Morning found Oliver and his companions gathered at the edge of the misty wood. Their camp lay scattered with smoke rising from a dead fire. He touched his neck and found no blood. He’d dreamed the stranger cut his throat in the night.
Owen, the stranger who’d emerged from the mirror, lay wrapped in a spare cloak. He stirred.
Whistling a low tune, Halfdan stood watch, which he did longer and more often than anyone else. His axe rested on his shoulder. The ruddy stubble on his jaw looked like it could double as sandpaper.
Sigrid kicked dirt over the firepit. She narrowed her eyes at Halfdan. “I’m glad you don’t sleep that much. Your snoring could wake the dead.”
Saj pointed to the vague figure of a fleshless skeleton lumbering out of the trees. “Let’s not talk about the dead. They may not like it.”
Oliver shook the boy awake. “Time to wake up,” he said.
The boy took a lot of shaking, for he probably hadn’t slept well in the cursed town.
The seven set out along the woods, with the ears of wheat catching the early light.
Owen shifted, and his eye opened a sliver, but his body remained still. After a moment, his hand crept to his waist to an empty scabbard.
Hunter sat close to the man and whittled a stick. It might have been an excuse to have a ready blade. “I’ll give you your sword back when we part ways. Though with the dead around, I’d stick with us for a while.”
Owen’s eyes widened, but he sat up. “Why’s thy speech so queer? From what land?”
“It’s not the land that’s strange,” Hunter said, shaving a strip of wood from his grasshopper figurine. “You are, and that evil god you’ve been hanging out with.”
“Aye, I did conspire with that fiend against the elves. For that, I claim no pride.
“You joined Hygek Ulk?” Oliver asked, not sure he heard right.
“I stood beside the enemy of mine enemy for but one battle.”
Saj slung a pack over a shoulder and came close to Owen. “The battle with the elves took place a long time ago. I would have you know you won if that were your only goal.”
Pray tell, how long has it been?”
Saj counted fingers but stopped and looked puzzled.
Hunter opened his mouth and stopped what he was going to say, then said, “Who knows? Grab a bite, and let’s be off. We’ll figure it out on the road.”
By midday, they spotted a cluster of humble huts and barns, the boy’s farming community. Smoke trailed from a single chimney.
The father waited near a garden, face hollow. He looked terrible. At the sight of his boy, his eyes lit, and he ran forward, arms open to grab him and lift him in a hug. “By the dead, child, you were gone a month. I’d almost given up on you.”
Oliver and the rest gathered. “A month?” He repeated. “A month?”
The father nodded, brushing tears from his cheeks. “Yes and no less.”
Time must have warped within the mist. “Any news since our absence?”
“Changen has left. What I wouldn’t give to get my hands around his throat,” the father said, and he rubbed his eyes as if to wipe the vision from his mind. “An army marches toward ua, led by Lord Emrich. The knights do their best to hold them off, buying time for families to flee. Everyone is supposed to gather at the inland port.”
Halfdan exchanged glances with Sigrid. Saj shifted from foot to foot, possibly holding a piss.
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Oliver noticed smoke rising near the Tombs of Volgaster at the shore of Lake Zars. “Then we’ll aid the knights.”
His companions tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t have it. This was how one built a reputation.
The farmer pointed to the thin silver line of the lake far away. “Hurry if you wish to join them. I heard the enemy force is led by Emrich’s gloves.”
“I have to find a bush,” Saj said. “But before I go, did you say his gloves? Did I hear that correctly?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Oliver offered a quick farewell to the farmer and his son.
The farmer gave him a crushing shake. “Thank you. He’s all that’s left of my life.”
The party continued down the dusty track between patches of wheat and barley.
Owen broke the silence. “Did we raise the barrier? Tell me it stands.”
Oliver shook his head. “I’m afraid we don’t know of any barrier.”
Saj wiped the sweat from his lined forehead. “Indeed, it has been a long time. It is the year fifteen sixty-nine. Does that tell you how long it's been?”
Owen blinked in confusion. “Nay, thou jest. We celebrated the millennium in my father’s time.”
Sigrid appeared sad. “It’s been centuries. Everyone you knew is long gone.”
Owen stared at her. “Tis beyond reason. This can’t be what remains of the Realm.”
Halfdan stopped. “Do you hear the thunder of hooves? The battle is near.”
They pressed onward, passed empty huts, and saw smoke, and heard echoes of horns. Knights camped behind a line of crude fortifications near a road crossing.
The sun dipped, and torches flickered among tents and piles of supplies.
Oliver identified staff from Reynold’s Keep. “Let’s find Sir Gillian.”
The night air carried faint shouts and the rumble of moving troops. They passed the horse lines, forging ahead on foot. The camp was a flurry of nervous activity.
A man in a conical helmet asked, “Who are you? How’d you get past the guard?”
Oliver looked around. “We didn’t see anyone. They'll recognize me if you could tell Sir Edmund or Gillian that I’m—I’m Oliver—is here.”
It wasn’t long before they were invited to the heart of the camp. Soldiers conferred over maps by candlelight, and local soldiers stacked barrels for barricades. At the end wall, hanging from the canvas supports, Oliver recognized the crest from Reynold’s Keep.
A voice rang out from behind. “Oliver! You’ve returned!”
Several knights turned, each face lit with relief or recognition.
Sir Edmund removed his helmet and patted Oliver on the back. “You’ve come in our hour of need. If the rest of your party is half as good as you, we might just tilt the battle in our favor.”
Oliver scanned the table. Little black figures represented the enemy downhill and at the forest's edge. “How many are there?”
“At least six hundred. But it’s just a fraction of the main host. If we don’t find victory in the morning, we’ll retreat and abandon the women and children trying to make their way north. We can’t let that happen.”
This situation was perfect for Oliver’s Star Mage abilities. “Let’s attack tonight. Set me ahead, and I’ll drive them back.”
Sir Edmund started a chuckle and looked askance. “Are you serious? You’re a magnificent fighter, but this is six hundred men and a pair of magic gloves. This isn’t the time for bravado.”
Hunter pointed to a small hill near the enemy. “Oliver isn’t trying to show off. He’s a powerful spellcaster. If you can get him here, he can end it.”
“I don’t know if I can end it,” Oliver said. “But I can do enough damage to give you a route.”
Sir Gillian walked into the tent. “Oliver, it’s good to have you back. We’re in a stalemate and taking too many casualties.” He stopped and stared at Owen. “Who’s this handsome devil?”
Oliver couldn’t help but think of Beatrice getting taken from behind by the knight. He looked at Owen and back to Gillian. “You guys look like brothers.”
“It’s like looking in a mirror,” Sir Gillian said. “Are you a bastard? No offense.”
“Nay, I’m no bastard.” Owen reached for a sword that wasn’t there.
Sigrid laughed. “Calm down, boys. Owen here has been frozen in time for five hundred years. He’s not your brother. You probably came from his seed some ten or twenty generations back.”
Why would two people looking alike cause so much strife? Oliver stepped between the two. “It’s true. Maybe you guys should talk family lines sometime. But right now, get me close to the enemy.”
“Yes,” Sir Edmund said. “They’ll talk of ancestry. Are you sure you can do enough damage to turn the tide?”
“I am.”
With that, the knights moved. It was like an ant hill kicked into a frenzy. Oliver found himself on a horse, and he didn’t like it.
Others piled around him, and they galloped into the darkness.
He held his swordstaff like a spear. The camp fell away, and the stars appeared in the twilight. The ground turned dark so that the horse took him blindly.
Enemy sentinels spotted them and blew horns. A few arrows whistled.
The camp came into view as he crested a rise. His horse reared up, and he grabbed the pummel and raised his swordstaff.
Arrows sprinkled the hill, but a storm was coming.