“It’s a trap,” announced Archil to everyone. The scouts agreed unanimously. “We can assume they left the wagons there with the prisoners still inside to lure us out. Their soldiers must be around somewhere and waiting to ambush us.”
A scout pair stepped up. “We checked the vicinity. Nothing but sand in a radius of 500 metres. Not even footprints, human or animal. As if they vanished from thin air or left long ago.”
“Should we take them with us?”
“We can’t just leave them here.”
The scouts contemplated their options. It was a tough decision to make. On the one hand, it was an obvious trap, but their mission was to save as many as they could from the clutches of the Reiszer.
Archil scratched his chin. Should they abandon them or risk everything? Their numbers were stretched thin, but leaving them went against their morals. Archil was used to taking risks, but this endangered everyone’s life. They couldn’t allow themselves to be too greedy.
“I can’t watch this any longer,” cursed Xander. He slammed his hands on the conjured stone table of the scouts' meeting and avowed, “It’s not just a trap, but an ambush. You didn’t find anyone because they are too far away to be scouted out.”
The scouts shared a look, unable to understand Xander properly. Archil set his eyes on Kiur, motioning him over to them as a mediator to translate for those who didn’t speak the Western tongue.
“When was the last time you were in a war? Do you know nothing about war tactics?” Xander began his inquiry, not missing the chance to sound as condescending as possible. Kiur tried to palliate as best he could, but no one missed the beat in Xander’s voice.
The scouts grumbled at Xander’s insolence. Jeorg shouted, “We are in constant war, you brat! Don’t you know that we have been at war with the Malkuth for the past 800 years!?”
“Not this kind of war,” Xander responded coldly, rolling his eyes. “You have been fighting a desperate siege war for 800 years against monsters. That’s different from actual warfare.”
“Then what about the fact that your country invaded and occupied Navarre 200 years ago?” A human scout from Navarre was now shouting, fuelling the tension even further, struggling not to slug Xander. “Do you want to say that was also not a war?
How your people enslaved our dwarven and therianthrope brothers and sisters? For your information, Jeorg’s family led the resistance to free Navarre from you Helliens!”
“Could we please not?” Jeorg mumbled, not wanting this old topic of his family to be brought up.
“Close but also not,” Xander dismissed it, sweating. He held back on striking another nerve. He forgot how much animosity the people of Navarre held towards his country. “Magna Hellas, what it previously was called, occupied Navarre. It was in decline back then and lost its grasp after the revolts. It doesn’t change the fact it overwhelmed your forces and your Sovereign. Besides,” Xander started, moistening his lips—he desperately needed a drink, though none offered him some.
“I read about the skirmishes between the Reiszer Nations and my home country, the Hellas Kingdom. Ground, naval, and even aerial battles were commonplace. We’ve got a lot of records about them in our libraries. You people from the East are experts in battles with magical creatures and the Malkuth. Though it’s not the same with the guerrilla tactics of the Reiszer or our technological advancement in magic.”
Asking one of the earth magic users to produce a few chess-like pieces, Xander elaborated further on what he knew. The scouts leaned closer to the enigmatic new intel.
“There’s a detection device somewhere near the prisoners. It can notice movements and mana fluctuations in a wide area if it’s powered via magic—which it isn’t without a larger power source, shortening its distance significantly. Do you see how they positioned the wagons?” Xander repositioned the pieces until they formed a perfect circle. Then he put a rook piece right in the middle. “That’s where the device is. If someone enters or leaves the area, the device will alarm them.”
Taken aback, Gallina politely asked. “Can’t we disable it so we can bring our people out?”
“Definitely not,” scoffed Xander. “Its range might be short, but they will definitely notice it and no, don’t even suggest destroying it.”
Gallina lowered her finger slowly and retreated behind her colleague, Jeorg.
“How will they attack?” pondered Archil. “We didn’t see any tracks, and they shouldn’t be able to hide them from us.”
“They’ll use horses,” answered Xander. Some scouts chuckled at how stupid it sounded. Rolling his eyes, Xander pointed his finger at one of the black horses that pulled the wagons. “Hades Draught Horses—also known as Shire. Would one of you oh-so-great scouts lift one of their hooves?”
Irritated by his mockery, Gallina’s feathers stood on all ends and stomped towards the horse. She fell in awe before the tall creature. Its big nostrils, burning eyes, body covered with chitin scales for protection, and fur that looked like fire on its hooves. Hesitantly, she lifted the animal’s hoof. The revelation shocked her—or rather, what she didn’t see.
“T-there are no hoofprints!” Gallina gasped. “WHY ARE THERE NO HOOFPRINTS!?”
The scouts and even the Escapees leaned closer to listen intently. They were both impressed and shocked to know such horses existed, though only Cylia remained unfaced since she grew up near horses as a slave. They were nicer than the other Reiszer.
“They often used this kind in the west for reconnaissance and ambush attacks. Some types can even fly or run on water. The Reiszer likely planned to come charge at us the second we set off the alarm. They likely know you won’t leave your people behind and will use your softness against you.” Xander paused and whispered, “As Hellas did…”
“You can’t be serious,” Jeorg pulled on his beard nervously. “Is there no way to go around it? Surely there must be something.”
“Not that I know about,” said Xander. “You either abandon the prisoners or are prepared to deflect the ambush. Since we are at a clear disadvantage, I say it’s not in our favour to fight.”
One of the therianthropes walked up to Xander and snarled at him, “Are you suggesting we should leave them behind at the mercy of the Reiszer?”
“Y-” Kiur placed a hand on Xander’s shoulder, followed by Cylia. Suggesting that he stopped talking.
“I know what you want to suggest, but don’t say it,” Kiur motioned to Xander to look at them and not just talk. He saw angry scouts and distraught escapees. Xander swallowed his words, unable to formulate an alternative.
“You are right,” Archil expressed calmly. “We might have an advantage in the desert, but not this time. The stakes are too high.”
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“You can’t suggest leaving them behind, can you?” The scouts protested when they heard Archil’s reluctance to save them. “We cannot just leave without them.”
“We won't,” snarled Archil and cracked his fingers. “Split the groups and head with the rescued southeast towards the Achernar. We’ll catch up with you when we succeed.”
And that was it. Archil would lead the rescue mission with a handful of scouts, while everyone else would continue their way back to Navarre.
Considering the circumstance, it was the most sensible plan to try and save as many as they possibly could. That was what they did. That was what the scouts and Archil did daily. It didn’t sit right with Kiur to be separated from his brother so soon. “Be safe, little brother.” Archil hunched down and hugged his brother one last time. “I’ll see you at home.”
—☽—
It didn’t sit right with Kiur at all.
“I’m surprised that you intend to stay,” commented Cylia when Xander volunteered to help. “I took you for someone who would do everything to get out of danger, no matter what.”
“You’re not wrong,” admitted Xander soberly. He was not in the mood for jokes or banter. “They asked me to stay in case they encountered something unpredictable. Navarriens asking a Wizard from Hellas for help. If I told this in the academy, they would never believe it. I guess it’s true what they say about Easterners. They’re all a bunch of soft-hearted idiots.”
“They really are. Not like us, but I like that. Good luck… and get home safely.” Cylia bumped her fist at Xander’s chest, who coughed from the hit but returned the gesture—though instead, on her shoulder.
“I hope to never see you again, but good luck to you too.” His eyes then turned to Kiur, who silently stared after his brother. He hadn’t said a single word of goodbye to him. “Hey buddy,” Xander approached him, “I know we haven’t known each other for long, but thanks for sticking with me.”
A blank stare followed Kiur as Xander bumped his fist on Kiur’s shoulder and waved him goodbye. It maybe was the last time Kiur would interact with Xander, but he couldn’t bring himself to say a single word—not even to his brother.
Kiur felt like his emotions shut off, and his body moved on autopilot. Their caravan departed further and further from their spot. Kiur would look back and wonder why he did all this. Why he felt so conflicted in saying something—anything.
“I don’t want to leave things unresolved. I have so much left to say.” Kiur suddenly witnessed his vision contorted. “There it is again.” His delusion returned and became the front woman of the scene.
Kiur saw the outlines of another shadow standing before his delusion. They conversed with one another, but the other delusion moved away while Kiur’s remained still. She clutched the dark outlines of her clothes as the frustration seeped out of her.
An array of emotions transmitted into Kiur’s heart, making him relive what his delusion felt. It felt like a premonition or a vision of the past, Kiur couldn’t tell. He observed how two other familiar figures appeared and placed a gentle yet firm hand on his delusion’s shoulder as she wept, but the pain in their hearts intensified. “No, I can’t do this.”
The world stopped turning for Kiur, his eyes locked on the back of the girl who was barely older than him. She was sharing his emotions with him, but there was one emotion he didn’t feel for a long time—or rather, he never saw it in his delusion before.
He felt a sense of confidence and determination from her as she brushed off the hands of the adults that held her in place, running to reach the person before they were gone forever.
The vision ended, and all that Kiur could see was where he needed to run as well.
“Kiur, what’s wrong?” Cylia walked up before him. “Why did you stop? The caravan is moving.”
“I know,” Kiur cried tears of confidence, “but there’s something I need to say.”
Bolting away as well, Kiur ran down the dunes. Clumsily, he was losing his balance, swaying back and forth in his sprint before beginning to glide his way down the dune, moving forward as his delusion did.
“I can’t do this, not like last time.”
Kiur wiped away the tears. He was running to the place where the action was unfolding, though he stopped before the billowing sandstorm.
Archil formed a protective dome by summoning a gale and gathering with it dust and sand. Kiur heard a strange hissing sound that sounded like singing in the sky. It drew dangerously close. Projectiles came crashing down and exploded on the rotating dome of sand and wind.
“Watch out!” Cylia tackled Kiur to the ground. Ricocheted projectiles whizzed past their heads. They erupted left and right, covering them deeply in sand and gravel from where the missiles blasted through. “What was that?” yelled Kiur against the ringing in his ears.
“Atgeir: Hewing Magic Strikes,” answered Cylia, wiping the sand off her face and ears—her tangled mess of hair bristled with grains. “I’ve only heard about them, but have never seen one up close. My mother told me when you hear singing in the sky, drop everything and cover your head, waiting out the worst.”
Just when she said that, they heard another singing-like sound humming their way.
They covered their heads. Another strike exploded much closer to their position. Next came the thundering of hooves filling the air. Reiszer forces drew closer and closer, rumbling and shaking the earth to its very core with their violent advance.
Pressing their bodies harder on the ground, the two of them tried to conceal themselves, but couldn’t help but shake when the neighing and shouting drew closer.
Cylia tried to hold Kiur’s body in place. Both of them shook from fear. When Kiur saw his brother create three sets of sandstorms, he feared what would happen next. He held on to Cylia tighter.
“Don’t let go,” yelled Kiur against the cacophony. Cylia dug her broken nails into his skin.
Archil combined all three storms into one massive cyclone towering above the desert. The soldiers stopped as they saw the heavens descending upon them, swallowing them whole.
Kiur and Cylia got caught in the blast. Thrown through the sky, they prayed hard and didn’t let go until they landed right in the proximity of the scouts.
“What in Hades’ name was that wind monster!?” They heard Xander’s clear shouting. “Not even some of the most advanced mages in our academy can perform magic of this magnitude and speed without a chant!”
“That’s the difference between wizards from Hellas and mages from the East,” Jeorg and Gallina laughed before Archil reprimanded them.
“It’s not over yet,” reminded Archil. “Take your position and-” he stopped mid-sentence when Xander suddenly tripped over Cylia’s sand-covered body, revealing her and Kiur to the rest.
“What are you doing here?!” yelled Xander, pointing his finger at Cylia. She kicked his shin for stepping on her by accident. “Why are you here and not in the caravan?”
“I came back,” said Kiur, trying to help Cylia up. “I didn’t want to leave on this note and want to help-”
“Kiur, you moron!” Archil was shouting, his voice snarling like an animal as he grabbed his brother by the shawl. “Do you have any idea of what you returned to? You have no control over your magic and should head back home where it’s safe-”
“I don’t care about being safe!” Kiur pushed his brother back. “I won’t leave on such a bad note. Let me help, please! I don’t want to repeat the same mistakes I did three years ago-”
“Stop being selfish!” Archil lifted Kiur up, ready to toss him back to the caravan. “Return to the caravan while you can, or Enlil, Shamash and all the other gods help me, I’ll-”
“I don’t care!” Kiur’s shout broke the ground underneath Archil. He let go of Kiur and jumped back. “I’ll be selfish and won’t leave like this. You can’t stop me!”
“Kiur, you,” Archil held back a guttural growl. He never saw his brother so defying, so rebellious. It irritated him to no end. Kiur was no soldier. If he was, Archil would have court-martialled him were he not his little brother and if Archil didn’t worry him.
Archil dismissed the topic when he felt a tingle in the air. His ears pointed out of his hair. His instincts kicked in from the encroaching danger. It came from the wall of dust where his attack wiped out the Reiszer cavalry, but that was a miscalculation on his part.
The dust cloud parted as a flashing crimson crescent cut its way to them. It aimed right at Kiur and his friends. Archil drew his sword to block it—it was too fast to redirect. The blade’s steel was too weak to handle the force and shattered, cutting into Archil’s shoulder.
With a loud cry, Archil was flung back into one of the dunes, bleeding profoundly from his laceration.
“Archil!” Kiur yelled after his brother. He wanted to run towards him but stopped because of the sheer intensity that pressured the air around them.
He heard the humming of a woman, seeping with a cold and calculated bloodlust that couldn’t even rival Hessian’s. Her face was masked in the snarling visage of a fox. She raised her arms. “Reiszer, emerge and attack,” she announced.
The sand underneath them fell back. More than two dozen Reiszer emerged from below Kiur and the scouts. Surrounding their targets from every direction.
“Long time no see, Ki-ur,” laughed Hessian, his sword’s steel glinted between the sun’s rays. “Ready for round four?”