For the past three years, the same dream that starts as a nightmare and shifts into a constant echo of memories from less than a century ago, a few decades before the birth of Amiriniel. Each night she twists and turns tries to escape at first, back to the waking world as she recalls the clammy tremors she felt while treading under the shadows of the Woodland. Not alone, a fact which made it neither worse or even better as she knew in her bones that the lord of that parcel was beyond a would-be chosen and her entourage of legionariir.
Mirdbruil still remembers the fear which she pushed into the deepest recesses of her mind. Still hears the breaking of twigs, the rustling of gaunt branches bereft of foliage, casting wicked shadows upon the snow in the hollow and pallid light of the Lunarius. She still hears the distorted whispers of tortured souls, their yelling muffled by wind and cold, unseen hands – and the trembling of earth beneath the children of the White Terror stalking and ruling the parcel.
Yet they never revealed themselves, kept their distance, waiting for the right moment to strike. Her right hand, a young demikin faun with white fur believed that they were in cohorts with the Host, who probably sent another of their warbands from one of the hidden paths beneath their feet. He said “I hear them beneath our feet. They shall strike when we are asleep!” The words of a madmen she thought. It was only a few months before that a regiment of the 19th Legion clashed with a warband led by a vampyr capable of altering his own form into a more horrific one, she heard from her old friend Aelfsigior.
“If that is the case, why didn’t they slit our throats, gorged on our bellies the night before, and before that!” Mirdbruil whispered each night these words as she relieved the memory in Oneiron, though devoid of the anger beget of her tiredness as she found no sleep in those rancorous glooms as she felt the stench of his children, the Waendiirnus. Nekrossus made from the corpses of fae and their servants in the wood reshaped into a horrific, bony silhouette of opaque epidermis of a corpse halted in the first stage of decay draped over large, bony silhouettes with elongated heads, a tortured visage with a wide mouth filled with crooked teeth and sinister anglers. that scraped against the gnarled bark of the trees, marking their presence to their prey.
A wicked gesture that at first filled her mind with anger. How dared they had the audacity to try to instill fear in the great Her, a soon-to-be chosen of the Gray Monarch she thought for the first two weeks in their treading the accursed parcel. But the more hours passed, the more this anger slowly shifted into terror Mirdbruil felt centuries before, when the House of Dusk’s prominent members visited Pyrghos and aided the revolting slaves in their escape. The tricks of these beasts of Dusk awakened these feelings once more, nevertheless she remained stoic on the outside – the group she requested from Gnaeuth needed this from her as they too slowly lost their bravery.
Then at last after nearly four weeks of traversing the pathless road, bereft of sleep and rest the wandiirnus attacked the group on thickest segment where the Lunarius’s light could not penetrate the bony branches. A long and arduous battle unfolded as she had a hard time slowing their charging, her troops had little power even with their enchanted panoply and their blades barely made dents in the pallid skin of the beasts of dusk.
Even though the beasts movement were slowed by her time spells, the exhaustion of their group amounted so much that many of her vanguard fell to the sharpened claws coming with a pace close to a snail’s. A scenery unfolded before her which she found strangely comic but also terrifying as the tired legionariir’s shrieks reverberated through the parcel for hours.
So much so that even in that situation, she ordered retreat further towards the foot of Dhaugruz. The last scream echoed two hours into their slow retreat. At the clearing they all collapsed from the exhaustion, and desire for life vanished at once as she struggled even to keep her eyes open, knowing that closing them won’t mean an escape from reality. She would have just veiled her sight in darkness.
During those long moments, feeling the tremors of the nekrossus catching up to them, she pondered whether the choice was right or should it have been better to stay in Pyrghos, continuing her research on long range teleportation, on the creation of enchantments that could be graven into the body, halting the indomitable march of time, something that was against the tenets of her Deos. Maybe he sent him here to atone for such thoughts, ambitions and pay with her life for such heresy. A notion which seemed factual when the Gray Monarch stood before her, his layered regal cloak standing out in the blinding, deathly pungent snow.
Yet even as she reached this conclusion, she found no hatred for her divine liege, but understanding and acceptance for her iniquities, and lifted her arms up, smiled weakly as the cold draught of finality brushed through the dense, raven locks of her cascading hair, tousling them as the rancorous howls and caustic breath of the beast neared towards from the shadows of the trees. Her small regiment all laid in the snow like corpses, except in their eyes a joy beget of the nearing end teemed with a cold light.
But as she learned in that moment, she was wrong on her assumptions as the Gray Monarch vanished in a blink of her eyes; his Solemn Mistress remained far in realms beyond mortal life. And the metallic shriek of a blade pulled from its sheet, the wrestling of overlapping plates awakened hope in her and all of them who accepted the cold embrace of dusk and death. Though instead of turning and thanking their saviors mowing the wicked beasts, she collapsed into the soft embrace of the snow and looked at the stalwart, dashing figure whose dark mane escaped from the tyrannical confines of his helmet.
As the last of the White Terror’s children fell, he turned around and she felt nostalgic, to the day she first glanced those very same golden eyes, but now shimmering like the Illius. “Careful. Your leg is wet and frozen.” He said in his soothing, almost melodious voice fit for a kind king and for the first time felt a desire far from ambition, but one of a fisherman or hunter towards the man whom she was destined, forced to meet with forces beyond her understanding – at the time. She finally met with Ulrich whom captured her heart with a single glance.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
**
Not far from the grayish blue walls of Vonschneithar, on the steep land three large granite pieces of a pure blackness towered, bathed Sigi sitting in a meditative pose whilst Priernuss leaned against the largest of slabs. A former meeting ground for a circle of druids who settled in the times before the Legion settled here, in the times when the Vesgeriath Woodland’s reach stretched further south. Though with time, the druids like fruits, vegetables and flora withered, spoiled by the etheric settlers who became lords of the woodland.
Namely their devotion, alignment towards nature and Selvinia shifted to the Black Goat with a Thousand Young who claimed these lands, parcel before the legion came and conquered. Under their blades, spears and spells the nightmarish children of hers, and the former druids fell claimed by the curse. Allegedly, their rotting forms still flock to her new palace deep eastwards. And here, now the only remnant of their presence that remains is the three black granite slabs graven with symbols ravaged by the passage of time.
“At least let me put my robe under my ass! I can’t focus like this.” He asked tensing his throat and opening his gifted eye, staring at Priernuss who himself seemed to be in a trance. The cold already penetrated through his thick breeches and broke through his tendon and skin, spreading its chilling tendril further across his folded legs. Besides it already numbed from sitting on the cold granite shaped like large pieces of cobblestones.
“Nope. Now focus and lock those lips of yours.” Priernuss said upon lifting his lids. “And close that eyes of yours. No peeking.” Sigiwaer complied, smothering his complaints. From the earth beneath the snow, a slender silhouette rose, shorter than Priernuss, taller than Sigiwaer. Then it slowly became translucent, merged into the surroundings. Sigi’s eye then moved towards Priernuss and watched as his fingers rhythmically beat against his forearm hidden beneath layers of thick winter garments.
With each strike, he sensed a wave traversing across the space between him and the golem, which body swallowed the energies he felt faintly, and the torn piece of ego that he sensed faded in the same manner. Within the next few minutes, the presence of the golem completely faded. Sigi breathed in a handful of the chilling air that breezed through his hair and face, and erected a barrier around his form.
“Now focus your intent on seeing the unseen, sensing the unsensible.” At Priernuss’s serious tone, he chuckled a bit, at the absurdity of them. Though then he pondered a while and voiced the question manifesting into his mind. “Like the wind?” Priernuss nodded with half a smile. Seeing a confirmation in it, Sigiwaer focused his intent while pouring mana into his one remaining golden eye, shaping it into a spell that first just let him see the air itself blowing their bodies, their garments. Slowly he noticed a translucent whiteness, a mist but more fluid, more alive passing southwards. “Amazing.” He muttered softly as he felt the living energy and sensed its recognition of him, and at once an innocent, excited smile brightened his pale visage, easing Priernuss’s heart a bit as he himself was a worried about the boy who talked little about the loss of his father after the funeral pyre.
“Now let’s sense the golem.” He whispered to himself as he calmed himself and closed his eye once more. This time he focused more on Priernuss, on the ego he torn, he burnt into himself while watching him tear it out from himself. Minutes passed as he focused on it, forcing more and more of his mana, then latching out to the energies surrounding them, beckoning them to his aid.
Then he felt very faintly it stalking up towards from behind. And just as it leapt, he branched his will and called on the elements. At once, the draught grew stronger, aggressive even as it pinned the now revealed golem against the southern slab with a force that shattered its feeble form back to its original, calm state. Claps echoed through the steep acreage as Priernuss straightened his posture and walked towards Sigiwaer. “Well done, Sigi. A natural talent still.” He reached out his hand and Sigi proudly took it as he rose.
“Not without your aid of course.” He said feeling a bit embarrassed at the shower of words. Ones that made him recall Ulrich’s praises when he first conjured a fireball a few months before their departure. “And even a humble one.” Though the rustling of his hair from the violent patting forced this memory back to the recesses of his mind once more – along with the rising gloom.
“Still why this place?” Sigi asked, though he was aware partially of the choice. Here, beneath their feet the earth brimmed with power as chokepoint of the leylines was left behind by the druids. A point that strengthened the arkhaine’s points reception and capability to tap into the elemental forces making up a part of reality, stretching their limits and threshold where the Rage of Acheryoth crawls over them.
“While I do believe you are natural talent, one that may stand side by side with the greatest of magusos, you are still young and the feat you showed now, would have had a greater blowback.” Priernuss said as they two sat down at the edge and watched the distance where flocks of birds and wild dragons soared the skies. “I think at least.” He said softly whilst scraping the back of his sheared head.
“I see. I still feel the fuzziness of my mana rearranging itself. But its barely noticeable.” His palms stretched before his eyes as he stared at them, watching the chromatic veins pulsing slowly calm as the tender twinging of his whole being faltered. “Wanna go a second round?” Then he asked while creating a small ball of mana he juggled between his fingers, keeping the twinging from fading. It kept his mind off from the reality he was still not used to.
‘Will do. But for now let’s just enjoy the scenery. It is rare for this place to be this calm.” Priernuss said as he pinched the sharpening tip of his ear. “Should have brought your set.” Priernuss blew a haze of warm mist out and used his fingers instead of a brush, creating a dispersing piece of art within a few seconds. “Maybe next time.”
The two turned in chorus backwards when the sound of snow crunching beneath the steps of Eadwald and Azugh reached their ears. Sigi quickly rose onto his feet and greeted the two warmly while Priernuss stared into the distance for a few more moments before getting up. “So how do practice going?” Azugh asked as he leaned against the northern stone.
“So far, we only did one round. But that went pretty well.” Priernuss said with his bosom held out proudly. “I am a natural talent he said.” Sigi said while clapping his palm against his chest. “Want to jump in brother? It will probably come in handy in the capital.”
“Sure. But before that wanted to ask if you want to come with us later. We shall make a short round in the woodland.” Eadwald stopped for a short moment, glancing at Priernuss who remained calm and silent. “Not far into of course.” Sigi looked pensive for a moment and looked for approval at his teacher. “I’d love to.” He said eagerly.