We stopped and looked around us. Our surroundings were eerily still, and we couldn’t see a single soul moving. The horses were calm.
Now that Florencia said it out loud, I realized that we hadn’t encountered a single person for hours. There was nobody working around the farms, and the sawmill we passed not too long ago was silent and grey. Stacks of sawed timbers had been soggy and dark. A lone windmill stood on a small hill in the distance, and around it, we saw no activity. A gentle wind blew on the fields, gently rustling the few remaining stalks.
“Jonas, do you sense anything?” asked Florencia.
I closed my eyes and expanded my mind, holding in focus the village before me. Now was not the time to hold back, and I let loose my full capabilities. Immediately I was hit with a wave of disorienting whiplash. Through the veil, the aetheric currents of the world were still and unmoving, but right away I sensed it was a forced state, like an artificial veneer to misguide those who could see. The aetheric was muted and colorless. I could not see through this fakery, and came to a chilling realization—this was the first time I’d ever sensed anything like this before.
“I don’t know!” I told Florencia in a whisper. “Something happened here, but I can’t sense what. It’s all… disturbed and stale.” I tried to give her an explanation, but couldn’t find the right words. She looked back at me with concern, and she gripped the handle of her longsword.
I took the reins and urged my horse, Velluta, forward into the village. She obeyed without question, and her calm behavior told me she was not afraid. That was a good sign, at least.
“Careful,” said Florencia to everyone and held her sword close. She followed as I approached the village along the narrow road that was barely enough for two horses to pass each other.
“Be ready,” I told Goxhandar. “I might need you.”
I felt the hair on my neck and forearms rise, but it was because of my own anticipation. What could wait for us in that village? Could it be a trap? I barely sensed anything alive around me. A trap seemed unlikely. Why would anyone wait for us, or anyone?
“I sense no hint of life in this place, Master,” said Goxhandar. “A vicious thing has happened here, but I only sense the fading stench of the demonic. Some powerful presence walked this ground not too long ago. But when that might have been or how many, I cannot tell. The empyrean sea is much too disturbed here.”
“Late again!” I cursed.
“This time it might be for the best, Master,” said Goxhandar, and I had to agree.
There should be a thousand soldiers garrisoned here. Whatever caused them to leave, or escape, or worse, would then be more powerful than them. Even though I felt confident in my abilities, I understood that a force that strong would be beyond me.
“Jonas,” said Florencia and guided her horse beside mine. “I’m here. Let’s go.”
Of course, she needed to be at my side. In hard times, there has always been a powerful yearning for companionship, to not face those hardships alone, and to have someone to stand alongside you in these storms of life. It was an emotion that was deeply rooted in everyone and might be as strong as the will to live. And it was something I felt detached from, a thought that was alien to me.
And even though I was never truly alone, Goxhandar’s weight was always on my shoulder, even if his attention was elsewhere. I didn’t need him to feel safe, but there was some comfort in knowing that this embodiment of raw power was within my arm’s reach.
Little by little we reached the village’s outskirts, a place where the architecture spoke of an older era—walls made from plaster and wood, with half-timbered roofs. The road that stretched between those buildings was narrow and did not have any hoofmarks or footprints. And when I breathed in, the very air itself was filled with a sickening smell of sour smoke, like milk gone bad, but more pungent, mixed with the foulest of smog.
I looked up, and the snow-clad mountains loomed ahead, and would soon cast the village into a deep shadow. We only had a few hours before that happened.
A gentle tug on the reins brought my horse, Velluta, to a halt. Disembarking swiftly, I told her to stay here and not to move. She snorted contently. Florencia mirrored my actions and put her horse Luminello beside mine and walked beside me.
“I’ll go first, stay behind me,” I told Florencia and took her hand into mine to comfort her.
Her dark green eyes reflected her strained nerves that she was trying to suppress, and her growing fear. She had every reason to be afraid—we were very far from any civilized settlement and safety. The Castamand Mountains were one of the least populated areas of the country, and there were no other villages anywhere close to us. The largest city was Lottie, more than a day’s ride away, or perhaps an entire week’s march on foot.
We were very much alone, and potentially in great danger.
“Jonas,” whispered Florencia so the others could not hear, “I’m scared.”
“It’ll be alright,” I told her and held her hand firmer. I sensed this did little to soothe her heart.
“How recklessly we went forth, with so little precaution?” I mumbled under my breath. I hoped Florencia couldn’t hear my words, but perhaps she did and decided to say nothing.
Jace reached us next, put his horse away as well, and swung his blue coat open. He tightened his sword scabbard on his stomach and gripped the short handle with both hands, his expression serious and his eyes were barely blinking. His gloves were dark brown.
Iskander pushed Jaxine into the middle of our group, safely surrounded by us, and she walked holding her dagger with cramped fingers. Staying a few steps behind, Iskander secured our rear, his greatsword resting on his shoulder and glimmering in the waning light.
“Those bastards are quick. Better be prepared,” he said and sniffed the air, his wild hair flowing in the breeze.
I kept moving ahead into the stillness of the village, between the locked-up homes and shops, their shutters closed and locked. An opening emerged some hundred yards away, and I thought this was probably the main square. A village of this size should only have one. We could find some official buildings there. In the distance, I saw a building loom over the rest, with two floors and a deep maroon roof from clay tiles. That should be the town hall or some kind of manor house where the Lord of the City might live.
“Summon me into action anytime, Master. I yearn to draw blood,” said Goxhandar, and I even felt the hard iron handle of the Blood Maul against my fingertips. Oh! How I wished to summon it and wield it against some lowly thralls. A thrill coursed through me over the idea of carnage.
“You don’t draw blood, Goxhandar. You are like an explosion, turning blood into mist.”
“Ah, that I do, Master, and with the greatest of joy. I cannot put into words how much I grew to despise the Enemy over the eons that they wielded me against their own. I wish for nothing more than to crush their ranks with brutal vengeance. You need only call me, and I shall enter your realm. None can stand against us.”
Goxhandar’s confidence and lust for blood gave me the courage to go ahead, but I still felt the need to hold on to Rors’ knife to steady my nerves. Or was it my nerves, and not a growing lust for battle? I could not tell, but all my senses, mundane and the extraordinary, were tense and alert. I haven’t felt this alive since Scorro, but back then I did not appreciate it.
Appreciate the battle? That was a new and alarming thought.
A biting gust of wind came from high in the mountains and wiped those thoughts away. The faint smell of sickly sour smoke faded as well. With a sigh, I pressed onward.
Around me were buildings with crude stone foundations, built low and wide apart, with darkened timbers holding up plastered walls and wedge-shaped roofs. Around the structures were wooden fences, and old, dried flowers hung from window sills. Here and there, bright ribbons were tied to posts.
But there was no sign of life. The facade of pristine order was a crafted lie for an unknown purpose. A village like this should have signs of activity everywhere we looked, yet there were none.
“Shouldn’t there be footsteps on the streets?” I asked Florencia, and she had noticed it as well.
“There should,” she said and looked around.
Every window was sealed shut, and inside the homes was dark. No fires crackled in the fireplaces, no smoke spiraled up from the chimneys, and no candles were set on the windowsill. And of course, one would not expect light-beads in this faraway place. We couldn’t hear the sound of livestock or horses or dogs and cats anywhere.
“There should be a thousand soldiers here,” said Florencia. “The street should be packed. But this doesn’t seem like an ambush, either! We’re halfway in the village. They should’ve sprung the trap already.”
“Could it be that the soldiers are on patrol?” said Jace, frowning against the wind and his Eye of Hanuk reflecting dimly in the sunlight.
“Most should be on patrols or scouting the nearby lands. But not all of them!” said Florencia. She looked into my eyes, searching for comfort or courage, and then turned away. Whether she found strength, I could not tell.
“Even five hundred soldiers is such a large number for a village like this. There should be—” she looked behind us, and then into some alleyways, “there shouldn’t be a single quiet moment during the day. There’s not a single soul in this village!”
“How is that possible? The Lord Mayor said they received a message a week ago. Where could everyone go?” asked Jace, and it was a damned good question.
“Why don’t we find out?” I said and marched ahead.
When we reached the main square. Nothing happened.
A modest town hall stood surrounded by single-storey buildings. This town hall was barely the size of a manor house in Lottie or Caffria. It had only two floors, with some nice windows, yet none adorned with any carvings or decorations.
I looked down and examined the road. Around a corner, I saw faint marks in the dirt.
“There,” I said and showed what I found to the others. “What happened here was purposefully hidden!”
Florencia kneeled down, ran her fingers over the scrape marks, and nodded.
“Where had we unknowingly come to?” I thought to myself.
“That does, indeed, seem like a lead,” another thought followed immediately, but it was sharper, more clear.
“Could it be, perhaps, a trap set by the Lord Mayor?” asked Goxhandar.
“I don’t think so,” I replied hesitantly. I could sense no corruption within him. If a demon had overtaken his mind, it could not stand to be in my presence. “I couldn’t sense anything hidden within him.”
Jace went deeper into the square and looked around.
“I don’t see a single useful thing here!” he almost cried out, but held his composure. “No crates, barrels, no tools, no carriages, or sacks of grain. Nothing! Damned it, where did we walk into?”
“This doesn’t even feel like a real village,” said Iskander, turning his head all around him.
“Or scoured clean of everything that could be used,” I said. “I think they took everything and everyone.”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“What? And covered their tracks?” asked Jace. “Why?”
“Perhaps to give them time?” thought Florencia and stood close to me. She loosened her grip on her sword.
“Or waste ours,” I said.
“We should make sure those houses are empty,” said Iskander and stepped in front of a door, ready to kick it open.
“Careful,” I said and stood beside him.
With a frighteningly quick kick, the first door yielded and blew open. We jumped back, in case it was some kind of ambush, but nothing came out of the darkness except the smell of the ghostly smoke.
“Nothing!” shouted Jace. “Empty.”
He quickly ran and kicked open every door that was close to him and saw for himself that indeed, there was nobody and nothing waiting for us in Castan.
“They’ve all vanished!” cried Jace in sudden despair and pulled out his sword. Yet that was for naught. He put it back into the scabbard. “I don’t want to imagine what even happened to them. Could they have just escaped, or left?”
“I’d be surprised if the Enemy managed to capture them all. I’m sure some of them managed to escape,” I said. “But there’s nothing we can do for them now. It’s not our job to search for survivors. Even if they have information.”
We simply didn’t have time to wait and look in the wilderness for survivors. We might never find any.
“Fascamonta wanted us to come here five days ago when we first met him. If we had come then, as he asked, instead of running around Lottie like some headless chickens—” stuttered Jace, but stopped before he completely lost his mind. “Why was this done? Did those cursed savages of Stotor need slaves? Was their entire peninsula not enough? Millions of men and women were not enough?”
“Jace,” I said. “You know as well as we, that they need victims for rituals and—” I stopped talking. Jace’s mind was too fragile for me to keep going. He knew what I meant.
“The baron said that this Keep guards the Krastarn Pass—” said Florencia and pointed at the dark road that led into the mountains. “It’s one of the few ways into Stotor for miles. I think whoever did this needed a new way into Lienor that was not guarded. That’s all I can think of. Jace is right. Why come and take these people? This must be a strategic move!”
“They’re mindless brutes,” said Iskander bitterly. “Don’t waste time thinking that they have a complicated plan. They don’t. They’re savages and simply want more slaves to abuse. One I interrogated many years ago told me that those with a pure heart were much more… enjoyable to break.”
“Then what can we do? Will we just leave? What if those who did this come back?” asked Jace, buttoned his coat shut, and popped up his collar.
“We need to search to see if we find some clues or hints that we can present to the Lord Mayor,” said Florencia. “Search through the town hall and the fortress over there.”
“And?” asked Iskander, already irritated that we wouldn’t storm ahead blindly into the Krastarn Pass. “If we find some evidence, and we go back to the lord, how does that help us?”
“We must see if we can find anything that tells us what happened here,” said Florencia, and Iskander sighed, his annoyance growing even more.
“How thoroughly?” he asked.
“If you’re asking if we’re going to spend a week digging through the dirt, then no, Iskander, we’re not going to do that,” said Florencia. “I propose we stay here for a few days, or until we find what has happened. And who knows? Maybe a lone patrol comes back, or one of the families who escaped. There’s a thousand things that might happen that will benefit us.”
I liked her optimism.
“And there’s a thousand terrible things as well!” countered Iskander. I liked his caution.
“But we’re not safe here! Where will we sleep?” asked Jaxine, her tone struggling against the wind from the mountains.
“Yes. We are very far from safe,” I said. “We’ll take refuge here for the night, but we will keep watch.”
Iskander’s face twisted into a grimace, and with a sour tone, he said: “I’ll start searching, then. Jaxine, come on.”
“Iskander, we need to stay together,” I said.
“Then it’s going to take a long time!”
“Then it’s going to take longer! But we’re not going out alone!”
“Fine, my lord,” said Iskander, dripping with sarcasm. I chose to ignore that comment. This was not the time to get into an argument.
First, we went into the town hall. It was as we suspected—entirely empty from the inside. It was cleaned out, and only some larger furniture was left behind that could not be carried. And again, this stink of sour smoke permeated everything. Inside the basement, it was so concentrated that I felt sick, and had to leave. Iskander could stomach it for a few moments longer before he stormed up the stairs and vomited onto the dirt road.
“Not so pristine now,” he laughed and wiped his mouth.
We went into many other buildings as well, and it was the same situation. Nothing was left behind except for massive closets or desks, while everything that could be moved was taken.
Upon closer examination, we could see hints of what might have happened. We saw scratches on the floor, covered up with dirt, or on door frames. Drops of dried dark blood in a cold fireplace; an old shoe thrown up the chimney. A handful of hair was stuffed between the floor planks.
Those were tiny things that told of a terrible fate that I dared not think too much about.
Then we traveled to the Keep of Castan, which was outside the village, half a mile before the mountain pass.
It was an ancient fortress of stone, hundreds of years old, perhaps even older than Lottie, judging by the architecture. And it was completely empty. Even in this abandoned state, it looked mighty, and I could see how such a place might hold against a great foe. It had vaults deep underground and secure places where weapons and food could be stored, a single high tower where archers would shoot invaders, and the Lord of the Keep made his quarters. It had high walls surrounding it that only could be overcome by a ladder.
Before going into the keep, we took precautions, and we all drew from our psychic powers to see whether there was anything or anyone inside. But in the fortress, the artificially still empyrean sea was the most noticeable. The moment we stepped inside—a locked gate was no trouble for any of us—we understood immediately that the most terrible deeds had been done here. We could sense a heavy dread and misery linger in the air, and our mood turned bitter. And when I examined the high tower that overlooked the landscape, I thought I heard faint echoes of screams.
Inside the keep, we also found many more signs of what had happened—dark drops of blood. Torn clothing. Shards of swords and spears. A dented helmet.
I stood in the main hall, silent and cloaked in my own contemplations. The hall was a long and cold place against the chilly wind that had two narrow but tall windows that oversaw the Krastarn Pass.
Most curious was that the keep was taken without any damage inflicted on it. This meant the keep was willingly surrendered, or strong magic was used. Only a terrible enemy could do that, and I wondered who that could have been.
Could Vranik have been here? Did he use the Krastarn Pass to go into Stotor? That might be possible. Could we have missed Vranik by a mere five days? A month?
I didn’t even notice Florencia appearing beside me. She stood silently and took my hand into hers. In the cold silence of the hall, I told her all of those thoughts and she listened. The confident lust for battle had disappeared, replaced by a wave of uncertainty that ebbed and flowed.
“I thought about all those things as well,” said Florencia, looking out into the shadowy mountain pass. “I can still feel faint magic in here. It’s possible that this is what happened, but Jonas, don’t torment yourself with those thoughts. We may never know what happened here, and whatever did happen is not our fault. What I’m afraid of is that Iskander will reach the same conclusion. He’ll go into that damned mountain pass with Jaxine, and that’s the last we’ll see of them. I hope you have a plan when that happens tomorrow. Come, Jonas, it’s getting really dark now and we should find a place to spend the night. This keep is too obvious.”
We retraced our steps back into Castan, our horses dutifully in tow, and picked a small and unassuming house at random. It had two entrances and a fireplace, and the inside didn’t stink too much. We spent a restless night on the ground, barely sleeping, and every crack or noise woke us up. At some point, I gave up sleeping altogether and stood in front of the window and looked out into the night.
The following day, we resumed our searches. There weren’t many buildings left to investigate, and before midday, we were done. We only found what we had the previous day, but were none the wiser.
We stood again in the main square, in front of the town hall, with our horses half-asleep near the facade. Florencia and I were deliberating on what our next move should be and were quite firm about returning to Lottie very soon. That was until I caught a glimpse of Iskander, who was checking his equipment in his horse’s saddlebags.
“What is going on?” I asked him.
“I’m done with all of this,” he replied and tucked his hair behind his ears. “I won’t spend another moment in this town filled with specters and ghostly voices. Vranik was here and went for that pass over there. Jaxine and I will follow the mountain pass wherever it goes. Jonas, our time together has been… educational, but I can’t waste my time on your quest anymore.”
Florencia took a few steps closer to me and looked at Iskander. “You know as well as I that this is foolish. Let’s go back to Lottie and inform the Lord Mayor about this. Nobody who goes into Stotor ever comes back.”
“No! I’m fucking done with waiting and going here and there and back again. He’s right there!” Iskander pointed at the mountain pass. “For all we know, Vranik might’ve stood right where I’m standing right now. Florencia, I can’t wait any longer. I’ve wasted so much time on your silly little quest already.”
Jace stepped beside Florencia but positioned himself more on his side so it didn’t look like he was confronting Iskander.
“How can you say that?” asked Jace. “What we do is not silly. You know perfectly well—”
“Don’t you come here and lecture me about anything. You—of all people! We all have reasons to fight this enemy. Everyone except for you, Jace. Why are you even here? Why do you think you have the right to offer your opinion?”
Jace coughed in absolute surprise. “How can you say that? I’ve told you many times already—I need to understand why these things happen. And I want to protect the country I love.”
“Oh, so you’re the righteous fighter who does this out of the goodness of his heart. How noble of you,” said Iskander spitefully, but strangely enough, the spite did not seem to be directed at Jace. “Besides, what does their motive even matter? What do you gain by understanding mindless savages? Nothing! Instead of wasting your time on nonsense, just cut off their heads and be done with it. I refuse to let that filth pollute my mind.”
“But the reason always matters,” said Jace hotly, regaining some confidence. “And don’t think I can’t see through your hypocrisy. How can you appoint yourself as the arbiter of who has the right to fight this battle? Just because you lost someone dear—”
“Don’t say what I think you’re going to say,” said Iskander through gritted teeth. “Back off!”
“Iskander, I’m just trying to help—”
“I don’t need your help, nor Jonas’ or the help of anyone else. “Vranik is mine! I will hunt him down, drive my sword through him, and pull his intestines out. You can’t stop me from going, so don’t stand in my way.”
In a defiant act, he stepped in front of Jace and crossed his arms, staring him down. They were of the same height, but Iskander was more stockily built, and raw strength seemed to exude from his presence. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was capable of snapping Jace in half.
Florencia then stepped beside Jace. “Iskander, don’t be a fool. Vranik is gone to Stotor. You can’t possibly think that following him there will succeed. You’ll die. Jaxine will die. This is madness!”
“Madness?” Iskander exploded loudly. “I’ve spent ten years searching for the one who stole my family from me! Now, I’m finally so close that I can taste it. Nobody, not you, Florencia, nor Jonas or Jace, will stop me.”
This has gone too far, and I had to intervene, though I hoped Florencia and Jace might handle him better.
“Iskander, if you go in that mountain pass into Stotor, you will die and you won’t even see Vranik before you do.”
Iskander spit on the ground in front of me. He was definitely stubborn, and that was one reason I liked him. “How do you know that? And even if you’re right, I don’t care. Don’t you understand? I don’t care if I die! If I don’t, I’ll curse Vranik’s soul for killing my family, and then I’ll kill him myself.”
“You won’t,” I said laconically, and Iskander couldn’t help but laugh.
“You’re so sure of yourself. I wonder what you would do in my stead when you’d see that night in Odel through my eyes. What would you think when you wake up in the middle of the night, and half of your beloved town is in flames, and the screams of your neighbors and friends and family are everywhere? I wonder what you would do when you see your own children die at the hands of some mindless savages or dragged out on the streets and beaten to death in front of their parents. Could you give me the same advice then, when you’ve seen all of that yourself?”
See through my eyes… I felt a sharp realization hit me, like a punch in the face, or like an illumination, and finally, I understood what I had to do. I deciphered why this had haunted me so. It would be mine the moment I could have a moment of peace. But before that, I had to make Iskander see the truth. Vranik’s life was never his to take.
It was mine.
I had foiled his plans in Scorro, and in Veneiea, both times unknowingly, but those were the facts. Vranik was mine… mine to crush.
“Ah, now you remind me more of your old self, Master,” said Goxhandar almost proudly. “Would it be appropriate to welcome you back?”
“It would not, Goxhandar.”
“Then I shall retire until you solve this petty drama.”
“Iskander,” I said, stepping closer to him and Jaxine, and turned so we were isolated from Florencia and Jace. I wanted to put my hand on their shoulders, but sensed they would recoil from it. “I must tell you this—you will never meet and see Vranik with your own eyes. You will never kill him. I’m sorry.”
I looked at Jaxine. “Neither of you will.”
Iskander tried to laugh it off, but his voice broke and his eyes were red and swollen. “If you only saw it yourself. You would understand why I have to do this.”
“I can never imagine what you went through, nor do I pretend to do. I have no idea how it is to bear this pain that I sense within you. And I know telling this hurts you, but Vranik is not yours to kill, even though you have every right to want that.”
“What do you mean—”
“I also can’t tell you to let go of the pain. Instead of letting it guide you into your own death, carry it along with you as a companion and memory of your loss. But don’t let that pain become who you are. Neither of you has to die because of it.”
“We have nothing left,” said Iskander, and kept rubbing the small ring he always had on. He was also speaking for Jaxine, who could do nothing except hide in her sweater with tears welling in her eyes.
“Both of you have your life,” I told them. “And you can make so much with it still. Stay with us.”
Both of them stopped talking and a silence fell upon us. I understood I had to give them space, and I went back to Florencia.
“Where did that come from?” she whispered and searched my eyes for answers.
“I have no idea,” I said, similarly stumped. I hoped it just might work, as I had meant every word.
Then, as on cue, a gust of wind blew from the south, warm and fresh, and the sun shone on us for a moment from behind the clouds. Then, a lone and loud trumpet.
“There’s someone coming!” shouted Florencia.
Down the narrow road came barreling down a lithe horse. Mounted upon its back was a young man, draped in the cloak of Lottie, bearing its proudful heraldry. He stopped before us, and we saw the young man was barely into his twenties, his face drenched in sweat and his expression painted with sheer terror.
“My lords,” said he, out of breath, his hands almost trembling. “I’m so happy I found you so fast. There is an urgent message I come to bring you from the Lord Mayor Fascamonta! You must come back to Lottie this instant! Please.”
“Why?” I asked.
“We can’t come yet. Our mission in Castan is not yet finished—” said Florencia before the messenger interrupted her.
“Castan doesn’t matter, my lords,” he said quickly. “War has come! A great army is marching on Belcorvo as we speak! Marshall de-Vilgario and the Lord Mayor said we are all in peril and begged for your aid. Please, you must come with me now. We don’t have a moment to lose!”
When those words of doom were spoken, his horse frantically neighed and jumped back nervously, its hooves stomping the ground.
War had come.