Roads are a surprisingly complicated piece of infrastructure. As demonstrated by the renown achieved by Roman road laying. First, they dug a trench, then compacted the road base by marching centuries of people through it. This was followed by a ‘Statumen’ layer, comprised of large flat stones to provide enduring stability, similarly to laying the foundation to a house. Once completed, a ‘Rudus’ of crushed stones and lime was added, a sort of cement to lock everything in place and prevent the road from washing away over time. Above this came the ‘Nucleus’ a layer of fine gravel or sand, creating a bed for the final layer to be installed, which was the ‘Pavimentum’ a crowning layer of fitted stones. To top it all off, the roads were built with a slight arch or camber. This last step was crucial in wicking water off the road, preventing potholes and erosion.

A lasagna’s worth of layers went into roadbuilding.

And not a single one of these facts were known to Liam or Kheresh. Making his journey out of town quite harrowing to his cheeks, as well as slow. Wagons had wheels and axles, but no suspension of any kind, meaning the wooden wheels communicated every pebble and dirt clod directly into the rider’s spine.

The lead wagon pulled off the road, pausing its journey northward to recover the working earth magi, while the second wagon took the lead, emptying its passengers so they could begin the task of brick laying. This rotation was efficient, but still took ten minutes to perform. A tax that was starting to add up. Doubly so considering this was the second time inside of an hour they’d rotated. Liam opened both eyes, looking ahead at the magi’s work. They were filling in potholes, moving gravel and stones from the surrounding sand to create a flat surface, upon which they created blocks of sandstone.

When first they’d departed, they had been overconfident and brimming with mana. They’d even built retaining walls along each side of the road. A nice touch, and absolutely beyond their mana limits to maintain. Liam glanced back, and furrowed his brow at the still visible Crystal Palace, a shining wonder of crystal rainbows.

“I’ll be old and gray by the time we reach Greenwood! Owen, we need to pick up the pace, grab any magi we do not expect to need before nightfall.” Said Liam, leaping from the wagon and alighting on the open sand.

Half elven or half human, his body was finally beginning to mature with a grace that seemed far too coordinated. His movements were smooth, yet crisp, each step was even yet precisely metered, and the sand itself seemed too enthralled by his passing to deform under his feet. A favor it did not grant the paladins, who stuck to the sandstone road or sank four inches into the morass of glass dust.

Coincidentally, their misfortune granted Liam time to watch the magi work. He closed his eyes, using the two extra senses to navigate the world, mana swirled from magi into sand and stone, moving and altering the substrate easily. But a problem became immediately visible. The magi were running out of mana, appearing as mostly melted candles instead of the raging bonfires this cadre of battlemages should have been.

“Out of mana and it’s not even noon.” Muttered Liam.

Without opening his eyes he walked to the lowest mage, a being whose flame was nearly gone.

“Give me your hands and relax.” Ordered Liam, extending his hands.

“Oh, uhm yes sir.” Said a woman’s voice.

Liam had heard it before, at his mother’s funeral. This was a brunette, slender by American standards, and muscular by this world’s. Warm hands slid into his, somehow feverish and clammy in the desert heat.

“This may feel… uhm, wonky for a moment, just remember to keep breathing.” Said Liam, trying to make a joke and failing miserably.

“Yes sir!” Said the female paladin, tensing her fingers to keep them from shuddering at Liam’s touch.

Liam thanked Taloc that his eyes were closed, otherwise he would have rolled them at her earnest nature. He was already channeling earth affinity mana into the woman, picturing the mana transfer as dropping brown bricks of power into her pockets. In a second they were full, and he broke contact, leaving her gasping in surprise. Now she appeared like an angel, a halo of mana glowing with power and casting her own sort of heat mirage to Liam’s mana-vision.

Ha, got into her pants AND took her breath away. Thought Liam, chuckling as he moved to the next mage. With his [mana domination] skill, he moved magic from one body to the next taking mana from fire, water, and light affinity paladins and converting it into earth affinity. Power bent to his whim, transmuted by his unique mastery of the elements.

After that, the battlemages, old and new, cast as they walked, maintaining movement. The miles succumbed quickly, with the road out of Kheresh being rebuilt at a walking pace. Not the quickest pace, but smooth. Better than dealing with the deeply rutted road, or risking a wheel breaking on the foot deep potholes.

“How did the Duke even make it home with this road in such a sorry state?” Liam groused, returning to his covered wagon and plopping onto the bench beside Owen.

“Strange question… Tis because of his return that the roads are in such poor condition. They’ve performed their task and returned what’s left of the Kharmite army. If the soldiers stopped to repair the roads as they marched, they would be terribly slow. Might even run out of rations and water.” Mused Owen, lovingly tucking the last piece of his armor into the wagon, making sure leather isolated each plate so it wouldn’t rattle or scratch.

Arlet would approve of this paladin’s conduct. At least that’s one less obstacle we’ll have to deal with. Well, if he forgives me for dying on him... I wonder what happened to Nyota. She was pregnant with Furana, but… that was three years ago?! Actually, now that I think about it, we’ve been so busy with the Argos’ remodeling that it’s closer to four years ago. How did she have a kid and move on to have another so quickly?

A shudder ran down his spine, and he prayed Arlet wouldn’t break his back when they finally met. Or his heart, considering Nyota’s pregnancy… Could he be the father? No, humans and felinids were incompatible. It just wasn’t possible! I’m still not sure what strings Taloc pulled for Furana…

Liam spent the next week recharging the paladins, moving energy from the combat focused magi, like himself and the two fire paladins, Velena and Faelan, to the road. Via Owen and his earth magi. A number of Kheresh merchants passed them by, thanking him for the road, and offering food and water, only to be rebuffed when Liam filled their waterskins with magic, and ordered them to leave them to their work. His curtness translated well, and the merchants passed them by, not seeking a confrontation with the elven Lightning Lord, or his werewolf bodyguard.

Though the merchant’s pace quickly slowed once they passed, often halving their landspeed. Peeping portals told Liam the truth, a caravan from Khereshetal could appear on the horizon and catch him in a day, only to take three days to disappear in front of him. The road was performing as he thought it would, facilitating his travel more than impeding it, and it aided future convoys. Food, gorgons, and reinforcements would be able to traverse this road, all bringing death to the portal creations of Pandora.

Wars were won via logistics, as were sieges.

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—Another week passed—

The sun's unyielding glare beat down on the paladins, relentlessly cooking them. Every step fell upon hot sandstone, baking their soles, making the trek feel never-ending. Liam’s boots, once sturdy and reliable, now chafed against his heels. The heat caused his skin to swell, and there were tiny pockets of pain growing across his cheeks and feet, swelling to soon burst, leaving raw flesh exposed to the abrasive grains. He could reshape them with healing, but that would only take valuable mana away from the road, slowing their –already painful– pace, so he endured the pain, anointing the road with his blood and mana.

Carry me now, and you will carry armies later. Thought Liam.

Under the pressure of constant casting and forced induction of mana the vanguard suddenly began to level up, with those who strained the hardest increasing the most. It seemed such a simple mechanic, yet levels were only one of a dozen ways to increase power. Chants and practice could both result in new ways to wield magic. While it became apparent that [mana manipulation] was a special skill. No matter how hard they tried, the other paladins seemed unable to transfer mana across affinities without Liam acting as a bridge.

The days trudged by, the desert stretching endlessly before the caravan. They eschewed wells, using water magic to satiate their thirst and that of their camels. Around them a sea of dunes seemed to ripple under the wavering heat, parching their throats despite sufficient water, each breath a raspy struggle, as if the air itself had been sucked dry of moisture. Slowly the glass wastes faded, and the desert took on the brownish-gold hue of sandy-sand. Sweat trickled down Liam’s forehead, stinging his eyes and dampening the collar of his shirt. Yet, the sweat was fleeting, evaporating almost as quickly as it formed, leaving only a faint crust of salt upon his skin.

“Owen, where are you from?” Asked Liam, hoping to distract himself from the dull, persistent throb inside his muscles, the kind that seeps into your bones, making every movement a conscious effort.

“From? Oh, I’m from Whitfield Marches, tis far to the Northwest, beyond the Greenwoods and Blackwoods, and just North of Duke Hamilton’s holdings. My father was the Marquis’ fifth son, and I was his fourth son, so the money quickly ran out and I was sent to join the clergy when my magic failed to awaken at sixteen.”

“Failed to awaken? But, you’re the head earth mage of Kheresh!” Exclaimed Liam.

“Ha, Kheresh is the dumping ground of unwanted sons. The church knows the dukedom is dying, the sands stretch all the way to the coast in a smooth declination, so foreign ships have no place to dock. I was put to work trying to build a sort of dock.”

“A dock in the desert? How’d that go?” Asked Liam.

“Do you see any foreign ships in Khereshetal?”

“Ah… Yikes.” Answered Liam.

“Twas always an impossible project. There is no clear delineation between glass and water, so our stone piers all sank into wet glass sand, we tried extending the pier, but gave up after a mile of stone was insufficient.” Owen shook his head. “If only you’d been there sir. Your requirement for roads- and forcing the men to build them, well, Khereshetal might be a forest by now. Alas, twon’t occur in my lifetime. Twill take decades for Khereshatal to see any boon from trade.”

Liam leaned back into the wagon, “So… Kheresh seems like a crappy place to come home to. What are the odds that most of the army decided to abandon a sinking ship?”

Owen closed his eyes, running a hand through his sweat slick hair, “Duke Kheresh said he lost more than six thousand men. That many… Ah, I doubt the portals are so vicious as to slay six out of every eight men! But he’s always been highly revered. I suspect the wounded or defeated soldiers scattered and hid. Inflating some casualties. The Kharmite army generally fights in skirmishing bands of less than a dozen. Cavalry hunt for caravans and infantry attack farms. A brutally effective tactic in Kheresh, but maybe not in the woodlands. I’ve been to Greenwood several times, and the stories you tell me of monsters would hint at skirmishers being foolish in the extreme.”

A lump formed in Liam’s throat, knowing the portals were more than vicious enough to slay eight out of eight men. Pandora’s physical form was enough to drive mortal men insane, but still… Six thousand men lost from combat was absurd. Kharmite tactics would be effective against lone monsters, but even three hellhounds would tear a dozen men apart, and a carnosaur would likely pick off one or two then escape unharmed. He nodded as Owen spoke. Though he was left to wonder why King Aldric sent skirmishers to fight an enemy of scattered monsters? Skirmish tactics had never worked in any of reports. Eldred and Dorian had both reported that squads of twenty to fifty were preferable, but only if they had magi or pistolier support.

Aldric, you are playing a dangerous game by stabbing Duke Kheresh in his people. He knows you screwed him and will carry that grudge. Along with every noble. Thought Liam.

Most of the Kharmites were dead, but any stragglers could possibly be rolled into Liam’s knights with some persuasion. While deserters would be especially easy to convince, though their cowardice would need to be addressed.

Just like Karnak’s spirit.

Or rather, the lack of fighting spirit. A sigh escaped Liam’s lips, wondering what he could do with the werewolf. Yes, his healing was potent, but the man was still recovering emotionally, he would likely break before reaching Greenwood. A moral failing that Liam would have to test past the point of rationality. Kharnak would have to be sent on a solo mission, one where the only acceptable outcome could be to succeed or don’t come back until you have succeeded.

I’ll figure that out later. A suicide mission doesn’t sit right with me… Maybe something will happen along the road that I can take advantage of.

“Ahem, are you alright sir?” Asked Owen.

“Yes, just got lost in thought. I’ve seen the portals Owen, fought them in my dreams. I’m not sure why Kheresh seems unafflicted by them, but we’ll be encountering wolves of fire larger than horses, chittering hulks that can eat a steed whole, equally large reptiles, and worse.”

“Worse than flaming hellhounds?! My lord, your jest is far too sour.” Answered Owen, taking a sip from his waterskin.

“Have you stopped to think why we’re building a road instead of moving at full speed ahead?” Asked Liam, meeting Owen’s eye as he lowered the waterskin. “It’s because, for all my lightning and all your magic we will not be enough to break through the portal monsters. So we are preparing the way so our reinforcements can catch up to us before we reach Greenwood.”

Owen wiped his mouth, concealing a frown beneath his brawny arm.

“Is that why you never fully drain the fire magi? I’ve noticed they always seem to have more pep remaining after you charge the others off of them. Well, and they’ve topped all our armor off.” Said Owen, referring to the paladin’s ability to store spells within each piece of armor. Most plates weren’t large enough to store a spell, but breastplates, greaves, and bracers all were large enough to support intricate runes and sentimental enough to hold mana. Some paladins opted for runes that enhanced their spells, but most kept at least one piece charged with a fireball.

Liam nodded, “Yep, Velena and Faelan are never fully drained, and I ordered them to keep their staves charged in case of danger. Once we leave the desert I’ll stop draining them entirely, since I expect monsters to show up with greater frequency as we draw closer to Greenwood. If Greenwood has held out for this long, then they are stable, and the best way to help them might be to secure their neighbors. A second reason for this road.”

It was Owen’s turn to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry. This wasn’t the meaningless escort he had initially thought it was. They were marching into danger, real, tangible, cut your throat and eat your entrails danger. What had been a tired but hopeful mood twisted into a dour melancholy between the men. Broken only by the occasional chewing of a hard biscuit.

One that had somehow been violated by grains of white sand, it crunched and crackled between Liam’s teeth, but would pass all the same; and he hadn’t the mana to draw out the particles with magic, tempting as that preposition was. Sand infiltrated every crevice of their belongings. No matter how carefully they tried to shield food, or how tightly the tied and wrapped the biscuits, the desert’s persistent fingers found a way in.

The sun began to dip below the horizon, and yet they marched on. Lips cracked, and when moistened, they burned even more. A slight breeze kicked up, carrying with it a fine spray of sand that stuck to their sweat-soaked skin, feeling like a thousand tiny needles pricking at exposed flesh. Even with their desert turbans and flowing white garb—sand was everywhere, a constant companion in this desolate place.

Fatigue weighed heavily upon the paladins, but on the twentieth day after leaving Khereshatal the ground began to harden, shifting from sand to stone, road construction was no longer starting from zero and building up from sand. Now it was simple to gather the underlying gravel and transmute it to stone pavers. Hard stone blocks that would endure for centuries to come, assuming no horde of hydras marched down it. Such a reprieve allowed them to double their pace, pressing on into lands that had never seen the burning cataclysm of Kheresh.