Deep within the Frygdscael woods, just beyond sight of the Lorg-mèinn River, between Beorholdt and Kahlgrima-Keep on the other side of the river, to the south-east of the Scyle mountains and the Sanguinators Academy, which the mountains held. There lay a cave with a tunnel going down to the Deeprealm. Getting here had been an arduous journey, but they’d made it.

The trouble started in the burned-out husk of Muina-Amar, an elven settlement that was found and torched during the start of the war. It lay in the mountain pass, the only land opening into Tharios for both Beshonia and Rastaytan. A stretch of land a dozen kilometers wide and double that in length before it opened up into Gorgahld’s Trove. Therewithin was a forest with a shallow valley hiding an entire elven city. They might never have found it if it wasn’t for the wood required for the massive walls and fortresses to close off that dozen-kilometer-wide stretch of land.

Agazuul was supposed to meet Raiann and her promised troops at the edge of the forest of this burned elven city. When they got there, however, there wasn't anyone there.

“Something’s wrong.” Agazuul declared as if fact, as he often did.

“What makes you say there wasn’t any date set, right? They were getting here as soon as they could. That’s what you told me, at least?” Carl asked, annoyed by Agazuul’s overly confident manner of stating theories as facts.

“Yes, and as such, they should’ve gotten here sooner than we did; I wasted precious time looking for you,” Agazuul said, not at all abashed by the tone in which he said it. Carl looked at Agazuul as if struck by an arrow.

“Well then, what do you suggest we do? Oh, great leader.” Carl’s voice dripped with sarcasm and annoyance, a sauce that had turned thick as porridge. Agazuul had the sense to look abashed then.

“Let’s not fight, Carl. We should head out and see if they might’ve gotten stuck on their way here.” Agazuul said, his voice calm and apologetic.

“When you put it like that, it’s only sensible,” Carl said, seeing the reason in it.

“Great, now start packing it up and be hasty about it; we could leave them in a terrible situation!” Agazuul said back to his usual bravado

They set out in the forest proper, careful as they went. As the sun crept away behind the trees and darkness seemed imminent, Agazuul pulled out his blade.

“Glad to see you still have it,” Carl said, smiling in memory of times he was saved by it.

“Why would I not have it anymore? It is a sword that is magically bound to me and me alone,” Agazuul said, annoyed by the question he thought was stupid. Carl saw Agazuul drawing the blade’s edge across his arm, making a bridge and not going down the river. The blood pooled upon the blade, and no drop went to the forest floor. The sword began to glow, not with fire or light but something far more powerful, the essence of the gods. Divine energy itself infused upon a blade.

“Is that new?” Carl asked.

“What?”

“That glow!”

“No”

“I certainly haven’t seen it before.”

Agazuul stopped mid-walk, turned towards Carl, and glared at him for half a minute before uttering,

“That’s because the last time I used this specific power, you sent away what I was going to kill with it before I had the chance to strike, you witless dolt!”

That hit Carl hard; he knew it to be the reason for their split. It wasn’t that when their quest was at long last over that they had to split up and not see each other for years. Carl knew that it was because he’d robbed the two of them of their ultimate goal. He was angry at the moment when they flared up and started shouting. Accusing him of ruining their one chance when all Carl wanted to do was make sure none of them died. He tried to get out of this with his friends, strange and rude as they sometimes were. At that moment, Carl ruined any chance of friendship, if there was any to begin with. Agazuul had blasted him back to that moment, to those doubts, and in that moment, he hated Agazuul with a fury he hadn’t felt since then. Why were they so eager to misunderstand? Where was their responsibility in all of this? They had to explain their wishes beforehand, not just assume that Carl would’ve magically known they wanted an entire battle and a head to take home as a trophy.

How would they’ve taken a head home each? There was only one. Half a Demonic Duke’s head seemed a strange thing. Would they have fought over that as they fought over Carl’s spell that saved the world? Carl wondered.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Agazuul pushed against his shoulder, holding a single finger to his mouth. He pointed towards a single lone tower amidst a sea of green needles; they swam as Carl realized his eyes were moist. Agazuul seemed confused but gave Carl a reassuring shoulder pat, looking him right in the eyes, telling him without words to focus. Beyond the trees, there was the cliff edge, a thirty-meter drop and about the same distance as the tower. More stood amidst the ruins, but that seemed difficult to discern.

Carl did focus after a moment as Agazuul was making his way toward that tower. Carl saw it then. An archer standing guard, but he did not wear the colors of Rastaytan. Those colors were red and green with white; the fallen castle in green on a red background with a fist holding divine power symbolized by a white bolt of lightning, the symbol of the usurper Osred Brighaerd.

What were they doing out here? Did they know of Raiann’s meeting with Agazuul? She was supposed to be the head mage of Blakore, but it was still hard to see why Osred Brighaerd would be perturbed by the army of another country leaving their posts to help on a suicide mission.

As Carl had stealthily made his way to the edge of the cliff, hiding in the shadows of the pine trees, he saw Agazuul propping up a small hand mirror to look at the roof of that elven tower, seeing only the end of the crossbow and a bit of roof through it. He pointed to the roof in the reflection, clearly meaning Carl to follow. Agazuul pricked his finger with the point of a dagger, drawing blood. He pulled the blood from that finger in a long bow-like arc before turning it into a mist that began enveloping his body; his eyes focused on the mirror.

Carl drew upon the power bestowed by Kahmin. Knowing his name felt strange, Carl thought before he was up there with Agazuul in a similar mistlike transportation spell. There were more archers strewn about the various towers, even burnt out. This elven city was impressive; many archers focused on a specific double door deep in the city's heart. The courtyard was littered with bodies; the pools of red made it challenging to discern who was Rastaytan or of the Usurper's men.

Agazuul had slid his blade across the neck of the archer, holding his body and letting it gently down on the floor. He pointed Carl towards the tower on the right while he moved towards the left; now that they were up high, they could use the remainder of the broken walls to get to the other wall towers.

Expertly, they removed one guard after the next until a warhorn sounded. It was only a matter of time; they expected Agazuul to show up. Now was the time to act quickly; guards would be on them any second. Shouting and pointing came from below; small insects were assembling and trying to move a grain of sand.

Carl took a moment to calm down as he saw those guards making their way up, one surefire trick up his sleeve that could take them all out if only he timed it right. Carl waited for most of them to make it more than halfway up the ladder before sending out his burgundy flamelike energy towards the first guard, pushing him back with tremendous force, forcing the guard to take all the other climbers with him. They scattered somewhat in their fall. Most of them met a deadly fall, and the rest might've not been able to get up for a while.

It seemed Agazuul had a different approach as his tower got littered with guards; Carl saw him fighting off five guards at once. Agazuul combined his blood magic and sword skills into a deadly combo, puppeteering lone usurper's men in the way of another's strike, and every of Agazuul’s own divinely charged blows sent a guard staggering back, stopping them from moving altogether or sending them careening off the edge. As that happened, it seemed some lone guards had made their way up to the various towers; armed with crossbows, they tried to start aiming. Here, Carl could shine, long-distance aimed shots. While they were trying to load their crossbows, Carl guided his hand towards the first victim as he blasted the guard back and off the tower from more than three hundred meters away. His burgundy flames had never failed him thus far. As one bolt loosened his way, he laughed at their paltry skills. In quick succession, he shot off three more blasts of burgundy fire. Agazuul took the time to give him a reaffirming nod from afar as he waited for more guards to make their way up the ladder.

It hadn’t taken long for them to deal with fifty or so Tharosians. They met in a burnt-out courtyard as they set their eyes upon that double door. There were many dead littered here, not all of them their kills.

“Any reason why they hadn’t stormed it?” Carl asked Agazuul.

“Simple, never attack a fortified position unless you’re sure you can win,” Agazuul answered, a smile on his glistening face. His style was more physically exhausting.

“I’ve never seen you back away from any fight, and I do remember us storming a fort full of deep-dwarves,” Carl said, somewhat underwhelmed by Agazuul’s answer.

“There hasn’t been a fight I’d think we’d lose.” He said, smiling at Carl before making his way to the doors.

There, they had found the bronze dragonspawn known as Raiann and the survivors of the Warband she brought—a dozen people. She had come with a hundred, but most died before entering the city. She claimed Theobald must’ve set something up, that usually Osred wouldn’t have cared much for a hundred soldiers to go missing from the frontlines he was fighting.

End of Chapter 12 - Carl 4