(98) While They Lasted

Redra blanched, a piercing scream rising from the direction of the flames, which burned so brightly that it seemed the sun had already risen. It was as if the entire fungal forest were screeching in displeasure or pain, as if it sought to dampen the inferno with the sound.

The cries of a million wailing banshees clawed at her ears, and she thought she would be in physical pain were she any closer.

The blue flames receded just as the voices reached a crescendo, and as they vanished, an eerie calm settled over the forest once again, the cries fading in response.

She spared a glance to her side, seeing the solemn look on Wynn’s face, the white knuckles gripping the handle of her shield. On her other side, Esme stared at the armored man, her face tight.

Returning her gaze forward, Redra saw that the party had gathered around each other, seemingly discussing something. They spoke to each other, the girl animated, gesticulating wildly.

Deciding these must be adventurers who regularly braved the Gloam, Redra took a step toward the forest, only to be grabbed by the arm. She stopped, her foot still in the air, and stared in confusion at the iron grip locking her in place.

Esme, gaze still locked on the armored man, held Redra’s arm in a vice grip. It did not hurt, but it possessed every quality of an iron manacle save the cold.

“Wha—” she started.

A chill ran down her spine, and she glanced toward the party again. The armored man’s eyes were fixed on her, or her group, at least. The glowing blue unsettled her, though she felt no hostility from the man. It was as if she had stepped in front of a predator who happened to be uninterested in hunting right this moment.

The man nodded slightly, a motion so slight that Redra was positive she could not have perceived it at this distance, yet she knew it to be true. She pulled against her shackle, intending to approach, as the man had beckoned, yet Esme’s grip was unyielding.

“The man has invited us over,” Redra said, turning back toward Esme.

“That ain’t no ‘man’, kid,” Esme growled, her eyes never leaving the figure.

Confused, she turned back, yet the party was too far away to make out any firm details. She could see the glowing eyes and tracings that contrasted sharply with the dark armor, but she could not see much else.

“Well, regardless, we have been invited,” Redra responded.

“Fuck, yeah. It’s seen us, alright. Might as well face it head-on,” Esme spat.

She released Redra’s arm and stalked forward, seemingly leisurely, though Redra could spot the uncharacteristic stiffness to her gait. Redra followed, Wynn beside her, still gripping her shield tightly.

Drawing closer, Redra began to pick out peculiarities. First and most obvious were the man’s horns. They were large, and there were four of them…that was…ominous. Second, his glowing blue eyes were slitted like a lizard’s, which brought one specific type of creature to mind.

“Demon,” Wynn muttered, her expression growing even more dour.

Demons were creatures of nightmares and fairytales, creatures who would steal into homes in the night to take away naughty children. They were creatures found at the center of the most heinous atrocities committed since the races first discovered the magic of summoning, the monsters elders told children about to keep them out of trouble.

Summoning demons was nasty business, and though no law prohibited it explicitly, at least in Sardvend, it was heavily stigmatized and discouraged. In fact, though summoning them was not strictly illegal, rituals to summon them were, though not because they were used to summon demons specifically. It was due to the fact that most demon summonings involved terrors such as torture and mass sacrifice.

What was one doing here?

“—gonna have to just put it away if you can’t help yourself!” the nuarch exclaimed, her hands in the air.

“It fuckin’ jumped out at me! I don’t know what else you want me to do. These are finely-honed instincts, right here. Something jumps at me in a dark, creepy forest, I hit it,” the man with an ax on his belt shrugged.

Redra felt slightly more at ease as they drew closer. The conversation was a familiar one. She had not spent a great deal of time around adventurers, but she had plenty of adventures of her own over the past few weeks to recognize the familiar cadence of analyzing a previous encounter.

The party quieted, noticing Redra’s group approaching, and they stood side-by-side, staring. There was an undeniably awkward tension as the two groups faced each other, and Redra aimed to break it as soon as they were within speaking range.

“Greetings. Would you happen to be adventurers?” she asked with a friendly wave.

“Yup. Does that mean you aren’t? The fuck are you doing out here, if not?” the man with the ax asked.

“They are seeking Nemesis,” the demon said, its voice so deep and abrasive that Redra thought the earth should be shaking.

She nearly recoiled, hearing her quarry named so bluntly. Esme, whose gaze still had yet to leave the demon, narrowed her eyes.

“You’ve been watching us, demon?” she accused.

“I have not. Yet, why else would you be heading north through the Gloam?” the demon reasoned, staring straight at Redra.

It seemed to be responding to Esme, yet Redra felt as though it were addressing her specifically. Did it know who she was somehow?

“Perhaps this is an opportunity for the Wardens to undertake their first escort,” it mused, turning its piercing blue gaze upon the adventuring party.

“After they nearly pulled the entire Gloam down on us, you want us to go traipsing through it with them?” Esme said, disbelieving.

“I suggest everyone rest until daybreak. The Gloam will be calm by then. Even now, it has been pacified. Were it not dark, you would likely be in no additional danger,” the demon declared.

A silence passed between the groups, even the demon’s own adventurers staring at it in bewilderment. It seemed to take a few moments to notice the stares, but it eventually continued.

“The Gloam may be thought of as a single living organism, and like most living organisms, it is capable of recognizing when a threat is not worth pursuing. Your group, young Tara, was in retreat already and had cleared the forest.

“A quick application of flame was all that was required to discourage further pursuit, to show the Gloam that it was not worth it,” the demon explained, looking at the nuarch.

“That’s all well and good, but I don’t know where the fuck Nemesis is, so I don’t really know how we’re gonna do any escorting,” the ax man said with a sigh.

“It lies in the center of the Crater. Escorting through the Gloam to the Peaks should be more than sufficient. All it requires is aiming north, yes?”

The ax man sighed once again, heavier this time, and shrugged, seemingly in surrender.

The demon’s attention was drawn elsewhere for a brief moment, and as it gazed somewhere far away, a hole in space appeared next to it. It seemed to stretch, pushing space aside as a golden archway formed around the swirling purple abyss.

Redra’s senses were flooded with mana, the magic twisting itself into unrecognizable, impossible forms before her very eyes. The torrent of mana seemed nearly physical, as if it would ruffle her hair like the wind. A glance showed Esme’s expression souring more by the moment, the unbelievable magic likely only reinforcing what a threat this demon was.

“It seems I am needed elsewhere, but rest assured,” the demon said, shadows splitting off from it and darting into the darkness surrounding them. “You are not alone.”

“I guess you’ll tell Myra I won’t be in tomorrow morning?” the nuarch, Tara, said, her tone heavy with exasperation.

The demon nodded, entering the purple arch, which closed behind it, leaving not a trace of its passing.

Redra was dumbfounded that such powerful magic could have manifested and vanished without any damage to the surroundings. She was unsure what the spell was or even did, but just the power behind it should be enough to reduce the surroundings to ash, surely.

“Right…well, mind if we camp with you guys?” the ax man asked with another, heavier sigh.

————————————

Lyron stood with a fist against his chest, his head bowed. His posture was rigid as he welcomed the newcomers to the fort. The road was lined with soldiers like him, all standing at attention.

Marching leisurely down the road, though ‘marching’ was perhaps generous for those in the lead, were the expeditionary forces that Sardvend had sent to reclaim Radaar. Though he had watched them unload after their landing, Lyron had not gotten an accurate count. He had estimated around two thousand, though half seemed to be peasant levies.

At the head of the marching column was the leader of this expedition, the king’s brother, Archduke Ragnvald. Lyron had never had the pleasure of meeting the archduke, thankfully.

He was known to the populace of the motherland as a conqueror, an authoritative fist who kept the lesser nobles and territories in line, while the military knew him as a lecherous priss who seldom took the field himself. He was known for lounging in his command tent, never leaving save to wonder at how long the battle was taking.

Still, his position was undeniable, and he had, at the very least, never allowed his indulgence to hamper his mission.

Marching behind him were a man and a woman, both apparently of similar rank, for they marched side-by-side. The man Lyron recognized as Duke Elannia, leader of the nation of the same name. Though a colony, the dukedom was as large as Sardvend proper, and the duke’s influence was immense.

Why was he here? Was it simply proximity? The dukedom was the closest physical territory to Radaar, so he supposed it made sense for the duke to be mobilized. Lyron had been working with Vitrimis long enough to suspect an underlying motive, however.

Perhaps this was a message to the duke as much as Radaar: do not entertain any ideas of rebellion, for we will crush you just the same.

Of the thousand soldiers who were not levies, around a quarter appeared to be knights, which spoke of how seriously Sardvend was treating this campaign. Knights were proper nobles, not mere soldiers like Lyron. They were leaders of their houses, defenders of their lords and ladies. They would not take to the field for every rote operation. That was what Lyron’s comrades were for.

“Titan,” the archduke greeted, stopping before Lyron.

“My lord, I am at your command,” Lyron responded without raising his head.

“Indeed. I am told that your actions thus far have been nothing short of disgraceful. Fall in with the soldiers and do what soldiers are meant to do: follow orders,” he instructed, setting off without waiting for a response.

Lyron maintained his posture, feeling the glances stolen toward him as the expeditionary force passed. When the center of the line arrived, the delimiter between the standing army and the levies, he fell in. The soldiers in this section were career military like himself, and they glanced at him with mixtures of respect and admiration.

He would have to savor those reactions while they lasted.