> Land lives on the ridge,

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> Ocean falls in the valley,

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> Beware the edge, lest ye slip,

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> For it's turtle all the way down.

>

> - The Book of Ygdothax

It’s cold. Last night was the final night of Nearrise, and now we are entering the season of Rise. The battles will end soon enough, only to resume come Nearfall when the days begin to lengthen and the temperature begins to rise once again. Thankfully our thick woolen gambesons and heavy leather accouterments cut most of the early season chill. It almost makes the heat of Fall worth it. Almost.

My 100 person cadre has just one battle left to fight before I can return home to my family. We are waiting here, in the frigid mud for the passage of a target identified by alliance spies: an archmage from the sorcerous races. Killing this demon will give us the final blow, a retreating kick in the teeth this oscillation to those who dare invade our scute.

The scouts have returned and I’m standing near enough to the Ritter assigned to lead this expedition for the movement to interrupt my idle thoughts. I can do nothing but listen in as the scouts give their report.

“Sir! The convoy is approaching our position as predicted. They will be within sight line of the forward concealed positions within a few intervals.”

“Is there any indication of notice? Have the guards started preparing weapons?”

“No Sir! they appear at rest and jovial.”

“Were you able to identify the target? Mayhap some other personnel?”

“Sir! We identified a woman with silver hair looking out of the window of the rear carriage matching the description of the target. The scouts also identified 2 voices from the front carriage.”

“Return to camp to rest. Thank you for the report.”

Finally, things are starting to move. I almost look forward to the contact with the enemy if just to end my boredom. This is my 3rd conflict cycle so I stamp down on these feelings with prejudice. The army may be long stretches of boredom with brief periods of excitement, but the end is always somebody’s tragedy. We’ve had great luck this year and my cohort has only lost a few people, none of which were my section-mates. I replace the hole in my heart where excitement briefly lived with hope that we will return to headquarters remaining whole. After all, I have promised to introduce Heinrich to my one and only, beloved daughter Isolde. He is a good man.

My thoughts are interrupted once more by the sound of iron-sheathed wheels striking the ground growing audible. A chorus of sharp breaths and hushed exclamations leave my cadre as we wait in ambush. Stationed near our commander, I stand near the middle of the encirclement facing Headwise towards the path generously called a road. The devil herself, hidden behind the walls of a carriage, rounds the bend along with 50 enslaved human foot soldiers acting as guards. This is our scute. The temerity of the sorcerous races to seek rule over us. To invade us. We will overcome them.

Deeper into our jaws they come when one of the fodder notices something amiss and alerts the rest of their guard. Ritter Marcus notices this, my arms tighten around my short spear and shield as he audibly inhales. A pregnant moment passes before the order is shouted, “Archers! FIRE!” The creak of longbows bending further interrupts the silence but the twang of release truly ends it, and so the battle begins.

As I pull myself out of the hastily dug trench that hid us, I see the arrows loosened by the archers strike the guards felling at least 10 of them and wounding double the number. It was an effective strike. The guards who noticed the ambush did not communicate it in time and suffered for their torpor. The wounded form around the carriages while our archers retrieve new arrows. The unharmed ready their shields and create another concentric ring closely around the wounded and the carriages. I grit my teeth. These guards have been well drilled by their abominable masters. This

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battle will be difficult.

The second volley of arrows is unleashed only striking some of the wounded. The rest are deflected by the shields of the now alert guarding element.

The carriage doors open.

Ritter Marcus yells out his next orders.

We charge towards the carriages.

The passengers of the carriages step out surrounded by their guards.

We meet the guarding element with spears and shields.

The man shaped thing from the first carriage faces towards my section. His pointy ears indicate he is a devil of one of the sorcerous races. My heart drops finding out that we have to deal with more than one of them. No wonder the mundane guards were so few. We will take losses.

In my distraction, a guard manages to slip past my spear and slice into my arm with his sword. Pain shoots through me but quickly stops as the bleeding starts. The lucky guard finds his fortune has run dry as he over-committed to the attack and is quickly impaled by Heinrich who has been standing by my side. I try to lift my shield but find that I can’t. I call for Thorne to take my place from behind as my lame shield-arm will put the rest of the section in danger.

While falling back, the first spell is becoming visible. A ball of arcane fire is forming in the hand of the devil facing my section. The spell completes and the ball explodes towards my section, only for one of the wounded guards to stumble in its way. The fire explodes turning the man into an instant pyre, blinding and deafening everyone around. In his daze, the devil fails to react in time to the arrow racing towards him. It finds a loving embrace in his chest, fatally wounding him.

I want to snicker at their misfortune but to do so would interrupt my panting which is nearing hyperventilation. I need to continue my retreat and staunch the bleeding from my wound.

I find my way back towards the trenches and lean against one of the walls. From an abandoned supply bag, I retrieve a strip of linen and tie off my wound. The bleeding stops, thank the progenitor, but the pain returns 10 fold. Rummaging further through the supplies I find a medicinal poultice for wounds. My teeth grind as I remove my hasty bandage, apply the poultice, and then re-apply the bandage. It was worth it as soon the pain fades. I close my eyes as the ringing in my ears intensifies. The world turns white.

I open my eyes once again and look out across to the road turned battlefield. The other sections facing the guards and sorcerous demons are not faring as well. The smell of blood, iron, and burnt man now permeates the small valley. The clashing of iron punctuates the shouts and screams of the combatants. The adrenaline of battle leaves me and the cold returns even worse than in the morning. I can’t stop shivering.

Ritter Marcus is favoring his left side as he faces off against the target of our ire. Her silver hair and pointed ears confirm that our intelligence was correct. Her eyes glow deadly green as in one hand she forms spell after spell which the Ritter takes on his enchanted shield. As a knight, he is the only one with equipment and training to battle as such. The long curved sword she wields in her other hand dances with the Ritter’s straight blade.

On the other end of the caravan, several sections face off against the last minor demon. The sections have been nearly annihilated but her guards are all wounded or dead and the magic she is calling upon is taking longer and longer to form. The ground around her is covered in the corpses of both sides. An arrow flies at her true. She steps aside to avoid the projectile and looks up the sides of the road, identifying our concealed archery contingent. Her eyes suddenly flash with arcane energy glowing sickly green. the fireball forming in her hands grows much brighter. The spell is let loose, almost appearing to stretch and connect the devil and our now exposed archers at the same time.

The screams echo through the valley as the hidden archers stumble away from their positions or fall out of their trees on fire. The flash of fire from the overcharged spell ignites their thin clothing killing far more of them as they do not wear the protective equipment of the front line soldiers. The devil suffers a similar fate as she collapses to her knees exhausted. One of our soldiers is able to approach and ends her with a spear. The soldier looks up at me and I see an weary Heinrich, still alive. I shake my head, exasperated, as he gives me a thumbs up and grins briefly. This man.

Turning my eyes towards the Ritter, I see the archmage’s lightning bypass the Ritter’s shield, striking him, while at the same time he manages to pierce the stomach of the demon with his sword. As the Ritter falls to the ground, the soldiers of my cadre still combat fit surround the archmage as one drags the Ritter away back towards me. The demon looks around and fear flashes across her face. Her eyes begin to glow sickly green once more as she readies a spell.

The soldiers know they must end her now and move to attack. While she parries a spear with her sword, another manages to spear her through the chest again. The spell begins to unravel as her concentration fails. Her eyes begin to turn black and the power around her becomes palpable. The veins originating from those now previously green eyes spider out in black. The soldiers beat a hasty retreat but it’s too late. My heart stops with fear. I’ve never been this close to a rift opening.

The dangers of magic manifest, a greater evil is pulling itself into reality through the failure of the archmage. I duck under the lip of the trench as a deafening tearing sound rings out. At the same time a great pillar of green light lashes out dyeing everything in that color.

Pain, from crown to toe. Ever nerve, muscle, and cell is both frozen and incinerated at the same time. An instant later, I black out.