Nim awoke to the soft crackle of a fire, the gentle murmur of a nearby stream, and birds singing to the giant orb of light that was peeking over the crest of the horizon. Dew drops glistened on the flora, and the brilliant purple hue of the sunrise faded into the blue-green that stretched towards the other horizon. Taking a deep breath of the crisp mountain air, Nim realized that today was not going to be on his list of pleasant days to remember. It was simply too nice of a morning, and in Nim's experience, days that started off like this did not end well.
Those feelings were soon justified. It had not taken the group long to come upon the encampment of the Order of the Griffon, and although they were admitted swiftly, Nim knew what they would find within. They were offered tea and treated very respectfully, but Nim was not in the mood for any of it. Zander had tried to calm him many times over the fifteen minutes that they sat in the well-manicured garden waiting patiently for the Grand Master, but it was to no avail. When the Grand Master came out to meet them, it took all of five minutes for Nim to lose the restraint he had on his emotions, and Zander had effectively kicked him out.
Zander Halcyon, the Tetriarch of the Sorcerers and the most powerful Battlesorcerer alive, had dared to tell him to leave! If Zander hadn't been Nim's companion for so long, he would have been staring up at the ceiling only moments after such a command. Instead of stabbing the man, however, Nim settled on glaring at everyone as he left the room. As he was leaving, he noticed the slight tick in Ashur's face as he tried to restrain a smirk. Nim's first thought was to turn around and kill everyone in the room to satisfy the torrent of rage rushing through his veins, but he settled for hand to hand practice with several members of the Order.
Nim had been on edge since Victor had disappeared a week before, during the raid on the Blood Orc encampment, but it wasn't until he knocked out four of the monks in the training yard that he realized just how out of control he truly was. That damn letter the boy had left him still ran through his head every hour, and he found it hard to concentrate on anything but where Victor might be now. Why am I so worried about a letter from an eight-and-a-half-year-old?
Because you know he's right, said the little voice.
Oh shut up.
The final string on his emotional tether had snapped when they came upon a party of Giants shortly after they had awoken that morning. Nim's previous interactions with the massive men who lived in the mountains had been limited. Few giants came down from the mountains anymore, and the ones you did see in the cities were usually merchants' guards, or merchants themselves. It didn't take him by surprise when the party's gaze fell upon Shawnrik. Victor had known this would happen, but it hadn't made things any easier.
Nim and Shawnrik wanted nothing more than to go out and search for Victor, but every avenue they followed after his disappearance had failed. The letter had told Nim to forget about Victor and focus on the task at hand. The only thing Nim knew was that something was going to happen in Asylum and they would be needed, and he didn't have time to stand around arguing with anyone.
Shawnrik was prepared to argue, but Nim forcefully reminded him that Victor had told him that this would happen, and that he needed to go with his Giant kin. After having Victor's name yelled at him the fight visibly left Shawnrik, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. Nim was sure that Shawnrik would ride to hell beside Victor if the boy had said it needed to be done—Victor seemed to have that effect on people. It was an ability that Nim himself also possessed, though to a much lesser degree. Nim had used it to his advantage his entire life, giving him an edge in his spy craft and making it easier to make back-room deals in the mercantile trade. Having that same ability turned against you was unnerving, and Nim wasn't sure he liked it.
Taking his aggression out on the monks seemed to be going fairly well until a lanky, muscular young man with eyes like a hawk prowled into the circle. For the last twenty years, Nim had been in complete control of every confrontation, but fighting that blue-eyed devil was like trying to have a knife fight with Stewart Cantel. Never one to give up, it took Nim a broken rib and three returns to consciousness before he ceded defeat to the young man. Nim briefly entertained the thought that he would have been able to beat the man if he had possessed his weapons, but after a few moments' consideration decided that it wouldn't have helped much.
Learning that his assailant had been none other than Cypherious, prodigy of the Order, made him feel slightly less pitiful for his thrashing. As it happened, the meeting with the Grand Master concluded just in time for Nim's group to watch Nim get thoroughly beaten—definitely not a good day.
As Nim had expected from the first moments of entering the compound, the Grand Master had denied their request. Orcs, Goblins, and their ilk were not a threat worthy of the mobilization of the Order. The Grand Master did make one concession, however; he would send with them his most prized student. Nim had plastered a smile onto his face as the old man announced that Cypherious would be accompanying them, his eyes trying to bore holes into the back of the old bastard’s skull.
Definitely not a good day.
The ride across the valley was not a quiet one, with Ashur, Dunnagan, and Zander heartily re-telling the incident with the young monk to the rest of the party, who had all seen the damn thing in the first place. To Cypherious's credit, he had not once boasted or said anything contrary. This might have been for the best, because the way Nim was feeling he might have killed the boy in his sleep.
Entering the compound of the Wardens had been a breath of fresh air; Nim had always felt at home among the Wardens. Never had he met others more akin to himself: always ready for a fight, and always expecting one to be around the next corner. Besides the men and women he was currently riding with, the only other groups he could say had similar mindsets were the Protectorate Dirges and the Dracair.
When they arrived at the complex that held the Field Marshall's offices they were ushered in immediately—another point in favor of the Wardens. After only a few minutes of conversation, orders were already being dispatched and the Wardens were preparing to ride to war. It seemed that a message had arrived only minutes before, updating the Wardens on the status of the engagement with the forces the Siniquitans had assembled near the city of Asylum to the south. The note had said that High Commander Stewart Cantel expected the battle to begin at any time, which likely meant that it had already begun, as it took the messenger four days to get to the Wardens. When Nim asked the Field Marshall why the Wardens and the Protectorate were communicating by messenger instead of by Mage, he was informed that the Wardens had already sent their Mages south to help with the battle. The only remaining Mage they had to receive communiques had fallen over dead last week.
Nim had begun to feel a little better about the day, especially after he found out that the Wardens maintained a circle of transport with the city of Asylum. The only down side of the circle was that it took a lot of energy to invoke the runes, although having an overabundance of people who could work with such energies in the party made it a relatively simple matter. Activating the runes was simple enough if you could handle enough energy, but the runes themselves were some of the most complex workings that a Shaper could accomplish.
Nim had once asked Simon Windsbane, the Arch Magus, how the runes worked. What followed was a two-day lecture on quantum entanglement as it relates to space-time. There had been a lot of smiling and nodding involved, as Nim barely understood a third of the things that the Arch Magus was talking about. From what Nim had figured out by the end of the lecture, a Shaper (if they knew what they were doing) could link two places and create a gap in space-time between the two locations. The math involved seemed mind-numbingly complicated, and from the sounds of it, even the slightest error could be catastrophic in an infinite variety of ways. Because of the difficulty involved, it could take several years from conception to creation.
Finding out the Wardens had a circle of transport made Nim rethink his opinion on how terrible of a day he was having. With any luck he might be eating dinner with the Knights at the Protectorate base camp, and if the battle had already begun he could kill a few dozen goblins before the day was through. He kept these positive thoughts in his head long enough to exit the room that held the transport circle in Asylum. That's when he heard the screaming.
The steady stream of people heading west away from the outer walls of the city was also a good indication that something was awry. It wasn't until he could grab hold of someone who could speak in coherent sentences that he had a clear picture of what Victor's warning had been about: The attack to the north had been a distraction, throwing away hundreds of thousands of lives in order to pull off their real attack.
Nim reached the first major intersection before he found someone that could give him more information. The man had an old, worn city guardsman's uniform on. He was directing traffic, and generally trying to keep the population of the city from acting like frightened animals. According to the old guard, the Dracair sent a group of Dracairei over the wall sometime in the night, and when the attack began to the north this morning the Dracairei killed the guards at the gates. Shortly thereafter, a force of Dracani and Magnus Dracani were seen heading towards the city at a full run.
The city guard was mobilized, but quickly discovered that the eastern gate was no longer under their control and attempted to rectify that. Their assault did not go well. These men might be a match for a Dracani Warrior, but they were not prepared to fight a squad of assassins. Seeing that there was little chance of taking back the gates before the enemy arrived, the Guard Commander decided that it would be better to evacuate the residents of the outer district. He put into effect a plan for a fighting retreat, and his men went to work destroying key structures in order to slow the enemy's advance. It was that action that had given Nim the time he needed to take command and give the city a fighting chance.
“Where in the name of all that is good and holy are those damn monks?”
“The messages were sent less than an hour ago, General. I don't think we should expect them anytime soon.”
“What's the status of the perimeter?”
“Sir, battle lines are currently holding. We have managed to halt their advance through the city, and we are in the process of preparing the predesignated fallback positions for a holding defense. Our current perimeter is a twelve block radius from this point. Our men are spread thin between holding off the advance and preparing the defenses. If they push hard enough at any one spot, the whole thing could crumble. Two squads are in position to reinforce the line as needed: the Vigilantes to the south, and the Blood Hounds to the north. Lieutenant General Theromvore was last seen with Tetriarch Halcyon heading towards an incoming detachment of Magnus Dracani.”
“Dreadnoughts? How many?”
“The scouts reported...” the soldier's voice dropped an octave as he read the number, “...eight.”
“Eight? Phaw, they are probably all dead by now,” Nim said, waving away the soldier's concern. “Ashur and Zander get to have all the fun.”
If those monks don't get here soon, you will be able to have all the fun you want, right before you and all of your men die, a little voice inside Nim's head whispered. Sometimes he hated that little voice. “I knew it was going to be a terrible day.”
Barely an hour had gone by since Nim stepped out of the circle of transport and found that the world had gone to hell and he had established a temporary command post in the barracks, adjacent to the building that held the circle of transport. All of the battle ready Wardens had already entered the city through the circle, and even a few who might not have been considered battle ready any other day had joined the fight.
Zander had been able to establish contact with High Commander Stewart Cantel, and the word was not good. The forces to the north had engaged with an enemy force estimated to be several hundred thousand strong. The scout’s estimates before the battle commenced ranged from two hundred and fifty thousand to four hundred thousand various Orcs, Goblins, Kobolds, Grey Elves, and whatever else the Dracair could get to run in a straight line at the Protectorate.
Nim wanted nothing more than to be fighting on the front line. Unfortunately, when it came to full-out military engagements, the Field Marshall of the Wardens would relinquish command to anyone over the rank of Major General. It didn't seem to matter to Field Marshall Bannis that Nim was retired, so he had been relegated to command while Ashur, Dunnagan, Zander, and Cypherious were on the front lines with the Wardens fighting back thousands of Dracair. Never before had the Dracair fielded a force as powerful as the one that was now assaulting the city of Asylum, and Nim was the one trying to keep everything together. Life had a sick sense of humor.
Nim had runners spread throughout the city, bringing him reports on enemy movements. The first thing he had done when he realized he was the one in command was to order his men to find him a map. Nim stood over that map, making notations whenever a new report was brought to him. Wasting men as runners put another bur into his backside, but information was vital in any engagement, and at the moment it was more important to have these men feeding him information than it was to have them on the front line.
The Dracair were slowly pushing his men back, and he knew it would only be a matter of time before they had to retreat behind the inner wall. Thankfully, they had decided not to tear it down when the city had outgrown its original limits, or they might have been fighting a no-win scenario. Nim had ordered Zander and the remaining Mages to check the integrity of the inner wall before sending them to the front line with the rest of his men. They reported that the wall was in good shape, and that a large portion of the original wards were still holding strong.
Nim wanted to have the Mages on the walls fortifying it further, but until the monks showed up it was not a sound decision. Looking down at the map at the little statues that represented where Ashur and Dunnagan were last reported to be, Nim thought that it wouldn't matter how strong the walls were; if those monks didn't show up soon, there wouldn't be anyone left alive to defend anyway.
“Ho, ho, lad! That one almost took off yer head!” Dunnagan said as he ducked a blow from one of the gigantic axes wielded by the Dracair Warriors.
“Nah, I had plenty of time to dodge that, these lizards swing slower than you!” Ashur laughed at the look Dunnagan shot him before dodging another blow.
The soldiers near the two grizzled men listened to the banter with no small amount of awe. It was hard enough for most of them to take a breath, let alone carry a conversation while battling their massive foes. Ashur and Dunnagan were not only joking with each other, but they were taking more of the enemy out than the rest of the unit combined. It seemed to the men that the wave of Dracair was endless—every time one fell, there were another two to take its place.
Slowly but surely, they were being pressed backwards. The stone walls around them were chipped and battered where errant blades had connected. As they moved backward, the cobblestone road was tinged crimson by the blood of the wounded and the fallen, a grisly reminder of the price of each step. If they hadn't taken out the detachment of Magnus Dracani earlier, however, they would already be fighting a losing battle for the inner wall. Zander had disappeared sometime shortly thereafter, and Ashur could hear chaos suddenly erupt behind enemy lines, so he knew the Battlesorcerer was still out there somewhere, doing what he did best.
Ashur noticed large signs outside the buildings, each step backward bringing them further into the merchant quarter of the city. The Dracani seemed to get as much enjoyment from destroying the signs and window displays of these wealthy shops as they did from trying to gut the soldiers of the Protectorate. Behind him, he heard several merchants escaping the coming battle, not willing to abandon their wares until the last moment. There had been several who had not reacted quickly enough, their greed causing them to die at the hands of the Dracair.
Glancing to his left, Ashur watched Dunnagan's axe sweep down towards the neck of one of the Dracair Warriors. The Dracani's body took another step forward before it realized that something was missing and tumbled to the ground. Dunnagan was a good three feet shorter than even the smallest of the Dracair Warriors, but the battle-hardened old Dwarf seemed to always be at eye level whenever he finished one off. When fighting the Dracair, little else would be enough, thanks to their ability to heal wounds rapidly. Removing the head was efficient. Doing large amounts of damage quickly enough would occasionally cause systems to go into shock, but even then, it wasn't long until they were back in the fight. Ashur had found himself fighting the same Dracani several times that day, as the warriors would sometimes fall back before he could do enough damage and wait until they were healed to resume the battle.
A light green Dracani stepped up next to the one Ashur had been fighting, interrupting his line of thought. Dracair were greedy and selfish by nature, rarely willing to share a kill. Unfortunately for Ashur, the two Dracani in front of him didn't seem to know this and seemed perfectly fine with working together to end his life.
Ashur had learned many years ago that combat in such close quarters was not the best place to use his weapon of choice, so his greatsword's pommel still protruded from the sheath on his back. Instead, he held his longsword in one hand and one of Dunnagan's throwing axes in the other. Neither was his ideal choice of weapon against the massive battle-axes that the Dracani Warriors seemed to favor, but they were all he had at the moment and would have to do.
One of the first things Ashur learned during training was that the best defense was to not get hit, but that was easier said than done in such tight quarters. Ashur was slightly broader than most front-line troops and had learned to make do with the limited space available so he wouldn't get in the way of someone else dodging a blow. The one advantage of fighting two Dracani was that the size of their weapons made it difficult for them both to strike him at the same time. That wasn't as much of a strategic concession as one might think, because no matter how much Ashur and Dunnagan joked around, the Dracani were anything but slow.
Dodging the incoming swing of the light green Dracani to his right, Ashur quickly ducked and felt the wind from the white Dracani's axe as it sailed past his head. Snagging the head of the white Dracani's axe with the throwing axe in his left hand, Ashur tugged, bringing the white Dracani's torso downward long enough to poke the creature in the eye with his longsword. In the second that it took him to pull off his maneuver against the white Dracani, the light green Dracani was preparing to chop Ashur in half. Letting go of the throwing axe—which was still engaged with the white Dracani's axe—Ashur dropped and rolled to the right, managing to score a gash along the light green Dracani's forearm before ending his roll on the beast's left side. In a rage, the white Dracani swung at Ashur's head, connecting with the light green Dracani's already wounded arm when Ashur ducked the blow. Howling in pain, the wounded Dracani removed his left hand from his axe in order to backhand the white. The green Dracani's anger was cut short a moment later as Ashur aimed his blow at the creature’s right wrist, its axe falling to the ground with the creature’s hand still clutching the weapon.
Ashur was preparing to move in for the kill, but the white Dracani beat him to it, shearing the light green's head from its shoulders with his mighty axe. Ashur rolled his eyes as he watched the headless body hit the ground. He managed to pick up the throwing axe in time to dodge the next blow from the one-eyed white Dracani.
For the next few minutes, Ashur toyed with the battle-raging Dracani, scoring several minor hits and aggravating the creature by moving into its newly acquired blind spot. The Dracani Warrior got a little more frustrated with each near miss, putting just a little more power behind each blow. Ashur dodged to the left, leading the creature's swing into a thick support beam in front of the store to his right. The Dracani's axe ripped through the wooden pillar, barely slowing the swing's momentum.
Ashur heard a slight groan overhead as the porch on the second floor began to bow when it lost the pillar's support. At the sound, the soldiers in the street fell back a little quicker, and even a few of the Dracair stopped their advance, although the majority of them continued pressing the Protectorate Knights, like predators scenting wounded prey. The white Dracani continued his advance, taking one wild swing after another, his good eye glazed over with hate.
Ashur goaded the white into another wild swing after a few more steps back, rushing to the right and then immediately hopping backwards into a roll. The Dracani sheared through the post at the other end of the patio. It didn't realize its mistake until the whole thing buckled with a loud groan, sending the second-floor careening into the middle of the street on top of several Dracani, including the white.
The men and women fighting beside Ashur let out a loud whoop, taking a deep breath and enjoying the moment of rest before the following Dracani stepped over the rubble that now covered several of their comrades. Ashur looked towards his old friend, noting several cuts and dents on the Dwarf's armor.
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
“I hope we can find a few more as stupid as that one was,” Ashur said, checking his weapons.
“Aye, haven't seen one that lost in the blood rage for years. Let's hope that they are all that easy to deal with,” Dunnagan huffed, before a slight glow surrounded him, healing several of the Dwarf's wounds.
Ashur grunted in the affirmative as he met the incoming Dracair's attack.
Nim was ordering the retreat into the inner wall when the monks from the Order of the Griffon arrived. As the monks ran out of the transport room, Nim began issuing them orders, sending the monks to where they would be the most use. He was issuing a set of instructions to the fourth group to come through the portal when he realized that one of the monks was the Grand Master.
When Nim had seen the man earlier in the morning, he had been wearing large, loose robes; that man had appeared old and frail. The man who stood in front of him was in superb condition, his age only telling from the neck up. To Nim's surprise, the Grand Master simply bowed slightly, confirming the orders that he had just received, and took off at a healthy gait, heading towards the battle with the rest of his monks.
The retreat went relatively smoothly with the help of the monks, who engaged the enemy long enough for the other troops to retreat behind the wall. When the Knights, Wardens and the few remaining Guardsmen were behind the gates, the Grand Master ordered them closed. Nim was about to countermand the order when the old man winked at him and went back into the fight. Wanting to see what the old goat had up his sleeve, Nim had the men close and secure the gate before he quickly ran to the top of the wall to watch the monks work.
Half a block remained before the Dracair would be at the inner wall. The monks seemed to be combining offense and defense into one nonstop motion. The Grand Master redirected an overhead blow from one of the Dracani, twisted his torso, hit the weapon hand of the creature that had just attacked him, and then kicked the creature solidly in the groin. As the Dracani dropped in agony, the Grand Master delivered a round house kick to the creature's chin that twisted its head around backwards. Seeing the brutal efficiency with which the old man had just dispatched the warrior in front of them, the remaining Dracair hesitated.
The Grand Master let loose a shrill whistle, and the monks split off from the front line, climbing the buildings on both sides of the streets like monkeys. It took them about three seconds to reach the top of the second story, where they ran along the edge of the building, their legs moving so fast it was hard for many of the soldiers' eyes to track them. When they reached the end of the building nearest the wall, they leapt the twenty feet from the corner of the building to the top of the wall as if it were a small stream.
The Dracair began climbing the buildings, apparently thinking that they would be able to duplicate such a feat. Nim signaled the Mages before the first Dracair reached the roof, and fire rained down upon the buildings all along the wall. Several of the Dracair were able to attempt the jump before the flames became too dangerous for them to navigate, and one of them would have even made it had it not been for the Grand Master's foot catching the thing's head on its downward arc, sending the Dracani sprawling to the ground in a boneless heap. It would be a while before that one recovered enough to be any trouble, if it ever did.
As the sun began to descend on the western horizon, Nim thought that they might have a chance at holding the line until reinforcements arrived. The monks of the Order of the Griffon had turned the retreat from a hopeless gambit into a viable option. A lot of men had died, and a lot more were sure to in the coming days, but they had held the line—maybe it wasn’t such a terrible day after all.
It took the better part of four months to break the will of the army that the Dracair and the Blood Mages had assembled. Reinforcements had started arriving from Safeharbor and some of the outlying townships of the Protectorate during the weeks after the initial battle, but a large portion of those troops were diverted to the battle to the north. Winter came on in full force as well, playing no small role in the enemy's retreat.
With the onset of winter, the Protectorate forces reinforced the wall, sending only small engagements into the Dracair controlled portion of the city. Spring brought with it a new frenzy of activity, with both sides preparing for the battle that was to come. The Protectorate forces waged a block by block extermination of the Dracair controlled eastern portion of the city of Asylum.
The Dracair had been busy looting the city over the winter, and much of what the Protectorate took back were empty, defiled husks. Much of what could be burned, had been, and anything delicate and not worth packing back home had been broken. The systematic removal of the Dracair forces took the greater part of the year, with the last battle ending seventeen months after the first engagement.
The death toll was staggering, and thousands died in the first few days of the war alone. The Wardens took the heaviest casualties during the withdrawal to the inner wall, losing a full third of their fighting force. By the end, more than one hundred thousand of the Protectorate's fighting forces were killed or missing in action. Estimated losses for the enemy forces were estimated at more than triple that of the protectorate, but only a small portion of that number were Dracair, and only a hand full were Blood Mages.
The Protectorate's lightest casualties had been among the Mages and the Monks, both groups able to choose their engagements well. The greatest hit to the Monks came in the last month of the battle; the enemy that took the Grand Master's life was time itself, his body finally consumed by the ravages of age.
They had pushed back the enemy and retaken the city, but there would be no celebration. Too many comrades had fallen, and there was too much left to do.
Year: 3044 AGD
Month: Year's End
Third Fifthday
Continent of Terroval
Asylum
“I have never heard of the like,” Dunnagan said as the group enjoyed their first night of real rest in nearly a year and a half. The battles had ended a few eightdays prior, but between taking care of the dead and the wounded, securing the city, and making sure that the enemy was well and truly gone, there was still much work to do, and it had taken them this long to all gather around a fire together.
Dunnagan looked haggard. Nim was sure that they all looked more or less like the walking dead, but the dwarf was nearing his sixth century of life. The old cleric still had at least a few good decades left in him, centuries if he was lucky, but the years were beginning to take their toll. To have survived and thrived in a land like Terroval for so long was a testament to the old Dwarf’s tenacity.
“Nor have I,” Zander Halcyon said as he looked up from his book. “I have been reading as many of these books that contain records of past engagements as I can get my hands on, but I cannot find anything to compare to this assault. This book is from before the Great Disaster that forced our people into the caves below Safeharbor. There are many tales of full-scale battles, but oddly enough there are relatively few that mention a large contingent of Dracair.”
Nim wasn't used to seeing Zander shaken up. Zander Halcyon, Tetriarch of the Sorcerers and perhaps the most powerful Battlesorcerer that had ever lived, had few reasons for doubt.
“Why, if we have been fighting a War with the Dracair for more than five millennia, are there so few reports of full-scale encounters with actual Dracair?” Ashur poked at the fire with a stick, obviously perturbed by his thoughts. “Furthermore, why has no one thought of this before now?”
Nim was glad to have Ashur around. Twenty years before, David Theromvore had been on the fast track to becoming a great military commander. Luckily for Nim, however, he had managed to drag the man along on one journey after another, where he had become a stalwart companion and ally. The man still possessed the keen military mind that had been drilled into him ever since he had been able to hold a sword, but he had seen more things in his travels with Nim than he would have ever seen had he served with the Knights for those twenty years.
“I like to call it positive thought, wrapped in a layer of pride, with a coating of ignorance,” an unexpected voice intoned from the dark expanse of night that blanketed the city.
Moments later, the slight shape of Stewart Cantel materialized beside one of the stone-worked walls at the edge of the firelight. The High Commander of the Knights of the Protectorate looked more haggard than anyone else Nim had seen in the last year. It was no surprise, really: the man had lost more than a hundred thousand men and women since the war began. There was nothing Stewart Cantel could have done to prevent those deaths, but they still fell heavily upon his shoulders. Not only did the deaths of those men and women weigh down on him, but a city of the Protectorate had nearly fallen to the enemy on his watch. Nim knew that trying to console Cantel would do little good, but he might buy him a pint or two the next time he was able.
“What do ye mean by that?” Dunnagan asked as the heads around the campfire turned towards their newest arrival. Several of the men had to resist the urge to snap to attention.
“We never wanted to face up to the truth,” Cantel said as he found an empty spot, joining the circle of friends around the fire. “Oh, we thought about it several times. I have found the question posed a handful of times in my studies of history, but I don't think any of them truly wanted to answer the question.”
Looking at his friend's face, Nim knew that these thoughts had been plaguing the High Commander's mind a lot recently, and Nim thought the man might have settled on his own answer.
“What question?” Nim asked.
“The question being, have we truly been fighting a war all this time, or have we simply been cleaning up the table scraps that have been left for us?” A long knife appeared in Stewart Cantel's hand, and he began to whittle away at a small piece of timber.
“Ye think we've been fightin' whatever the Dracair haven't had a use fer, in order to make us think we were fighting the good fight?” Dunnagan asked, clearly bothered by the prospect.
Cantel sat quietly, staring at the piece of wood in his hand for some time before looking up into the eyes of each person sitting around the fire. “I do.”
Ashur stood quickly, throwing a rock at a nearby wall. The stone bounced off the wall, hit the side of a nearby wagon, and ricocheted into his shin. The litany of curses that he had been spewing forth intensified as the rock hit home. Everyone around the fire was feeling many of the same emotions, but they seemed content to watch Ashur vent enough for all of them. Enraged, Ashur seemed to come to the conclusion that the wagon and the wall had conspired against him with the rock. Nim had been around the man long enough to know what was coming, so when Ashur stalked towards the wagon he began to erect a wall of force between the wall and the group around the fire.
Ashur kicked the wagon into the wall, surprising everyone around the campfire except Dunnagan and Nim. Pieces of wood, metal, and stone rained down on the invisible barrier. As the dust cleared, Nim noticed that one of the axles from the wagon was lodged in the wall with one of the wheels still connected.
“I wish you wouldn't do that, David,” Cantel chided. “We really need every wagon we have.”
Ashur turned back towards the group around the campfire, a long sliver of wood sticking out of his hair. As Stewart Cantel's words sunk in, he turned back to the wall, raising his hands as if he wished he could take back the gesture, before dropping his head in defeat. “I'm sorry, Stewart, I don't know what came over me. I haven't lost it like that in...”
“Five years,” Nim supplied. “Five years and three months. We were in Freeport and...”
“Okay, okay, we don't need to tell that story now,” Ashur said as he regained some of his composure.
“Oh, I don't know, I'd have to say that it was the finest reason that I’ve ever had to be in jail before.” Nim laughed, trying to add as much cheeriness to his tone as he could muster.
It worked. The grin that took over Ashur's face released a lot of the built-up tension in the man. “It was a fun night, wasn't it?” The two shared a quiet moment as they relived an old memory, but the reason for Ashur's anger slowly reasserted itself in the atmosphere around the campfire, and the talk turned back to the Dracair.
“So, what exactly are you saying, Stewart?” Zander asked.
“I'm saying that for our entire history, we have been fighting only those troops that the Dracair deemed expendable, and I have a feeling that this last attack was no deviation from that plan.”
“A force to soften us up a little before the real push?” Nim's voice came out in a whisper, but it was loud enough for everyone around the fire to hear.
Several deep breaths accompanied Stewart Cantel's nod. “And here we are, a fifth of our fighting force dead and another two fifths not fit for duty. Our second largest city lies partially abandoned and in ruins. Who knows how long we have to prepare for the real push.”
“Probably a few years still, knowing the Dracair,” Nim said, before adding, “maybe not even in our lifetimes, but it will come, and I’m willing to bet it is closer to the few years than the lifetime.”
“That is my thought as well. They will likely consider us comfortable in the fact that we have once again repelled the vicious aggressors and plan their attack accordingly. They seem to be in no hurry to crush us, however. From what information I have been able to gather, the force that attacked and held the city was one or two clans at best. My guess is that they were told that more clans would be on the way, and when no other clans showed up by summer, they realized that no one else was coming. This is likely why they began to filter out of the city around that time, taking what they could pilfer with them. Whoever sent them was more than likely trying to get them out of the way of some internal struggle for power, and now they are quietly pecking at each other, feeling that we have been culled enough for the time being.”
“So what do we do now?” Ashur asked, returning to his seat.
“We rebuild. We recruit and train as many men and women as we can. We prepare for a war like we have never fought before, or we might not walk away from this one, which is why we need the best men and women leading us," Cantel said. "Nim, I need you to come out of retirement and take over your office again. I would give you a promotion, but I don't think Elyse would be keen on a demotion, even for you, nor would Adrian. I know you don't want...”
Nim's hand had slipped into the pocket where he kept a note that he had been given before all of this began as Stewart had been speaking. “Okay.”
“... to be a General again, but I think it’s for the best.” It took a moment for the High Commander to realize that Nim had already agreed, but when it finally dawned on him, his eyes widened in shock. “Okay? Just like that? I'm not going to have to give you the treasury, one of the princesses, or anything like that to get you to come back?”
Nim saw Ashur grinning in amusement at Stewart Cantel's surprise. Ashur knew about the letter that Victor had left Nim and was in fact the only other person that had seen the entire note. He was obviously enjoying seeing Cantel so off balance.
“A wise friend of mine told me that I should accept new challenges when they arise,” Nim said, his hand running along the edge of the paper in his pocket.
“Well, in that case...” Stewart Cantel said as he turned towards Ashur. “How about you Major General?”
“Major General?” Ashur mouthed the words first, as if to check if he had heard correctly. “That's a two-rank promotion. Are you sure you want me running a division?” As he said this his eyes glanced towards the wall, where the wagon wheel slowly rotated in the wind.
“There are few others that I would trust with one,” Cantel said, though he looked thoughtful for a moment as he followed Ashur's gaze.
“Well, I guess if Nim is going to accept, you have me on board as well.”
“For the moment, you will both be mainly utilized as instructors at the Institute, along with most of the senior staff. I need my best leaders teaching these people—we are going to need to push them to their limits.” Stewart said, the mantle of High Commander settling into place. “I would like you to come as well Dunnagan. You are one of the longest surviving campaigners that I know, and we could use a man like you. We could easily make you a Colonel.”
“Laddie, any other time and I would take ye up on that, but Field Marshall Bannis was wounded beyond healing and is no longer fit for combat.” Dunnagan looked up at his friends and sighed. “The Wardens have asked me to take over as Field Marshall.”
This was the first that Nim had heard anything about a change of ranks in the Wardens, so he became fully alert at his friend's words. Looking around the fire, he was glad to see that he wasn't the only one who had been taken by surprise by his friend’s announcement. Even Cypherious, who had been sitting quietly and unobtrusively, as was his way, allowed one of his eyebrows to rise in surprise—a rare showing of emotion from the young man.
“Well, congratulations!” Ashur said, clapping the old Dwarf on his back.
“I haven't accepted yet,” Dunnagan grumbled.
“But you will,” Nim said. A slight nod from his friend was the only confirmation he needed.
“Sounds like our other friend here,” Stewart Cantel said, turning to Cypherious, who squirmed slightly under the High Commander's scrutiny.
That the man had let his discomfort show said more to Nim than anything else, piquing his curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“I was going to offer our young friend here a position as well...” Stewart said, surprising Nim once again, to a lesser degree. No one from the Order of the Griffon had ever been offered a commission into the Knights. The forces were recognized as completely separate entities, as completely different orders of discipline were needed for each. “...however, it appears that he is to be the next Grand Master of the Order.”
This surprised the group more than anything else, wide eyes turned from every angle to look at the young monk. Cypherious's squirming intensified under the scrutiny of his companions. Over the last year, Cypherious had slowly integrated himself into the tight nit circle of friends. Nim wasn't quite sure how it had happened; the man hardly ever talked and seemed to have the sense of humor of a brick. Time after time, however, the young man had proven himself against the Dracair.
It was during battle that Cypherious truly shone. The young monk seemed to adapt his fighting style to work with whomever he was fighting near. The young man was death in motion, and Nim had found fighting next to Cypherious to be an enjoyable experience. No matter who he was fighting, the young monk seemed to brush blows aside with an almost contemptuous ease. After one particularly brutal fight in early spring, the young man had approached the group's fire and been accepted with respectful nods. He had been an expected, if not always noticed, face around the fire ever since.
“I told them I was too young for such a position,” Cypherious said, obviously uncomfortable being the center of attention.
Cantel laughed. “Which is exactly what made them decide that it had to be you. Most people would jump at that much power and prestige, especially at such a young age, but you told them you wanted nothing to do with it. It reminds me of how Dalton Theromvore became King of the Protectorate!”
Cypherious sighed in defeat. “I haven't even seen Haven yet.”
“There's nothing over there except sand and too many serious people,” Ashur said. “The Oasis that Haven is built on is beautiful, to be sure, like a tropical forest in the middle of a wasteland, but the people who live there ruin the whole experience.”
“I would still like to see it,” Cypherious said, his tone bordering on petulant.
“We all do what we have to do,” Nim said softly. “Think of it this way—would you trust anyone else with the job?”
Cypherious looked up at Nim, focusing his thoughts inward before shaking his head. “No, I'm afraid you are right my friend. I do not wish to do it, but I would not shirk the responsibility that has been placed on my shoulders.”
“Well, I would say that makes this campfire surrounded by some of the most powerful men in the world.” Ashur grinned. “When are you going to be Arch Magus, Halycon?”
“Don't even joke!” Zander said. “First of all, the loss of Arch Magus Windsbane would be the biggest setback the Protectorate could possibly suffer right now, and for another...” he grinned, “... that is just too damn much responsibility for me! Being the Tetriarch has already made me go bald!”
Sharing in his friend’s joviality, Nim said, “It seems to me that you were bald when I first met you. You were what, sixteen?”
“I wasn't bald then,” Zander said. “I simply shaved it off for continuity reasons. Besides, my beautiful ebony features look better when not hidden by something as mundane as hair.”
Nim laughed, only half listening as his friends continued their banter around the fire. The world was changing, and there was nothing he could do but change with it. He pulled the folded piece of paper from his pocket, turning it over in his hands. Victor had left it for Nim to find on the night that he had disappeared. From its contents, it seemed as if the boy had known that war was coming. For the thousandth time that night, Nim wondered where Victor was now.
Thinking of Victor always led to thoughts of Shawnrik, the recipient of the second note the boy had left. Nim had left Shawnrik with a group of Giants on the morning that everything had gone to hell. Shawnrik would have opened his letter from Victor on that next morning, and Nim couldn't help but wonder what Victor had told Shawnrik that he hadn't told him.