Chapter Three

The Smell of Sulphur

“They’re here, then,” I muttered, the weight of knowing that Seviskian footmen are marching towards Avengard chilling my bones.

“Only some,” the woman said. “I saw eight…maybe nine or ten. I don’t know what they were doing in the Black Forest, but I’m sure they were Seviskians. Their cloaks were red and crimson. I’m sure.”

“Did they see you?”

“Yes, they did,” she stammered. “I locked eyes with one of them from afar, and I started running. I must have been running for…so long.”

“What were you doing this late in the woods?” I asked her. It was odd to meet anyone else in the Black Forest, especially around the sun’s fall.

“I was looking for herbs,” she explained. “I was looking for nightshade. Not to use, but to trade with. I have a sick son, and it’s the only way I could get the healing he needs.”

My heart skipped a beat. She, too, was searching for the nightshade for Kirshka. But to what end? Why is she sending desperate people like us to search for her herbs in the Black Forest?

More and more questions were crowding my mind, but the light was dwindling further and further, and we had to make our way out of the forest somehow.

“Can you walk?” I asked her, offering her an arm to hold onto as she tested her ankle. She grabbed onto it, then attempted a step and winced sharply in pain.

“Only barely,” she answered.

I guided her with my arm as we made our way back towards Avengard at a glacial pace. Despite the lack of light, I knew that we could follow the stream. We listened carefully for the running water, found it, and carried on downstream as quietly and quickly as we could. Every few steps, neither of us could help but to look over our shoulders and scan our surroundings — the thin silhouettes of branches and leaves against the opaque darkness, the rocks and boulders jutting over crags and small hills — wary that men in crimson may spot us and take us prisoner. Or worse.

“Stop. Did you hear that?” I held her still, hoping to cease her rustling of small leaves and twigs underfoot so I could listen closely. I heard a cry of some sorts, from some animal or beast that I had never heard from before. It was a shrill, guttural cry from at least a few leagues away. Quite some distance. It must be massive. Larger than a bear.

Again, the sound echoed throughout the night. It was low and rumbling, something in between a beast’s roar mere steps before its prey and a clap of thunder during a mighty storm. It resonated with an ancient, primordial power that commanded all those who heard to stop and prostrate themselves before it. In the moments that followed, all I could hear were the echoes of that booming and the meek beats of my own heart.

“It can’t be…” the woman’s voice sounded as if she were mourning, as if she were already grieving. “The tales of old were always formed in truth.”

“Dragons,” I whispered to myself.

The woman and I were both then slammed into the cold, loamy ground as a gale of wind blew the tall falkenbaum trees down and us along with them. Dried leaves and specks of mud crashed into my face, and I just managed to roll over and see the purple night sky as I saw it fly overhead.

It was a massive, shadowy figure with its wings outstretched from side-to-side. Each beat of its crimson, leathery wings sent ripples in both the Black Forest treeline and the clouds alongside it, giving me an even clearer look at the Seviskian behemoth in all its grotesque, mind-bending glory.

Avengard’s walls would stand no chance.

My mother and Isidora would stand no chance.

This beast was flying towards Avengard, and even from afar, its intent to kill, ravage, and massacre could not be mistaken.

I caught my breath as I managed to find my bearings and get back to my feet. The mud and dirt had soaked into my sleeves, but I would be able to manage. The woman, however, was quite obviously even worse off. Her bad ankle had caught on a rock, and now her foot was hanging limp and unresponsive from her leg. It looked like it was a clean break.

“I can’t feel it,” she said. “I can’t feel my foot at all.”

The dragon roared overhead, ahead of us now, in between us and Avengard. And with its roar came the panic. I had to beat back the urge to empty my stomach, and I could feel my body begin to break out into a sweat despite the cool evening air.

“If I give you my arm, do you think you could manage to-“

“March on, scouts, Ignisclaw leads the way!” the unmistakable sound of human voices off in the distance interrupted me, along with the baying and howls of warhounds. It sounded like they were moving quick, and with the dogs, we would have little hope in hiding, even despite the cover of night.

“Can you move?” I asked her again, speaking quickly.

“No,” she responded. “You can’t leave me.”

“We’ll need to run. They have hounds.”

“I have a sick son,” she begged. “His name is Delmar, only a few years younger than yourself. He lives in a shack with others in the Schwarzahn. You need to find him.”

“You’ll find him yourself,” I pleaded with her, trying to carry her up to her foot. She was hysterical, and she fell straight back down to the ground as I tried to prop her up.

“Please. I beg you. Tell him that I love him. Tell him that he’s always been my shining light.”

Another roar in the distance from Avengard now, and the boom of stone falling onto stone. We did not have much time now. If we were to wait, then there would be no more city left for us to return to.

I felt a strange sensation in the pouch that I had tied to my built. The nightshade. I considered offering her a finger of the poison, just in case the Seviskians were to find her, but I thought against it. Avenor would hide her. Shield her, and keep her safe.

And for whatever reason, I could smell the distinct scent of sulphur…

“I’m going to run to the city and find my family,” I told her, choosing my words carefully. “And in the morning, once all is well, I will find you, and our families will pray in gratitude together for the gods granting us another day.”

She gave me a consolatory smile, forcing the curve on her lips and the friendliness on her wrinkled cheeks, but her tired eyes betrayed her. “Find Delmar and tell him,” is all she managed to say.

And at that, with my conscience weighing me down with every step, I turned away from her and began to run towards a burning Avengard.

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Screams and the acrid smell of burning flesh.

The gates were open. The Laurelswatch must have wanted to allow the people the opportunity to flee out of the walls whenever they could. They didn’t know of the Seviskian men approaching the city walls. It wasn’t an invasion party…but what sort of cruelty would the men in crimson be capable of committing with their boots on the ground?

A tower collapsing. Straw roofs spreading dragonfire from home to home.

Opaque, dark smoke stung my eyes and lined my lungs as I ran towards the refuge tents. I tore a strip of cloth from my own tunic and dunked it in a nearby well, and tied the damp linen over my nose and mouth as I ran. Others were not so resourceful. Sheer panic steered their actions, and they fled in every direction. In the middle of the crossroads of a dirt path, a young woman was lying down on the ground motionless. Perhaps lifeless.

There was no time to help them. Just like there was no time to help that woman in the woods. Gods, I hadn’t even the chance to ask for her name.

Overhead, Ignisclaw spread its wings as it glided across the city, spewing molten stone onto Avengard. The sky was a brutal picture of red and black. The Laurelswatch took their stand on the rooftops. I could just make out the fear on their faces. These were middle-aged men, their sons long sent off to the line. In another time, they would have been together, enjoying the countryside. In another time, they would not have had to take their bows and nock their arrows at a flying beast they had no hope of felling.

“Steady on, men!” one of them, perhaps the oldest of them, rallied them on as he jammed a crank into his arbalest, loading another bolt onto the string. “For your wives, for every child of Avengard!”

I watched as they died.

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Ignisclaw heaved its chest in a monumental breath, veins of glowing inferno lighting its breast, and out from its scaled maw came a flume of dragonfire which enveloped the man and his compatriots, melting the very stone and mortar of the roof they stood on. Their screams told of agony beyond any human comprehension, leather and cloth melting off skin melting off pure bone. I screamed in anguish when they no longer could. Their bodies were burnt black; the last semblance of color to give way was the shock and horror in their eyes.

As the dragon flew on, two men survived the raging inferno, but found themselves trapped on the rooftop. A booming, thunderous crack erupted as wood and foundation stones gave way, and they fell downwards into rubble and flame.

I shielded my face as debris and smoking dust bellowed onto the pathway, where the building once stood now leaving behind an incomprehensible mass of stone, destruction, and corpses. And still, I made my way to the refuge tents. I wanted to see my family. I wanted to hold their hands.

A crowd of panicked citizens rounded the corner and stampeded towards me, presumably hoping to make their way to the gates. I braced myself as they pushed and jostled against me. I felt as if I were pushing back against the current of the Great Helsten River, and it took every bit of strength in my body to hold my footing and push on.

“Avenor preserve us!”

“My child! Have you seen my child?”

“I’m burning!”

I elbowed my way through, falling to my hands and knees and scrambling back up to my feet, breaking into a sprint towards the tents. Each breath was scorching torture, enveloping my lungs in a rhapsody of pain and constriction. All I could feel was heat. All I could hear were screams.

The world was on fire.

Suddenly, large bolts of pure light erupted and arced towards the sky. At first I thought it was lightning, but even in that split second of pure energy being released, I realized that it was towards the sky rather than from it. And it was aimed at Ignisclaw. Something or someone else was fighting back.

The giant scaled beast rolled in the air, jerking to the side as the bolt missed and fizzled into the air. It couldn't have been far. It was a total feat of agility, as it must have been; the bolt raced towards the sky in an instant.

Then, I spotted Avengard's last defender. It was a small figure, as if it were a child, clad in gleaming white robes, similar to the clergymen in Fleur d'Lain and Listerbury. It raised a large wooden staff, almost certainly taller than the figure itself, and in a series of quick, deliberate movements drew runic symbols in the air, leaving little lines of light that hung and lingered in the air.

And then the runes erupted, and the figure let loose another bolt of pure energy towards the beast, and the grass and stone and all color around her shifted to naught but black and white light, and this time, the bolt connected.

Ignisclaw roared in rage and roared in pain and roared in hatred as the bolt seared into its leathery wing, scourging it and leaving a gaping hole through it, grounding the dragon, dropping it from the sky like a falling boulder from a mountainside. Ignisclaw crashed into a nearby building, spraying debris everywhere.

In an instant, the figure slashed its staff across the air in a concise slice, and a barrier of magical energy swatted away pieces of stone and debris that had come hurting towards it.

Then, I heard the figure speak. It was a feminine, mature voice, and that's when I knew that this figure was no child; it was an elf.

And she spoke as if she were the calm in the midst of a storm, "I am Nyx, and I have loved these lands that you now ravage." Her eyes began to glow in a holy white, and she began to hover slowly skywards, as if pushed upwards by a heavenly wind.

Ignisclaw spread its torn wings and roared in defiance, "And you will burn with the rest of them! My flames burn all."

Nyx hovered further skywards, her staff still in her hands and her form ethereal and glowing in a radiant light, and she rose higher still than the grounded Ignisclaw, and with unyielding resolve, her voice boomed and echoed louder than the destruction around her, "I am the guardian of these people, the protector of life. You bring forth fire. I bring the power of creation itself. And in your ashes, I will forge these lands anew."

Ignisclaw roared again, and spreading its wings, leapt towards the skybound elf mage.

Nyx persisted, unflinching, and continued, "Your wrath is but a moment. My love for creation is everlasting. And with it, I will break you."

The dragon crashed into the elf's magical barriers, sending plumes and columns of smoke ripping towards wall, roof, and home, and the pair of powers plummeted towards the ground in a wholly separate quarter of the city. Another boom like a clap of thunder roared throughout Avengard, and I was no longer certain if this were the scaled Seviskian beast, or the magicks of the mysterious elf that now acted as the protector of the city.

What was certain was that regardless of which power held the winning edge, the city was no longer safe. Another building crumbled to the ground, just like the city's cathedral a few weeks prior, and with it, I heard screams of pain and anguish.

I pushed on to the encampment. Once I was there, I was relieved to see the tents still standing. The refugee area was quite modest in size, after all, and distanced some way from every other structure. It was a space of no importance and perhaps today that would be our only saving grace.

Inside, I found my mother and Isidora, still there. My sister huddled over my mother, wild-eyed in shock and fear.

“You’re here!” I yelled, my voice competing with the screams and crumbling debris from outside.

“Scipio!” my sister reached for me and gave me a tight, frantic embrace. “Mom’s health is fading. I tried to carry her away, but I couldn’t. She’s practically asleep at this point.”

Despite the heated air around us, my mother’s skin was cold and slick with sweat when I pressed my palm against her cheek. Her eyes were open, but she was not responsive. All she could manage was big, slow, heaving breaths. Each inhale was dry and painful.

“We need to move somewhere else,” I said. “Somewhere safe.”

“But where?” Isidora asked.

“To where we always seek safety,” I answered. “The cathedral.”

Her eyes widened. “No, Scip, we can’t. It’s all stone and rubble. They’ve brought it down, don’t you remember?”

“You need to trust me.”

“We’ll die there.”

“Don’t you trust me?” I pleaded with her, as earnest as I could. I gave her a look that poured in all of the yearning and desperation that I could muster. In exchange, she gave me one of a reluctant acceptance.

“Fine. But we need to carry Ma.”

We worked together to turn her cot into a stretcher, breaking off the legs that would act as further weight once we carried both our mother and the wooden cot together. It was difficult for me; I imagine it was leagues more difficult for my sister, who had weighed at least four stone lighter than me. The look on her face was pained as she heaved her side of the cot holding our mother upwards and brought her out into the streets.

Outside, there was no respite. The air was immensely hot and dry now. Every breath another roiling coal. My sister managed her first glimpse of Ignisclaw overhead and she swore, but I couldn’t hear her. All I could focus on was the weight of the cot and our mother that we bore on our arms.

We hurried as much as we could. Much of the crowd had already dispersed out of the center of the city and towards the outer ring; this was all the better for us. We pushed on through a labyrinth of side streets and pathways blocked by rubble, and fire, and the dead, until we found ourselves ruins that had been ruined long before the dragon reached Avengard.

“Now what, Scip? It’s all gone!” Isidora gestured towards the rubble and loose stone scattered across where the foundations of the cathedral had been.

“Lay her down for just a second,” I grunted. “You have to trust me! We’re looking for a staircase,” I yelled and set off wildly uncovering stone after stone, tossing them aside as far as I could.

My sister paused, wild-eyed, as if I had just gone mad. Then she gave our mother a small sip of water from her waterskin, before joining me amidst the stone and rubble. We were rummaging and crawling through the ruins for an unsettlingly long amount of time, all the while with Ignisclaw flying overhead, before I heard my sister scream, “A staircase! But to where?”

I didn’t dare to spare a moment to explain what to expect for my sister or mother. Instead, I heaved the cot towards the stairs, and my sister helped. Underneath, as expected of Javis, the cellars were untouched by the men who had torn down the pillars and fixtures overhead. Curiously, however, the torches were lit. Someone had been here.

The large crate by the wall was moved off to the side as well, revealing the runes etched onto the wall below. My sister asked me what it said, but still, I did not answer. I was racking my brain for the words Javis had used, the syllables at the very least, what it sounded like.

Then, it came to me, out of nowhere, like a lightning bolt over a clear night sky.

Along with the smell of sulphur…

“Do you smell sulphur?” I asked my sister.

“Sulphur? No, not at all. Scipio, why are we here?”

I shook my head. Was I imagining that scent? Then, I cleared my throat, and spoke, "We serve Avenor, and Avenor serves the Lady. She sees and rules over all."

The runes glowed with a luminescent bright purple light, and the stone and brick began to move, forming a perfect arch overhead. The cellar spiraled down deeper and deeper, and from the darkness, I could see the faint glow of more purple light.

“Who goes there?” A booming, gravelly voice called from down the stairs.

“Javis!” I called out. “Help us bring our mother and her cot down the stairs, come on then!”

At that, an older bearded man emerged from below the stairwell. “Scipio!” he called in surprise, before hurrying to take Isidora’s place in bringing the cot down below. Downstairs, the sculpture of Avenor and the Lady of Loss were pristine and untouched, and well-lit by the glowing purple runes surrounding us. Javis had been here, alone, and I wanted to question why he had brought no others down with him, at least into the cellars.

“Mother’s fading fast,” Isidora called out, her palm on mother’s forehead and face close to hers, straining her eyes to see in the low, dim light of the Lady’s altar. “Did you get the silverleaf?”

“No,” I answered. The silverleaf. I hadn’t been able to trade the sprigs of nightshade I had found with Dame Kirshka. I didn’t even know if Dame Kirshka and her thatched straw hut and her silverleaf were even still standing, or if they were burning husks as with the rest of the city.

Our mother began convulsing in pain, screaming and writhing and groaning. With every convulsion, I could feel some of her pain, as if it were my own, and I can only imagine that it must have been the same for my sister. We did what we could, along with Javis’ help. We embraced her for warmth, massaged her shoulders and limbs, and gave her as much water as we could, but it was no use.

“The krankenflux,” my sister muttered. “If it’s as bad as it is now, then she’ll be gone in a few days unless we gave her the silverleaf concoction now. But it has to be now. Right now. Otherwise, it’ll be days of pain until she passes…”

“Is there nothing we can do?” I asked. I looked to Isidora. Then to Javis. Neither of them offered any answer.

The smell of sulphur tinged the air…

I started to rummage through my satchel, as Isidora began to weep silently, tears slowly rolling down her cheek. Overhead, muffled through ground and stone and brick, we heard a long booming sound, as if some other building or another were collapsing onto the ground. Probably burning. Probably embroiled in flame and smoke.

Like sulphur…

Out of my satchel, I retrieved a fistful of nightshade.

My sister gasped. “Scipio, why do you have that with you?” The look of her face was one of horror, but then one of consideration, and then one of relief.

“Do you agree?” I asked her. Javis looked away; this was not his decision to hold any weight on. Isidora, after another moment of discernment, nodded.

“Do it.”

I bit down on my lip in forced concentration and focus as I willed my hand towards my convulsing mother’s mouth, grasping the nightshade so tightly that my knuckles had gone white. I pressed it over her nose, then into her mouth, until no more sounds echoed throughout the altar other than my sister and I choking back our sobs and weeping.

And then there was nobody else to accompany us in the world.

And the smell of sulphur grew stronger.

And the purple light of the Lady we were bathed in, for some reason, grew ever more luminescent.