The village was like most settlements near the Crest. Small, sparsely populated, and containing little of value. It existed solely to exist, to be a handhold with which mortal kind pushed against the limits of the world. Each of the region’s villages was a seed cast to the wind with the hopes that it would one day grow past its meager existence. The fortress city of Eido had stood as their guardian, a rallying point and bastion of society until the day it disappeared.
A map of the region lay on the table. A few days ago, it had been an accurate one. The armored figure examining it looked up as another entered the room. “News from the border regions?”
“Yes, Headman Murdon.” The face betrayed nothing, but the tone implied well-controlled fear mixed in with the familiarity. There was also an inflection on the title, which was odd in and of itself. They knew Murdon well enough to make formality pointless.
The first sighed. “It might as well be Commander now.”
“You're assuming that position?”
Murdon tapped the map with a claw, indicating their village. “This is the largest town. Biggest of anything, now that Eido is gone. Roost’s Peak is there but that headman’s just a miner. I’m guessing help isn’t coming?”
“They assured us they would welcome any refugees.” The other frowned. “No other aid was offered.” His garb was less metallic than Murdon’s, though the flowing robes hid a lacquered undervest offering a surprising amount of protection.
“Not in so many words.”
“Oh, of course not,” the robed man laughed. “In fact, Aughal has promised to send a force in the winter to secure new settlement sites if we can hold out that long. No one I reached seemed to believe the Spoke was gone. Threst, well, I couldn’t ask for clarification when Soraso just replied that he would ‘think on it’. I can’t imagine that windy bastard would just leave us out to dry, but I also can’t ask. We’re out of stones to throw through their windows.”
Murdon looked to the blazing summer sun and spat out the window. “Lograve, tell me, do we have enough to make this work?” Murdon was already confident he knew the answer, but it never hurt to consult someone with greater intelligence.
The smile didn’t fade from Lograve, but the eyes became serious as they glanced off to follow Murdon’s. “I think you know already. Only a fraction of the Eido garrison is expected to have avoided the devastation. Those on assignment, mostly. All combatants of level 4 or higher are gone. Well, besides Kob.”
“Small mercy, but can we do it?”
Lograve shook his head. “It’s a matter of what you wish to do. Survive? You could fight your way to Aughal without much issue. Save everyone in the region? We’ve already failed that,” he chuckled.
“Lograve!”
“Right, sorry.” His smile finally faltered. “I knew people there too you know.”
“You don’t act like it.”
“I don’t have the heart of a stoic like you. In my mind, it’s hard to see reality as anything more than a cruel joke after what we witnessed.” He paused. “Who do you want to save?”
Murdon raised an eyescale. “What kind of question is that?”
“An important one. Command here is all but ceded to you, and no one alone is strong enough to challenge that. Not that anyone would try. Kob’s the only one with a reasonable chance and we’d know how that would go.” Lograve fiddled with his collar. “You could gather up every Blessed here and make a break for it. Maybe save a village or two, but not everyone. Not everyone left.”
“What do I do if I want to save everyone?”
“Gods Murdon, you aren’t responsible for the entire Octyrrum.” Lograve put a hand on Murdon’s metallic shoulder. “Nothing. I told you, that ship has sailed. Now, if you want to save as many as you can? That it is a simple matter of optimization and logistics. A problem of mathematics.”
Murdon closed his eyes and nodded. He’d come to the same conclusion. “Octyrrum save us if it’s come to that. We do it, then. Fortify this town and send out teams to give evacuation notices. Anyone who’s foolish enough to resist might as well be left behind.”
“I imagine most are already headed our way. Any other obvious edicts now that the entire region bends to your will?” the lithe man asked sarcastically.
“We buy time, and we hunt.”
…
Outside of the former Headman’s house, the first preparations had already begun. Lograve had known the outcome of the conversation before they’d had it, though nothing he’d done was irreversible should Murdon have defied his expectations. The village of one hundred had swelled to thrice its number in a blink of an eye. Tents commandeered from the general store had been set up on freshly cleared ground. Rationing implemented. Guards posted. Martial law enacted.
It was enough to host those who had arrived. As more poured from the region into Hagain Village, it wouldn’t be. The village was the closest to the border regions and the mountain ridge that divided them from safety. It was a funnel for the fleeing masses, but not the last step. Braving the Thormundz pass was.
When the settlement of the region had been planned, some had suggested placing the city that would become Eido in the pass itself to secure the route. Fates and other diviners assessed the location from afar and came to a disheartening conclusion. The gate to the Thormundz region was heavily populated by monsters, and not even a Spoke might survive the long process of completing itself if placed there.
The region was known for its strong affinity for air and lightning, a trait inherited by the things that spawned there. The mountains were infested with them. The defenses of a finished Spoke could suppress native monster growth to enough of a degree to allow mortals to keep populations under control, but setting up there in the midst of them was impossible. Rumors of level 6 monsters lingering nearby the tenuous bridge almost scuttled the proposal to break through the enormous mountain range here. The Eido garrison was enough to secure regular passage, though it had required escorts and regular patrols. The absence of the majority of empowered individuals left only dregs to bridge the gap.
Tlara was one such dreg, a volunteer among others sent to scout the route ahead of the first convoy. Successfully evacuating the region would require defending Hagain Village and regularly escorting refugees through the pass. The latter posed the most problems. Not only did it expose the convoy guards to monsters both ways, it gave them an opportunity to not return.
This was the reason Tlara had joined the initial expedition. She’d always thought herself an opportunist. She’d come to the Thormundz region to exploit the access to new monsters, and because becoming a Beastmaster had led to certain difficulties back home. As a Beastmaster, her strength came from the creatures she tamed and the novelty of their abilities. Her set of tools would make or break her since practically all of her powers depended on the creatures under her control. With the Eido's Spoke gone, it was now more likely she’d be consumed by the stronger beasts she wished to dominate.
Her current companion was a level one ringcat. It wasn't even a specialty of the region. Tlara had brought it out to set in reserve her rarer, more valuable finds. It was a lithe creature, four-legged and long-toothed. Its fur was said to be marked by the Octyrrum due to the blue-tinged white circular patterns spiraling across its brown fur which were faintly reminiscent of the shape of the world. Its nose and ears were its greatest value. Otherwise, it was unable to fight something at Tlara’s level.
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Each of the expedition knew combat was inevitable. Death for some was probable. The leader was the headman of one of the first villages to retreat to Hagain, a strong level 3 Martialist whose powers mostly favored the bow. His eyes were the sharpest and his total attributes the highest of the group.
They’d already made it through the first section of the pass. It was a gently rising section of ground that comprised the foothills of the Thormundz ridge. It led into a wooded section that grew sparser as the altitude climbed. Some had chosen to live out here or had had this chosen for them. Among those who came to new regions to find new lives for themselves were those who had committed crimes bad enough to earn exile but not quite execution. At the outer limits of mortal kind’s settlement in the area, Tlara’s group had found their bodies.
“Damn, already?” the headman muttered, coming across the charred remains of another ruined hovel, “I’d hoped at least one…” He trailed off. No one else felt like commenting. In Tlara’s case, she was keeping a close eye on her companions. Some were here that shared her goal, and if she wanted to avoid the sting of the headman’s bow when she made her move, she’d need their help.
Her ringcat kept watch of the surroundings, its leonid ears and stance flattened. A short grunt returned it to her side. “Nothing,” she reported, eyes not meeting the headman’s.
“Let’s keep moving then.”
No survivors were found amidst the fading woodlands. Not every ruin had corpses, and hope remained that they had crossed the pass. Now, they were at the highest point the road went, and the most dangerous. The only clean break in the mountains suitable for mass passage was right in the path of a large lake. Mortal structures offended the wild beasts of the region, as they did themselves, inciting destructive rage. An obvious bridge across would not have survived long enough to be worth the effort of building or guarding. Magic was called upon for a solution.
“Eyes on the sky,” the headman warned. His bow was drawn, an arrow in the other hand. The lake was in the center of a bowl, ringed by craggy mountain walls. Ideal lurking grounds for airborne creatures.
As he led the group, he walked towards open water where the path ended. A few meters before he reached it, shimmering platforms ten meters to a side rose to meet him. Tlara and her ringcat walked closely together near the middle of the group. Both were tense, though not from fear. The expedition had planned to reach the center of the bridge before returning to Hagain Village to make sure there wasn’t a serious threat lingering at this point.
She intended to set her ringcat on the headman when they reached there, and run. On her side was the group’s only Arcanist, two other Martialists, and a Totem Warrior. Loyalty had been forged through whispered words passed during the ascent. With half of the expedition ready to run, she doubted the rest could stop them. After the bridge, it was a shorter and safer descent to civilized land and fresh opportunity.
“Here,” the headman said without prelude to the Arcanist, who gave her a brief look as if to say, ‘what did you expect?’ before he used a power. The water still clinging to the freshly risen section of the bridge grew immediately cold. The ringcat let out a yelp as its paws were frozen in place, the rest of the would-be betrayers joining it. Only one of the sections had been affected, and only Tlara’s faction, as the ice hadn’t reached the headman. Those Tlara hadn’t approached had remained behind on the previous platform, suggesting all of this had been planned despite the care she’d taken to watch them. It seemed she wasn’t the only one that had been scheming during the ascent.
The headman’s bow pointed at Tlara, provoking the impotent ringcat. “What are you-”
“Do I need to explain?” he cut Tlara off. A green light flashed over his arrow for a second. An ability, but she didn’t know what it did.
“We don’t need to die for one man’s suicidal plans!” One of the Martialists pleaded, not bothering to go for his sword. Behind them, the Arcanist and others loyal to the headman were ready to react if they did anything.
“You do,” the headman said calmly. “A trickle becomes a flood. Everyone must know what will happen to those who desert the evacuation effort or we will bleed capable men through this pass.”
The Totem Warrior scoffed. “I am no deserter. I am a free woman.”
“Sympathies others share.” The headman was not as self-righteous towards the animalistic woman, who had triggered some of her transformative powers. She didn’t try to break free of the ice though, as the first person who did was getting shot. “Something that must be smothered. I have one hundred of my own to shepherd. A thousand, perhaps, among all the villages who will need us to brave this pass again and again until there are none left to save. Your freedom is a bitter price to pay, but I will collect it for the good of the many.”
“Tyrant,” was her short reply, unchallenged by the headman.
“It is simply mathematics,” the Arcanist said sadly as he sustained the ice effect. None of those bound were resisting, though Tlara was constantly looking for a chance to do something. They were only a short way into the lake, no way she could make it to the far shore.
“Those of you who have plotted escape have but one chance,” the headman intoned gravely. “Return to Hagain and you will live. You will be barred from escort duty across the pass and dispersed amongst the hunting parties. Serve honorably, and you may join the last convoy out of the Thormundz.”
“That’s a death sentence!” the first Martialist cried. “There are level 5 monsters in the region. Without the garrison or the Spoke to keep them controlled they’ll tear us to shreds!”
“You refuse?”
“I-” his words were cut off by an arrow. It had moved faster than Tlara could follow and struck with lethal aim. Martialists were on the tougher end of classes and reliably awakened defensive powers, but low-level mortals could hardly survive being shot in the throat. The other Martialist and the Totem Warrior glared but raised their hands. The Arcanist who had frozen them all frowned, looking at the dead man, but did not free them.
“And you?” the headman asked, knocking another briefly green arrow. Neither the threat nor the casual murder had phased Tlara. Another chance would come for escape. She would have surrendered if her ringcat hadn’t covertly alerted her to what the others hadn’t noticed.
“Dragon.” Her whisper screamed fear and the slightest awe.
“Drop the ice,” the headman ordered instantly, not offering Tlara any doubt.
Ice cracked apart across the platform as the dead Martialist dropped from his forced stand. The other grabbed his fallen companion’s sword and held it with his own in a dual-wielding stance. “Back to shore! Double Time!” He quickly overtook the rest as they tried to run, shouting an echoing incantation as he did.
Above them, a shape cast its shadow across the lake. The shadow was what the ringcat had seen, like a shark moving below the water. The real danger was overhead. Lightning, true lightning, danced across the white scales of the dragon barreling towards them. The primary source was a blue horn on its head that bled electricity, though its claws and the tip of its tail were secondary sources. Its wings beat powerfully, augmenting the speeding descent to a terrifying pace.
It was an impressive feat that the headman fired twice before the dragon reduced him to a bloody smear on the platform. The Totem Warrior was cut in two by a claw strike, and the Arcanist was skipped across the water when the tail batted him as an afterthought. The fly-by attack had lasted seconds. Lightning coursed through the platform from the brief contact the dragon had with it, though this was mostly neutralized by the remnants of the ice. If the Arcanist hadn't frozen the platform, Tlara would already be dead.
Tlara spoke in a clipped, guttural voice. The tongue she used to command her beasts was like a second language, able to convey complex instructions in a heartbeat. This one was only: ‘distract’. The ringcat’s devotion was absolute and magically enforced. It let out a challenging roar that echoed across the valley. The dragon, ascending for another dive, released an ear-splitting thunderclap in response. Tlara was deafened and could only feel the release of mana in her Focus as the ringcat was grabbed, lifted, and torn in half. She had other creatures at her disposal, but no time to use them.
Three of the five Hagain loyalists were the dragon’s next victims as it swept the front of the retreating group with a blast of lightning. It hadn’t hit them, but the platform they were on had water instead of ice to carry the lightning. Enough for a fraction of the bolt’s terrifying power to pass to those standing on it. Three devastating attacks in just under a minute and every one lethal. That left Tlara, the second Martialist, a Berserker, and a Cleric. She didn’t like the odds of surviving the next attack.
A voice boomed through the ringing of her ears. “Go!” The Arcanist had survived. He was standing on top of the lake’s surface away from the bridge. Water fell like reverse rain around him, collecting into a splinter of ice circling the human’s head. It grew into an arrow, then a spear, then something comparable to a ballista bolt before being fired at the dragon.
The headman’s arrows had annoyed it. The ice spike evoked a growl of pain that shook the pass once more. Tlara couldn’t help but be impressed, it was the least she could do for the person actively sacrificing himself for her.
The mist thrown up by the dragon’s collision with the water reached well beyond the lake’s shore to the surviving four. The Arcanist was surely dead but he’d baited the dragon into the water. Its own lightning now stormed through it uncontrollably. Anything in the lake, including a fair number of fish, died instantly. The dragon wasn’t immune to its lightning when channeled this way and would be stunned for long enough to let the rest flee.
Tlara paused once she’d reached the tree line. The others looked at her in confusion, until motes of dust spilled from a pouch on her waist. They collected onto the ground as a dust storm, which then parted to reveal a large beetle creature with sparking mandibles. She mounted it, gave a moment’s thought to the others, and left them behind as the beetle charged through the forest. The feathers of her head and arms were puffed up in an instinctual reaction as she fully came to grips with what she’d just escaped, as well as what it meant.
With a dragon guarding the pass, everyone in the Thormundz region was already dead. She was just the first to know.