Prologue
When We Were Gods
War always has a cost. Be it the reason that it started or how it ends. It causes unimaginable fallout which is marked by the orphans that are left behind.
What follows are consequences of those actions.
Amea Esona braced herself as explosions rocked the main medical building of Greenmill, the capital of Warheimr. Her blue Lumintari hair falling out of its tight bun and getting in her eyes. She swept her blue locks out of the way and steadied herself
Amea walked carefully to the doorway of her charge. Inside the small room laying on the medical cot was a large black skinned man, his chest recently bandaged. His left arm barren of any insignia or rank that was the staple of the warlock kingdom, but she knew his name from the reports. He was the sole male heir of House Cloud, last of the Mountainlight clan, Torok Cloud.
He had been returned beaten and broken with his fellow Ascended Warlocks. She grabbed his arm and slung the unconscious Warlock over her shoulder, his large body almost too much for her meager frame to carry.
She slogged down the hallway toward the door as dust and stonework continued to rain from the ceiling of the hospital. A thin blonde haired man greeted her at the large double doors, his red armor glistening with blood and oil.
“This way quickly,” he commanded and led her to a horse drawn cart with several others already cowering inside the covered wagon. She wanted to ask the man his name but she surmised from the dragon insignia on his left hand, blonde hair, and the red armor that he was of House Ignatius of the Firelight clan. He pointed at the floor of the wagon, “Make room,” several people shifted their feet, allowing room for Torok’s comatose body.
“Lay him down and get inside,” the Firelight commanded. Amea sat the Warlock down and carefully slid him into the wagon then climbed in after him. “What’s your name Lumintari?”
Amea cocked her head in the Firelight’s direction, “Amea Esona of the House of Doves, you are?,” she answered.
“Well Lady Esona, I am Grandmaster Alexander Ignatius. I hope your people have a way for you to get home, because it might be a long time before the Lumintari Kingdoms will be able to come back this way,” he explained as he looked around at the devastation of the city. Many of the buildings surrounding the hospital had crumbled or caught fire from the Empire’s bombardment.
“These are my people now,” She moved aside her blue locks to reveal the recent brand of a white dove surrounded by black forest.
Ignatius blinked, then smiled, “Well Attuned Warlock Esona, I charge you with a further task. Protect these people and my brother-in-arms,” he finished by smacking the side of the wagon twice. The driver snapped the reins and it began to cart forward quickly.
Amea leaned out of the wagon, “I will Lord Ignatius, I will keep him safe,” She shouted after him as he disappeared into the flames of another building heading toward the sounds of battle.
She looked around at her companions in the wagon, six elderly women and a young male child who was perhaps seven or eight. He hugged tightly to the bosom of one of the Human women. All of them were dressed in upper class robes of the aristocracy. Nobles, she thought, noncombatants. Probably won’t be any good in a fight.
Amea took stock of her possessions. She wasn’t dressed for a prolonged battle with her cotton pants and thin battle-worn gambeson. On her belt was a long knife, she had lost her bow and quiver during the bombardment when the battle began. So, magic it is, she was an adept in fire and water magic as well as a master of healing magic. Not sure how much good it would do her in protecting these people. At any rate, she would be able to put out fires at the very least.
The wagon moved quickly through the torn up streets and crumbling buildings to the other side of the city. A fire bomb hit next to them and Amea felt the heat nearly engulf them as she threw up her hands and raised a magic barrier instinctively. Her hands burned as the magic energy left her body, she attempted to shake the pain away as the cart bolted forward.
She heard a loud crack and the tall fifteen story building they were passing started to fall on top of them. Out of nowhere a gust of wind blew around them forcing the building to halt its descent while they passed under it. Amea looked around for the source of the wind.
Behind them was a short stocky man with brown hair and a short beard. He was clad in white and gold imperial style armor, his arms outstretched as he pushed as much wind and power into the spell he was casting. The building descended quickly as he let go of the spell.
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“Gods protect you Lord Eurus!” one of the old women shouted after the white and gold Warlock as he took to the sky on a gust of wind. A Wisperlight? Amea thought, how many of the Guardians of War have been recalled? Of the many noble houses of Warheimr there were eight that stood above the rest as the Guardians of War. The Houses Cloud, Ignatius, and Eurus were counted among them. But by far the greatest was House Silverlight, the oldest and most powerful clan of Warlocks. Unfortunately, the disappearance of Arlin Silverlight, the immortal ancestor of House Silverlight; and the subsequent death of Kylin Silverlight had emboldened the Einheart Empire. Now without their demigod king to protect the kingdom of Warheimr, the empire saw this as it’s opportunity to claim it’s neighbor’s land.
As the wagon neared the southern gatehouse the sounds of a battering ram greeted their ears. The gate shattered and four enormous Üna-Vek, or Titans, lumbered through the gate. They were armed with six meter tall tower shields and war scythes. The driver of the wagon attempted to turn the cart as the lumbering four armed giants descended on them.
A great whistling sound deafened Amea. From above them nearly a thousand blue streaks of light bolted through the giants. All of them fell to the ground in a heap of flesh, steel, and wood. Above them hovered a woman clad in purple and teal armor, spectral wings allowing her to hover in the air.
“Go, I will cover your escape,” She shouted down at them as she pulled back her silver bow and let loose a volley of energy arrows in another direction.
“Thank you Lady Moonlight,” shouted the driver as he whipped the horse forward. As the cart exited the city, Amea watched as the capital burned. Hundreds of fire volleys a minute impacted the inner city from her vantage point. She watched as Lady Moonlight launched dozens of arrows at the enemy. The Guardian dodged the fire volleys before taking one to the chest. As the cart entered the nearby forest the red glow of the burning capital cast a pall on the survivors.
Several hours later they arrived in a small village in the forest, several men approached the cart as they came to a slow stop. “Identify yourself!” one of the men said pointing a long spear at the driver.
“Refugees from Greenmill,” the driver explained, “we have an injured Lord Cloud inside.”
The guardsmen blinked, looked at each other, then scrambled to the back of the cart. Two of the larger men opened the back of the wagon and carefully removed Torok from the floor. Amea followed them out, helping set Torok onto a stretcher on the ground. She turned and helped the few survivors out of the wagon, the last of which was the small boy who was still clinging on to the old woman’s robes.
Immediately several of the guards who weren’t occupied helping Torok straightened up and saluted the woman. Amea cocked her head, the old woman didn’t look particularly important but perhaps that was the point. Amea studied the woman’s left hand and spotted what the guards had noticed as well. The sigil of House Silverlight was tattooed across the back of the woman’s palm.
“My Lady Silverlight,” the lead guard said, “we would have escorted you in if we had known you were coming.”
“Never mind that,” Lady Silverlight said waving off the salute, her croaky voice’s matter-a-fact tone brushing aside the guard’s formalness, “Which village is this?”
“Skalhome, Your Grace.”
“Then where is Master Burke, he is the lord of this village is he not?” Lady Silverlight ordered.
“Yes, Your Grace. Right away!” the lead guard accepted and he jogged away to fetch his master. Amea was unaware of her slack jaw, in the face of such female authority. In Amea’s home country the Lady Silverlight would have been rebuked for even talking down to a male authority. Regardless of rank.
Amea quickly straightened her face when the elderly Silverlight’s eyes focused on Amea’s. Her feet shifted as the old woman approached the young Lumintari Warlock. Amea bowed deeply, her eyes fixed on the ground.
“At ease, Lady Esona of the House of Doves,” Lady Silverlight breathed.
Amea rose slowly keeping her eyes firmly downward, “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“You showed bravery and talent during the escape. You even safely guarded my grandchild, Marin,” Lady Silverlight indicated the young boy clutching at her hip, “for that you have my enduring gratitude.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
The elder Silverlight took hold of Amea’s hand, “If you have any compunction to remain here, in lieu of returning to your homeland; know that you will always have shelter under my roof, and a place at my table,” Amea looked up and saw sincerity in Lady Silverlight’s eyes. This woman she had saved had effectively made Amea an adopted member of her household. She knew the gravity of the gift the former queen had given her, it demanded proper etiquette.
Amea went to one knee and bowed her head, “I doubt I am worthy of such honor Your Grace. I can only offer my life and service to your household, till you no longer have need of me or death takes me.”
A pair of soft hands bayed Amea up, and she rose, “I accept your service as it is, and I pledge to ask no service of you that would ever do you dishonor,” the Lady said. The elder Silverlight regarded Amea with a wrinkled smile before turning to address the approaching entourage led by Master Burke. The tall lanky Lord of Skalhome approached with a panting haste as he kneeled to the ground at ten paces. Those behind him knelt with him. Lady Silverlight stepped within whispering distance of the middle-aged blonde lord. She bayed him up with a wave of her hand. He rose, his eyes averted downward.
“How many made it out of Greenmill, Master?” Lady Silverlight.
“It’s still early to be sure, but from our own reports and from neighboring villages, nearly half of the population fled the capital we are still estimating-” A wave of a hand closed the master’s mouth.
“If I wanted excuses I would have asked for them,” Lady Silverlight said waving her hand again allowing the master freedom of speech again, “Now how many made it?”
“Nearly two hundred, including yourselves. The other dozen villages are reporting the same numbers.”
Lady Silverlight looked pensively out across the tents that resided outside the small village, “So few. Arlinstead, my grandson Harwin?”
Master Burke straightened up, “Still unknown to the enemy as far as we know, we can arrange a transport to Arlinstead if you wish to rejoin Lord Silverlight.”
“Yes, prepare your people for evacuation, Master Burke. The battle for Warheimr has been lost. The war for survival is just beginning.”