Thequen and the two surviving soldiers made their way down the nearest ladder. The defenders gave cautious chase, but once they were down the ladder, that was where pursuit stopped. Thequen leaned on one of the other soldiers as they limped across the battlefield back toward where all the archers had gathered. As he approached, Sergeant Graydon appeared from a knot of wounded soldiers receiving first aid and jogged toward him. “Mage Thequen, what happened in there? What was that spell?”, he demanded.
Thequen threw the sergeant a tired salute. The two other survivors stood next to him. He shook his head. “Whatever it was, not me, sir.”, he sighed. He could feel it now. Everything hurt, and he could barely stay on his feet. His shoulder hurt especially. Thequen glanced at it, and was suddenly, painfully conscious that he still had that arrow stuck in him.
“Well, we seem to have done a good job whittling them down. Not sure if they managed to crack the gate, but Ghol has ordered a retreat, for today. In case something else big and dangerous is coming.”, Graydon said as he stroked his moustache thoughtfully.
“I uh-- arrow.”, Thequen muttered as he pointed at it.
“Right. Dismissed. Get some rest, soldiers. I’ll make sure to note down your pay bonus in the ledger.”, Graydon said. Thequen nodded numbly as he shuffled toward the medical tent. It was always fifty-fifty whether Graydon actually ‘remembered’ anything that would involve bonus pay.
In the medical tent an argument had broken out among the healers. Thequen stood in the doorway as two men in robes decorated with moon and star-shaped symbols of the Old God spoke to one another, ramping up from quiet to shouting in just a few exchanges.
“Just heal him. It is one of the most basic of blessings given to us. You’ve done it a thousand times, brother.”, the older one said as they stood over a woman that had been laid out on a bed along the left wall of the room. She seemed to be unconscious and her right leg exposed, the sheet pulled up. It was splinted and covered in bandages from mid-thigh all the way to the ankle.
“It does not work! Respectfully, the wound must be cursed, Father Delden.”, the younger one protested.
“She is not cursed, you idiot. That is plain for any priest to see!”, Father Delden said loudly as his shoulders shook. He had grown red in the face and looked as though if had had a weapon to hand he might have hit the younger priest over the head with it.
“Why don’t you heal her then!”, the younger one shouted right back.
“Fine! Blessed by the Old God, dear Lord we beseech thee--”, Father Delden said as he held his hands over the unconscious woman’s injury.
Thequen looked away briefly as from his right a politely smiling younger man in robes approached him. “Sir shall I have a look at that for you?”, he asked.
“Yes please.”, Thequen said.
“Come, this way.”, the priest said. He led Thequen to a chair and had him sit down, which let him continue to watch as Father Delden attempted his work of divine healing. A faint yellow light glowed from Delden’s palms for a moment. Then it flared, sputtered and died. The old priest stared down at his hands, his mouth open.
“This is… not possible. My faith in the Old God is absolute.”, Delden said firmly.
“I have no doubt in my mind that it is, Father, but be that as it may, our connection to the Divine is--”, the younger priest started. Delden cut him off.
“Don’t say it.”, Father Delden said firmly.
It was at this moment that the priest attending to Thequen’s shoulder gripped the arrow and pulled it out, without warning. “Damn!”, Thequen groaned as pain blossomed anew across his side. Father Delden and the other priest both paused and glanced his way, then looked back to each other.
“Our connection to the divine has been interrupted, somehow.”, Father Delden said.
“Severed.”, the younger priest insisted. The arrow was tossed aside, and Thequen’s skin burned as the priest poured something on it to handle infection and then pushed a sticky square of gauze into the wound.
“This shouldn’t give you any problems. A nice little scar perhaps. I would attempt a proper Healing but ah--”, the priest near Thequen looked meaningfully at Father Delden and the other priest.
“Thanks.”, Thequen said as the priest ran some bandages around his arm and shoulder to try and hold the gauze in place. His pain quickly reduced down to a dull ache. He was lucky to have gotten out with just one arrow in him.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Severed? How dare you utter that heresy, acolyte. The Old God is foremost among the gods-- nothing could cause him to lose his position among the cosmic powers.”, Father Delden said firmly as he glared at the younger priest.
A boy in uniform ducked into the tent carrying a slightly crumpled scroll. “I-is there a Gabriel Thequen here?”, he stammered quietly.
Thequen raised his left hand. “Over here.”, he said. The boy approached him and held out the scroll.
“Y-you’re to report to the Commander’s tent for debriefing. Every mage is s-supposed to.”, he said quietly.
“Got it. No rest for me then.”, Thequen said with a sigh, which caused his ribs and shoulder to ache a bit more on the inhale. He stood up.
“V-very good sir! I have to go find the others!”, the boy stammered as he tucked the scroll under his armpit and dashed out of the tent. Thequen stood up, muttered his thanks to the priest that had worked on him, and then started to shuffle in the direction of the Commander’s tent. It was a long shuffle from the edge of the warcamp near the flank all the way into the center where the Lord’s troops and the Arcane Corps Commander were set up. Thequen’s new best friends, pain and fatigue, followed him with every step.
Some time later he was waved through into the Commander’s tent by the armored guards out front. The tent itself was more war-room than personal lodging, though there was a cot in the corner and a trunk to hold the Commander’s possessions. Most of the area inside the tent was taken up by a large wooden table with a crudely sketched map of the local area on it. Around this tent were gathered a handful of faces that Thequen recognized, and many more that he did not.
Commander Zafar Cardon of the 3rd Arcane, still in his plate armor, chest spattered with dried blood, his blonde hair faded partly to gray and slicked back into a loose ponytail, stood at the far end of the table, glowering at the map, the assembled men, and everything in general. Lord Ghol sat to one side of him in an opulently carved, gem-encrusted chair.
Lord Ghol was pudgy and despite the heat of the room wore a fur-lined overcoat that seemed too large even for his frame. His beard and hair were greased black, and trimmed to perfection. To Thequen he looked more like a rich merchant than a ruler.
Thequen nodded in acknowledgment as he met the eyes of the last person in the room he recognized. Vulmar was an elf who had been with the 3rd Arcane for longer than most anyone else, other than the Commander himself. He was bald and wore flowing blue silken robes which dragged along the floor. He kept his hands tucked up in his overlong sleeves. As he noticed Thequen he smiled politely and nodded in return. They’d only spoken on a handful of occasions, but Vulmar had always been talkative and friendly, though he was always in the middle of doing at least a handful of different jobs in an attempt to keep the Corps afloat and disciplined.
“I’ll be frank, gentlemen and ladies. I’m at a total loss. I’m a leader and a warrior, not a mage. Does anyone have any theories on what that massive spell effect from two hours ago was? It is my understanding from initial reports that it was too large to be produced by any single caster, regardless of how powerful they might be, or how many mana crystals they had at their disposal. Speak freely, everyone.”, Commander Cardon said as he gestured to the crowd around the table with his hand.
“I do not wish to risk any further casualties by walking into some sort of magical trap.”, Lord Ghol said as he twisted a ring around on one of his chubby fingers.
“With an area so large, surely the effect produced must have been extremely minor to compensate?”, an older man in armor from the crowd around the table said.
“If they used enough gems, that wouldn’t be true!”, another said.
Another person threw out a theory. Another man shouted. The room soon descended into argument among the various junior officers and the ten or so mages that got involved. They clustered off in twos or threes, talking excitedly, angrily. It all added up to a cacophony of noise that Thequen couldn’t make heads or tails of. He sighed and continued to endure the aching pain of his recent injuries.
Commander Cardon folded his arms and stared straight ahead, his lips pursed into a thin frown. Lord Ghol started arguing with one of the men seated adjacent to him.
Vulmar removed his pale hand from his sleeve and held it up. He cleared his throat, but only those nearest to him heard that. One by one people further away took notice. First of his hand, then of the thin frown on his face, followed by the faint glow of blue mana that suddenly suffused his skin. He remained motionless until the commotion died down and the room became silent. “Good. Let us conduct this briefing in an orderly fashion. I have nothing to add by the way of theories, except to say that a spell of such magnitude was likely the work of a god, or some other divine being. I have called in a favor and convinced an old associate of mine to come and consult with us. He should arrive shortly.”, Vulmar said.
“If you don’t have the answers Vulmar, what could anyone else possibly know, other than the gods? Who did you call upon?”, Lord Ghol said with a sneer. Vulmar’s pointed ears twitched slightly as he glared down at Lord Ghol.
“A Tower Mage.”, Vulmar said firmly.
The ground beneath the room trembled slightly. Thequen and some of the others in the room turned to face the entrance on instinct, as he felt a sudden flare of mana which came and went in an instant, followed by a faint pop like the cork of a wine-bottle being pulled loose.
Lord Ghol seemed not to notice. “A Tower Mage? Unheard of. They haven’t been seen for centuries and their holdings are all in ruins.”, he said.
A little old man, just barely over four feet tall, limped into the room as he clung to a staff that was almost two feet taller than him. He wore a cloak which had once probably been a solid deep red color, but had faded in splotchy patches to salmon pink. It was dotted with patches of all sorts of colors and patterns of fabric. The old man had a few shocks of white hair remaining above his ears, but was otherwise bald. A long scraggly white beard and moustache dangled down from his face all the way to his stomach.
“Wrong. We are not extinct, not yet.”, the old man rasped, his voice hoarse, as though he were either parched, or had a long history of constant pipe smoking.