A crossbow bolt thudded into the ground at Palcon’s feet.
“That’s close enough. State your business and why you’ve brought so many armed men onto my family lands.”
Glancing towards the walls of the estate, Palcon was able to make out the man holding the crossbow. The man matched the description given to him by his father. There was a blur standing slightly to the side of the man.
Palcon frowned. His new eye was usually so exact with details. Shaking away the thought, he raised both hands to show he was not holding his weapons. “My name is Palcon. These men and I have been sent by my father, Dallon. You would be Nic Becosea?”
The crossbowman lowered the weapon. “That I would be. We got a letter saying to expect you. Two days ago.”
Palcon winced. “Yeah, we got delayed leaving the Capital. They would have tracked this many men leaving all at once. We had to sneak out singly, then met up again in small groups. We didn’t assemble like this until a couple of days ago.”
Nic shouted back, “That’s a good story, but I’m gonna need a little more than that.”
Palcon caught that same blur out of the corner of his eye and whirled to face it. A broad, leather clad man was suddenly visible, an amused smile on his lips.
“That’s some impressive reflexes you’ve got there.” The man continued to grin while folding his arms across his chest. “I like the eye, too. Real dark and mysterious. Also matches the description that was sent by your father.”
Palcon resisted the urge to grab his swords. Having someone sneak up on him was not something he was used to.
“Glad to see we all recognize one another. You must be Matthew Makae, the Torian Barbarian.”
Matthew grinned and turned away, guiding the group through the gates and into the compound. Palcon looked around the groups, spotting numerous other armed groups, some training, others in various states of equipment management. There were even a few mages. It almost resembled what he’d been told about what a war camp might look like, albeit on a smaller scale. He estimated that there were only a bit over a hundred men, not counting the dozen that he’d brought.
Nic Becosea quickly made his way over. “We’ve been rotating people out for combat training near the Briar Valley. There have been increased monster sightings there and the Empire seems to have forgotten about it since getting burnt.”
Palcon frowned, reaching up to trace the scar beneath his new eye. “Have the monsters made it to the nearby settlements?”
“Not yet. We’re managing to keep things in check for now. As long as something new doesn’t show up, we’ll continue to be able to keep things trimmed back.”
Palcon nodded. “Good to hear. Now let’s make things official.” Reaching out, he clasped forearms with the crossbowman. “Palcon, son of Dallon, formerly of the Imperial Guard.”
“Nic Becosea, son of Duke Becosea. Still living off his father.” The man grinned. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get you all situated, meet with my father to go over the state of affairs, then get ourselves some beer.”
“I like that plan.”
***
“We haven’t seen a Shartha in over a week. They haven’t brought any ore or metals in longer than that.”
Speaker Brightheart considered the little man before him, the one running the trading post at the mouth of the Shartha Plains. This was the only human presence that the Shartha would allow near their precious plains. That policy kept the Empire from the valuable mineral deposits in the plains and its framing mountains.
A slight concentration of will had the subtle sunbursts in the eyes of his mask glowing. “My dear man. The Shartha are no longer your concern. The Emperor has sent us here to deal with things.”
The trader nodded slowly, his expression slightly vacant. “I suppose that makes sense if the Emperor sent you. I’ll gather up my men and we’ll get out of your way.”
Brightheart watched the man enter the trading post then put him out of mind, turning back to where the mages were gathered around the wagons. Crighton was over there, apparently arguing with a pair of mages who stood there with frowns on their faces.
“While we understand your point, we were told to unleash this spell by order of the Emperor. We’ve spent months working on the Firestorm, not to mention the expense of the spell materials.” Crighton glared at the two crimson robed mages, crossing his arms over his chest.
One of the two replied, “We were under the impression that the spell was to be used as a negotiating tactic to get the Shartha to return our armor and research, as well as to force them to pay reparations to the Empire.”
Brightheart stepped between the three, facing the duo. Clasping his hands together before him, he offered them a view of his smiling mask. “My dear gentlemen, what we do here is critical to the Empire.” Ignoring the frowns, he continued, “The Shartha have shown that they cannot be trusted. Any further attempts at negotiations would only prove a waste of time. The lead trader says that the Shartha haven’t even been seen in weeks.”
The sunburst on his chest gleamed brighter, matched by the ones in the eyes of his mask. Brightheart smiled beneath his mask as he saw the light in the mages’ eyes slightly dim. Reaching out, he rests a hand on a shoulder of each mage.
“My dear mages. What you do here today will benefit the Empire for generations to come.”
The two mages slowly nodded, agreed to participate, then turned to help the other mages unloading the wagons. Crighton grunted and Brightheart turned to face him.
“Everything seems to have worked out well.”
The elaborately dressed mage nodded curtly. “While I would prefer not to need your… talents… the results are what matter. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be overseeing the spell setup.” After another brief nod, the mage headed off.
Brightheart turned back to the trading post, just in time to see several men leaving the building, many with confused looks on their faces. The lead trader made his way over.
“We’ll be on our way then. You make sure you treat those Shartha right. Some may have done wrong by the Empire, but most of them are good people. My family has been trading here since the days of my great grandfather.”
Brightheart clasped his hands before him, nodding his head to the man. “Fear not, my good man. We will give the Shartha a warm welcome.”
***
Brightheart stood among his escorts as the mages finished setting up for their spell. It had taken them several hours to position metal columns and place the specially carved magicite spheres upon them. There were a dozen columns in total, spread in a straight line across the entrance to the plains, situated where the mountains were closest together. A trio of mages stood beside each column.
Crighton made his way over, slate in hand, glancing between it and the columns before sliding the slate into his robes. “It looks like everything is in place. We’re ready to proceed.”
Brightheart offered the mage a nod. “I know I’ve said this before, but I’ve always been impressed with your work. Would you care to explain your spell before setting it off?”
The mage smiled. “Always happy to educate others.” He turned towards the assembled columns. “What we’ve done is taken the basic campfire spell and modified it in a manner that increases its amplitude and gives it a movement component.
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“The columns and spheres are linked sympathetically to the leylines at the end of the plains, guiding the spell across the entire length of the plains. We’ve also used soil samples from the framing mountains to guide the width of the spell, allowing it to flare the entire width of the plains.
“Combined with a wind component to fuel the flames, we’ll have a rolling wave of fire the changing width of the plains that will travel from here to where the leylines created the new coastline. It will even extinguish itself when it lands in the sea.”
Brightheart nodded again at the grinning mage. “That sounds excellent. I look forward to seeing it.”
Crighton offered a brief salute, fist to chest, then turned and headed to one of the columns, joining the two mages waiting there. For a moment there was only the sound of the wind rustling the grasses.
Rings of magic spiraled to life around each column. The columns themselves lit up with elaborate spellwork on every surface. The light traveled up the columns and seeped into the magicite spheres. Silver spellwork ignited on the spheres.
There was a sudden silence as the wind died completely. Brightheart watched the spell intently, waiting for the ignition point. He felt the touch of a warm breeze on his cheek as the wind returned, rushing past him.
The wind and the heat grew. The trading post began to rattle as the wind buffeted the doors and windows. Wisps of smoke began to curl from the seams. Flickers of flame could be seen through the windows.
There was another rush of wind that tugged at Brightheart’s robes then a roar as fire engulfed the trading posting, rising in a pillar dozens of feet in the air. He could feel the heat even from this distance.
Flames ate at the structure, what could still be seen, then rushed north and south, licking at the mountainsides. Slowly, the rolling wall of fire started grinding to the west, leaving only scorched earth behind, the ground cracked and steaming.
Brightheart felt warmth on his cheek, remembered pain from his encounter with the Trelk less than a year ago. How appropriate it was to be using fire to deal with a different infestation.
Gasps from the mages drew his attention. He watched as the majority of them collapsed, leaning against the columns. Even Crighton slumped in place.
Their exhaustion didn’t matter. The spell had been ignited. In due time it would completely consume the plains, destroying all life, especially those furry, selfish ingrates.
Once the firestorm extinguished itself and the ground cooled, the Empire could move in and occupy whatever mines the diggers left behind. No more paying the exorbitant prices at the trading post.
Walking over to the mages, Brightheart bowed deeply. “You all have done excellent work today. I’ll see that you receive a reward when we return to the Capital.” He stepped back, hands clasped before him, allowing his smiling, masked gaze to sweep over the mages.
A brief roar was his only warning before searing pain lanced across his back and sent him tumbling. Screams filled the air and for a moment he was back in the valley, surrounded by flames.
Suddenly, his sight cleared and he could see what looked like a huge man made of fire fighting his escorts, while some other men were dragging the injured away.
An elemental? Brightheart tried to push himself up, only to gasp in renewed pain. Looking down, he saw the charred stump of his right arm, ending halfway down his forearm. Strangely, it seemed to only hurt when it was touched.
Brightheart was still trying to process his injury when someone grabbed him beneath the armpits and started dragging him away. Glancing up, he caught the concerned face of Crighton. Frowning beneath his mask, he managed to ask, “Was the spell supposed to spawn elementals?”
Crighton grunted. “Not at all.” Another grunt as they continued moving. “Something must have been off in the math, or some unknown quality of the plains themselves. I’ll have to go over the spellwork back at the Academy.”
The mage seemed to crumble to the ground as he stopped moving Brightheart, collapsing to the grass beside him. “The soldiers will eventually disrupt the matrix keeping the elemental together. Best we rest until they do.” Crighton slumped onto his back.
Brightheart let himself fall to his back, reminded by shooting pain to take more care with his stump. At least the mission was accomplished. Once the elemental was dealt with, they could be on their way.
A cool feeling settled over him. Glancing to the side, he saw one of the healers kneeling beside him, healing magic powering from the man’s hands. The pain flowed out of him, leaving him pleasantly numb.
Lethargy started to settle in. Brightheart tried to shake off the feeling. His last thoughts before sleeping was that he needed to report to the Emperor.
***
The creak of a wagon startled Brightheart awake. He tried to push himself up only to find one of his arms restrained. Looking down his chest, he found the arm bound there. What was left of it.
“Easy there, Speaker. We just got you healed. Don’t need you to reopen the wounds.” A healer leaned into his vision and he felt cool energy flowing through him.
Settling back down, Brightheart tried to organize his thoughts. “My dear healer, please report.”
“The soldiers managed to defeat the elemental, though we lost a couple of men in the process. We were in the process of withdrawing when another elemental arrived. Fortunately the mages had recovered by then.”
“Another elemental?”
“Yes, Speaker. We actually left most of the soldiers and many of the mages behind to guard the mouth to the plains. Though I suppose it can’t really be considered plains anymore. Scorchlands, perhaps?”
The man trailed off and Brightheart mentally sighed. This could prove troublesome. If the firestorm spawned elementals, how many would it create before extinguishing itself? If any of those walking fireballs escaped into a populated area, it could be devastating. How many resources would it take to tame the area?
At least the Shartha were dealt with.
***
Black, scorched stone split apart, admitting a furry snout into the air. A moment later it was followed by the rest of the body of the Shartha. Standing on the rock, Tilly looked around at the ruins of what had once been the home of every Shartha on this world.
Running her claws down her fur, she groomed out some dirt, then called down into the hole. More Shartha popped out, spreading into the burnt out husk of a city. TIlly didn’t expect them to find anything but they needed to look.
They were fortunate for the warning from the Majestix. Most of the people had been evacuated into underground caverns, and the caverns were in the process of being expanded. A small group had even been sent to the colony offered by the Majestix.
The Shartha would survive, as they always had.
A roar echoed through the ruins. Reaching out with her senses, Tilly felt the elemental.
Time to get to work.