In the late afternoon, the noises of bustling soldiers radiated through the camp as shift change took place. The first night shift assumed their duties. Each shift consisted of six hours: a shift of fortifications, a second spent for training and drilling and preparing for the next day, and two for sleep, this way each soldier worked and honed their battle skills. Judas sat in his tent, a small wood table held his books, parchment, and ink. A mug of coffee sat idle, steaming. An expensive and recent import from the Forgotten Isles, and a new favorite. He was sure that other locations grew beans, but none as near as the Isles.
He took the warm mug in his hand, leeching the chill from his fingers. The change of season was a few days away, marking six months since he had last seen his apprentice. The warlock heeded the fairy’s edict and did his best to stay away, to not pursue her. Some days the command seemed easy to follow, busy with fortifications. Other days, he obsessed over his mistakes. It was hard not to wonder where she went, if she remained healthy and happy. He raised the mug to his lips and sipped, feeling the hot coffee cascade down his throat. In quiet moments like these, he thought of Julie the most.
A faint whisper of an aura called out to him, strange and distinct, but vaguely familiar. His brow frowned.
Did I just feel that or is my imagination running wild?
He sensed it again, faint, as if a great distance separated him from Julie, but unmistakable. Something or someone startled her.
Scared?
Judas reached out to where he perceived the sensation, but could not find her.
Goblin Forest? he pondered before shaking his head. Impossible, what would she be doing there? I must have imagined the whole thing.
The aura brushed him again, briefly. She seemed skittish, startled. When he honed in on her location, she disappeared.
What the Underworld is going on?
Almost immediately he noticed her again, this time, much closer.
Jackal and Shades! She’s teleporting! Where did she learn that?
Her essence gleamed, effulgent, a light drowning out a shadow. He smiled.
Thank the gods you are alive.
Relief washed over him as he appreciated her from afar. He did not reach out to her, but his presence hovered near hers, basking in her radiance. As sudden as snuffing out a candle, she became terrified. He sensed the frantic nature of her emotions and just as he reached out to assure her, she vanished, moved.
She reappeared a moment later, clear on the other side of the realm and even closer to his relative position. With a gentle touch, he caressed her aura, her essence blossoming like a supernova. White and hot, the anger rolled off her. She blazed with fury, an ardent beacon. This time, he did reach out to her to console her, a brief, delicate touch to let her know he thought of her. At first, she didn’t seem to notice his touch, but a subtle shift made her aware of him. She neither accepted his gentle caress or shied away; she let it be, like meeting the eyes of a friend-turned-stranger, unsure of how to react. Then, she withdrew, her essence shrinking and diminishing to where Judas had trouble detecting her. But he searched and found her, aglitter though well dampened.
Julie teleported again and came out in the Melodic Mountains.
What are you doing there? he wondered. Is that where the fairies are keeping you, or is it something else? He couldn’t deny her power or her level of mastery. She was quantum leaps ahead of where she had been when she left, but she still lacked control of her emotions which would hinder her abilities.
When Julie left him, she was torn, broken, and their estrangement never resolved. The gods only knew the full reality of the horrors she faced. Where had she been? How did she gain such attainment? The warlock realized the fairies could teach her some magic, but it didn’t seem quite right.
What have you done? What unlocked your mastery?
A stray thought entered his mind, and he brushed the idea off as ludicrous, but the speculation festered. He shook his head in doubt, yet the persistence remained.
Have you found Fife’s old home, Julie? Is that where you went? What secrets hide among his ruins? What did you learn? Are Fife’s teachings helping you, as if he is teaching you from the grave?
He didn’t know, but he wanted to find out. Next chance he got to slip away from this war, he planned to make the journey, regardless of the fairies’ warning.
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Chapter 72
The changing of the seasons went unnoticed by the soldiers. The gathering of wizards and men-at-arms shifted from eager, to bored, then restless and nervous. Each day they turned agitation and aggression to fortifying the small town. The walls climbed steadily higher and thicker. Painted, sculpted, or chiseled runes embellished raised stone. Trebuchets were modified—smaller versions were erected atop the new wall while larger, modern trebuchets lay within the grounds of the castle walls. Battlements boasted slits for archers, narrow gaps from which they could fire upon the hordes below. Massive enclosed towers anchored the corners of the wall while several smaller towers littered the space between, each open to the elements, sparing materials for other defenses.
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The original decorative wall now towered forty feet high, and the spires of towers built along the curtain wall achieved greater heights. When Judas deemed the walls high enough, they started adding layers of width on the insides. With each new layer, he, along with other battlemages, placed runes and spells upon the rock, fortifying against the onslaught of arrows, fire, and impacts of siege engines they were sure to encounter. The moons slid through their rotations in a seamless fashion, what felt like a breakneck pace. The season changed, and Praema shifted in the sky, no longer rising with Apor but more perpendicular.
The colder months are on us now.
Because of the uniqueness of the twin suns and their courses through the heavens, Ermaeyth lacked polar icecaps. While it was true it grew colder to the further east or west one traveled, and lands abroad were laden with snow, the shifting sun kept Ermaeyth warm enough to deter any major icecaps from forming. During the colder months, nowhere escaped the winter, though some areas suffered more than others.
Though grateful for the delayed entrance of Xilor and his legion, Judas was troubled by the lack of visible force. Thus far, all their preparations seemed to go unnoticed, though he couldn’t say that with certainty. With a massive army, Xilor had to come through the Corridor. Doubt clawed the warlock’s insides, wondering what kept the malevolent tyrant at bay. Nearly half a year went by since the attack of Wizard’s Pass and the capture of the elyves in Shadow City. Yet, their enemy did not stir. It unnerved Judas that Xilor didn’t move in a swift and predictable manner. For a brief moment, and not for the first time, the veteran worried that the Dark Lord went the long way around the abyss and sailed up the east coast to take Golden City before marching west to Ralloc. He dismissed this idea despite Xilor having yet arrived.
What in the Shades of the Underworld is he doing?
His reverie shattered as a distant rumble reached his ears, not that of lightning of far-flung clouds leagues away, but of hundreds or thousands of feet marching. The sound carried the forewarning long before he spied them pouring out of the Corridor of Cruelty.
He used magic to project his voice throughout the city. “STAND TO!”
Pandemonium broke as the guards on the wall clattered in their mail and boiled leather, peering through the quickening darkness. In the camp, sleeping soldiers scrambled from their tents half dressed. Shouts and orders peeled through the ranks of enlisted men as master serjynts overlooked formations led by serjynts—the backbone of the Grand Royal Army. Men-at-arms and scabs alike threw mail over their boiled leather, cinching boots, and strapping on their specified weapons of swords, bows, axes, and long spears.
The last of the failing light bled from the south; the sun raced below the horizon. In the creeping night, trolls and goblins marched under a cloud of darkness.
“No matter how many of them or how few,” Judas shouted as loud as he could, “do not engage them in hand to hand combat. Though undoubtedly you are all well-trained with the sword and spear, use your magic as best as you can, for as long as you can. They cannot repel a magical assault.”
“How did it come to this?” a frightened voice asked at Judas’s shoulder. The warlock jerked his head, observing a dumbfounded Dathyr. Judas hadn’t noticed the former consul clambering up the stairs.
“It happened while you were too busy slandering me and running Ralloc into the ground,” Judas chided him.
His words stung the heart of the younger. Kayis shut his eyes, trying to hide the mist forming in his eyes. “I am sorry I doubted you, master.” Judas hid his surprise. The elder reached out with his magical essence and brushed up against Kayis’, noting his sincerity and something stronger.
Shame.
Judas changed the subject so Kayis wouldn’t feel embarrassed. “Don’t be sorry yet. Xilor still hasn’t shown himself. Probably preoccupied, or he wants to get our hopes up.”
As if on cue, the advancing legion came to a halt. Thunder bellowed, and lightning flickered from the sky above, fracturing the quiet. An arching bolt came crashing down between the goblins and the wall. Smoke curled from the obliterated earth, and Xilor emerged.
Shades, I spoke too soon.
Terror swept through the ranks, gasps of shock, awe, and horror turned into murmurs and panicked conversation. Judas quickly turned to them to rally their courage.
“Look at me,” he called boldly, ensnaring their attention, hoping they would forget their fear. “I stand here unafraid. I said all along that he would return. Some believed and others did not, but it doesn’t matter now! You’ve seen him with your own eyes, and I am still here, standing with you, beside you, and will lead you. He was defeated before and will be again. Even with his dark magic, he cannot stand against this army; he is not powerful enough, and never will be. Your fear and despair will only feed him, making him more powerful. Stand and fight, do not sway to the whims of the darkness before you.”
“You have a way of saying what is needed, Master Lakayre,” Dathyr said quietly, still shell-shocked. His eyes were glazed, like ghosts haunting his vision.
“Well, hopefully, it worked. Master? Now, that is a title I haven’t heard from you in a long time.”
“I was wrong, Master Lakayre…” Dathyr started, his voice was soft. “My father and grandsire …”
“All is forgiven, pupil. Never think that I was angry with the decision you faced; it wasn’t an easy one,” Judas encouraged. He turned his attention back to Xilor’s army.
“Yes, master, but that still doesn’t make it right.”
“No, it doesn’t, but if it’s right in your heart, and you are truly sorry for things you have said and done, then all is forgiven.” Judas brushed Dathyr’s essence again, the sincerity evident.
Xilor’s amplified voice carried on the mystic wind. “Surrender now or the souls the Underworld claims tonight are on you.”
Judas opened his mouth to counter, but earsplitting roars ripped through the sky. The sound of giant swooping wings filled the air. The soldiers searched the sky, shifting, quaking in fear. Dragons filled the air, rushing through the cloud of darkness hovering over Xilor’s numbers. Upon their backs, the xicx rode them.
So that’s why he took so long! He went to parlay with the dragons!
They swooped down on cowering prey, smiting them with fire, razing them with teeth. Men, burning alive, ran screaming. The Grand Royal Army abandoned their formations, fleeing for their lives. It seemed to Judas that now, as he was taking cover from the creatures of the air, no one would be able to stand against the onslaught. Xilor had brought in an element that none could stand against. The dragons would overrun all who opposed. No wall was high enough; no building was safe. He had to think of a way to repel the beasts.
He only hoped he could do it in time to save the men below.