Dramos knew he was being followed. The hulking warrior had sensed it days after leaving the small farming village of Pecotra in the Trelladain Kingdom. Yet anytime he turned around, the worn stone highway and fields beyond were always bare.
He was in the southern heart of the Kingdom, a place long since abandoned, save for the farmers who tried to keep up with the demands to feed the King’s armies. The last he’d heard, King Robert Trelladain and his troops were still stationed in the north, near the border with the Ayradora Kingdom.
The war against the Saviour of Aesor had begun in earnest six months ago, but if you spoke with anyone in the four Kingdoms they’d have told you it started two years prior. Back then the Saviour was still the Saviour, and his following was devoted. But the seeds of evil had already been sown and slowly it grew, much like the Corruption that continued to sweep the world.
Dramos had been training for two years already in the King’s guard when war officially broke. Instead of marching north, he abandoned his position and took off for the south. Since then he’d made a living collecting rewards from desperate civilians the crown had forgotten.
A twig snapped behind him, drawing his attention back to the moment. As usual, nothing was there. Grumbling to himself he dug his heels into his mare’s sides and set off at gallop.
He’d been riding the road hard between Silverthorn and Pecotra for over a week, stopping only for a few hours at a time to sleep during the light of day. He longed for a hot meal and warm bath, but the sun was beginning to set and the last thing he intended to do was close his eyes for longer than a blink. Not with ghouls around.
If the note from the farmer back in Pectora was correct, Silverthorn would likely be swarming with them and as he drew closer to the outskirts of town, he kept every one of his senses on high alert. He crested a small hill and reined his tired horse into a slow walk.
Compared to Pecotra, Silverthron appeared rather grand. A dozen or so old two story buildings with pointed rooftops made of wood and stone flanked the main road through town. Smaller offshoots connected to additional single-storey dwellings, and further across the horizon more farm fields were dotted with the occasional home. The streets were bare, but lights shone from upstairs windows and smoke rose from stone chimneys. Despite their troubles, it appeared that many of the civilians had not completely abandoned the village.
Dramos steered his mare towards the town’s small square, her hooves echoing in the quiet against the cobbles. He passed various shops including a bakery, blacksmith, and tailor - their doors closed up for the evening. Towards the very far end of the road a church was perched high up a hill overlooking the town. At the centre of the town’s square sat a squared limestone fountain that was flanked by a town hall and opposite was an inn with a hitching post outfront. Dramos settled before the inn, slipping neatly off his horse and tying her to the post. She nickered at the idea of being left alone, her eyes wide, as Dramos gently soothed her chestnut neck.
“Easy girl, I won’t be far,” he said, his voice rough from a week spent mute on the road.
He cast his eyes around the square. They caught on a sign in the shape of a pig hanging off its fasteners on the front of a shop nearby. There was no smoke from its chimney nor any lights within the building. A sudden pang of sadness settled in his stomach remembering how the letter he’d received from the man named Clifford had mentioned the butcher’s daughter falling victim to the ghoul’s attacks. There were no signs of the Kingdom’s guards around. Had they been here, perhaps the girl’s life would have been spared. The sadness turned molten.
Shaking his head, he made for the inn - the only building whose lower floor flickered with light.
“Oi!” a loud voice called from behind.
A large man with a rounded belly and long dark hair that was pulled back from his face with a piece of fabric across his brow, was crossing the square towards Dramos. He wore a long heavy leather apron with pockets full of various tools, overtop black trousers and a tanned linen shirt. His face was red and beads of sweat trickled down his temples. He brandished his fingers towards Dramos, his hands covered in soot.
“You can’t be out here, are you mad?” the smith hollered as he approached him. “The ghouls have been coming earlier and earlier. They could arrive anytime now.”
Dramos’ eyebrows arched upwards. “They’ve been coming out while it’s still light?”
That was uncharacteristic. Ghouls were demons of a humanlike nature, walking tall on two legs, with long twisted limbs and skin that peeled away from their dead flesh - they were reanimated corpses. Rarely would they travel much further than a graveyard and never would they come out other than at night. But times were changing. They had been for a while now. He suspected the Corruption had affected them too, causing them to bolden and tarry from the crypts to assault those in towns or caught too far off the roads.
“Yes,” the man’s greyish blue eyes were frantic, darting back and forth from Dramos, his horse and the church at the top of the hill. “You can’t leave her out here. Come, I’ve room at the back of my shop.”
Dramos followed behind the man who shuffled quickly down the street to the blacksmith shop he’d passed on his way in. The man slid open a large metal barn door at the back of the building to reveal a wide open space, with a large black carthorse standing in the centre. The room was big enough for two or three horses, with fresh hay scattered across the floor and a water trough along a heavy looking stone wall that separated this area from the rest of the workshop.
“You can leave her here,” the man said, as he slid the heavy looking door back into place and bolted it shut. “We’ll be safer upstairs. Go on and grab your stuff and bring it with you. They’ve yet to break in here but that won’t stop them from trying.”
Dramos removed the saddlebags, draping them over his broad shoulders as the man escorted him through a metal door into the lower level of the smith’s shop. A forge sat near the front of the room, boarded up windows behind it and a large anvil at its base, its embers cold. The man didn’t linger and waved Dramos towards a set of stairs that lead up into a surprisingly cozy, two-bedroom apartment. The main space wasn’t overly large, featuring a small sitting area and table with three chairs near a small hearth. The man sealed the metal door at the top of the stairs, locking it shut. It took him a few moments as the door had more than one lock. Save for them, the loft was empty.
Dramos had to admit he was rather taken aback by the man’s willingness to help a complete stranger, especially someone like him with two large swords poking out from under his cloak.
“Do you often harbour refugees?” Dramos asked, looking at the three chairs.
“No, we don’t get visitors here anymore. But I couldn’t just let you leave that feast on four legs out there,” he said, making his way to the hearth where a large kettle sat. “Should I be concerned you’ll cause me trouble?” he asked, his eyes roaming over Dramos.
“No, I mean you no harm.”
“I didn’t think so,” he said, bringing the kettle to the table along with two mugs. “You can stay in my daughter’s room, on the right there. She won’t be coming back.” He spoke in a very matter-of-fact way. “Tea’s ready. By the look and smell of you, I’d reckon you haven’t had a warm beverage in a while. Come.”
Setting his pack on the floor near a worn settee, he joined the man at the table and accepted the mug being offered.
“So are you going to explain what you’re doing here? You don’t look the trader type and we haven’t seen one of them in ages. You can’t be a guard, since ol’ Robert’s got them all in the North, though you do look like one. Are you some delusional adventurer after a thrill? If it’s a reward you’re after, the Lord fled town months ago so there is none. Or have you come to help us in earnest?”
“Where’s your daughter?” Dramos said over the man’s ramblings.
“Lucy’s with her mother in Goldwell City.”
“Then you must be Regan.”
The man started, sitting back in his chair. “Who sent you?”
“Your brother, Clifford,” Dramos remarked, taking a sip of tea. It was rather bland but after drinking cold stream water the last few days, he wasn’t going to complain.
“So he’s finally sent help then. I’ve only been begging him for months to come to our aid,” Regan heaved a heavy sigh. “In any case, we’re glad to have another able body. There aren’t many of us left. We typically meet in the morning to survey the damages and then get together again just after supper to help the town lock itself back up and ensure that everyone is in for the evening. Stay here for the night and come morning, if we survive, we’ll see about getting you a room in the inn.”
“Is that all you do? Lock yourselves up each evening?”
“What more do you want us to do? I’ve supplied as many as I can with weapons but most have no clue how to use them. It’s only a last resort should a ghoul come smashing through their windows.”
“How many of them are there?” Dramos asked, as Regan stood and grabbed a stale loaf of bread from a shelf near the hearth.
“Here,” Regan tossed it on the table. “Ghouls? Last we figure? About eight of them.”
“Only eight?” Dramos questioned, surprise etched across his face.
Regan let out a sharp, barking laugh. “These aren’t the ghouls of your past. Though, based on the look of you, I doubt you’ve much of a past. How old are you anyway? Nevermind,” he waved his hand, “these bastards are clever and cruel. A while back, a Sorcerer showed up and attempted to control them with their Dark magic. His corpse was found the next morning in the fountain. Well, rather his body was - his head was located down the road near the bakery. That’s about the time the Lord fled for the capitol. Claimed he was going to get aid, but no one else ever showed up. Not til you.”
Dramos sat quietly, eating the stale bread as the weaponsmith prattled on about the state of the town and the nature of the ghouls that plagued it. It was only an unnatural, guttural scream from outside that stopped his ramblings. Regan jumped up quickly and crossed the room, extinguishing the lights.
“They’re here,” he whispered, and for all his casualness earlier, he could not mask the fear in his voice.
Standing, Dramos moved to the window to gaze out at the street. The sun had tucked itself behind the fields and a deep blue began to shroud the buildings in darkness. He could just make out the silhouette of the church on the hill and watched as nearly a dozen tall figures jerked their way down the street. Their grey skin hung loosely from their bones, their mouths wide and their eyes, black as night, were enough to send shivers down anyone’s spine.
“Get away from the window!” Regan urged.
Dramos quietly unbolted and pushed the window’s panes open, ignoring Regan’s panicked pleas. “Be sure to lock this once I’m gone.”
“What do you mean? You can’t go out there!”
Unsheathing his swords, Dramos crawled through the window. It was only just big enough for him to squeeze through and onto the sil’s narrow ledge. The last thing he saw before he jumped into the street were Regan’s eyes, wide with terror.
~~~
Dramos sat perched on the edge of the fountain in the centre of town, wiping the black blood off his blades with torn pieces from his cloak.
The sun was just starting to rise and he could hear the shutters of windows springing open around him, while a songbird chirped from somewhere nearby.
With the light of the sun, his efforts from last night were on full display. The square’s street ran black with blood, seeping between the cracks of the cobbles like water cascading around rocks from a steady stream. Mangled limbs and torsos of flesh and bone scattered like seeds thrown in the wind trailed all the way from the edge of the hill towards where he sat.
Regan had been correct, the ghouls were unnaturally strong and more clever than any he’d contended with before. But he was a talented warrior, raised on the streets of Goldwell and later trained in the guard. He had no mana pool, nor did he possess any sort of magical talents. He relied on his brute strength and fury to drive his precise movements, becoming a dancer in the dark with two blades. They were hardly a match for him. They were still just ghouls by the end of the night. The thought only enraged him further. As skilled as he was, he knew that a handful of well-trained guards would have been more than enough to protect the people of this town.
“Saviour bless us,” Regan’s astounded voice emerged from a small crowd of people that had begun to amass behind the fountain. The sounds of doors opening, and footsteps blended together with awestruck voices that cried out in surprise and horror.
Regan came to stand next to Dramos, staring out at the street and up to the hill, his mouth open as he ran his hand through his hair. The other civilians that had started to surround the square didn’t dare come any closer to them.
“You… You… They… ” Regan opened and closed his mouth, unable to form words, from what Dramos gathered was likely the first time.
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“You will need to gather the bodies and see to it they are burned, lest they rise again,” Dramos said without looking up from his cleaning. “I would offer to help, but I’m afraid I’m a bit fatigued after last night.”
Regan finally tore his eyes away from the bloody street to look at Dramos, his mouth still open.
He was covered from head to foot in thick black blood, his leather armour and clothing torn so that his torso lay partially exposed. A set of long, deep wounds ran down from his shoulder and across his chest, red blood dripping into his lap. Though his eyes were downcast, Regan could see that he had dark circles under them and he sat with his shoulders slouched forward, breathing heavily.
“You’re hurt,” Regan found his voice.
“A fresh set of linens and some alcohol are all I need, as I don’t recall seeing an apothecary on my way in,” Dramos remarked quietly.
“You need more than that my friend. Oi!” Regan began barking orders out to the villagers.
A few hours later, Dramos had received a new set of clothes, including a long dark cloak from a seamstress. The innkeepers, a middle-aged couple, had provided him with a room along with a hot bath and a freshly prepared meal. A couple of elderly women had assisted him with dressing his injuries, and the local pub owner had offered up his alcohol to help cleanse them. The baker had popped in to offer some fresh bread and cheeses and a few of the townspeople had managed to secure some old platemail armour and had offered it to him, replacing his tattered leathers. Regan had taken his weapons back to his shop and was currently sharpening them. If the townspeople weren’t busy showering Dramos with various goods, they spent the morning wrangling up the ghoul’s remains, setting them ablaze in a field, the dark smoke from the fire billowing above the town against the blue skies. Some had even managed to scrape together a few silvers and offered them to him.
“Your hospitality is more than enough,” Dramos had said, shaking his head and thrusting the bag back into their hands. “These funds are better suited to the victims' families.”
It was late in the afternoon by the time he woke from a much needed sleep. Smoke still drifted in the air past his room’s window overlooking the town’s square and casting his sight down he saw that his horse had been hitched out front. She’d been properly brushed and fed and had a new set of shoes. He was warmed by the generosity of the townspeople, they had so little to offer him but gave him all they could. Even then, it could not chase the chilling bitterness that was deep within him. He ran his hand down the side of his face, lingering on the scar that cut over his eye and across his left cheek. None of this should have been necessary to begin with.
“Where will you go now?” Regan walked alongside Dramos and his mare as he worked his way towards the edge of town half an hour later.
“South,” was all Dramos offered.
“Why not stay here a while and rest? Those wounds were quite deep. You really shouldn’t be putting any stress on them. The people of Silverthorn will happily offer you anything you may need,” Regan was slightly out of breath as he kept pace.
“I’m afraid I cannot,” Dramos lied. He could have stayed. Regan was correct, his wounds were deep and blood had already begun seeping through his fresh bandages. He knew there was a village south of Silverthron that had an apothecary. If he could just make it there, they’d have the supplies necessary to heal his injuries. He was certain someone from town would’ve ridden out to gather them for him and the thought of him sitting in the saddle for days on end didn’t overly appeal, but it was better than to linger here and risk being caught by one of the King’s men.
“Fine then, but you’ll at least let me commission a new set of swords for you,” Regan huffed.
Dramos stopped and turned to look at Regan, their two eyes meeting and Dramos sensed that Regan was well aware of his former occupation. To defect from the armies was a crime that offered severe punishment. A blacksmith with any basic knowledge of weaponry would’ve recognized that his swords were from the Trelladain cache. Regan firmly held his gaze, his arms crossed against his large chest.
“Come now friend, after what you did for us, I cannot possibly let you leave here without offering you something in return.”
“You’ve already sharpened my blades, and provided for my horse. I do not require anything more.”
“Then stay here to teach us how to fight,” Regan said firmly. “I’ve provided many with weapons but few know how to use them. You could teach us. We can be better prepared should anything happen in future.”
Dramos closed his eyes, tilting his head to the sky and took a deep breath.
“You’ll be safe here too,” Regan added more quietly when Dramos didn’t respond. “No one here will turn you in.”
“I cannot stay,” Dramos eventually said, opening his eyes. “It should be safe enough for your daughter to return. Do not waste the time you have now been granted.”
Regan merely stared at him with his brows furrowed but did not argue or attempt to follow him as Dramos pulled on the reins and continued out of town without another word.
~~~
He’d been walking for two hours, with nothing but the sounds of birds and tall trees blowing gently in the wind for company. The fields had given way to a small woodland, the leaves already started to turn colour. The path wound its way through the forest following along a narrow rivulet.
Leaning down to refill his waterskin, Dramos paused and let out a deep sigh.
“If you need something, just say so. I grow tired of you following me. You’re scaring away the rabbits,” he said to the wind. A light chuckle answered.
Groaning, Dramos stood at full height, turning back towards his horse. Standing beside her was a woman, quite a bit shorter than him, wearing dark grey breeches, a white blouse with a charcoal grey sweater, and a magnificent deep purple-coloured cloak with its hood raised casting shadows across her face and shielding her features.
“You’re a long way from home, Magus,” Dramos quipped.
“You’re a hard man to track down,” the woman’s voice replied, her tone deeply amused.
“And what would the illustrious Magi of Manatide Tower want with me?” he said, stepping gingerly back towards his horse to stand before the spellcaster.
Standing this close to her, he could see the bottom half of her face, her chin pointed out slightly and her light skin was smooth, her lips wide. It told him nothing about her identity and it’s not that he would have believed it anyway. He suspected she was a Druid or Mage and had the ability to physically alter her appearance. It was likely the reason she’d remained invisible to him until now.
“May I?” the woman clad in Tides asked softly, lifting her hands before him, a soft green glow began emitting from between her fingers.
Dramos hesitated, taking a step back from her.
“Surely you didn’t believe you’d make it all the way to Chartwell? It’s a week’s ride away, and you can’t even mount your steed,” she said, her mirth did little to dampen his rising agitation. But she was correct, and that only angered him further.
“Why help me?” he asked, not bothering to hide his ire.
The Magus tilted her head. “Why help Silvertorn?”
“Because no one else would,” he exclaimed. “Given your Tides, you've got to be a somewhat capable spellcaster. You could’ve helped them.” When it looked like she was going to say something, he cut her off, his anger simmering to the surface. “But that’s not what you do is it? You hold yourself up in your Tower claiming nonpartisanship to the people of this world unless they show any magical prowess. Leaving your island only to conduct your research and then keeping your secrets locked away.”
Once a Magus, student or alumni left the school for good, they were no longer permitted to wear the Tides. When the war first broke, many spellcasters from across the world had gathered together, leaving their schools and studies behind to assist in the efforts against the Saviour. Those from Manatide Tower represented the fewest of them. For her to be standing before him now, wearing her brilliant violet cloak, meant she was still attached to the school.
“What’re you doing here?” he practically growled, “The school year has already begun. Shouldn’t you be there now?”
“Allow me to heal those wounds and I will tell you,” she said evenly, unphased by his hostility.
Every part of him revolted at the idea, but he knew he’d come to a point where he would either have to turn back for Silverthorn or accept her aid. Begrudgingly he exhaled deeply. “Fine.”
“Very wise,” she said and pointed towards a boulder near the water’s edge. “Please take a seat. It’s best if you’re not standing.”
Not taking his eyes from her he stumbled over to the boulder and perched himself on it. She approached him, and with him seated, his face was level with hers. Her cloak still hung too far over her face for him to get a good look at her.
“This may feel uncomfortable,” she said, and not waiting for a response, she leaned over and gently reached out to place her hands on his torso, just below his ribs.
The green glow from her hands washed over him and a painful stretching of his skin below his shirt caused him to catch his breath and close his eyes. It only lasted a second before she stood straight again, dusting her hands off as though covered in flour, and took a step back.
“Stubborn fool,” she said quietly, almost more to herself than to him as he pulled at his collar to look down at his perfectly healed chest. Only a few faint pink lines remained but all the ache within had vanished.
“Thank you,” he grumbled. When he went to stand he felt lightheaded and, guided by her hand that reached out to grasp his arm, he was forced to sit back down.
“The lacerations were deep, it’ll take a few minutes for my magic to complete its task. I suggest you remain seated until then.”
“Wonderful,” he bit. “I suppose now you can tell me why you’ve been following me this past week.”
“I’ve been watching you to ensure you are indeed who we need,” she said simply.
“Who’s we? You are aware I have no mana?”
He could see her lips twitching in a small smile. “Yes Dramos, I’m aware that you do not possess the abilities to draw on magic.”
He ignored the bit about her knowing his name. They always knew too much. “Then what would you Magi possibly want with me?”
“The Queen is in need of your specific services.”
Dramos could feel his insides hollowing. “I want no business with Queen Ilyana,” he hedged, unsure of how much this Magus knew of his past.
“Then it is a good thing the Queen of Trelladain is not the one I refer to.” Dramos cocked his head, unable to hide his sudden curiosity and again a ghost of a smile flashed from under the hood. “The Queen of Bellaurose is who needs aid.”
For a moment Dramos could only stare into the shadows of her hood, the stream behind him the only sound amongst them.
“What does the Queen in a Kingdom across the ocean want with me, and why are you running errands for her? Aren’t you all supposed to be free from the bias and burdens of Kingdoms?”
“No one is free from the burdens of Aesor,” she said softly, but he didn’t miss the edge in her voice. “You will set forth for Goldwell City. From there, a charter has been arranged to take you to Evertide City.”
Dramos’ laugh was deep, grave, and dripping in sarcasm. “You expect me to ride for weeks to the capital of Tralladian, only to sit within a ship for a month, all at the whims of a Queen that I am not sworn to?”
“Are you sworn to a Kingdom, Dramos? From what I understand, it’s quite the opposite for you.”
His eyes narrowed as a heat flushed at the nape of his neck. “Do not pretend to know anything about me,” he growled menacingly.
“I know that you defected from King Robert Trelladain’s guard once the war broke out and that ever since you’ve been travelling across the Kingdom helping those, who you feel, have been abandoned by him. Your whispered reputation is the only reason you have not been turned in yet. It is also how I was finally able to locate you.”
“Is that what you want? To turn me in?”
“I want you to meet with Queen Rosemore.”
“By means of Goldwell. I cannot step foot in the capital without risking being caught and facing discipline for my… actions.”
She waved her hand casually through the air. “That has already been taken care of.”
Dramos started, leaning back on the boulder. “What do you mean,” he said slowly.
“The issue of your desertion has been dismissed.”
He said nothing, too stunned to speak. There was no precedent for such a thing.
“As I was saying, a charter will be waiting for you when you arrive. I would offer you a teleportal but the people of Bellaurose are proud and hesitant to trust anyone who does not bend to the whims of the seas first. It would make a better impression for you to arrive by ship. Once there, you will be taken to the Keep to be briefed on the situation. As you can imagine the nature of which is sensitive so I will not risk speaking it aloud here.”
His mind felt as though he’d be thrown into the waters of the ocean itself. What could the Queen possibly need him for? He’d heard the stories of her and had to admit to himself he was intrigued. By all accounts she was a just and fair leader.
“Do I have a choice in the matter?” he asked eventually.
“You always have a choice,” she responded solemnly.
Frowning, he weighed his options. If what she said was correct, and he had been cleared of his charges, he could return to the capital. But was there anything there waiting for him? Would he be so willing to cast aside his own priorities? He had committed himself to helping those the Kingdom had left behind but could he abandon them now and go against all he stood for? What would have happened to the people of Silverthon had he not arrived? His current life offered little monetary value but it provided him with a purpose to continue on to the next day, and that was often reward enough.
“I’ll leave you to consider it,” the Magus said. “The ship sets sail in a month from now. I do hope you’ll be on it.”
“I assume the reward is substantial?” he asked, getting to his feet, relieved he felt no ill effects from the healing.
“Very much so,” she said seriously, without elaborating.
He walked past her towards his horse. “Alright then. I’ll think about it.”
“That is the most I could hope for,” she said echoing the words of Regan’s brother back in Pectora, causing him to turn back around.
“You never did answer me. Why are you now involving yourself with politics and world affairs?”
“There are powers at play within Aesor that you cannot begin to understand. She needs you. They both do.” The Magus’ voice was a near whisper before she spoke aloud again. “My duty is to Aesor first and foremost. My school has always been second to that.”
“Interesting,” Dramos said, taking a step forward to tower over her. “That’s not an opinion most from Manatide share,” he said slowly. “Who are you?”
The woman before him raised her hands to her hood and lowered it across her back, her white hair flowing out from its hold within. Dramos took a step back in surprise. Before him wasn’t just any Magus, but the Headmistress of Manatide Tower herself, Archmagus Ena.
“It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Dramos,” she said with a small smile, before disappearing a second later leaving him standing in the forest alone with his thoughts.