XL.

Leader

Second Era

The stone-ringed campfire burned log and tinder alike. Only one figure sat there. Alone, again. Agitated, again.

He took a deep breath and shuddered it back in a frosty steam.

Much better.

And then the flame flared at him. It was sudden, but not startling. And he immediately understood the nature of it.

"I've attracted a spirit, it seems." said Talek.

The light from the fire was just barely enough for the bloody body in the bushes behind him to be visible. Just barely.

"Is that the name you prefer? Or is there another? Your kind have many names in folklore. Spirits, dragons, daemons, Etherians…"

The flames flared again at the last name.

He smiled.

"Etherian it is. So, my friend… you're weak. Bound to a flame as your last respite. You'll die if you don't find a strong host."

The flame did not answer.

"Let's trade. I'll be your host, for a time. If you'll show me the path to the Pit."

And then the flame began to glow very brightly. So brightly that it hurt to stare into.

They were both smiling, in a way.

"Great." he said. "Then I'll name you… Vekzul."

And his flesh began to glow red…

X

Marisol’s bright, intoxicating smile shone over her face the second her eyes met Cedric’s in the guild hall. She dashed out like an excited child and turned her attention immediately to the 'group' of silver-plated Hunters at her side.

“ATTENTION!" she barked like a mother more than a commander, "Bow at once to Commander Cedric!”

They quieted, stamped their feets, shouted “HARK!” in unison, and each fell into Hunters' salutes for the shaggy man who approached them. He pushed his dirty brown hair out of his eyes and looked on with indecision.

“These are our Hunters of Calamon, Cedric! The budget’s come through thanks to Ayla, our financier. Now it’s just up to Vim’s training, and we’ve got a band of committed warriors all at our beck and call!”

He looked over them again, more scrutinzing this time. There were… dozens of them. More than dozens. The more he looked, the more he saw. To call them a group was a gross understatement, at this point they seemed to mill around the guild hall more than the everyman did, more than any other cult’s cultists did.

"Marisol, I... I don't know the first thing about... about leading men. This isn't something I can—"

"We both know that's a lie, Cedric." she smiled.

"You must know something I don't, then."

The Hunters of Calamon. They were young, old, excited, stalwart, brave, craven, beautiful, and ugly all the same. They were everything. They were everywhere.

“How did this… happen?”

“After the Petalfall we had a big surge in members. Everyone wants to fight. Everyone wants to protect their home. Now that this… disaster has taken hold, people can barely even go outside. The sun boils skin to stand beneath. People pillage and steal and kill without any more morals than a beast in the wild. We need order — we need to control and protect this city.”

“And soon."

She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.

Cedric shifted closer to her, close enough to whisper to her. “There’s war coming. Are they capable for that?”

“War?” She realized her loudness and tried again in a much lower voice. “War?”

He nodded. “They’re coming from the north, from Alisa. Faunia went to stop them, I'm sure you remember.”

“She failed...?”

“She’s not the only one.” he sighed. “I’ll need your help. We need to raise our defenses, we need to rout these bandits within our walls before the attack begins."

“I’m surprised, Cedric. I didn’t see this much conviction from you while we were tracking Rykaedi… I’m… proud.”

He shut his eyes. I’m not a dog, nor your child. I don’t need your cheap praise—

Marisol threw her arms around him.

“What the—?”

“They’re ready, Cedric." said her whispered, soothing voice. "To take up your blade. If you’re ready to take the charge.”

Once she released him, he looked over them again. “How many’ve we got?”

“We’ve got some two-thousand members altogether.”

Two-thousand...?

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

“As far as soldiers, we’ve got eight-hundred trained up and ready to go, right now. How long have we got?”

That's not enough, is it? Some eight hundred poorly trained Imitation Hunters up against hordes of Alisans and sel and...

“I don’t know.” he muttered, eventually. “We need scouts to begin with. We need archers, horses, men who can ride and escape a close fight. But they need to be willing to die, if that’s the cost of Calamon’s survival.”

She turned suddenly and belted, “ARCHERS! Lancewood's squad, come forth!”

One group of twenty shuffled out from behind the crowd and took a square formation before Cedric.

“Our top squad, right here.”

“Them and two others, we can…” His voice trailed off. This is where Lorik was to end up, after Nelreign. Commanding men. A company, after my squad succeeded the takeover. If only we had…

But now I grasp it anyway. Unwitting. Unknowing. This is far from the dream it had seemed. This is... agonizing. Their lives, in my hands. I...

Cedric’s eyes trailed over this new group, now. Most were young, their faces covered by hoods and masks. Bows were thrown over all of their shoulders, some carried daggers and shortswords. They were made to be nimble. Made to be agile, to work from the quiet and the shade.

They'll work. I hope. We need to take down as many as we can before they reach the city... They'll stomp right through us. Maybe it'd be better to stage an evacuation, maybe...

A young man stepped forward and pulled his hood down. An elven man, his appearance likely belied his age. “Tyverius Lancewood, I'll be leader of this squad. I’ve been a Hunter since right after the Petalfall. I'm a good man. Or, so I like to think. A good soldier, at the very least. Capable fighter and tactician.”

Cedric nodded. “Do you need more men to scout the Harrow Wood? Be our eyes and ears?”

“The northern woods are quiet so we're liable to be spotted more easily. We’ll be better with less. Me and my twenty will head out now; we’ll send back if there’s any disquiet.” He bowed.

Cedric went to return the bow, then thought better of it. “Good. Get going, soon as possible. We’ll send supplies out by the evening and leave them inconspicuously.”

The elf gave a Hunter’s sigil and turned to his soldiers, switching to the elven tongue to command them.

Cedric nodded in approval. He caught sight of Marisol in the corner of his eye, beaming with overwhelming joy. “I knew you were made for this, Cedric. You’re a natural leader, aren’t you?”

“No. I just… Now’s not the time for that. We need to talk the rest of our strategy. We need squad leaders and company leaders, soon as you can rally them. We’ll mount an impenetrable defense, or at least the best we can muster. For Calamon.”

And they cried out in his echo, “For Calamon.”

X

The carriage brought Faunia right into the heart of Alisa, through the cities along the Way and right through the capital — a bustling harbor city named Tresalaide in the heart of the jungle. It bulged and swooned out over the warm sea beyond, where thousands and thousands of ships came and went by the hour.

She watched them while the carriage was up high and dreamt about them as they fell out of view. She was still dreaming about them when they came to the massive wooden gate, and seemingly passed through unscathed.

The chauffeur woke her shortly after they were within the walls.

"We're in Alisa now, dear Faunia. Your friends are on their way."

Faunia sat up in the back of the carriage to rub the sleep from her eyes. She gave a deep sigh.

"Not excited to be awake?"

"I'm currently not very excited to be alive."

But she nevertheless hopped out of the wagon and stretched so vigorously it was as though she'd been dead.

He nodded in delight. "You look ready to tackle the day, if I could say so."

Faunia could hardly detect his sarcasm. Instead of dwelling on it, she turned to absorb the scenery. The walls here were not made of the same wood as the other cities, as she had thought, rather being a product of bright mossy stone. Each house and building and shop had intricate engravings and carvings all along the wall, surely managed by some large guild of builders and architects who set the precedents and standards for how each should be designed. She could see beyond the plentiful sloping stairways, all the way to the north-most point of the city, where the pale, blue-domed Capillary lay awaiting her arrival.

Seeing it made her body tense. The exhaustion wore off in that pulsing vibrance of the town’s center, in the nearest vicinity where the azar and sel and exca and frey roamed freely, alongside no men, no elves, and barely any fae.

And though they walked freely, here in the awe-inspiring capital of a great empire from the old age, there was an air of struggle, a flavor of poverty, a look on the faces of emaciated sel that screamed of hunger, of anger, of joylessness. All in the presence of a wealthy capital, an inner city within thicker walls yet which housed noblemen like Cromer, with the riches of Calamon, and likely the egos of The Twelve.

The chauffeur whistled to catch her attention. Then he threw a sack into her arms, followed by a sword soaring through the air.

Faunia dodged it rather than catch it. Even sheathed, she’d rather not have been hit by it. She threw the sack onto her shoulder, turned and bent down for the sword…

“My rapier!” she gasped.

“Well, a new one. The last was quite beat up. Thought you’d want something familiar, for the duel.”

“The duel…?”

He only smiled. Then he turned back to feeding his stabled horse.

“What’s your name? Who are you, how do you keep finding me?”

“I’m only a friend, Faunia. Give my regards to Cedric when you see him.”

Her mouth opened. There were so many more questions to ask. There was so much she was yet to know.

But that would have to wait. There were more things at stake. Reach the Capillary. Get there before Kyvir, and before Percy. Stop Percy from killing Kyvir…

And get an audience with Lyros. If it’s not too late after all.

The Capillary was easy enough to get into. The guards at the inner city's gate hadn’t any need to stop her, even with the war, nor did the guards outside the palace itself. Even if she hadn’t been wearing the silvery, familiar armor from her carriage-riding friend, she had seen a few sack-worn azars cross the glossy marble halls before her, welcomed by more sets of sel guards in red-tabard Chainmail. Either King Lyros showed his hand through acceptance, or there was truly nothing to defend here.

The palace of the Capillary was stunningly, undeniably beautiful inside; the golden ceilings arched away and filled the rooms each with a feeling of width and depth, while the glowing white walls seemed to illuminate everything naturally, even without the golden magelights every ten paces. Paintings of intricate detail and painstaking effort hung above bowls of water and bowls of flowers in every corner, down every hall, beside every grand window that overlooked the city, the harbor, the world...

She didn’t have to wander long before she entered into a much longer hallway leading to a chamber full of benches, where two guards stood before a golden double door.

“Hello.” She bowed once she was within ten paces of them. “Is this the open council? Is Lyros here? Or anybody from the throne? I need to speak to someone. I need to speak about…”

“Se dokka nel ke’kettes? Dou dae drakillen?” said one of the guards, confusedly.

Oh no. I can't speak the tongue, I can't get in!

Her lips trembled. Even so close, there was always something. There was always some obstacle. There was always…

“Excuse me.”

A clicking of a heel caught her attention. A familiar clicking, like one she’d heard before. Not many times, but one she feared nevertheless. One that spelled death. One that spelled bloodshed. One that spelled… Calamity.

And surely enough, she watched his white gauntlet wrap around the remonstrating guard’s wrist and break the halberd-arm. His other gauntlet took the man’s throat and slammed him against the wall hard enough to shake the building, and to crack the stones. He was dead.

Faunia stumbled back. Her quivering lips puckered into a horrified cry. Even with her rapier immediately where she needed it, she didn’t dare move for it.

“Hello, Faunia Vleren.” said the two-toned man, and a frenzied, sinister grin contorted across his face.