Cole

The light of dawn sparkled off the grey towers of Sráid’s Keep. It looked peaceful. Still. Like a model on display in a wood carver’s shop. There was a single shaft of light breaking through the clouds to illuminate this precious structure.

Cole knew the moment wouldn’t last forever. He made a rough sketch of the sight in his journal. He would fill in the details later, such as the flock of birds overhead, or how the shadow cast by the Keep filled the valley between the two mountains.

He dropped his graphite. He wanted to remember this silent calm before they marched on that sparkling castle. His thumbs ran over the binding of his journal. It was brand new, red-dyed leather he had purchased not long before they left Spiral City. He didn’t trust his memory to remember today in all its details. Today they finished the Order of Suffering.

Azeroth rolled onto his back. His sleeping mat was adjacent Cole’s. Both had a clear view of the Keep from the mine shaft’s entrance. Bréag was outside the mine, further down the slope. He had the last watch and was also memorizing the Keep in the morning light.

“Feeling brave?” Azeroth asked. His eyes were still shut.

“I’m feeling something.” Cole admitted. “Bravery? Gods I hope so.”

“It’s bravery. I know what it feels like.”

“Is that you’re mind-reading at work? You never explained that to us.”

“You’re right. I didn’t.”

For a moment, Cole thought he saw Azeroth smile.

Two large bodies emerged from the depths of the shaft. Onakie and Frost.

“No sign they’re aware of us?” Onakie peered at the Keep walls.

“If they have, then Bréag hasn’t shared that information.” Cole replied.

“Good. Eat what you can stomach. We advance to the center in one hour.”

“Stomach” was a good choice of words. Cole felt he couldn’t eat anything. Not just because of his nervousness, but because of the quality of the food. The loaf-end in his pack was damp from condensation in the cave. He offered it to Frost, who had no objections. Azeroth had snagged two eggs from a bird’s nest. He cracked them over his mouth and downed the raw contents. It seemed to satisfy him.

Rather than fill his stomach Cole checked his supplies. His atlatl was dry and prepared for use. His dart quiver needed slight adjusting, or perhaps that was just his anxiety. Ten darts in his quiver. He laced his boots a third time. Lastly, he tucked his journal into the breast pocket beneath his armor. It felt like a firm hand on his chest, calming him.

The hour vanished and they trudged down the slope to the low field between the mountains. With luck, the long shadows of morning hid their movements. Bréag didn’t speak much other than an acknowledgment that today was the day. Three weeks of planning since that first war council. Which meant it was just over two months since they had met bound on that cart.

From the mines of the west mountain came the other portion of their team. Dirk led this half. Lyn followed his step. The last members of the Lion’s Claw.

With Dirk and Lyn were several warriors Cole did not personally know. None were minotaurs. Onakie worried having more than her for the approach would destroy their stealthiness.There were diablans from the Dune Seas with them, dressed in their personal, makeshift armor. Legion stepped from their ranks to greet Cole. After careful embellishment from Cole on his abilities, and repeated promises that he wouldn’t get in the way, Onakie allowed Legion a spot on the strike team. She later rationalized it as the diablan being just small enough that he didn’t take up any space.

“Sahn favors us.” Dirk pointed to the shaft of sunlight.

“Pashindra as well.” Onakie nodded gently at the clouds beyond. Her father was leading the vanguard of the minotaur soldiers. If it came to it, that would be the force to break through to the city first. “Watch over my ward, storm god.”

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Odile was not to join the battle. Despite her adult mannerisms, she was still just a child. With some consternation, Odile agreed, but insisted she at least be present at the war camps. A breeze passed through their group. They all silently let it caress them. It seemed to be goading them forward.

And go forward they did. Cautiously, they crept to the hill of wildflowers. They would not begin to advance in earnest until they could clearly hear the battle begin.

A hand clenched Cole’s shoulder. Frost was holding onto him and Azeroth. He clearly had something to say. Legion and Bréag slowed their pace to listen as well. Frost’s lips rolled in circles, but remained shut. He couldn’t find the words.

“Don’t die.”

Azeroth’s eyes went briefly upwards, but he patted Frost’s hand. “Not planning on it.”

“We walk into the unknown, my friends,

Our heads held so high.

So promise me this, my friends:

Don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die.”

Cole recited the words wistfully. It was a verse from a poem about the battle that ended the Era of Terror. It seemed to fill their five hearts with spirit for those final steps to the hill.

Horns blared in the far distance. The battle had begun. Onakie made them pause in the shadow of the hill, long enough for the armies to properly engage. On her signal they forced their way up the dew covered slope to where the tunnel entrance lay.

Their enemy did not leave the entrance unguarded. A small cadre of elven soldiers were assigned to the area. They were each swiftly dealt with before any alert could be made.

“I apologize for what I’m about to do.” Onakie said to Bréag and Cole. Both were baffled as to what she could mean until she explained: “The tunnel only opens from one side.”

Shield in hand, she crashed into the statue of Lughron. The Master of Archfaer teetered over. A crunch of marble coupled it being unseated from its foundation. The statue shattered on the ground and each broken feature rolled down the hill. Cole thought he might laugh at the tragedy of the moment.

The stairway was revealed. Cole volunteered himself to watch for guards on the walls while their force of fifteen took turns to pass through the narrow entry. In the distance, Cole could hear a low rumble. The sound of battle on the fields of Sráid. Cole imagined he could isolate individual sounds in that rumble. Swords clashing. Arrows slinging. When there were only three remaining on the hill a new sound rose above those in the distance.

“Hail, Cole!”

Cole didn’t flinch. He lobbed a dart hard in the direction of the voice. Had he not stepped aside, Rodd Shawa would have a shaft through his head. Cole’s eyes widened. Rodd was ascending the hill alone in full armor. The swordsman from Shish had no weapon drawn, but he did carry two sheathed swords. Flower petals came undone under his clinking boots, and were carried away by a spiral breeze.

Cole swallowed. He ordered those behind him to hurry. He loaded his next dart, but could not help but hesitate when he looked upon Rodd again.

“I won’t hurt them Cole, not directly. I watched you approach from one of those windows. The appropriate people have been alerted.”

“Then what are you doing now?” Cole was the last of the strike team still above ground. He could feel the others waiting for him.

Rodd reached the top of the hill. He gave a broad shrug. “In truth, there is something I have been waiting for. Something that must occur without distraction or interference.”

He threw one of the sheathed swords at Cole’s feet.

“You once promised me a duel. What better time for it than now?”

It took Cole a moment to comprehend this. He lowered his atlatl to inspect the sword Rodd offered him. It was too dull to even cut him. “This is a practice sword.”

“Of course.” Rodd nodded. He demonstrated that his was identical. “I do not wish to kill you, and I believe you do not wish to kill me.”

Cole frowned. On instinct, he examined their surroundings for Order reinforcements hiding just out of his sight.

“You can change your course.” Rodd said firmly. “Abandon the side of the volatiles. Walk away from this.”

Cole looked deep into the face of the man he once admired. “I can’t Rodd. I just can’t.”

“—And hence the swords.” Rodd gestured to the still sheathed blade in Cole’s hands. “I can’t kill you, but I can strike until you are no longer conscious.”

He formed a terse smile. He knew that this was an awkward situation he was demanding of Cole.

“...Unless, you want I should draw my real blade and set upon those in the tunnel?” Rodd threateningly pulled the sword hilt on his waist, showing a brief flash of pearl iron.

Cole straightened himself. Words failed him. Deliberately, he went to the tunnel entrance. Frost’s amber eyes looked up at him.

“Go on without me.” Cole declared. “There’s something I have to do here.”