Prologue
As the legend goes, the darkness of night fell over the capital of empire and with the fleeting daylight rode in the terrors of the evil horde. The capital was razed and sacked only in the course of one night. The hooves of the terrible beats and blades of their evil riders are said to be laced with the powerful taint of magic. A magic that is not only unnatural, but comes from the very depths of the demon king mind, for only one as powerful as a god can grant the power to mortals.
The empire fracture of the next year as lord and kings first tried to filled the void left from the obliteration of the emperor, his sons, who were the representatives of his will, calling themselves the overkings, and the knights of the shining shield, those who avowed the use of magic for a blessing of our god to resist the fires of the demon king’s sorcerers. The few knights of the shining shield that survived the terrible raid traveled to the smattering of city-states, territories and kingdoms under the empire to relay the news if the destruction of the capital.
Carrying the message of destruction set terror into the lower classes, pleading answers from their lords and protectors. This call drove each to assert their dominance to become the next emperor before finally, after years of brutal bloodshed and painful famines, being satisfied with their own domains. The empire had fractured into five kingdoms and a handful of city-states.
In the cool north lay the mountains and the forest lands. The flag of the Green kingdom rises high as the largest of the provinces, stretching between the two rivers, Haleyx and Rola that carve out the sections of the empire. The only direct land route to the capital ruins runs from the Green northern kingdom. The people of the north worship no god but the world around them. The forest, mountains, rivers, and life contained are the substance of their devout focus. Magic of all sorts are considered unnatural and unlawful in this region. The Green state is sparsely populated, but the people were fierce and the beasts within were more so.
The Blue territories were not a complex complete kingdom, but instead a collection of farming oriented territories or ports of call governed by the seed barons and the sea lords. The Halyx designated its eastern boundary with the mountains and the sea capping the other borders. The south end of the Blue collective cumulated in a swampy basin, filled with changing river ways and vicious amphibious animals. The Blue states technically owned these murky waters, but the wildmen within had long since defied the emperor at too great a cost to warrant suppression. The collective’s inhabitants were typical simple farmers, herders, or fishermen, with simple pleasures and only a mild tolerance for show magic, a finale in a festival’s frivolities.
The south eastern neighbor of the Blue collective was the White dominion. The religious zeal of this kingdom for the true god was unmatched throughout the world. The dominion is flanked by the Haleyx to the west and the Fons, a combined tributary of the great rivers that split the southern portion of the empire. The ruins of the capital lay at the origin of the Fons river, where the emperor looked out to witness the most productive rival kingdoms, the White dominion and the Grey state. The south of the dominion collided with a more passable, but still dangerous swamp. The high viscount of the White dominion acted as both head of state and religion in this region and still anointed the knights of the shining shield to this date, creating the most powerful order of martial soldiers in the empire. Their devout worship has an absolute prohibition of magic, excluding the induction blessing of the Shield.
Across the Fons from the White dominion, south east of the capital and south of the Green territories resided the Grey state. Similar to the name suggested, the region was awash with a light filtering fog and smoke, cast from the winds from the Red confederacy and the industrial cities littering the smallest of the five kingdoms. The chancellor of this region was appointed by the board of lords, a council of the heads of each city state. The area is full of teeming industry and academic institutions. They are under a constant feud with the White dominion over the objective of people in the world and the role of gods in everyday life. Their dedication to progress has produced complex, fascinating, and often useless machines of war, with the musket providing the stalemate against the Shining Shield. While magic is not outlawed in these states, it is considered impractical and a waste of time in the region.
Across the Rola from the Grey states and the Green territories lay the Red confederacy. The area is ruled by a tyrant, as is his title, over many warlords. The region has poor soil and uses the Rola’s waters for grazing. To the east of the Red confederacy lies the wastes, where the darkness is said to lurk in wait for weakness. The Red confederacy of states spends most of its time militarizing their outer border and in dispute with the Green territories over timber and mineral rights in the north. Of all the states in the empire, the Red confederacy is the most accepting of magic, taking advantage of whatever might prove most useful in combat, but no formal selection and training exists and most people, men and women, spend time in martial training and building of defenses, relying heavily on the productivity of the Blue collective for excess foodstuffs and grains.
The most significant mystery of the night that the capital fell was no one knows where the dark marauders came from, how they arrived so suddenly with sighting from any sentries, and then where they vanished to. Theories range from someone slipped through the Red borderlands, although the idea that travelling back out to the wastes after conquest is farfetched. Blue and Green kingdoms are much more weakly defended from the horde, but the winter freeze had made the northern arctic plain a desert and the farms were bogged with water, slowing any enemy troops, even if they were mounted. The only other options lay to the south, but the densely populated kingdoms would have to abet the enemy passage, which is a complete conspiracy story aside from any realistic possibilities.
Chapter 1:
Randall knew what he was and what he could do. His family came from the capital after the invasion when he was fifteen. Living in the White dominion left much to be desired by the entirety of his family. The constant oaths of fealty, the random searches, and the constant threat of conflict with the neighboring Grey state made life as refugees more dreary and hopeless than it had to be. Most significantly, Randall was forbidden under penalty of death to show any sign of his magical potential. The capital city allowed the free practice of magic, recognizing it as a useful combat skill and an amusing diversion. The overkings were all blessed with magical ability and used their powers freely in the five kingdoms, although the emperor frowned upon it.
Both of the southern kingdoms suggests the futility of magic in daily life, where the Whites suggested that the use of magic incited the destruction, while the Greys complained that had no effect in saving the city and was a worthless endeavor. Randall had looked, after his twentieth birthday, for a place to develop his skills, but the only potential existed far out on the eastern frontier, where the journey was rough and the people unsympathetic to a young man looking for training.
Instead, in a kingdom that prohibits magic, Randall simply does his best delivering goods from the Fons lake port to warehouses in the northern city of Carnell. The days are boring, filled with urging a donkey that stressed the phrase ‘more stubborn than a mule.’ In the seven years since his arrival in the White kingdom, Randall had merely survived, and much to his misfortune out survived most of the refugees from the capital that had left the capital and remained in Carnell, including his parents.
Another slow day left Randall waiting upon his cart at the docks, leaning against the front of the cart, keeping his feet as far away as possible from the donkey’s tail. Several hours had passed with no sign of a freight ship on the rivers, so Randall felt it was best to travel out to the south of the city, where some merchants or other travelers might need transport to the docks. He passed through the city with a silent whistle, easing Jim, the donkey, through the crowded cobblestone streets of Carnell. The city, like most of the major cities in the White dominion, is a fortress designed to repel not only the Grey states, but the horde if they ever arrived. In fact, a large portion of goods and weapons have a horde tax, where the city stockpiles resources in case of the darkness.
Near the south gates, a call echoes through the noisy streets, “Randall! Randall!” Looking around casually, Randall attempts to find the source of the call, but no one in the crowd of people seemed to me motioning towards him. The crowd thickened as the cart came closer, and someone leapt into the back of his cart. Randall tugged back on Jim’s reins and twisted around to find a shrouded figure crouched in the bed of the cart.
“Hey off with you! No rides!” exclaimed Randall.
The reflection of the figure’s eye glinted through the darkened slit in his hood. The crowd continued to surge forward to the southern gate. The distant sky distorted with a darkened hue until a sweeping blackness washed over the entire sky. The people, once bustling around the stalled cart, slowed and then seemed to fade into the darkness as it collapsed towards the pair. The engulfed cart was oddly illuminated, like it were the bright midday sun above then. Jim brayed, more annoyed at stopping than reacting to the strange surrounding events.
“Hello Randall,” said the hooded man with a deep, distorted voice, like the priest in a confessional, “I’ve tried to catch your attention several times today, but you seem pretty adamant in ignoring the unusual. I’ve tried communicating with you, magically, mind to mind, but showed no recognition of the message. I slipped you a note in your left pocket, which is still there. You favor your right pocket for some reason.”
Randall shrugged, “I’m a lefty, my left hand is always doing something, especially with ole Jim here.” He slapped the donkey’s hindquarter.
“Regardless, I’ve tried to not have to be so blatant in trying to contact you, but I’m running out of time. I need to deliver a message and instructions, but I…”
“Wait,” interrupted Randall, “are we in some alternate time stream, protected from outside time and events? That’s something that’s pretty nifty. I would love to… hey, where you the one calling my name like a minute ago?”
“No, listen! Wait, someone was calling your name? I really don’t have much time then.” He looked off to his right for several seconds, nodding at some invisible entity before answering, “Right, I was getting to that.” Turning back to Randall, he continued, “Someone who is willing to tutor you in the usage of magic would like to take you as her apprentice. If you accept…” He looked off to the right again before turning back and speaking quickly. “If you accept, you can never return to this city. You need to leave right away, and I’ve already packed your bags. I’ll meet you in the capital, Papon, in about four days. He’s your crap, gotta go.” He withdrew a moderately size bag from underneath his shawl. The sky quickly light up again, leaving the animated, colorful people behind. In this sudden transition, the figure has vanished, leaving behind only the sack.
Randall scooped up the sack from the bed of his wooden cart. Curious of the contents, he slowly opened the potentially dangerous bag to find a mixture of old and new laundry, some basic tools, and a few mementos of his old home and family. He sighed briefly before shaking Jim’s harness to convince him to move forward again. The ambling pace of the pack beast still required the crowds to rush past the cart. Once again an echo from the crowd cried out, “Randall, Randall!”
Looking around, there was no indication that anyone was trying to get his attention. That is no one left, right, or in front the cart wanted his attention. Someone slammed into the slow moving vehicle from behind before collapsing backwards, doubly winded from rushing through the crowd and finishing the exercise with a swift cart edge to the gut.
The blonde man that had collapsed to the ground pulled himself up with this left arm on the cart’s side wall, while clutching his chest with the right one. He panted a couple of times before Randall spoke, “Lucas? Why are you down here? I thought went adventuring to the north with the trappers?”
Holding his hand out as he bent over and sucked in a breath, he finally replied, “I was. We got a few miles into the forest until we were turned back by the rangers. Apparently, someone did not do all the proper requisitions. Anyway, I came to see you because of what we saw on our way back. You know traffic on the river was slow this morning, right? Well, the White navy is anchored at the Haleyx junction, stopping traffic. We had to take a ferry over since most of the boats are being sequestered by the army. Anyway, I tracked you down to request a job. I’ve got a delivery that’s… unusual.” Randall’s brow morphed to deep suspicion. “Whoa, you’ve got it wrong. I’m not doing contraband this time. I just… look I’ve got this girl, and I want to get her and her family to Papon. I think Carnell is gearing for war.”
“War? Against whom?” replied Randall. “Unless they think the horde is coming again there’s no one to fight… unless they going back after Lodum. It’s accessible from the river and pretty close here. They could stage an attack within a day or two of setting sail. Anyway…” he paused, pondering about the risks of taking on Lucas’s cargo, “I’ll take your job. It’ll be a stamped silver per ten miles, with some costs deferred if you provide some food for the trip and I don’t have to feed the cargo… how many, by the way?”
“Oh,” replied Lucas hesitantly, “It’s six people, including her. I’m not going though. A silver per ten miles, that’s a bit steep Rand.”
“Have you seen food prices these days, Lucas? Plus with that load, I’m going to have to get a second donkey. Besides, my normal fee is three per twenty, I’m giving you a discount. It’s about one thirty to Popan from here. So, that comes to thirteen stamped silver, I don’t want any of your smooth coins. When you want me to head out?”
“As early as possible. Here’s the coinage.”
“Alright, well, meet me in the camp south of the wall. I need to get supplies and we’ll be off within two hours. So, you should better hurry,” warned Randall. Lucas quickly nodded and scurried down the crowded road. Randall first noticed the annoyed glares of the other travelers and merchants casted towards the idle cart and its driver. Quietly, he snatched the bag of his stolen merchandise, only slight curious how the mysterious visitor gather the essentials of his belongings in a few hours. Settling back onto the driver’s bench, gave a nudge to Jim, commanding him to proceed south, out of Carnell to the camps. He sighed at the thought of visiting even after the many years separating his memories from this place.
Two hours had passed, and Randall had managed to acquire food for Jim, the new donkey, which he named Roger and was on loan from a fellow cartman, himself, and six passengers. The food was an unimpressive assortment of dried beef, fresh rabbit, potatoes, carrots, and a sack of beans in water. Randall laid in the back of his swept out cart, waiting for his cargo to arrive and attempting to avoid eye contact with anyone in the area. The once temporary refugee camp had solidified into a solid poor community. Crime was a little higher here, but Randall did not want to be harassed by old neighbors. He rested for fifteen more minutes, attempting to keep himself entertained by humming and, after that became boring, wondering how the shrouded figure could slow time.
Just as he thought that he had deduced the secret to the magic, when two solid slaps jostled his cart. Opening his eyes to see Lucas leaning over the side of the cart, Randall said, “Wow, not what I wanted to wake up to. You’re late.”
“Now, listen, I’m sorry it’s late and well past midday now, but it took some time to get everyone ready and over here,” replied Lucas with a slightly squeaky worried tone.
“That’s fine Lucas.” Randall replied, sitting up to gaze upon the small crowd. His eyes traced each one of the figures. A young woman, brunette, brown eyes, average frame and height, wrapped in a common, dull dress, but carrying a pack larger than her dress. Two men, brothers or cousins, also with brown hair and eyes, nondescript clothes as well, also carrying very large packs and holding a trunk between them. Older man and woman, approximately the right age to be the parents of the previous people, carrying nothing except a peculiar air. The final man, if he could be called that, was like a golem, larger than the brothers combined, and seemingly ordinary, except having a red sash across his barrel of a chest and, unlike the others, he was armed with a covered axe on his side. After one more quick look, he noticed they all had an identical lapel pin, a purple crescent.
Motioning for Lucas to move closer, he noticed that his old friend wore a similar pin. Quietly, into Lucas’s ear, Randall whispered, “Why am I transporting revolutionaries? And since when did you get involved in politics and war?”
“Look, I can explain everything, just tell me you’ll still do it,” pleaded Lucas, his eyes expressing an urgency and worry.
Randall sighed and motioned to the group to come with a beckoning of his hand. He returned his attention to Lucas, noticing the chilly stare he was giving the young woman. “Lucas,” he started, “Why aren’t you coming with us? Is there…”
A high pitched wail of a guard’s whistle shrieked from near the southern gate. Lucas looked up at him and smiled. “Oh no, Lucas, don’t…”
“Rand, my friend, take care.” He yanked off his lapel pin and placed a bag of coin and the pin in Randall’s hand. He nodded his head before grinning and simply saying, “Well, I have to go. For the cause and all.” He quickly turned, pulling a long dagger that had been attached under his coat.
Quickly, Randall hopped onto the bench and slapped the reins down, urging Jim and Roger to jolt forward, beginning their journey. Turning back, figures of four Shining Shield knights slaughtering the fallen body of his friend added one more image to the city of Carnell that he hoped to forget.
They travelled wordlessly until night had already fallen, carrying a slow steady pace past farm houses and small towns. Having planned to stop in Rishob, Randall had gotten less food that necessary to feed nine animals for three meals. With the latest turn of events, he had decided that an overnight stay in a tavern would not fit into the current plan. After finding a decently isolated farm house, he stopped the wagon just off the road and walked the twenty minute trek to the lit home. He took a heavy sigh before knocking, careful to avoid pounding on the door.
A minute passed, more than enough time for the people inside to come to the door. He sighed again, half turning to head back into the twilight, when the door creaked open, revealing a very young farmer with a few working age children behind him. The farmer was holding a hoe, in the nervous-but-strong-enough-to-hurt-like-hell-if-hit kind of way. Raising his hands to the air, Randall turned around.
“Sir,” Randall announced, “I am here to request the use of your barn for myself, my animals, and my passengers. I am willing to pay two stamped silvers for the night and for some straw.”
The young man looked inside the house before visibly relaxing. The creak of floor boards echoed inside, and the group near the door all retreated farther inside, except the young man, who remained outside. A much older woman came into view from the doorway, walking slowly with her cane in hand.
“We accept your offer,” she said quietly. “My grandson will show you the barn and get you some hay for your animals and bedding. And show you the well. In return, we’ll have the two silver and a story from you.”
Randall grabbed the edges of his vest, expressively thinking. Finally, he answered, “Accepted, although I’m not sure how good of a story it will be. I don’t have much of my life behind me.”
She smiled, baring a deficit of teeth, and said, “I’m sure it will be enough.”
Randall returned to the wagon, almost three quarters of an hour later. The revolutionaries appeared to not have moved since he left. “We’re staying here for the night,” announced Randall to the passengers. After waiting a few moments for any objections or comments and receiving none, he climbed back into the driver’s bench and ushered the cart into the barn. The passengers silently filed out of the cart, setting their bags in a neat pile near it.
Randall spent the next while unhooking Jim and Roger, leading them to the excess straw, and cleaning their hooves. After the tedious and dirty process, he plunged the leaky wooden bucket deep into the well to fill a pot, which he purchased with the vegetables. After bringing it to a boil and cleaning the game, he set up a stew of rabbit, potatoes, carrots, and beans.
He travelled back to the house and gave the building a soft knock, dimly hoping that everyone had already gone to bed. Instead, the young farmer opened the door and swept his hand towards the fire that already burned low. The woman sat in a winged, high back chair. She turned herself slowly and motioned him to sit on the stool across from her in front of the fire.
He slowly entered the house, attempting to take not of all the strange artifacts in the place. Besides the people, which there were five, the old woman, the young farmer, and three young girls, likely ranging from eight to ten. Sitting next to the fire, he began to give a pared down version of his life’s story. He briefly told the of his father’s work that had been undescribed at the capital. Briefly running through the appearance of the black riders, stress that the riders were not just covered in black cloth, but they were actually blacker than a cellar at night and could almost be considered invisible except that they blocked out the light.
He followed that by describing the terrifying flight to a series of rafts on the Haleyx and Rola junctions and settling in Cardell. He went on about the forced conscription into the war against Lodam during the war of power, which claimed his father when he was seventeen, and finally talking about the riots, caused by some radical group in the refugee camp that prompted a conflict that resulted in a fire. The shanty town of wood, mud, and straw had no chance, leaving Randall at nineteen with no family.
He attempted to be vague about the Shining Shield, which most residents of the dominion worshiped, but there were those that scorned their existence. Randall mentioned briefly that he was taking his friend’s girlfriend and her family to the White capital and the build up of forces in river.
The old woman sat quietly through most of the story. She patted him on the leg briefly and said, “Thank you for the story, young man. My son was recently called away by the Shining Shield, probably for the flotilla your friend saw. I hope the barn is enough for you.”
Randall thanked the woman, setting the two pieces of silver into her hand before turning towards the door. He nodded at the young farmer, murmuring ‘good night’ as he passed. Returning to the barn, he checked on the stew, which was slightly overly done, and the passengers sat still, expressionless. Digging into one of the sacks at the front of his cart, he pulled out several wooden bowls and spoons. After serving up the dinner, he passed out the bowls, and only the older pair of revolutionaries nodded in acknowledgement. The dinner was in great need of salt, but they all ate quietly.
Randall cleaned up the dinner and tucked himself into a pile of hay with a blanket and rather uselessly tried to go to sleep. The hours crept by with the only noise from the donkey and the occasional snort from the golem sized man. After the moon had begun its descent, Randall decided to get up and go for a walk, hoping that the early autumn dew and the breeze would dismiss the thoughts flooding his mind lately. Not only did he have the pressures of the day to weight on his mind, but the story of his past resurfaced memories he would have rather forgotten. The exodus, the fire, the Shining Shield, and his family weighted heavy on his mind. A few laps around the building had no affect on his insomnia. Disappointed, he lay down in the straw again and waited for dawn.
With little rest, Randall was up when dawn found the barn. The cart was packed and ready to go when the passengers awoke. The group silently bundled up their packages and moved to the back of the cart. Aside from the random braying of Jim and Roger, the journey to Popan was swift and silent. Prior to entering the north gate of the city, which lay a few miles west of the Fons, the travelers disembarked with only the older man offering a ‘thank you and farwell.’
Randall entered the city, aimlessly. He had been to the White capital many times, but always on business, either transporting something to a dock or warehouse then quickly returning. He decided to explore the city some and distance himself from the revolutionary payload that he just delivered. He figured that they would need several days, at least, to begin whatever plot, so Randall thought he would see if any word from the shadow man showed up. But before any other tasks, he had to return Roger to the group he borrowed them from.
After seeking out the burrow pens to the west of the city, Randall found the sister of man whom he got the donkey from. After spending the afternoon in pleasantries with her, discussing the trip, trade, her brother, and donkeys, Randall returned to the city to store his cart at his ‘uncle’s.’ Rotier was not Randall’s actual uncle, since both of his parents had no brothers and sisters at the time of their deaths, but his father’s friend in the capital, Rotier, had helped them after the Shining Shield returned with only knights from Lodum. Randall arrived at Rotier’s trade complex to find that only the steward was currently in. The new man knew of, but didn’t know Randall. After half an hour of Randall proving his identity, the steward finally let him into the complex. Randall took Jim and his cart to the stable, unhooked the pair, cleaned the cart and the donkey, and finally fed the animal and himself. He retired to a spare bedroom near the gate, with his insomnia finally allowing him to rest.
He awoke slightly after dawn to an explosion in the distance, although he had thought it simply a loud noise. Shifting his feet out of bed onto the smooth, light-colored wooden floor, he placed his face in his palms, focusing on the day. A second explosion that was much closer knocked the groggy exhaustion from his mind. He quickly sat up, pausing for a few seconds to listen for any additional noise. After no echo of the concussive blast appeared, Randall focused on preparing his materials and ignored the screams and cries from outside. He changed into a thick leather jerkin, with padded pants. He also seized his pack, leaving behind the new pot and place settings that he recently gained.
Racing past the steward, he rushed to Jim in the stable. Giving his friend a stroke down his neck, Randall promised to return quickly. The steward entered the stable, confusion and terror across his face. Randall said reassuringly, “Everything will be fine. I need you to look after my belongings and my donkey, Jim. Tell my uncle that he can have my dishes for this sword.” He held up the short sword that he seized from the bedroom wall, hoping the blade was sharp and the stell strong. With those words, Randall fled the trade complex to enter the fray, still not knowing which side he was fighting for.
Rushing through the unfamiliar streets, Randall quickly lost his way.
Not bad 👍
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