“Oh… I- uhm… hmmm…” Said Liam, talking over the clip clop of trotting horses.
What would I do if someone granted me immortality after Nyota died? Thought Liam, knowing the answer instantly.
He’d refuse.
It wouldn’t even be a question.
The mere proposal would be an insult.
“Owen, I didn’t know about your family. I- uh, sorry.” Said Liam.
“It’s fine.” Was the man’s only reply, and the caravan spent the rest of that day in silence. As night fell the caravan diverted off the main road, glassing the ground into a sort of roundabout. There wasn’t any point in offroading the wagons, since any pursuers or bandits could simply find where the road ended and start their search from there. Sentries were placed, and the wagons were circled. Cold rations were spread out and consumed. Quetz took the infant Euraylemorph into the juniper forest, hunting prey both small and large. While Liam expanded his bedroll with magic, growing fur and floofing feathers with his mana. It was enough to make his bedroll luxurious, and he fell into a fitful sleep.
Dreams of distant Greenwood entered his mind, the command tower at Sintra where he had slain hundreds of monsters, protecting the city with lightning. The old hut in Petra where Nyota had nearly died. His room in Greenwood Keep, the one he shared with Nyota and their growing child.
“Growing up without a father, I’m sorry Furana. That was never my intention.” He said to no one.
Hoping that he wasn’t already too late. Felinids matured at uncomfortably swift rates, four years old would be around twelve years physically. He had already missed her childhood, and her early teens.
“Damnit. I never wanted to be a father who abandoned his family.”
The dreamscape shifted, taking him away from warm places and fond memories, to dump his mind in the courtyard of Blackwood Castle. The walls were obsidian black, and sparkled under the light of campfires. Duke Hamilton stood atop the gatehouse, his soldiers running to and fro as they fought to defend the castle. There were less men than he expected, and was more than surprised to see felinids fighting on a section of wall. They were guided by two unfamiliar eclipsiarchs, women he had never seen before. As he approached their figures resolved, marking one as a younger teen, possibly his own, and an adult whose dark hair and slit eyes mirrored the girls. An unmistakable family resemblance. He breathed a sigh of relief, it wasn’t Nyota.
Arlet, I hope you’re keeping them safe. Thought Liam, immediately correcting himself. Champion Arlet would lay down his life without hesitation to keep Nyota safe. But the man was only mortal, and could not contend with the beasts Pandora had sent.
One such demon leapt onto the walls, a sort of winged, elk-headed, eagle-bodied, eel-tailed monstrosity that lunged forward. Its teeth flashed towards the eclipsiarchs. Fangs the size of swords chomped shut. Forcibly slammed upwards by a dozen felinids defending their lady. Who in turn protected the men, raising a holy ward to shield them from the beast’s rending talons.
It tripped, slamming onto another ward, this one erected by the younger eclipsiarch. The former slave cats dropped their spears, leaping onto the monster and tearing into it with teeth and claws.
Completely ineffective,
unlike their weight.
Pinned between the impenetrable barriers and a growing number of catmen the bird-elk squawked and thrashed, until a knight thrust his own spear through the Peryton’s eye, it screamed loud enough to petrify the felinids; and for a single second the battlefield seemed to freeze in time. Except for the silver knight. He wore the crest of house Hamilton across his breastplate, and the epaluets of a captain. He alone moved, ripping the spear away then deftly thrusting it through the same eyehole. This time it pierced the bird-brain and the beast let out a death rattle.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
The Knight Captain shouted orders, one arm locked onto his spear, as if it were a prosthetic. Felinids moved the eclipsiarchs into the watch tower and threw Peryton’s corpse back over the wall. This time into the castle’s courtyard where waiting felinid warriors cut off its head. A prudent move when facing the unknown. Arlet would agree with Liam, and find their actions acceptable.
The dream was so real, so vivid that Liam could smell the smoke from the bonfires. Could taste the blood of wounded and dying men. The eclipsiarchs re-emerged from the tower, holding onto a man Liam thought had died.
“Blackwood? You survived! How? ” Gasped Liam, recalling the moment Blackwood had run from Pandora.
He’d fled, by all rights that should have broken his mind… Except, Liam realized now that Blackwood had not fled in terror, but ran to from Pandora’s claws and taken cover inside the old walls of Blackwood Castle, the walls that Pandora had ground into dust then annihilated before her corpse melted into them, converting them to the obsidian-like material they were now.
“Lucky man. Or the unluckiest man.” Muttered Liam.
Watching as former Viscount Alexander Blackwood was led by the hand, his magic flowing into the smaller of the two eclipsiarchs. The youngest smiled, casting as many wards as she could sustain while the elder woman scowled. As if Blackwood was a literal turd she was about to squeeze, an old desert trick that could give you some water in dire circumstances. The man walked clumsily, carrying two staves of power. Odd, but that was the signal that showed his true condition. His eyes were milky white, blinded by Pandora’s fury. And when he spoke it was loud and awkward, like Helen Keller. The man had been blinded and deafened. His family slain, lands taken from him, and all that he once possessed was stripped from him. Now he was little more than a battery for his former property to exhaust.
“Ten lifetimes of slavery would not be enough to pardon your crimes Alexander. But I’ll call this a good start.” Said Liam, finally glad that he hadn’t slain the man.
The dream ended, and the scent of smoke grew stronger, but Liam understood no more. For he –like all the paladins– had been drugged. So they slept the night away, and long into the day.
—
Velena was the first to rise, she liked to sleep inside the wagons, nestled in a fort of crates. It made her feel protected, safe, hidden, and indeed it had protected her. For the poisoned-fires of the dark elves were unable to intoxicate her as heavily as those sleeping along the ground. So she awoke to a camp full of drooling paladins –unusual only because it was noon– and Liam’s bedroll missing.
Quetz lay above the missing Lightning Lord, licking the quartz where he had lain.
“Did you get a- whoa-” Said Velena, finding her knees entirely unstable and clinging to the wagon with a white-knuckled intensity. “Oh, why do I feel like I went ten rounds with Karnak and Thaddeus at the same time?” Muttered Velena.
‘Where is the child?!’ Said Quetzalcoatl, speaking directly to her mind.
“Ah, keep it down man. Uh… snakeman? Snake? I just woke up. He’s probably taking a piss.” Answered Velena, breathing deeply.
The air tasted of burnt ashes, of embers and bitter smoke. So strong that it made her head ache.
Air shouldn’t have a taste. Thought Velena.
“Quetz! The air, it’s poison!” Gasped Velena, leaping from the wagon and summoning her flame swords. Three of them answered, circling overhead and providing a nice breeze. Not that she noticed. Quartz was a smooth stone, and in her haste Velena’s balance betrayed her. Her foot landed foul and stole her footing, sending her sliding across the quartz into the nearby ditch.
“God damn it!” Screamed Velena, cursing as she struggled to right herself.
Quetz hit the camp with a breeze, blowing the lingering smoke away in seconds. Paladins stirred, many rising with sunburns on their faces. Awoken by the noonday cyclops staring down at them, laughing at their foolishness. While the entire camp seemed coated in a fine purple dust, staining clothes, armpits, sweat, and wagons. One of the paladins sniffed the purple dust, his eyes rolling backwards into his head as he succumbed to the substance.
“We’ve been poisoned! Find the Lord!” Exclaimed Velena, limping back to the camp.
She tore through men and wagons, searching everywhere. But the answer was obvious. In the purple dust there was a trail, three separate footprints that led into the circle of wagons and then out. They converged on a single point. Tufan’s bedroll.
“What idiot kidnaps a Lightning Lord?!” Gasped Velena.
“He’s more of a man now… So who Man-napped our Lightning Lord.” Corrected Owen, promptly vomiting onto the quartz.
“Serves you right for playing around. Ugh, go sober up old man.” Grumbled Velena.