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Roran, of Saeveril
Come soon, bring everything.
Part III
-Death awaits in silence-
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Roran had ordered all three ships that brought them across to stay with Onas’ transport and persuaded Vulas to leave a small contingent behind to guard the ‘docks’ near Teleniel Bridge’s ruins on the east side of the channel. Most of its base and giant arches remained, sprouting out of Serpent Canal’s calm waters, but even Voron’s monumental Second Era public works -one of Quiceran’s better student’s- had suffered in the quakes that had followed the Fall.
The canal itself widening at some places, narrowing in others according to Elwuin’s decade long measurements, yet another huge money-sink to Lord Rothomir’s coffers. The former had always favored the research route more and famously had never finished something that was truly practical in its originally planned form.
His biggest accomplishment the Aqueduct that started at Edlenn’s Pond and reached Elauthin, was to be a hanging highway originally. A vain attempt to reduce travelling time across the plains by weeks. Amidst its construction, Elwuin realized elevation favored something entirely different and that he could use the current created in the lake by Shaelor River –one of the longer rivers in Wetull proper- to provide a source of water for the metropolis. Two centuries and countless manpower hours later, water did reach Elauthin, but the Queen declared it undrinkable due to its high sulfur concentration and decreed it was to be used for irrigation instead. While citizens used the water eventually in many parts of their everyday lives, it remained one of the most expensive a hundred and seventy kilometers of bridge ever build, mainly due to the iron used in it.
The much simpler and inexpensive road Rothomir had ordered rebuilt in contrast, brought them near Quiceran’s ancient walled Academy after a pleasant quick march, before they continued on for Serpent Canal. The sturdy building extensively damaged but still standing, a silent massive mausoleum for its respected namesake creator and most of his brilliant students.
Roran would have preferred the very useful four kilometers long bridge –it was built at the narrowest part of the canal- to have survived instead. Not all of them could board the ships and sometimes in war you have to plan for a retreat, or lose everything.
So they lost two days instead waiting for the ships to make the back and forth trip.
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He heard Bellas ordering a halt responding to Roran’s signal and Malon boomed from the front of the formation stopping the Othrim just before the stone bridge. Axilyel, followed by Ievis, reached him a moment later, her large Imperial Destrier neighing proudly and shaking its soaked mane. The rain had stopped, but had left a muddy terrain behind.
“Onas is camped half a kilometer from the bridge,” she reported. “Neither guarding it, nor close enough not to allow someone from slipping through.”
“Let’s not critique the Old Eye so soon,” he told her and removed his helm to better scan the terrain. “Hug the river bank to the other bridge. See if they’ve repaired it.”
“Ievis will go,” Axilyel replied and turned to her partner. “Take two rangers with you. Eyes only, then bring your arses back here.”
“Bellas make camp,” Roran ordered his fourth in command. “Vulas will arrive later. Let him move on towards Onas if he wants,” he turned to Axilyel again. “Anything standing out in Onas’ camp?”
“There’s a roofed horse corral built, which is always fancy, but the horses graze outside of it,” Axilyel replied with a smirk. “Soldiers guarding on the perimeter.”
“The prisoners,” Roran said. “Anything else?”
“Ulovir’s marching here,” Axilyel replied. “Onas has a couple of scouts hidden in the Beewort patches on the other bank and they spotted us sniffing out the bridge. Pretty decent lads.”
“How could you tell where they were then?”
“Found red piss near the bridge’s mouth. Chewing beets turns urine red.”
“Yep,” Roran agreed and turned his eyes on the damaged but still standing bridge. “Find a spot for your rangers Axilyel. I’ll talk with Onas and Ulovir first, then we’ll work on a plan.”
“Onas will have one ready, your words I believe Othrim Leader,” Axilyel taunted and she was right.
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Ulovir’s face showed his relief seeing them moving out to greet him.
“Any casualties?” Roran asked after a warm brief exchange.
“Not from our guys,” Ulovir replied. “Onas fresh recruits got wiped out to the last in the jungle.”
“Where in the jungle and why?”
“The road to Eodrass Temple,” Ulovir grimaced. “They fought well, but fell into an ambush. Onas used them as bait to draw the Horselords out.”
Roran nodded. “They doubled back?”
“Yep. They also fought on foot.”
“Any Cataphracts amongst them?”
They might have kept up the lessons learned while serving the empire, he thought.
“Nah, just fancy dressed Horselords. Radpour’s kin rules on Eplas now. These though are rebels working for this Hardir of Goras. Savages. A couple of rangers with them. Zilan apparently.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know Goras was loose on traditions, but I can barely understand what they’re saying,” Ulovir reported. “A couple of the lads from Goras claim their accent is alien. They might even be strays Roran.”
“You said rangers.”
“I fought them, they are trained alright. Very skilled, caught whiff of a couple of Faelar’s tricks as well,” he added glancing at Axilyel, who’d frowned hearing her old mentor’s name. “That fucker lost a Council position for a mere century they say. An unreformed and unrepentant Edlenn fanatic. You think he’s still breathing?”
Faelar had been exiled from Queen Baltoris well before the Fall in her purges.
That was a very long time ago.
“If Faelar is in Goras,” Axilyel spat glaring at Ulovir. “Then the Sorceress is there as well. He’d gotten her out after her mother’s murder. Most Edlenn’s sympathizers escaped alongside her.”
Hmm.
“There’s no way Aelrindel has returned,” Roran grunted, not wanting rumors spreading and old disagreements surfacing anew. “Those exiles Pelleas fought were pathetic wandering remnants worshiping a false Goddess. The Sorceress is most likely gone Axilyel. It’s been centuries and the humans wouldn’t have allowed her to live amongst them. If it’s one thing I remember of Aelrindel other than her… talents, is that she couldn’t stay irrelevant for more than a minute.”
Ulovir smacked his lips.
“Endowed all around, nicely shaped too,” Ulovir added needlessly and Axilyel nodded in agreement. They spent a moment silently ruminating on Edlenn’s prettiest of offspring’s.
It ended when Roran inevitably recalled her tragic sister’s death, his mood changing.
He wouldn’t be here today without Rinariel’s help.
The ranger shrugged her shoulders noticing it. “I’ll speak with those fake rangers,” she murmured and walked to her horse.
“Lord Suraer had a change of heart?” Ulovir asked when the ranger had moved away and Roran grimaced in response. “Right. Of course not,” Ulovir answered his own query.
“What is Onas doing Ulovir?” Roran grunted now they could talk freely.
“Looking for alternatives. There might be an onyx wyvern coming Roran. The old man was with us back then.”
“I bloody remember. It’s not Gimoss. This one is tamed Ulovir.”
“Don’t you think it’s crazy that we haven’t got one for so long and the first one—?”
Roran cut him off with a wave of his arm. “Enough fearmongering. Gimoss was killed in the First Era. Over a millennia separate the events Ulovir.”
“There’s no black in the colors of the rainbow Roran. Black is death and it comes from Mistland.”
Oh, for the love of the Goddess!
Ulovir has spent too much time listening to Darunia’s fantasies of noble mythic beasts.
A beast is a beast. Colors have nothing to do with it.
The Fall had spared no one. Wyverns and Zilan alike had turned to dust.
Roran glared at him. “You’re citing superstitions. Wyverns can be any color, they god darn like! Separate foolish romantic tales from reality.”
“I will, but our side don’t have one is my meaning,” Ulovir retorted setting his shoulders.
“Olonelis is on board?” Roran grunted.
“I don’t know,” Ulovir replied tensely. “Rothomir wants to fight?”
“He can’t do otherwise,” Roran said through his teeth. “We can’t just roll over Ulovir.”
“That’s not Onas’ plan Roran,” Ulovir retorted.
“Let me speak with him,” he hissed. “Get your men back into the fold Second Hoplite,” Roran ordered and went across the bridge to find Onas.
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Onas seemed as comfortable inside his tent as inside the Council meetings. Clad in his ancient armour, lit pipe in hand and his ruined eye visible. Onas never bothered to cover his injury.
“Roran, leader of the Second Othrim. Preserver of the Phalanx,” Onas taunted seeing him enter. “Rothomir got scared and sent you to assume command?”
“Vulas is right behind me. He’ll be here soon,” Roran grunted. “How’s the field treating you Onas?”
“Same shite,” Onas replied with a grimace and blew smoke out, then proceeded to empty his pipe. “Different millennia.”
“Some things have changed,” Roran noted and seeing no spare chair, he remained standing.
“Everything comes and goes,” Onas rustled and pointed at a cut stub for him to sit down on. “It’s good you brought reinforcements. One can never have enough of that hehe.”
“What’s the situation?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Simple,” Onas replied soberly. “He brings the Wyvern, we are fucked. The manner I’ll leave to the historians.”
“Rothomir is working on a solution,” Roran told him.
“He gave you Scorpios? Because as you recall that shite didn’t work that well back then.”
“He kept them. I wanted to move fast. Olonelis wants you to talk?”
“Olonelis doesn’t command me,” Onas said staring at him angry. “But she can listen with open ears. Good lass.”
“What are you doing here Onas?”
“Looking to solve a problem afore it turns into a catastrophe,” Onas replied. “We have put someone in charge to fix the mess. Restored some order in Abarat and we might even get that old goat in Lo-Minas on board, preserve our way of life. In the meantime, the world changed around us and there’s another lad in Goras roaming about with his wyvern apparently. Working on fixing the mess as well. We found ourselves a bit overcrowded at the top spot. Can two fat-arsed people sit in the same chair? I think not hehe. Right?”
“Not a Zilan. How can the Tamer of Beasts be a human? Worse yet, assume the throne? He’s supposed to fight wickedness and he walks with exiles!”
Onas shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t be emotional. You loved Edlenn, everyone did. Yes she wanted to crunch on the occasional rib from time to time, boil a finger, or two, for her spells. Let’s be frank here, one old soldier to the other and away from these court cunts. One king is okay with magic and taking it up the arse with his wife watching, the other bans magic and frowns at sodomy. Baltoris was a rigid rock, a distrustful, brutally pious ruler that saw her parents slain and blamed the Old Ways for it.”
“Edlenn had quarreled for years with the King about not agreeing to end the war.”
“Edlenn hadn’t the stomach for war anymore, not after losing as much as she had in that campaign. Everyone had,” Onas replied his face hardening. “War will chew you out thoroughly, strip you of everything precious and leave you an empty husk, if you’re lucky. You want to learn who killed Ninthalor ask Paeris he was sleeping in the same fucking bed!”
“I have. He recalls naught but a shadow and the blade that gutted him, it was a miracle he survived,” Roran grunted.
“Yeah it was, but I would have expected something more from him,” Onas argued. “Eh, then again Paeris has never been the same after that night so he didn’t escape completely unscathed. Edlenn though wasn’t involved for sure. The High Priestess wouldn’t have sent an assassin.”
“Who would?” Roran asked.
“That rabbit hole I ain’t eager to dive into again my lad,” Onas cautioned him.
“A human can’t rule Onas,” Roran snapped. “You’ll turn us into slaves? That is not the word!”
Onas grunted and got up to stretch his back.
“I was pretty young when Sintoriela returned with Ninthalor and Kallister from Cydonia,” he started after a moment of thoughtful recollection. “Still remember the ships turning at Witch’s Dagger to enter the Old Port Canal. The crowd gathered at Elauthin. Uhm, plenty of enthusiasm, the three gongs sounding on top of the Crimson Temple. They made a palace out of it later, poured gold over the walls to hide the old cracks aye. The Lords of Cydonia had agreed the Zilan should have a King. Isildor had gotten outvoted. What a rush that was haha! A month of celebrations and Elauthin turned into a warzone when all control was lost. The new King fixed that is the tale, but the truth is people just sozzled down everything that was available, then fucked and murdered their way out of it. They just couldn’t gorge themselves anymore and stopped. Sintoriela came up with her prophecies after that good old fashioned orgy. Galadriel had a few of those as well, visions of the future that is. Nororis, the Blue likewise. The King went with his favorite witch instead, the local girl and gave the other witches the shaft. It wasn’t because Galadriel was from Cydonia. Nororis was from Goras and had gotten the same treatment.”
“Were their visions different?”
“I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter is what I’m trying to say son,” Onas replied. “They could be wrong. They could be right. Hardir could have been a Zilan, or a human. He may be destined to judge, or rule. Words are close in translation, the meaning vague. Here and now we must deal with a problem and citing prophesies counts for little out there.”
“The Elder’s visions hold no meaning?”
“They do, but not in the field Roran,” Onas replied and clasped his hands behind his back. “In the field you know very well we go by rank and simple instructions, or it’s a fucking mess. Hence why Rothomir sent you. He wants to fight and win.”
“What do you want?”
“If the Wyvern is here, we talk a lot,” Onas replied. “If not and he brings the hordes of the Steppes with him we talk less.”
“If he doesn’t?”
“I have Pelleas in the swamps. He’ll swing around the rises and cut him off at the gullet,” Onas replied. “I keep the bridge unprotected on purpose, the camp small and visible.”
“You want them to march straight for the river.”
“Yep. If he does and Pelleas cuts him off, we might have a chance to kill him,” Onas replied. “Deal with a rogue Wyvern anew later.”
“Pelleas can’t possibly hold him trapped Onas.”
“Always leave your opponent the option to retreat, in this case over the Cultists corpses.”
Right.
“Rothomir wants to rouse Nororis sister,” Roran told him and Onas flinched in shock.
“After thirteen centuries? Noble is the Goddess my lad,” he grunted adding with a grimace of frustration. “I’ll take my chances with the fucking wyvern.”
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Elwuin looked ill and worn out. The famed academic covered with a blanket under the corral’s shade. The Abarat Scouts guarding the entrance eyeing Roran apprehensively when he stopped in front of them.
“What are you doing?” Roran grunted.
“Lord Onas wants them watched, Othrim Leader,” one of them replied.
“That’s Elwuin over there,” Roran grunted. “And that’s Lady Darunia!”
Darunia paused her ministrations on the Horselord and waved a hand his way.
“Orders are orders sir,” the Zilan scout replied setting his jaw. “It’s for their own protection.”
Bullshit.
“Let me through,” Roran hissed and shoved them aside.
Darunia got up and approached him with a smile. Her clothes were covered in mud and knowing her tidiness, they were in the field for a long time.
“To the Heavens our greetings,” Darunia said courteously and used a tattered cloth to clean her hands as best she could.
“Our hearts and songs,” Roran replied politely, not wanting to upset her.
“I look horrible,” Darunia told him with a blush. “It’s raining and the mud doesn’t behave.”
“Stop it, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Roran teased her. “Why are you in here Nia?”
“Eh,” Darunia chuckled and tapped his chest. “I try to keep a patient alive.”
“Elwuin?” Roran asked with a glance at the miserable academic.
“He’s fine, just rattled at not being allowed to visit Eodrass Temple and thinking of stuff. You know Elwuin, it can take him a month to get over things, but eventually he does. He really wanted to go,” she replied. “You are tired. I have something—”
Roran stopped her. “You have it wrong Nia. Onas is holding you here. I’ll talk with him.”
“I don’t mind and he’s not really,” Darunia replied. “A tent is no better than this roof.”
“These are prisoners,” Roran glanced at the scowling Horselords. The meanest of them sporting a bronze hand amongst his lesser injuries.
“Onas wants them alive,” Darunia explained.
“And he left you as deterrent to some fool wanting to take a shot at them?” Roran grunted and the pretty Zilan stepped back with a cute frown.
“I want them alive as well,” she told him simply. “Hardir O’ Fardor is coming,” lowering her voice to add meaningfully, much as she understood it. “Woe to the wicked.”
Damn it lass.
Roran stepped back. “Darunia you shouldn’t be here. Elwuin as well. Stop spreading these rumors to the troops. This is not an expedition. I’ll sent an escort to take you back to the ships.”
“I’m not yours Roran, of Saeveril,” Darunia replied hauntingly. “Nor beneath you. So I won’t be ordered around and I won’t go.”
Sweet noble Goddess, Roran cursed and hanged his head. He glanced towards Elwuin and the conceited academic returned his stare with a glare, no recognition in his eyes.
“We have the opportunity to carve a way towards the Temple for the first time in centuries and what did those idiots decide to do? Hmm? They start killing each other! Run around for a bit, then start all over again!” He breathed once deeply frustrated. “I got stabbed as well. Me! Who does that?” he pointed an accusing finger at the smirking Horselords. “Those cretins did it! But I brushed it off, all in my effort to behold what’s hidden behind the proverbial cosmic curtain. The hidden meaning. There’s a wyvern coming they say, but no one thinks to visit Eodrass Temple? I can understand illiteracy and an idiot’s inability to comprehend simple patterns, but at such big numbers it is bordering the absurd… is that you, Roran?”
“In the flesh. I’ll look to get you out Elwuin,” Roran said and Elwuin blinked, tossed the blanket away and got up looking about him all bewildered.
“Goodness me, there’re horses outside the fence. Is this a prank?”
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Hardir O’ Fardor appeared right before sunset. He had crossed the gullet swiftly, the roaring sound of many horses coming down the valley loud enough to wake the dead. He stopped before the forest and near the edge of the Unscaled Overhang’s caves kilometers away from Onas camp.
Unwilling to move.
“He has men pouring inside the treeline,” Axilyel replied. “Others searching the caves. Most of the soldiers left their horses at the rear. No Cataphracts, but they are horse archers present.”
“What else?” Onas grunted, as the army had made camp well beyond even the Zilan’s ability to see, even if they used the Long Eye. So they had to send in the rangers to find out more. Not an easy task with dark falling fast.
“He must have arrived a couple of days earlier,” Axilyel continued. “Rested the army before the gullet, then crossed it fast. He has Hoplites with him Lord Onas,” the Ranger said, her eyes on Roran.
“Pelleas had panoplies found on the dead, used it for his cultists,” Onas retorted. “Weapons don’t make the soldier.”
“They seem well drilled and these look like Hallowed Othrim colors.”
No way. The Hallowed fell in Oakenfall to the last alongside Queen Baltoris.
“Who leads them?” Roran asked with a frown.
Axilyel glanced at her partner Ievis who’d approached the closest.
“A hulk Nord from Yalca,” she replied and seeing that no one believed her, she added. “There’s another one near Hardir. That’s a giant for sure.”
There was no Nord, Hulk or otherwise serving with the Hallowed.
“You’ve seen him? This Hardir from Goras?” Onas queried, more interested in their mysterious opponent.
“He’s in hoplite armour with gold details on the helm and the wyvern’s markings on the cuirass. Stands separate from the hoplites but he has a lot of Zilan with him. Not all of them warriors.”
“Any sign of the wyvern?” Roran asked clenching his jaw.
“Everyone is looking at the sky,” Axilyel hissed. “Many sightings, none credible.”
“Send a runner, I’ll talk with him,” Onas decided.
“He doesn’t have the numbers,” Roran reminded him. “And he’s only seen Rothomir’s guards.”
His Othrim kept beyond the river still.
“It’s better to gauge a man’s character when he believes he holds the upper hand,” Onas replied. “If he’s that confident he has our measure to not use the wyvern, then I might be inclined to listen to Rothomir’s man.”
Vulas had arrived later that morning.
Roran saw Axilyel’s troubled expression and turned her way again. “What is it?”
“We lost a ranger.”
“An animal? The local flora?” Onas queried. “Some of the trees in the jungle are vicious.”
“If it’s an animal, it ate her whole, bones and weapons included, which is unlikely. Trees don’t do that at all, they only suck on the flesh,” Axilyel continued looking at them shook. “Nor do they cut their prey’s ears and nail them on a trunk with their own dagger.”
“Good grief,” Onas gasped.
“What does it mean?” Roran asked the troubled ranger. Axilyel could discern the Hunter signs as good as anyone he knew.
The Imperial Ranger shook her head. “Not a normal tracker’s sign this. Not even a stern warning. We don’t do that to one another. This a barbaric taunt from a twisted and sick fuck. Mocking our skill—”
“A promise,” Onas said interrupting her. “Din Nkwale. Silent death ‘awaits ahead’. It was the message left on the wall of the royal bedroom. Din Naicale means the Silent Dagger. It’s an assassin’s sign this and a clever wordplay of sorts. If one ‘doesn’t hear well’ he might mistake one word for the other.”
That’s just bloody great.
“Who would know of this except for you Onas?” Roran asked.
“In this camp? Only me I’m afraid,” Onas replied and rubbed his wrinkled face with a hand. “Yeah, they have eyes on us as well.”
“Would they know of the Othrim?”
“The river is further back, not as easy to cross the bridge. Don’t light any fires,” Onas cautioned him. “I’ll talk with Hardir.”
“Now?”
“It appears he has started killing us already,” Onas replied. “That’s a lot of night ahead of us son. Do you intent to sleep with your eyes open?”
Roran didn’t intent to sleep at all.
> While Garth was busy on how to tackle the force that had camped near the bridge, Tarn one of the Horselords that had traveled with Kalac, arrived. He’d managed to escape Rothomir’s soldiers and avoid capture hiding in the caves. The scouts had retreated after finding the supply train and remained away for weeks. Tarn gave his version of the story and urged Garth to strike at the strong, but not as strong as they had feared idle force. Their numbers equivalent to what Garth had with him at the gullet, but probably less and without serious cavalry.
>
> Garth didn’t want to fight in the dark, even if the Zilan had no problem with it. He also waited for Anfalon’s hoplites to arrive, the better troops there enough to make the coming battle a formality on paper. There was a lot of back and forth, but Garth wasn’t going to be persuaded. He sent Sam Mathews to control the forest on his north flank, placed the guards and Lyceron’s hoplite-style armed soldiers in the middle and kept the south approach open. Anfalon was coming from the jungle road for sure, as according to Tarn, Kalac had turned back and had been captured or killed on the return trip.
>
> The problem with mercenary troops is they are very difficult to control when in such big numbers and in so expansive a battlefield. Tarn left livid at his decision and Ran-Sahor the leader of the caravan guards who had sided with Tarn on the merits of a surprise attack given the numbers, decided to test the Zilan’s perimeter right away.
>
> As it happened the moment a rider from Onas arrived, the latter a Zilan Council of Twenty member present in the field, Ran-Sahor started his raid. There was no talk and the messenger never made it back. The manner of his untimely demise a mystery, nobody really bothered to investigate in the chaos that followed.
>
>
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