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Seven horses, seven riders, and seven battalions of men.

They bore different colors and flags, and with them were wagons stacked to the brim. Behind was a small procession of people following the soldiers with all their earthly belongings.

The combined armies moved as fast as their size allowed, stretching far between the first man and the last.

They’ve come far, and not too long ago, they had crossed into the vast spanning dunes of the east.

The seven men at the front rode together, each dressed in a different region’s garb. Each bore different sigils, each man’s horse adorned with different colors of ribbon and saddle skirt. But, their armor had been similar; perhaps there was a time when all seven men had been a part of something unified.

They saw the regimen of the southern patrols in the distance, and black flags got thrown up across the flagbearers.

Peace.

And yet, as they approached, hundreds of bows were drawn and steadied by the southern men.

The first of the seven men held both hands up, his chest exposed and no weapon in sight. As a commander bearing the colors of Sudraj met them, they did not let a single moment pass.

“Korschey has taken the East.”

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Asim gave the word, and the mobilization began immediately.

Chaotic, hurried, and dark - the presence of the soldiers spread panic through every onlooker around the citadel. Supplies were being packed, horses were being readied, and weapons sharpened. The news spread fast, beginning before the Eastern warlords reached the Alabaster Palace.

They arrived in a cloud of fine dirt and sand, and they were met in the palace courtyard. Val had been with Marat when Iros came frantically knocking at their door.

“They came from nowhere. The first of the walls came down before reinforcements from the neighboring states could be called.” The first of the warlords told them. “Up to that point, we had only experienced the accidental splash of the tides that crashed against the South. Korschey had no interest in our lands. They never got past the Crimson River, unable to take the Semey Bridge.”

“We held our own for many years. His armies came with a fog rolling in. They overtook the bridge, the pass.” Said the second.

“Why had you not stayed and fought for your country?” Iros’ face was hard.

“They came through before we could unite; any one of our battalions would have been wiped off the face of the earth before the other had a chance to cross the borders of their lands.” said the third.

“Have you come to seek refuge then? Or call for aid?” Marat looked at each man. None of their faces had betrayed the answer. Each was as exhausted by the long journey as the rest.

“Neither.” Said the fourth man.

“We have come to warn the South of the death that comes.” Said the fifth. “One that has swallowed our lands whole.”

“We had only a day’s head start and moved fast enough to gain two more from them.” Said the sixth.

“How has Korschey moved his armies so fast from the capital…” Speaking for the first time, King Batyr stepped forward through his men.

“It is not the whole of his men. It is only the armies that come from the Midtrade City. They are great in numbers, well supplied, and armed.” Said the seventh. “And now, they move as one, and they come for the White Cities.”

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“I have to go to Nashtuun.” Marat was moving fast, his things tossed messily around him. Val watched, anxieties gripping her insides. “It is only a day away. There are not enough men there to face an army of that size from Korschey.”

“I am coming with you.”

“No.”

“Marat, I am coming with you, and you cannot stop me.” She insisted, immediately going to pack her things. He turned to her, aggravated.

“Valeria, you will do no such thing.”

She appeared next to him before he knew it, the expression on her face matching his.

“I have lost you once already. Should you fall, I need to know that I have done all I can. I am well-versed in medicine. I can help. And should you try to stop me, I will only ride a few hours behind and meet you there anyway.”

“Do I have to put you behind a lock and key? What part of what I said did you not understand?” He was almost throwing his things. Despite having carried a longsword since they had reunited, she saw the hunter’s knife tucked into his bag.

“Do not be cruel. One day, the roles will be reversed.” She stepped away. She put the journal in her pack and grabbed the riding dress and scarf for the day-long journey through the heat. “You cannot stop me.”

He watched her with a stern look.

“You will not come atop the walls. You will not leave the gates. What you will do is remain with any other nurse or surgeon, far into the city.” He said finally. “If you cannot promise me that, I will order men to stand at the door and keep you here until I return. And, we can deal with the fallout of my decisions then.”

She felt the vein in her forehead strain.

“Alright.”

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General Asim met Iros at the citadel.

“You have to go south,” Asim said grimly. Iros stopped, considering the man. “Forgive my informality. Afraid there is no time for that. You have to take your men, not most - I cannot afford that - but if they took the East, they will have ports. They will have ships. More ships than you or I.”

“This is your land.” Iros nodded. “And I will do as you say.”

“A first. One would think that it is the Western generals who control my men.” Asim mumbled.

“Most of what remains in the ports are western ships,” Iros noted. “We do not even know how many have arrived as of late, how many hold supplies we need. I will go. Now.”

“Iros…” Asim straightened. “I have men down there. They are yours. I have admirals and captains there. They’re useless to me on land, just rowdy sea lions who refuse to part with the water. The scoutmaster is there, too. He was a navigator before he was a pathfinder. But he is alone. Do as you see fit.”

“Will you go north?”

“No.” Asim shook his head. “My duty is here with King Batyr. Should Nashtuun fall, I will be the only thing standing between the North and him.”

“The Ember Sword then…” Iros looked uneasy. “I do not know if that is wise.”

“He is your equal, is he not?” Asim’s tone was dry, daring Iros to disagree.

“I think we both know the answer to that.” The High Templar sighed. “This is no small regimen of men on patrol, Asim. You cannot send him.”

“I have no choice. They will have us surrounded, squeeze us out and starve us should they take the ports and Ai-Jabranh.”

Iros knew this to be true.

If he were to lead the way, the other heads of the military would listen. But… this was Marat—a man who had led thirty men to their deaths even with Iros present.

Iros sighed, deeper now than before, and gave him a bow of the head before leaving.

Val was unprepared for the activity around them the minute they stepped into the courtyard. Marat had called for a horse to be prepared for her, and immediately disappeared into the sea of animals, men, and steel.

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She stood, looking lost and nervously fidgeting with her hands. A few of the men looked her way in curiosity but quickly went back to their tasks at hand. Even the threat of war had not outweighed the sight of the Witch outside the palace's walls.

Iros appeared at her side.

“I am surprised to see you here and in riding clothes.” He noted, but the surprise did not reflect in his voice.

“I am going with.”

“I thought you might. I am not.”

“What?” She looked to him. He had been serious.

“I will ride south, toward the sea. Tell him before anyone else does. But not until I am gone. He might not be so willing to go should he find out - or, at best, waste precious time trying to stop me.”

“...who else? Who else is going north?” She asked him quietly. Val thought of all the times Marat had admitted to his lack of organized military experience. He was more than a skilled fighter, but…

“It is best you are at his side.” Iros ignored her question, simultaneously answering it. “He will need you.”

His mouth showed a hint of a grin.

“Besides, the men like him far better than they do me. I hear they see me as a stone-hearted traditionalist. A stick in the mud.” He said. “They like him better. His manner of approach is more… practical. And mouth fit more for a latrine attendant than a military leader. It strangely works out in his favor–”

She threw her arms around him before he could say another word.

“Thank you for everything, Iros.” She whispered. “I cannot repay you for what you have done for Marat.”

“You do not need to.” He returned the almost fatherly embrace. “You both will pay the world back in full; I am sure of it.”

As he left, she turned and saw a flash of red in the crowd.

“S-omeone s-tole my boot-s, and I s-wear to the god-s I will pummel them into the ground when I find the thieve-s.” Yaro stomped through, leading an exceptionally thick horse behind him. How he found such a wide beast in the south, she did not know. But it suited him well and looked like it could carry him a long distance without developing a severe case of arthritis.

At the sight of her, his facial expression transformed into a delighted grin.

“Valeria!” He exclaimed, letting go of the reins and pulling her into a far too-tight of a hug. “God-s but you are coming with?”

She nodded, becoming put off by how many people were deeply surprised by this.

“S-uppo-se we could u-se a witch.” He said, catching hold of his horse again. “Make-s s-en-se.”

“Thank you, Yaro.” She sighed. “I am afraid not many share your opinion.”

“Eh.” He waved that away with his hand. “What-s it matter? The s-outhern tribe-s are made up of women warrior-s.”

He looked her up and down for a second.

“But you are no warrior.” He noted.

“I know.”

“None of my bu-ssine-ss then.”

There were far more men than Val expected.

She rode with Marat and Yaro at the very front. None had spoken. The wind whipped at their faces, and all had to wear the wrappings around their head to protect them from the sand it carried.

When she told Marat what Iros said, he did not answer her. The wrinkles on his face deepened, especially those between his brows.

Making only one stop to allow the horses to rest, they made it to Nashtuun by the next morning. If the eastern warlords were to be trusted, the armies were only a day or two away.

The preparations started the moment they entered the gates. Heavy iron machines atop the walls were oiled, the walls lined with sharp pikes suspended on iron chains, and bastions immediately manned. Marat had ordered scout parties to ride out and set up warning fires along the roads.

The new military presence spread panic across the city and fast. People’s doors and windows had been shut and barred, and those who were not equipped to secure their homes, or were too young or elderly to do so, were taken to the keeps.

Medical tents were set up in short proximity to the walls. That was where Val had been banished as soon as the structures had gone up. Outside the range of direct fire, they were still close enough that any man wounded could survive the short walk.

She did not see much of Marat until the men were being prepared with chainmail and leather in the yard. He was fully armored, the steel shined and clearly brand new. His dark hair was pulled back in a warrior’s braid. On his chest was the West’s golden lion.

He looked like a king going to war.

The winds picked up. It seemed that even the weather had been against them now. The men on the battlements tried to take cover among the towers and behind wooden barriers. The scouts outside were nowhere to be seen, and Val had hoped they also found cover from the elements.

A day had gone by. People tensed, and the hum of conversation died almost entirely among those gathered around her. The air crushed people’s spirits beneath its weight.

Many had been there when the first White City fell. They had hidden themselves away the fastest.

The scouts had remained gone, and no warning fires lit up on the horizon.

Marat stood atop the wall, Yaro at his side. Neither man took their eyes off where the flat desert met the darkened stormy sky.

“Bad luck,” Yaro muttered. “But, bad luck for u-s and for them. At lea-st, we have wall-s to s-hield u-s.”

Marat nodded. The storm would slow the army down. It would give them an extra day, two at most, to bring supplies and stock water from the river for a siege.

He had not been prepared for the fate that befell him. When Iros and Asim made their intentions clear, bile rose in Marat’s throat. He felt his insides turn. The fate of this many men, a whole city - and by extension, the whole of the South had suddenly fallen on him.

He barely knew the words to command the men and knew that with this, he would likely be exposed. His only hope was that his presence there alone would be enough.

“Thank you,” Marat said, and Yaro turned to him.

“Hm?”

“I definitely could use a friend here.”

“Well,” Yaro shook his head, “it-s clear a-s day you don’t know what you’re doing, s-o…”

Marat looked to him sharply.

“Eh, don’t worry, no one el-se know-s. Iro-s ha-s a big mouth.”

This had been the very first time in both of Marat’s lives that he ever heard the High Templar be accused of having a big mouth.

“It’s getting worse.” He said, changing the subject. The horizon turned from dark grey to black. “It will hit us within the hour.”

The wind died down, and clouds began to form. A wave of them crawled toward the city.

“A haboob…” Yaro said grimly.

Marat remained silent. In front of the darkness rolling in rose white pillars of the warning fires.

“CLOSE THE GATES!”

The iron began to creak as horses pulled the gates shut. The stone shook at its force beneath them.

The clouds of black moved forward fast, and as they approached, they turned to the color of dirt and sand around them. Men began running to and from. Archers lined the walls, and the sound of hammers rose as they reinforced the heavy wooden gates.

The heat radiating off the ground distorted their view. All looked on for shapes within the haze.

Marat could not believe they were riding through the storm.

The tension rose. Everyone’s face was hardened, eyes on the horizon.

It approached.

Yaro stepped up to the edge of the wall, looking down at the loose sand against it at the bottom. It would be hard to stabilize anything there enough to climb them.

Something shiny caught his eye.

He squinted to better see it, but they were too high up, and his eyes not as young as they used to be.

“What i-s that…”

The wall of dust began spreading out, now wide and turbulent. The first of the dark figures walking forth appeared, a black silhouette against the forceful winds.

Marat gripped his bow tighter. It was too far for a good shot, and with the weather the way it was - it was not guaranteed even for him.

Val heard the men. She heard their panicked steps. She stood and walked to the entrance of the tent. They scattered about as animals. Something felt wrong.

Marat’s eyes did not leave the figure. Why had no one else come out…

Yaro shielded his face from the small bits of flying dirt.

Light reflected off of it again; it flashed in his eyes. Was that gold?

What was gold doing down there?

Another flash, a reflection of the remains of the sun before the stormy clouds had taken it in their grasp. It was not just one piece of gold…

…but a long gold chain, stretched tight.

His eyes focused as the figure got closer.

It walked with a certain difficulty… a limp.

“No…”

Val’s eyes widened as she felt the thrash of energy run through the air. She took off, running toward the wall faster than she had ever run before. She screamed for Marat, but her words got lost in the wind.

He could see it clearly now.

Rags, flying about in the wind. The glistening of the chains. It’s one good leg.

The Legho’s jaw hung broken from its face. Its arms had been cut off at the elbow, not even bandaged, as the bones - still unhealed - stuck out. It was stumbling forward.

It was alone.

“Fall back…” He felt his voice catch in his throat. “FALL BACK!”

It was too late. He saw the first man fall off the wall.

And then, three more.

He pushed Yaro toward the stairs.

“GO! Fall back!”

Men followed. They ran down the steps. They began slipping off, falling to their deaths. A man fell on his sword. Another dropped his as he ran, and it sliced through the neck of one below.

“To the keep! For fucksake, fall back!”

Val ran to him.

“It’s the Legho!” She screamed against the wind.

A section of the wall rumbled, and as if weathered away by age and rains, a chunk of it thundered and separated from the rest, tumbling down on the medical tents.

“GO!” Marat yelled to her.

“I can help!” She yelled back.

“You can get them to go back! Get them as far from the wall as you can!”

He ran to the tents nearby, urging the people out - and then the houses.

Men all around met their cruel fates. Four horses took off in fear; they trampled all in their way, in the end, running directly into the spiked wooden barriers meant to be put in front of the walls. Their bodies skewered onto them, and the bellows of their dying rang through the streets.

The roofs began collapsing. Whatever soldiers had remained were led by Marat, knocking on doors and urging the residents out and toward the south of the city - away from the northern gate.

They did not see Val remain behind.

She ran up the stairs leading to the top of the walls, over bodies of men and crumbling steps slippery with blood. She’d reached the top, where the wind had swayed her with a force that had almost knocked her to the side. She was alone. There was not a life in sight.

Not a life except the lone, thin creature on the ground, standing at the gates.

Do not go looking for Misfortune, or Misfortune will look for you.

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