“This is the kinda shit that I like, Aldric. We oughtta bring all the men down here; this isn’t creepy at all.” Daveth remarked acidly through a brilliant grin as they rode through the deserted countryside. Houses stood abandoned, farms neglected, no souls in sight.
Neither of them looked up at the sickly-looking clouds that covered everything. The sunlight was queerly flat and missing its essential warmth; the wind was likewise curiously flat and stale.
“Fuck you, man.” Aldric replied. “This is some deep-down creepy shit.” He shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable in the breastplate he’d strapped on over his officer’s coat.
“He would have gone for ... those who held no status, first.” Malacath muttered uneasily.
Daveth pointed out beyond the vacant houses at something. “The fuck is that?”
Malacath followed his pointing finger.
“Ah! That’s one of the weather control towers.” Malacath explained, and then frowned.
Aldric moved to where they were at so he could see the tower.
The edifice was slim and tapered, like a pale white needle pointing into the sky. It was much too thin to be a tower, and Aldric couldn’t see a doorway anyway.
Atop the tower there was some green wriggling mass that was unpleasant to look at, fronds reaching to the sky, rootlike protrusions embedded into the stone of the weather tower, turning the pale white into a jaundiced, yellow, and sickly looking color.
“I’m guessing that’s a new addition.” Daveth muttered.
Malacath nodded.
Daveth glanced to Aldric, who was looking back at him.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Daveth asked, and Aldric grinned.
“I was about to say, ‘I’ve got an idea’.” Aldric replied.
Malacath eyed the two of them, a look of confusion on his face.
Daveth scratched his beard as he thought. “I say we get the Tross situated and fortified, first. We start doing things, it’s going to attract attention.”
Aldric nodded. “I agree.”
“What’re you two planning?” Malacath asked, a frown on his face.
Aldric smiled enigmatically and turned his horse to head back to where the files were waiting.
Daveth rode up beside Aldric’s horse.
“The main question is how we’re gonna bring it down. We’ve got no cannons, no siege equipment of any kind.”
Aldric nodded. “Agreed. We could have the Tross set up a battering ram or a catapult.”
Daveth nodded at that, and glanced back at Malacath. “He really didn’t think of it?”
“He didn’t.” Aldric replied.
“Hmm.” Daveth muttered thoughtfully. He glanced around at the trees, which were few, withered, and gnarled, twisted things.
“Not sure we can make anything useful from them, boss.”
“Well, we’ll try.” Aldric replied.
Daveth explained the plan to Malacath. It seemed as though the weather towers were likely the source of the magical clouds that seemed to drain the light and life from everything. It made sense; use the towers to control the weather. Knock down the towers, and the clouds would fuck off and go away.
Nobody knew how many of the towers there were, or how many they’d need to knock down before things changed, but it seemed like a reasonable idea on the surface.
Malacath wasn’t so hot on the idea, though.
“Those towers keep the weather stable in our lands. Without them, there could be storms, hail, our crops would be at risk. Our livelihoods, all of it.”
“You see the logic, though, right? Just rebuild them after all this is over.” Aldric urged him.
“I can’t believe you’re worried about the weather when there’s demons on your doorstep.” Daveth argued, and Malacath threw up his hands.
“Fine! Do it!” He yelled, and took a few steps away. He took a calming breath, and turned back. “This is hard, you know? I’m invading my own homeland. Participating in acts of war against my nation.” He stressed. “You don’t have a home, so you probably don’t know what that’s like, but for me-”
Aldric cut him off, with a wave of his hand and an arctic look. “Some of us know exactly what that’s like.” He spoke concisely and clearly, enunciating each word crisply so that the words tumbled from his lips like ice cubes. “Some of us know very much what that’s like.”
Malacath subsided at that, and nodded.
Aldric sighed. “You don’t want to attack a weather control tower? That’s fine. I’ll have you on the squad cutting down trees for catapults and getting us some great fucking rocks so we can knock it down.”
Daveth rubbed his chin. “What sort of trees are those, anyway?”
Malacath gave him a conflicted look. “I never came down this way.”
Aldric arched an eyebrow, but instead of commenting on it, he simply replied, “Just get them cut down.”
Malacath managed to last for exactly one axe swing against one of the trees, at which point he fell to the ground, dropping the axe in horror. Daveth stubbornly refused to pay attention to the screams and the rivulets of blood that gushed every time he swung his axe, but after he’d felled one tree, he gave up and reported to Aldric.
“You’re saying the trees ... bled.” Aldric replied, while making notes on the map of Therannia they’d cobbled together.
Daveth nodded. “And they screamed.”
Aldric rubbed his mouth. “You cut one down?”
Daveth shrugged uneasily, but nodded.
“Was it just bloody wood?”
Daveth shook his head. “I think it was one of the elves.” He explained, and Aldric’s eyes widened, and he touched the amulets he wore that Malacath and his group had made.
“You...” Aldric muttered, but shook his head. “No. This is on me. This is my fault, my responsibility. We don’t have enough wood for siege engines and the ...wood... we have available to us is... unusable.” Aldric grit his teeth. “We’ll have to use Malacath and his men. He’s not going to like it, but-”
“What am I not going to like?” Malacath asked as he came in. He was wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.
“We need you to bring down that tower. We can’t make a catapult from... what’s out there.” Aldric replied, hand arcing out vaguely.
“What’re we going to do with them? Can’t cut them down, can’t burn them down...” Daveth muttered. “Can we undo the magic? Turn them back, somehow?”
Aldric glanced at Malacath. “You’re the most versed mage here, man. Can they be turned back?”
The elf gave Aldric and Daveth a helpless look. “Once we figured out- I asked them to- “ He shook his head and wiped his mouth with the handkerchief again. “The things Malachi has done to my people...”
Aldric took a breath. “We need you to take down the tower. Swords and guns won’t do it. Turn the base into sand, or conjure a big fucking rock to smash it, or ... whatever you think is best. This is an experiment. First, to see if the clouds let up. Second, to see if that asshole in the capital is paying attention. Who knows, if there’s a lot of these things and we drop them, it might piss him off enough to send some of his troops after us. But how many, and how strong? That’s a gamble.”
“Beware the Featherine Squad.” Malacath warned. “They’re the strongest mages anywhere. They’re peerless warriors, too. Unfathomably powerful.” He gave them a weak, sickly grin. “I wanted to be one of them when I was young.”
Daveth nodded. “We’ve got the scouts out on watch, and we’re triple red anyway. Just bring down that tower.”
Malacath nodded, but seemed reluctant to go.
“What about that... thing... on top?”
Daveth glanced at Aldric, who scrawled a note on one of the maps. “We’ll see what we can do.”
*****
“So these weather towers,” Daveth began as he set out towards the one they’d spotted, “How are they made? Carved from stone? Made of brick? Are they solid?”
Malacath looked uncomfortable at the barrage of questions.
“I was in the army, Daveth. I have no idea how they were built or maintained.” He finally admitted.
Daveth nodded. “You’re confident you can break one, though, right?”
Malacath’s eyes wandered as he tried to answer the question. “I’ll try.”
The tower, up close, was a narrow spire that looked seamless from a distance, but up close it looked to be fitted stone piled on top of each other. Surrounding the tower was an unpleasant stench, the smell of rotting fruit, wilted flowers, decaying flesh and raw sewage. Daveth slipped on a handkerchief; Malacath and his men covered their mouths as their eyes watered and tears streamed down their faces.
Malacath remembered the spell to turn the obdurate stone to harmless sand, could feel the tower’s stone crumbling away to fine grains under his palms, but then came a massive thunderstrike, a brilliant flash brighter than the limitless searing light of the sun followed by the concussive blast of thunder that was as felt as it was heard, a shattering roar that defied explanation, defied perception, defied any sense of apprehension. Afterward, Malacath had no memory of what happened.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Malacath was in a soundless void of purest white. There was nothing to see or hear in any direction. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t hear or see anything. He drifted aimlessly, stupidly, directionlessly. Nothing was relevant. He couldn’t remember his own name. Words drifted, slipped, broke apart, reformed, they were meaningless to him.
The giant was walking towards him, wreathed in terrible flames. His eyes were cauldrons of limitless fury, burning with fiery intensity. In his hand he carried a brutal spear; the tip seared with a terrible, indiscriminate hatred towards everything. It was an unmitigated rejection of everything that dared trespass upon its gaze.
Who could survive against such a thing?
Daveth scooped up Malacath and gave him a brisk shake, sharp enough that his teeth clicked together. He blinked, and the world washed in around him in strange colors. He was dazed, shocked, stunned, he struggled to find his feet, he couldn’t recognize his tongue in his own mouth.
“Malacath!” Daveth roared in his face.
The elf shook his head, and tried to organize his thoughts. What had happened?
“The tower. We were at the tower.”
Daveth’s scrutinizing look softened, and he nodded. “Better. Wipe the drool off your chin.” He looked up at the sky, and the surrounding area. “Aldric will probably be coming soon. We’ll have to figure out how to explain this to him.”
Malacath looked around stupidly.
His men struggled to rise to their feet. Chunks of shattered stone lay scattered about in every direction. Many of them were streaked with soot. Ash drifted on the wind.
“What the fuck happened?” Malacath blurted, swearing like the humans in his urgency to know.
“It exploded.” Daveth replied. “I wasn't expecting that to happen.”
Daveth set Malacath down and the elf turned around in a circle where he stood. Certainly, the tower looked to have detonated.
“My men?” He asked, and Daveth shrugged.
“Our men seem fine, if a little out of it, like you were.” Daveth replied. “Rally them up.”
“The... the thing. The demon atop the tower.” Malacath urged the giant. “We have to destroy it.”
Daveth patted Malacath on the shoulder. “I saw to it, man. I was a little ways away when you started, remember? Probably why I woke up faster than you did.” He shook his head wonderingly, his face awestruck. “That was some explosion.” He breathed.
“You defeated a demon... yourself?” Malacath asked, baffled.
“It was some sort of... magic plant.” Daveth replied. “One I’ve never seen before.” He smiled a little. “But plants burn.”
“You burned a demon... plant.” Malacath confirmed.
Daveth turned to Malacath. “Listen, because I don’t know magic: You think I fucked up?” He asked seriously, his face set in earnesty. “It was the very first thing that came to mind, like “quick, set it on fire!” so that’s what I did. You’re the magic man, so tell me- was that the right thing to do? Should I have done something different?”
“Well, it seems to have worked; that’s the important thing.” Malacath decided. He looked up at the sky. “Doesn’t seem to have helped the weather much.”
Daveth glanced up, too, and then nodded. “We’ll have to either destroy more of them, or get deeper into Therannia to affect it, I think.”
Aldric rode in with the files at his back, weapons out and ready. His hands flashed signs; the files broke up and encircled the perimeter of the shattered tower.
“So what the fuck happened? It sounded like ten thousand cannon went off at the same time.”
Daveth looked to Malacath, and then back at Aldric. “Tower exploded while Malacath was monkeying with it.” He shook his head. “Like a great bolt of lightning just flashed and then we were all knocked ass over teakettle.”
“The demon?” Aldric asked worriedly.
“I set it on fire. It’s dust and ash now. Magic-man says it was okay to do.” Daveth replied, jerking his thumb at the elf.
Aldric shrugged uneasily. “I honestly have no idea how any of these things work... I'll take his word for it now, and we’ll deal with the aftermath when it comes due.” He glanced around. “Wounded? Dead?”
“I don’t think anyone’s dead.” Daveth replied, but looked to Malacath, who began calling to his forces.
They held a brief conference in the command tent.
“We’ve got a lot of wounded elves.” Malacath reported. “That explosion blew out a lot of eardrums. Assorted broken bones, sprains, bruises.”
Aldric nodded. “Arrange them in degrees of priority; treat the severely hurt first, work your way back to the bumped elbows and skinned knees.”
Malacath’s mouth worked at that flippant description, but he nodded.
“Show me the map again.” He gestured, Aldric and Daveth exchanged bemused grins while the map was unrolled and spread flat.
“Given what we’ve seen here... how the outer areas are ...deserted, I think we can disregard our initial plan and head directly towards the capital.” He outlined the original plan of taking a circuitous route to avoid notice, and then outlined a much more direct route.
“Bold.” Aldric muttered, raising an eyebrow.
“We made the plan assuming the villages and towns would be inhabited.” Malacath disputed. “We can clearly see that they are not. We should capitalize on this new intel and revise our strategy.”
Daveth adopted a look of concentration as he tried to put together Malacath’s words in an understandable way, and then shook his head.
“I disagree. This... this isn’t even a village. It doesn’t even have a proper inn or a store. It’s a handful of houses and farms.” Daveth decided. “We’ve yet to see an actual town or city.” He paused again and scratched his beard thoughtfully.
Malacath opened his mouth, but Daveth cut him off and continued, “On the other hand, I hate this place, and I don’t want to spend one minute in this place that I don’t have to... and what Malacath says makes sense: if we want to invade and occupy a capital city, we do need to have speed on our side.”
Malacath closed his mouth and looked to Aldric with a nod.
“I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to be.” Aldric decided. “Have the Tross pack up the tent. Malacath, see to the wounded. We’re going to stick to the original plan until here” he pointed at the map. “We’ll have a look at the town... and if they have a tower, we’ll knock it down too, so prepare yourself for that. If the town is occupied, we’ll have to clear them out. If they’re friendly, have them leave Therannia. Head to the border gate and stay put. If they’re hostile... Well, that’s what we’re here for. If it’s empty, we’ll assume all the towns and such are empty, and push on towards the capital.”
Be eyed Daveth and Malacath. “The fuck you apes standing around for?”
*****
The ground was hard, the plants lifeless and wilting under that sickening, multicolored sky. It was like the land was offering up its last diseased gasp before dying. Here and there, in clusters and singly, were more of those gnarled and knotted trees that they knew were once men and women.
“This is just depressing to look at.” Daveth muttered.
“Lord Commander.” A voice hailed him from behind. Daveth turned, guiding his horse with his knees, and nodded at Lynnabel. Alysia kept her head on a swivel and her hands on her sword.
“This land is tainted. How long are we to stay here? I would not trust the food or drink here.”
Daveth nodded, and idly wondered if the Tross had enough supplies to feed the Seventh Seal for an extended length of time.
“I wouldn’t eat anything here, either.” he agreed, and then added, “We’re here until the job is done. If we’re lucky, then all this shit will fuck off when it’s over.”
Lynnabel raised an eyebrow. “Our luck has been somewhat... flexible lately.” She replied delicately.
“I want to go home.” Daveth complained.
Lynnabel blinked. “Where is... home... for you, Lord Commander?”
Daveth shook his head. “I don’t have one except with the Seal. It was just an expression. I don’t want to be here at all. But the question is a good one- I’d say I’d feel a lot more comfortable if we were back in Hesperia. This continent is uncomfortable from top to bottom. Everywhere we go, it’s magic this and monster that. Now demons.” He forced a chuckle. “Rothgar isn’t really showing its good side.”
“Philippa is ... where we hail from, as you know.” She spoke in a low voice. “What did you think of it?”
Daveth gave it some thought. “Good rich land. Too many people fighting over it, trying to get a scrap.” He paused and added, “Too many dead cities. Makes a man uncomfortable, not knowing what sorts of things might be lurking in them.”
Lynnabel nodded.
“Get ready to fan out. Think we’re coming up on a town.” Daveth motioned, and then looked towards Aldric.
He urged his horse, Growler, forward until he was side-by-side with his captain and took Aldric’s spyglass from the man’s saddlebag.
“You ass, I’m getting tired of you doing that.” Aldric complained as Daveth scanned ahead with the glass.
“Spot anything from up there?” Aldric asked sardonically. Daveth nodded. “Wanna get ready to disperse the troops; we’ve got a town with a proper fence coming up.”
Malacath perked up. “A fence?”
Daveth waved his hand dismissively. “Just logs, and not very high. We could jump it with our horses if we were careful. Hell, on a good day I might be able to punch a hole through it myself.”
“Do you ever have bad days?” Aldric mocked; Daveth gave him the finger and then passed him the spyglass. “You should be able to see the tops of the houses now. More, when we clear the top of that hillock, there.”
Aldric scanned the town. “Like Malacath said, it seems empty.”
“Let’s go up.” Aldric decided, and called out the formations.
The Seventh Seal rushed into the town, which was empty except for the trees everywhere.
They grew in houses, on door stoops, in the yards and in the streets. Not a leaf grew on them, and touching them revealed they radiated an uncomfortable warmth. A few birds roosted in them, took flight, roosted, took flight, and then moved on in search of better perches.
“Wish we had the Radiant Sons with us.” Daveth muttered.
Aldric nodded. “They’d’ve been able to give us more insight.”
“Who are they?” Malacath asked.
“They were a mercenary band of warrior-mages. Nicola was one of their apprentices, actually. Most of them were massacred by Anglish assassins.”
“Who are the Anglish?” Malacath asked.
Aldric snorted. “An empire of opportunistic scum. If your country survives this insanity, ‘ware you don’t run afoul of them. They’ll shit in your heart.”
“You have mages here, Captain.” Malacath complained.
“Do you have experience fighting demons?” Aldric asked. “The Radiant Sons fought against demons, drakes, and even giants.”
Malacath looked to Daveth, but Aldric shook his head. “Not like him. Real giants. Ten or twelve feet tall, and nearly a ton of solid muscle.” He waved his hand to show it didn’t matter. “The point is, if they were here with us now... if Altus Pavlenko were here, he’d have some insights. “Defeat the demons this way” or “We can save these elves with this ritual.” or something like that.”
“You’re saying we’re not up to the task.” Malacath complained, visibly agitated.
“Under other circumstances, I’d say you’re one hundred percent on target. Here, now, you’re just as blind as we are.” Aldric replied. “We’re on our own.”
A lone figure hobbled towards them, weaving unsteadily between the trees that weren’t trees.
Daveth pulled out a crossbow from his pouchand trained it on the figure.
“Drop her?” He asked Aldric, who blinked a few times. “What? No. We’ll ask her-”
He cut off as the elven woman came into view. It was Kirilae, the scout that had deserted. One of her legs had turned into wood already. A branch sprouted from her shoulder.
“Son of a bitch.” Aldric breathed. Without looking at Malacath, he praised the man. “If you hadn’t given us those amulets you made, that would have been us by now.”
The elven woman approached Aldric.
“Captain! Please, you have to help me!” She pleaded.
“Son of a bitch-” Aldric swore. He lowered his head.
“We can-” Malacath began, but Aldric cut him off.
“Commander Daveth, who is she?” Aldric asked in a bitter voice.
Daveth shot him a startled look, he’d told Aldric- he sighed.
“She-” He stopped. How was he supposed to answer? “She’s the deserter I told you about. Left us before we arrived in Therannia.” he replied.
“I’m fuzzy. What’s the punishment for desertion?” Aldric asked, and the elven woman held out her hands in supplication. “I’m sorry, Captain!” She begged. “Please, help me! I’ll do anything, accept any punishment, just please-”
“With your permission, Captain, I’d like to study her! We have a chance here to restore my people!” Malacath blurted.
The crossbow quarrel punched through Kirilae’s leathers, into her chest, and out the other side. She took a wavering step backward and collapsed.
“Study her corpse.” Aldric decided. “A deserter is no different than the enemy, and there’s only one thing we offer the enemy.”
“Daveth, set up a light camp. We’ll eat lunch here, and then we push on, straight for the capital.”