skylight and a sample of the cacaphony outside. They were in. -¡Â- Haart swaggered over to a shuttered window, peering up out of a broken slat at the night sky. The Percolating Pint, Skyreach''s sole wet establishment, was a mess of eclectic Bracadan architechture. The roofs were too low and the corridors too winding for his swarthy Erathian footmen to navigate comfortably, and unlike the damnable wizards his men didn''t have warming magic to compensate for the lack of insulation. At least, he mused, its strange construction lent itself perfectly to defense. A small rooftop observation deck had room for a handful of his marksmen to shoot from, and a number of elaborate balconies provided firing ports for the rest. His pikes were spread among the marksmen, ready to fend off the fearsome Nighon bird-women if they descended to fight. Haart had be traveling to Skyreach for years, and he would be damned if he let the Pint fall victim to the violence. "My Lord!" came an urgent call down the stairwell. The sound of footsteps grew as the source of the voice descended. "You have news?" "The harpies are withdrawing from this district, my Lord." "Dispense with the formalities, Cadric. We are in battle." "Of course, my apologies sir." Haart glared at him. "We''ve not suffered any casualties, though the gremlins around us surely have." "Do you believe we''ve driven them off?" "It''s hard to say without Cuthbert''s sight to show their true numbers. This felt more deliberate than a retreat should, if I may offer my intuition." "It is why you''re the head of my scouts, man! Do we have any idea where they''re going?" "They were headed counterclockwise around the astronomy tower when they weren''t going straight up." Haart''s brow furrowed with concern. "The golem factory. I should have guessed. It''s the only reason I would send a strike against this town, it is not as though it guards a vital border passage or an abundance of mines." Cadric''s eyes widened. Bracada was among Erathia''s closest allies, and he knew well what a blow to their golem production would do to their strategic flexibility. "We have to try and stop them, don''t we?" "I''d rather not risk our lives, but yes, Cad." The scout nodded grimly. "I''ll assemble the men." -¡Â- Gannulus picked his way through eerily-empty streets. The attackers had wreaked terrible havoc on the areas that did not have golems to bolster their gremlin defenders. Here and there his little group would weave around a taller structure whose base was littered with slain shooters interspersed with an occasional harpy corpse. The mage did not like how light a toll the militia had apparently taken on the attackers. "Shoddy response." the mage muttered under his breath. "I begged them for more drill time, and this is what their refusal has bought." It drew particular ire that for all the diminutive robed forms scattering the ground, he had yet to spot a fallen mage. The little gremlins formed the backbone of Bracadan society, yet the College would happily sacrifice their entire labour pool to spare the lives of a few more of their own. Gannulus knew first hand how important gremlins were to the day-to-day operations that kept their defense force running and their economy exporting goods. The little creatures reproduced quickly, but they would scarcely have the numbers to conduct repairs around Skyreach, let alone to staff the workshops in the days ahead. Despite their bravery and loyalty, they were neither strong nor resourceful enough to shoulder the defense of a town alone. A handful of mages spread through their ranks would have been a force multiplyer that prevented a great deal of carnage. Unfortunately, it appeared most of Gannulus'' colleagues and students would prefer to lock themselves safely indoors and leave the gremlins to their fate. An urgent tug at his robes interrupts his fuming. "Sir! Danger!" He whirls to see a silver-feathered veteran poised over Smig''s supine form. His other minder is already swinging its studded flail at the bird-woman but she effortlessly wards off its attacks with a claw as she slides a blade into her struggling prey. She withdraws her dagger and leaps into the air simultaneously with one furious wingbeat. She snatches the other minder by the head and her talons pierce its thin green skin as she snaps the valiant little gremlin''s neck. She hurls her blade at Gannulus as he looks on helplessly, and he barely turns it aside with a flourish of his focus. It clangs off the cobblestone behind him as he directs a vengeful blast of energy at its owner. He hears a wingmate''s feathers ruffling behind him as it slows to strike him and he catches it within inches of his back, smashing it to the ground. He finishes it with another blast, and yet more harpies wheel down from the chaos above to threaten the isolated mage. The street strobes with light has he channels his power into a salvo of flares. The predatory avians sense his vulnerability and brave his assault for a chance to take a Bracadan mage out of the fight. Several sisters drop from the sky trailing burning feathers and ash, but before long one has made it through the gauntlet. She flares her wings and her blade clashes against Gannulus'' focus. His free hand grasps a wing and she shrieks as he yanks her aside to fire more shots over her shoulder. She thrusts upwards with her long knife, and it is turned away by the wards in his robe. He smashes her with the focus, breaking her back, and discards her limp form only to be accosted by two more of her wingmates. One folds over his knee when he catches her muscled belly with a vicious upthrust, just as the trio are bowled over by yet another newcomer. Razor talons and Nighon steel tear at his robes, and his focus clatters to the cobblestone. Muscle memory born from thousands of hours of combat training drives his hands like clockwork as they jab and weave at the deadly tangle of limbs. Harpies continue to pile on, and two more are slain before his arms are seized tightly, bones creaking from the cruel pressure of the harpies'' grasp. I should have brought the golem he thinks resignedly as his ankles are likewise seized and a scaly talon begins to wrap around his neck. I hope Ammie is safe Then he feels a jerk as one of the harpies holding an arm releases him. He hears a gurgling cry through the press of feathers and flesh, and his neck is released as well. The harpy holding it slumps overtop of him and he feels a pooling wet warmth on his robe. A growing roar overtakes the sound of the melee and the ball of writhing combatants leaves him flat on the cobblestone to hastily retreat. He heaves the harpy''s corpse off of himself quickly enough to see an advancing wall of Erathian pikes, battlecry rumbling in their throats. Backing them is a disciplined line of marksmen picking off the sisters who take to wing. A handsome blond man whose drab cloak and tabard do little to hide the quality of his weapons and armour stands with a smaller knot of pikes guarding the archers. The slaughter is immediate, the churn of retreating bodies unable to take flight quickly enough to escape the press of wicked steel points. The few that manage to get off the ground are brought down by a stream of feathered bolts to fall atop their sisters. The handsome man strides up to the supine mage as one of the footmen proffers a helping hand. Gannulus grasps it tightly and is pulled to his feet. "Methinks if we knew you mages could fight like that we would try harder to recruit you to our armies." The man''s voice is confident, smooth. "Methinks if more of us could Nighon would not be so eager to go to battle with us." comes the mage''s shaky reply. The man guffaws bluffly and offers a callused hand. "Ha! That was quick for a man who was just making his final prayers. The name is Haart." The mage shakes it and feels the man''s enthusiasm all the way to his shoulder. "Gannulus. I appreciate your sense of timing." He bends to retrieve his focus as the man replies. "After the performance you gave it would have been a great shame to let those foul harpies put you down. Speaking of timing, we''d better get moving. We can speak as we go. I fear the harpies aim to disable the golem factory. Only strategic asset and all that." Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Gannulus'' brow knits in concern as he keeps pace with the man. He decides against mentioning the astronomy tower. "I had noted their withdrawal from the artisans'' district, but the militia response has been so disorganized that I could learn no more of their plans." "We were in the market district when the attack began. After they were driven off from there, we followed as best we could." "It heartens me to hear that some parts of town have withstood the slaughter." "Aye, and I''d like to think my men played some part in that." "I am sure they did, I doubt the harpies were expecting Erathian steel to meet their descent." The man grins at Gannulus, and he sees a nearby footman straighten with pride. "Let''s hope we can continue to catch them off guard. How long do you think we have before they can disable the factory?" The mage thinks for a moment. "To halt production for a few weeks would hardly take long, but if they intend to do more damage than that it would take a long time, or a very knowledgeable sapper." "By all indication the strike force is comprised entirely of harpies, who are known more for their cunning than their engineering." "I would still rather get there in time to save the alchemists and their gremlins. The factory itself is unable to be defended by golems." "Bit of an oversight, that." "It is intended that the gargoyles of the college are to serve as its defenders, but even they cannot hope to hold out against these numbers indefinitely." "Right then. Double time, men!" -¡Â- Ameliese shrunk even lower in the darkness behind the workstation that concealed her, trembling with fear and trying not to make a sound. The harpies had thoroughly taken the factory now. The infiltrators who came in through the breached skylight had made their way to the roof from inside and ambushed the defenders. Now they stalked the halls looking for her. Suddenly a croaking voice rang out from the laboratory floor. "I can smell your fear, little worm. Come out now and I''ll make your death completely painless." She cupped a shaking hand over her mouth so as not to scream. Her forearm brushed a glass beaker and it rang out faintly as its base settled. Her guts turned to ice. The gremlins hadn''t cleaned their workstations. The harpy chuckled darkly in her vulture-call voice. "Well that doesn''t count at all, stupid mage. My offer''s expired. This is going to be fun." Her arm burned with fear. Wait Acid from the beaker was burning her arm. She conjured a faint magelight, trying to shield it from view with her body. The harpy''s wings swept tools and bottles off of lab tables, and Ameliese tracked the avian''s progress by the clattering, shattering racket in her wake. She desperately scanned the racks of the workstation. There Oil of vitriol. She grabbed the crystal flask and popped the cork. She looked up into the twisted, hateful features of a grinning harpy. The alchemist flinched away with a yelp. The bird-woman seized her free hand with a scaly talon. "Not so fast, worm. I''m going to make you bleed." Ameliese summoned all of her courage and tossed the contents of the flask directly into the harpy''s face. The avian released her hand reflexively and howled in pain. Heart racing, Ameliese ran to another workstation and began throwing components into a beaker. The concoction began to foam, and she threw a rubber seal across the mouth. She shook it furiously and threw it at the feet of the harpy. The blast knocked her flat, and tore one of the screeching avian''s legs from its body. The pained noises bled together into a keening wail. The alchemist''s stomach churned with nauseous guilt as she struggled to her feet. "I''m sorry!" she cried anxiously as she palmed another flask of vitriol and fled the darkened lab. She grasped the doorway tightly, glancing wildly up and down the corridor. She guessed that the harpies would not post a sentry to guard the roof hatch. True flight was incredibly difficult magic, done only by wizards of far greater power than even the greatest minds of Skyreach. Besides Theodorus'' rare and expensive gargoyles there were no other flyers to be found in town. She darted to the end of the hallway, slipped into a service duct intended for gremlins, and wriggled her way around the sounds of a harpy patrol. She thanked the stars for the first time for granting her such a small frame given the physical demands of alchemy. She bolted up a flight of stairs, ducked back into the gremlin accessway. Dart through an open space with all haste, wait breathlessly to confirm she remained undetected, creep through the claustrophobic confines of another narrow passage, repeat. The cycle of constant adrenaline rush kept her hands shaking long after the fear was subsumed by the singlemindedness of her flight. At last she made her way up the winding guts of the factory to the roof access hatch. A silver-feathered harpy strutted out of a side door, triumph plain on her horrid face. "There you are. I was beginning to grow worried that you''d hurt yourself. That you''d gone and gotten stuck in one of those little passages you''re so fond of crawling through. That would have been an awful shame." Ameliese managed to keep her limbs steady, though her voice trembled. "J-just let me pass. I don''t want to hurt you." "How very soft of you. Well I want to hurt you, mage. More than I want a lot of things." The avian advanced slowly, and Ameliese backed away. The hand hidden in her robes uncorked its flask of powerful acid. "I''m n-not going to stop you from whatever you''re doing in here, there are too many of you." "Aye, far too many. But I''m not going to let you pass, because I need you to come with me. To open the laboratory''s skylight. Do that for us and we''ll only hurt you a little before you die. If you refuse we''ll all take our time enjoying your death." The harpy''s rasping, croaking voice sent ancient terror signals up the alchemist''s spine, but she held her ground. "What could you possibly want that for? You''ve already taken the building. I won''t let you lead me down there to be tortured." "Then I shall drag you there MYSELF!" The bird-woman''s piercing cry froze Ameliese for a half-second as her mind fought for control of her terror-stricken limbs, which was more than enough time for the hateful being to close the gap between them. Wicked talons grated against her shoddy wards, shearing through the fabric of her robes and dragging several deep gashes across her arm. Acid from the flask slopped onto her hand and underclothes. She shrieked as the exposed skin began to burn fiercely, and she knew it was only a few moments until her clothes soaked through. The pain and fear nearly undid her, but she lost herself again in the singlemindedness of escape and survival. It is simply pulling the water from my hand as it reacts with my skin. The burns are treatable, if I manage to survive. The pain is temporary, but the consequences of this failure will be eternal. She summoned every shred of magical power within herself, and she poured it all into a slowing spell. Laughably simple compared to destructive magics, but still an immense test of Ameliese''s frayed nerves. The alchemist could see it take hold of the avian. A sudden forceful slowness overcame her sinuous frame, as though she swam in molasses. Her baleful glare took on an air of confusion as she fought to raise another swiping talon against Ameliese. The harpy was too slow. Ameliese withdrew her sizzling hand from within her robes and plunged it through the harpy''s jagged teeth and into her throat, open mouth pointed downwards. Strips of skin were shorn from her knuckles, and the bird-woman clamped her jaws shut on the mage''s slender limb. Ameliese cried out in pain, but the sound was drowned by the gurgling wail fighting its way around her arm and out of the harpy''s throat. Its horrid fangs held tight to the alchemist''s forearm, and more of her skin and sinew began to peel away as it wrenched its head away from her reflexively. She staggered and fell back, her arm a tattered mess of lacerated flesh. The harpy reared up in front of her, talon cocked back to rake across her exposed throat. The killing blow never came. Something inside the harpy''s twisted frame finally gave way, and its coiled muscles went slack. It slumped to the side, a bubbling sigh escaping its bloody maw. The hateful light in its eyes dimmed as they lost focus on the world around it. One final, dying shudder wracked its feathered form. Ameliese crawled away from it, clinging for dear life as she dragged herself up the roof access ladder with one good hand. Her skin was burning under her clothes, but she kept them on for fear of dying by exposure to the frigid mountain air. Her ruined hand screamed at her, and somehow she ignored it as she forced herself onward, one handhold at a time. Then she was through the hatch. The sounds of chaos and violence still filled the air, though they seemed to have subsided some during her desperate flight. To her immense relief the rooftop was deserted. She slithered behind a ventilation duct that hid her from view of the hatch. A gust of wind bit into her robes. She tried a warming spell, only to learn that slowing the harpy inside really had taken every last drop of her magical reserves. It was then that the pain and fear finally overtook her. Tears blurred her vision, and she shook with pent-up tension as her slight frame was wracked by silent, heaving sobs. She paid it no mind when the mighty sound of the grand skylight''s hefty mechanism grinding to life shook the roof. -¡Â- Tales of Enroth Chapter 03 -¡Â- Aphame grinned ferally as the shriek of some great mechanism met her keen ears. It looked like her sisters had accomplished their task after all. She had begged to be part of the strike force to attack the factory. Intelligence suggested there would be gargoyles defending the structure, and she had wanted nothing more than to test herself in aerial combat against the famed Bracadan constructs. Alas, her incredible strength and endurance saw her added to an ad-hoc sticho with a special purpose. For thousands of wingbeats she had been cursing her weaker sisters for being too frail to bear the terrible weight she and her team currently held aloft. She would set neither claw nor feather inside the massive golem factory. She would cross overtop of it for one brief, keystone moment upon which the success of the entire raid would be balanced. Now that the factory''s grand skylight was open, that moment was fast approaching. She angled herself to begin her laborious descent. -¡Â- Their passage through the streets had been swift. Several times Gannulus had stopped to marshall the scattered Bracadan fighters remaining in an area, banding the survivors together on defensible ground and taking a handful with him to assist at the factory. The few mages he found were posted with groups of gremlins and ordered to remain outdoors until the skies were clear. His own forces, the gremlins and golems of his workshop, marched in tight formation flanking Haart''s footmen. The disciplined, martial Erathians were like a Seal of Authority from King Gavin himself. Gannulus suffered little resistance as he ordered mages who felt nothing but professional disdain for him about like they were collegiate cadets again. For his part, Haart kept to himself as Gannulus barked commands. If a wry smile tickled the corners of his mouth as the mage berated particularly egregious laggards and cowards, it was nearly imperceptible, even to magesight. Strangely, resistance continued to abate as they approached their destination. The gremlins seemed not to notice, and the golems were characteristically impassive. Haart''s footmen, on the other hand, were quick to take note. One voice in particular rose above a conspiratorial whisper. "It''s more Nighon trickery, I say. Something big is about to go down." Haart glared over his shoulder at the source of the voice. Chastened, the man looked at his feet as he marched. "Silence, men. A single piquet in a fortuitous post could blow our element of surprise. I assure you that our man Gannulus would never seek to march us into a trap." I am already one of theirs, it seems. A marvel how quickly the crucible of combat bonds us together. The mage glanced about warily, but even his enhanced senses revealed no hostile presence. He directed his voice backwards, keeping it magically muffled so as not to carry far. "I think you are right, some new phase of their plan begins to unfurl. If we are to disrupt their aims, we must get to the factory to assess where and how the damage will be wrought. It is just ahead. Be wary." One of Haart''s pikes cleared his voice. "I''m just a farmer''s son, so f''rgive my ignorance, but don''t you whizzers ''ave a fair bit stored up inside wot could blow the factory up ''f it was mixed up just right?" Haart looked at the footman incredulously, but Gannulus waved away the nobleman''s concerns. "A valid concern, but perhaps overblown. It would take having a fair bit more alchemical prowess than any harpy I have ever heard of having to create such an explosive in a short period of time, and it would be suicide for any involved without some method of creating a fuze." "Don''t you lot ''ave anyone inside who''d know ''ow?" Gannulus'' blood froze in his veins. Ammie. He thought back to a warm memory, several months ago on a gentle grass training field. He was chiding her gently as she lounged on the soft ground, and she was deflecting his words with characteristically charming self-deprecation. No Gan, her voice windchime-pretty even in exertion, I''m not worried about some errant magical arrow blasting us all to the hells and back. I''m perfectly capable of knocking a tray of electrolysed soda lye into a vat of aqua pura without the assistance of magic. At the time it had been a lovely way to relieve the tension of a frustratingly difficult tutoring session, but in hindsight it was an alarming summation of her vulnerability. The harpies would have no qualms about forcing her to make and detonate their bomb. For all the wonderful things he knew about her, Gannulus also knew she was not the sort of person to stand up to a determined Nighon inquisitor''s ministrations for long. He didn''t know anybody who was. He fought to keep the fear from his voice as he replied to the soldier. "We do. A staff of alchemists are always on shift at the factory, even when the laboratory floor is not in use. They would be expected to participate in the defense of the factory, but as you have seen that doesn''t mean they chose to. If they have been taken captive, with time they could be coerced into acting against their peers and Bracada." The farmer''s son nodded grimly. The implication was clear. Haart clapped a reassuring hand on the mage''s upper arm. "Not if we have anything to say about it, man. Take a team of pikes and archers with you to secure the inside, I''ll wait outside with the balance of our forces to pick off any who -" The charismatic noble was cut off by a ground-shaking noise coming from the factory. Gannulus stilled the outburst of chatter from the Erathians with a raised hand that took all of his focus to keep from trembling. "That is the grand skylight, it covers the factory floor. Surely that means they''ve taken the interior, and they''re opening it up to reinforcements. Come with me. Now." He indicated Haart and a group of the man''s scouts with his head, and they hurried to follow him. They rounded a corner and the cobblestone street opened up into a spacious square dominated by the towering silhouette of the golem factory. Gannulus'' eyes blazed with arcane energy as he scanned the scene with his magesight. Haart saw the man''s features twist with a cascade of warring emotions, from disappointment and rage to plain concern and outright fear. The mage craned his head back to look up into the skies over the factory. His shoulders slumped, and as he fell to his knees the mage uttered a single, pained word. "No." Haart stepped forward to place a hand on the man''s shoulder. "Tell us what you see, by the Light!" Gannulus shrugged him off furiously. "Get inside!" "What are you on about, mage?" "Leave me here and get inside! Take your men and my gremlins and get indoors, now." Haart heard the deadly seriousness of the man''s tone. He saw the harpies spewing forth from the top of the factory. He turned to his men, shrugged. He muttered under his breath. "I suppose discretion is the better part of valour." He made haste back down the empty street to link up with the body of their force. Gannulus entered the aethercasting trance. He knew the danger he faced casting so far and wide, but he had no other choice. He had to warn them. -¡Â- Neela hovered at the shoulder of one of her blue-robed gremlins, directing the aim of his unit at the harpies churning the skies overhead. An experienced Bracadan commander, it cost her very little to cast away from her body and assume control of a golem as it dealt with a descending harpy sticho. Their death cries had not finished ringing in her ears before her consciousness was free of the golem and drifting back to her azure form. On the way there her astral self was accosted by a frantic presence. "Neela, it is Gannulus. There is little time to explain, but the harpies are going to destroy the factory. Get your forces indoors and hunker down, the explosion will be large enough to - I have to go! Keep your head down!" As suddenly as it had appeared the presence was gone, whorling emotional undercurrents still stirring the aether it had touched. -¡Â- Aphame reveled in the rush of cool air over her face and through her feathers. Though she still constantly fought to guide the mine''s damnable weight, their descent meant she no longer had to spend the energy to keep it aloft. She didn''t need to mark the progress of her sisters, she could feel their every movement as the great hunk of metal between them bucked and twisted in the currents of air. They all did their part, but as the lead of her sticho it was her duty to steer the hated contraption to its point of release. Her keen eyes spotted their sisters fleeing through the open skylight even at this great height. She didn''t bother to count their numbers, her orders were clear. Release at 2500 pechus above the factory and make for the rendezvous immediately. No waiting for laggards, no delaying the drop for anyone. Under no circumstances were any of her special sticho to risk capture, even to assist stricken sisters. She eyed the spout of the weather glass around her neck. A second, equally precious gift from their turncoat ally, the glass had been specifically sealed at the same height above ground that her sticho was to drop the mine. A thin column of dyed fluid drooped ever closer to the markline that told her to release her deadly payload. She filled her lungs and squawked a command to her sisters. She felt the mine lurch in her claws as 3 other sets of talons finally relinquished the burden they had been carrying for so long. She gracefully arched her body to coast away from the path of the mine as wind resistance caused the sleek device to fall faster than her feathered form. She flipped about the handle like a gymnast, and suddenly the mine was below her. She did not bother to fight the mine''s weight, simply using the drag she provided as a rudder to ensure it did not drift off-course. The column on the weatherglass sank ever more quickly in its spout. Then the fluid was past the markline. Her talons were so cramped she was nearly unable to release her grasp, but with a determined shriek she prised her claws from the frigid handle one by one. She was filled with a jarring sense of lightness after the marathon feat of her long, arduous flight. She looked down between her talons and noted with satisfaction that the mine was not tumbling, as Lady Lorelei had feared during their preparation for the strike. Their dozens of practice runs with dummy mines had paid off. Her part in the extensively-planned operation played out, she looked ahead and snarled with determination. She still had a lot of flying to do before she met her sisters at the rendezvous. -¡Â- Far below, a badly wounded alchemist lay ensconced in her corner of the rooftop by one of the massive glass plates of the grand skylight. She had been minding her own business, attempting not to freeze to death on the exposed factory roof, when the skylight had peeled back like the petals of some great crystal flower come to bloom. She was trapped in place, but the faint warmth and insulation provided by the glass panel were a welcome improvement over her prior circumstances.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! She grimaced in pain as vitriol chewed the skin beneath her robes, and furtively attempted to enter the combat trance once again. Alas, its pain-dulling hold eluded her stricken mind. She heard Gan''s voice, faraway and dreamlike, and assumed she must be entering a delirium. Not now, Ameliese. You''ve got to stay focused. If you lose your head now you could die up here, it might be hours after they retake the factory before someone thinks to sweep the roof. "Ammie!" The voice seemed a little clearer now, and the battered mage shook her head. "Gan, are you... here?" Her voice croaked out through dry lips, sounding worn and delicate. "I am, and I am not. I am casting Ammie. You need to leave the factory, now! There is not time to explain, y-" "I can''t, Gan. I''m trapped on the roof. I crawled up here to get away from the harpies. What''s going on?" Gannulus'' was quiet for long enough that she began to think it was delirium after all. His voice was harrowingly sombre when he spoke again. "The harpies have stolen a land-mine, Ameliese. I saw them carrying it myself. They... They will drop it in the grand skylight. It will happen any moment now. I... am sorry, Ammie. That was very clever, my love. You could not have known about the mine." The alchemist closed her eyes for a deep breath. She felt a faint trickle of magic returning to her frozen limbs, and began to enter the casting trance. Her astral form looked down at herself. A pathetic bundle of robes, stained with blood and burned by acid, her ruined hand clutched to her like an infant. Tears had frozen on her cheeks. "I think..." She huffed. "I think it''s good to be free of the fear." "What do you mean?" "The whole time, from the moment the sigil appeared in the lab, I''ve been terrified. At first in that blind, desperate, crawling way that consumes your every thought and bends you to its will. Then I was terrified because I knew I had to act, and act in ways I was a stranger to, if I was to have any chance of surviving. I had to... kill... two of them. I was petrified of making the wrong choice and ending up one of their... playthings." She shuddered. "I''m not afraid any more. There are no right choices to make, no consequences for choosing wrong. I''m not happy to die, but I can accept it. I can relax." "It pains me that I could not be there to protect you." "Oh stop Gan, you''re a militia captain. If you''d been born in Erathia you''d be a captain in their armies. You protect people because you can''t help yourself, and you were already doing as much good as you possibly could have." He took a moment to reply. "Well, I can stay with you now. I will not let you perish alone." She turned, eyes alight with concerned frustration. "Damn you Gannulus, you noble fool! You know how dangerous it is to commune with another caster''s astral form. You''ll be scattered to the winds when my soul releases!" "I will be regardless, my love. I warned the rest of the militia of the bomb''s approach, and it cost me dearly. I wanted to check on you with the last of my magic." She looked at him then. Saw the fraying edges, the currents and eddies that danced and spun about him as his spirit unraveled. "Well, that''s both of us then, huh?" He nodded, smiling weakly. She laughed, a hollow sound, and gestured at her crumpled form. "Gods, what a wreck I am." She felt Gan''s astral presence draw near. "You are breathtaking, Ameliese. You wear your wounds gracefully. I would hate to see your opponents." She sneered bitterly. "Hateful creatures. I''d not waste my last moments with you speaking of them." This time his smile contained genuine warmth. "Aye. I do not regret much, facing what lies ahead. I would have liked more time with you." She shrugged. Fighting every instinct that was hammered into her by countless college instructors, she reached out to take his astral hand. Tendrils of loving kindness sprang from their grasping limbs, entwined, spun together and drifted away on the repellent currents generated by their ethereal interaction. A strange sort of contented cold seemed to drift over the affected areas as their swirling forms lost coherence. "That''s not as bad as I thought it might be. I''d have liked that too, Gan. All that time drilling, and training, it would have been nice to steal a few more hours together. It''s not as though the rest of the militia was putting in the work." Gannulus snorted as he allowed more of himself to drift into Ameliese''s faint, flickering form. "That is a horrible sort of vindication, Ammie dear." She grinned playfully. "I know, my love, but it''s all you''ll get. I knew my big, strong militia captain was right, and I wish now I''d fought a little harder to get your voice heard." They had drifted nearly into one another, and the distinction between the two was quickly becoming hazy as their faint remaining energies continued to intermingle. She looked up into his eyes. "Always so intense, that gaze. I am glad it softens for me now. It was hard to maintain eye contact when I met you. I think even then I sensed that you saw me. Thank you for trying to save me tonight, Gannulus. I know not what the next world holds for us, but I hope you''ll remem-" In a kaleidoscopic burst of astral energy, their final conversation came to an abrupt close. -¡Â- Castles across Enroth are guarded by all manner of moats, from the flowing lava of Eofol''s infernal keeps to the impassable mires and stinging vermin of Tatalian fortress-pyramids. It is a rare siege-master indeed who wouldn''t prefer any of those to a grassy field concealing a scatter of land-mines. The force of their blast is enough to fell ogres and demons like wheat before the scythe, and the raging alchemical fire they spew into the air spreads death and destruction to all it can touch. Their metal casing peels outwards into a storm of vicious red-hot slivers to carve its way through the survivors. In the fuel-rich confines of the golem factory the mine''s effect is particularly devastating. Aphame''s aim is nearly perfect, and the device caromes off the edge of a skylight panel frame into the space below. The glass pane crazes with jagged cracks, but holds in place. The mine plows into a gantry running the length of the chamber, and detonates nearly in the centre of the room. The blast wave shatters crystal vats of voracious acids, and the ruined harpy on the laboratory floor is finally granted agonising peace by a sloshing wave of caustic soup. Aqua fortis from a breached acid vat drains into readied cauldrons of mercury whose gremlins will never return to use them. The concoction quickly becomes cloudy as the mercury begins to fulminate. The shrapnel blizzard spreads through the cavernous lab space with dizzying speed, the cloud of deadly shards growing ever more dense as fragments of shattered glass containers and sundered metal tools are caught up and carried along. A sizzling strip of glowing steel punctures a cask of fuel oil, and its contents leak onto an overturned tray of ammonium nitre. A glob of frothing alchemical fire touches the mixture and triggers a large secondary explosion. This new blast tips and ignites the cauldrons of fulminated mercury, adding more energy and shrapnel to the raging hellscape of competing chemical and kinetic forces. A hundred different reactions occurring at once, being stirred and admixed by entropy incarnate, coalesce into one great column of acrid roaring flames that soars skyward. Metal ducts and gantries shriek as they are torn loose and shredded into tangled ruins and coughed out of the grand skylight. Viewed from the outside, the factory shakes on its foundation. It appears to gather itself and then belch a spectacular plume of smoke and burning debris. Panes of the grand skylight are rendered into clouds of fragmenting glass and cast into the air. The battered alchemist trapped underneath, blessedly unaware of her own body''s sensations, is killed instantly when her crumpled form is pierced by a hail of shrapnel. Her remains are atomised by the heat and wind, and borne aloft like the evaporations of some hellish lake. Metal hunks and gobbets of volatile alchemical soup rain upon the streets of Skyreach, and the devastation spreads quickly as blazes spring up across the quiet mountain town. People are struck down by the raining projectiles and maimed by the burning chemicals, and panic seizes the population. It is long past sunrise by the time a remote semblance of order is restored. -¡Â- He drifted through a dark, formless void. He couldn''t remember who he was. Attempts to plumb his memories turned up little more than harried fragments of great violence and fear. He thought he might have been a soldier, but the idea didn''t seem to sit quite right. He was unable to see himself, attempting to turn his eyes downward resulting only in the suggestion of some ethereal mist and the sensation of chasing one''s own tail. Suddenly his perception was seized by something seemingly far off. A growing light in the distance. Though he had no limbs with which to move, he willed himself in the light''s direction. Whether he succeeded, or the light simply came to him, he knew not. Suddenly he saw. He remembered. His soul filled with agony as he cried out against the inexorable approach of the light. He fought futilely, and once more his consciousness was subsumed in some higher process. -¡Â- Gannulus gasped as his awareness filled his physical body again. His whole body ached as though beaten, but nothing felt broken. With a start he opened his eyes and stared into the concerned face of Greem the gremlin. "Sir! Thought you died." "As did I, Greem. What... happened? I remember casting... There was a bomb! The golem factory, is it...?" He hesitated for a moment, unsure that he wanted the answer. The gremlin took it as a prompt to speak. "Destroyed sir, razed. Will take many months to rebuild." His conversation with Ameliese and its sudden end came rushing back to him, and he nearly choked on the bitter sob that welled up in his throat. The gremlin stepped back in alarm. "Sir?" "I... am going to need a moment, Greem." "Yes sir." Tears spattered the cobblestone as the wizard reeled from the shock of his mind knitting itself back together in a world that was undeniably and forever worse than the one it had left. After a long time, the wizard raised his torso from his prostrate position and craned his neck to look through blurred eyes into the mockingly tranquil sky. A desolate howl tore from his throat. "It was supposed to be both of us!" Exhausted, he lowered himself to the stone of the street. He nearly collapsed, and Greem gently propped him up. The gremlin gestured to a companion. "Go find Haart. Tell Haart Gan is awake." The red-robed figure nodded once before darting off around the corner. -¡Â- Haart made his way through the chaos and debris of the cobblestone streets. The little gremlin was just ahead, moving as quickly as it could to lead him to its master. When they finally came across him, the sight was grim. He was propped up with his back against a stone wall, his legs straight out like a wounded infantryman. His eyes were haggard and bloodshot, and he was staring sightlessly at the building across from him. Though he had not a scratch on him, his visible skin was darkened by a uniform bruise from the blast wave emitted by the factory explosion. Haart mused that it was probably the open skylight that saved him, directing much of the force upwards into the sky. Haart cleared his throat, and it took a moment for the man''s gaze to settle on him. The mage''s eyebrows rose in recognition. "You. It is gone, Haart. She... is gone. They blew it up." The big Erathian''s characteristic charm was disctinctly muted for once. "They did. I''m sorry, Gannulus. She isn''t the only one. The explosion rained much devastation on Skyreach." "I thought we were doing so well, Haart. Many gremlins perished, but the harpies bought those lives with their blood." "My friend, sharper minds than ours could not have predicted them dropping a damned land-mine through the factory''s roof. We were doing well, and thanks to your warning a lot of lives were saved." Gannulus lapsed into bleary-eyed confusion for a moment, before returning to lucidity. "The land-mine! I know not how they got their filthy claws on it, but their whole plot revolved around it. This was planned well in advance." "Do you know of anyone with grudge enough against the College to turn traitor?" "I know of more than one small mind with big dreams, whose egos could not handle the realization that they were far from the finest of their peers. I would not have guessed that any of them could damn an entire town in the depths of their spite." "It does not take a cruel man to inflict terrible misery. Only one who is desperate enough to allow their hand to be guided." "Wise words, Erathian. The college will investigate, at any rate. I hope someday the perpetrators of this atrocity will meet their just fate. I know I would like to dispense it." The mage looked down at himself. "Perhaps more violence is not the answer. I... I am unsure what to do next. I will certainly be sacked from my post as militia captain. If I am terribly unlucky I will be arrested. I am not the only captain in Skyreach, but certainly the least popular." "Hells with that, man! You''re one of the finest Bracadan fighters I''ve ever seen. You''re a natural leader, and a clever tactician." "Aye, but a poor academic, and a worse politician. The college has never known what to do with me, and under the circumstances they shall see more use of me as a scapegoat than as a part-time combat instructor." "Damn them, then. Travel with me! I could use another man of magic. Nobody knows you''re alive. From the way you spoke to me before the bomb fell I get the sense that you didn''t think you''d survive either. It''s a clean break." The mage struggled internally. When he replied, his words were halting. "I... they will need me. To rebuild. To marshall those who were..." his voice wavered briefly, "... not lost. I can do some good here while Skyreach recovers, until the investigation is over." Haart sucked on his teeth as he looked furtively at the surrounding devastation, thinking hard. His gaze returned to Gannulus. "Kreegan armies sally forth from the ashes of Eofol. Krewlod and Tatalia skirmish along their entire border in their eagerness to pick the bones of Erathia''s fallen settlements. Even the necromancers of barren Deyja are particularly dour and insular of late. War is coming to Antagrich, Gannulus. The light is going to need leaders, and warriors. You cannot save the world from burning sequestered here in the mountains. Not in a town whose only strategic asset has already been razed. There are a hundred journeyman mages in Bracada who could direct the repairs here with their eyes closed. Come with me, man. Not on bent knee, bowed of head like some sniveling Nighon underlord. Travel with me as equals, and together we shall fight the evil that grows in the far flung corners of Enroth." The mage looked at him, weighing his words and reading his eyes. He glanced at the men flanking their lord. Saw their loyalty, their steely resolve. His expression faltered. "I... I cannot leave my country to this fate. For all our contraptions and war-machines we are a nation of lofty academics. Many will perish when our ivory towers are toppled." "Then take the fight to them. Nighon tunnels secreted the Kreegan hordes across the Erathian border, and their advisers accompany the invasion forces even now. I know not their aim, but their stinking handprints are all over this coming storm. Help me stop them from accomplishing their dark goals." Gannulus looked inwards, weighed his warring emotions against the razor logic of a finely-tuned Bracadan mind. He wanted nothing more than to punish himself with a lifetime of squalid ignominy for allowing his love to be slain, but knew that nothing could be more disrespectful to her memory. He pursed his lips, steeled himself, and turned his face up towards the handsome knight. "I accept, Haart. We shall travel this land together, and prevent as much tragedy as we can." A broad grin split the man''s face, and he held out a hand for his new companion. The mage looked hesitant. "I... do not think that''s a good idea. I cannot move without experiencing some pain or another." The knight frowned. "Well I hate to leave you here, shall I have Cadric fetch a healer?" Gannulus shook his head, winced. "The college will know I yet live then." "If you''re determined to wait, my cleric makes his way here with all haste. Cuthbert will have you back to fighting shape in an instant." "That will do just fine." "In the meanwhile I''ll have my men fashion a litter for you so we can get you indoors. I''d hate for one of your superiors from the college to come across you like this." "I am in no shape to protest. Are my gremlins and golems with your men?" "The gremlins, yes. Your iron golem as well. The stone golem was commandeered by another wizard to assist in the disaster relief." "That is just as well, the stone golem never belonged to me. I would have taken it, given the chance, but it will do much good around here. It will be a long time before they can make more." Haart''s face darkened momentarily. "Aye, Erathia will not be pleased to learn as much. A blow to our allies is a blow to us in times of unrest. I pray the restoration goes smoothly. Wait here, my men will be along shortly." With a practiced flourish, the sturdy man turned on one heel and made his way down the ruined street. -¡Â- The next morning, a procession of Erathian and Bracadan troops made their way to the outskirts of town. They drew attention as they went, but were not stopped. Anyone who might seek to ask questions of them was wholly absorbed in the recovery effort. At the head of the column, a knight rode proudly, head held high. Flanking him were two robed figures. One in plain brown, the other rich crimson. The red-robed figure wore leaden features beneath his thick scarf as the buildings of Skyreach receded into the distance. He had ventured outside the bounds of the town more than once in the course of his studies, but never traveled farther than the Bracadan border. He was gripped by a sense of melancholy as he looked on his home for what might be the last time. With a renewed look of determination the figure turned Northwards, towards Erathia and the rest of Antagrich. Somewhere out there was the vile mind that conceived of the raid that took his Ameliese. He was going to find them.