VIII. Goodbye Regret

Fiora adjusted her collar as several men dragged and carried a very irate Arkona to the tree stump that would serve as his place of death. His soldiers were confined to quarters and under guard, as well as unsettlingly quiet. The drumroll began, but failed to drown out Arkona’s curses and screams. Fiora turned to the young man set as executioner, his uniform as clean and pressed as one could hope for having lived in the field for as long as they had. The look of anticipation the man wore was a bit unsettling, he seemed to enjoy the task appointed to him.

Fiora looked down as Arkona was thrown to her feet. He spat and glared at her, muttering a steady stream of Xanavien curses. His treatment had been rough, his eyes were blacked and both nose and mouth were bloody. It really shouldn’t matter too much, the man was going to die anyway, but still it was against the etiquette and protocols of war. She looked down at him and realized that she too held contempt for this man in her heart. She steeled her gaze and held out a hand for the official edict. She held his gaze as she unrolled the document, the drumroll reached its crescendo and ceased suddenly, leaving tense silence in its wake.

“Lieutenant Nicholas Arkona, Bravo troop 2nd of 170th Calvary, Xanavien Royal Army. On this day, the 17th of Frostmoon, two thousand three-hundred and thirteenth year of The Dawn, you were tried by a panel of your peers in a summary field court martial at zero-six thirty. The trial recessed and a verdict was delivered at zero-seven and one-quarter hours. Lieutenant Arkona, having been found guilty of these crimes: dereliction of duty, insubordination resulting in unnecessary loss of life; you are hereby sentenced to death by beheading.”

“Was not a fvair trial.” Arkona spoke with equal venom and unforeseen composure.

“Be that as it may,” Fiora rolled up the document and handed it to her aide. “You have been found guilty, your Captain has been informed and you will die. Do you have any last words?”

“…Niet.”

Fiora looked the man in the eyes, chilled to find that she still felt nothing. “Very well then. Move him to the block.”

Fiora stepped aside as Arkona was led to the chopping block and held down. She felt a chill and shivered involuntarily. The man seemed indifferent to his fate. She had expected him to be more vociferous, in either pleading or cursing. But as she read the charges and punishment he was stoic and even poised. What was unknown was if it was his Xanavien pride or if he was privy to knowledge she was not. Fiora watched with bated breaths as the executioner raised his axe, the silence almost deafening. It seemed an eternity before the man lowered the weapon; during which time, the lieutenant didn’t so much as flinch. Fiora however did as the axe split flesh and spine before biting into the wood. The executioner wrenched the axe free and brought it down once more to make a clean cut of it.

Fiora exhaled with a shudder as the executioner kicked the corpse off of the stump. The lieutenant was leaking fluids from both ends, a pitiful end for anyone. The executioner hoisted the head to the cheers of all present and flung it into the crowd like a bride tossing her bouquet.

“What the hell are you doing corporal?” Fiora thundered, outraged by the spectacle.

The whoops and hollers abruptly stopped as two men passed the severed head back and forth, trying to not be caught with the evidence. Eventually, another soldier snatched it from them and tossed it over his shoulder into the formation. Fiora stood before them, at a complete loss for words.

“What the hell was that?” Fiora demanded, red faced. “Are you animals? Is this how you were taught to treat the dead?”

“He’s a criminal Major…” The corporal said sheepishly after several moments of shamed silence. “Did these monsters show respect to our dead when they fed them to those Dusk born filth?”

“We can only punish him for the crimes charged, we aren’t here to hold grudges or exact ‘vengeance’. If there is a grudge to be held it should be against Osric.”

The sound of a screaming horse caused them both to look up in surprise, the thundering of hooves soon followed. Fiora pushed past the corporal to get a better look, fearing the worst though not exactly knowing what the worst was yet. The crowd began to murmur and look around, several swords were drawn.

“Now what?” Fiora muttered under her breath.

A man in the rear of the formation screamed in horror and pain as the thundering of hooves drew nearer. More confused shouting rang out as the formation began to surge and retreat, and weapons were drawn. Fiora drew her own sword, dreading the inevitable. Unless the dusk born learned horseback riding, there were only a select few that could be charging upon them now.

“Fuck…” she swore upon glimpsing a tattered standard of Xanavene.

Time seemed to stand still as the realization dawned and anticipations were realized. As one, a great cry went up from the now bloodthirsty Sorn, they surged forward with the intensity of a wave, and crashed against the fragmented Xanavien line as if they were rocks upon the shore. Blood sprayed as horses screamed, Fiora stood in shock and confusion. A javelin impacted at her feet, breaking her from stupor with a start. She looked up at the boisterous, writhing mass as geysers of blood misted the frozen air. Her entire camp had become engulfed in the madness. Arkona’s death had opened the floodgates to something else far more deadly.

Fiora glanced up as a horse that barreled down upon her tripped in a rut and flipped its rider. She took a step back and readied her sword, her battle senses returning as she scanned the chaos. The rider pulled himself from the mud and charged Fiora with a scream. She calmly advanced and deflected the man’s wild swing. He fell into the mud and scrambled back to his feet to strike again. Fiora parried his blow, caught his arm, and pulled him onto her blade. She turned to face another, riding upon her left with a sword ready to behead. Fiora picked up the discarded javelin and chucked it at the man’s horse. The beast bucked and stumbled, both rider and beast died of broken necks.

Fiora turned to face the next threat, two badly wounded riders who had escaped the fray on foot. Both were easily twice her size and it didn’t seem as if anyone noticed or realized where she was. The ground split and separated beneath the men as dozens of ghoulish hands reached up with scythe like appendages, rending the men’s flesh in thousands of lightning quick strikes.

“So, correct me if I am wrong, but leaving the commander unguarded is a poor tactical decision is it not?”

Fiora swallowed, and nodded her thanks to Senka. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Senka waved off the thanks and took a hit from a long opium pipe. She had either just woken or had spent the day smoking in her tent, she had a disheveled and half-dressed appearance about her. Fiora didn’t care for that woman or her habits, but could do nothing about it. She wasn’t her soldier; she was an ‘advisor’ tacked on at the last moment by Séverin. What was most disturbing was that she used the same type of magic as their enemy Osric, and was even a student of his at one point. That could be said about most of the mages, but it was all the more disturbing with her.

“Perhaps you should get to safety.”

Fiooa shook her head and wiped the blood from her face off on her sleeve. “No, I need to put this little insurrection down.”

Senka shrugged and took a seat on a stump as Fiora scanned the mayhem for someone with rank. She spotted a young sergeant and flagged him down. He quickly jogged over, looking far more shaken by the events than she would have expected.

“Where are your soldiers, Sergeant?”

“I sent them off to protect The Order, Major.”

Fiora nodded and looked out to the chaos again. “Good work, go out and have all the other Sergeants account for their men and report back to me. Conscript whoever you can to help, just get it done.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The soldier looked around in brief confusion before he charged off towards the fray. Beside her, Senka drew a lazy violet rune in the air and muttered a long incantation. Fiora scanned the immediate vicinity, but saw no one save a few confused soldiers of Sorn and mages. She opened her mouth to ask the woman what the problem was just as a Xanavien soldier burst through several tents on horseback and gored a man as he barreled towards her. Fiora raised her sword in a feeble attempt to block his lance, but a black bolt of lightning from the rune saved her the trouble. Fiora nodded in thanks, and received a ring of opium smoke in reply.

The sounds of battle had begun to die down, and the rabble of soldiers massed together in confused huddles across the camp. The remaining pockets of Xanaviens were either on the run or attempting a futile last stand. Fiora accosted two passing enlisted men to accompany her as she attempted to regain order. She debated on whether or not to bring Senka, but by the time she reached a decision, the woman had vanished.

* * *

A portal ringed in black fire and dripping black smoke opened in the center of Morana’s conjurer’s laboratory, and the witch herself glided through, sealing the rift with a wave of the hand. A snap of her fingers ignited several oil lamps as she pulled a stool towards her from across the room. Just as she sat down, she felt a tug on her sleeve, and looked down to see a child of six staring up at her with big golden eyes. She was a gangly child, with chubby cheeks and a gaze that was too old for her cherubic face. She wore a simple black dress that was little more than a sack with holes cut out. Morana was struck by how much the child took after the donor, she had his eyes for sure, the only thing of hers she saw in the child was a head of thick black hair that held a slight curl.

“Have you finished studying?” Morana asked.

The girl nodded, and held out a pale white stone in both of her tiny hands. Morana drew back in surprise and approval.

“Oh?” Morana purred. “Did you finish all of it?”

The girl nodded again, still holding out the stone. Moran took the stone and turned it over in her hands. This particular memory stone held everything Morana knew about naturalism, advanced necromancy and the use of black magic as a combat art. Much of the information would be considered post graduate work at Asketill. Before Morana could offer praise, the girl held out her arms and whimpered pitifully.

Morana frowned with a shudder of revulsion and placed the stone onto the table. “Ah yes, your reward.”

Morana let out an exaggerated sigh and held out her arms. The little girl smiled and squealed with delight as she leapt into her mother’s arms. Morana returned the child’s squeeze with a half-hearted embrace and a placating pat on the head, which she held for exactly five beats before pushing the child away.

“Yes, you are doing quite well, I am, impressed.” Morana held out her hand and summoned a ball of green flame. “But now it is time for your examination.”

Morana dropped the flame to the floor and it grew into a lanky armed wraith that slowly pulled itself from the ground. The child stood placidly as the horror opened its gaping maw in a silent howl, its body was all sundered flesh and ropey sinew, it’s eyes were as black as infinity and its mouth a portal to the void beyond. The creature barely seemed to be able to hold itself together, appearing to vacillate between being made of flesh and muddy clay.

“Slay this creature and reanimate it in one week.”

The girl drew an intricate layered fire glyph and began to mutter an incantation under her breath. Morana smiled and waved her hand, dispelling the child’s incantation mid-cast.

“Not so hasty child, there are several rules to this examination.” Morana held up her finger. “First, these creatures are immune to elemental magics, they are born of The Dusk and wrought from the blackest of magics, and only black magic can undo them.”

The subtle look of confidence that the girl previously held slowly melted away as Morana held up her second finger. “This creature was also mutated by the darkness; you must first return it to its natural state before you can reanimate it.”

Morana smiled wickedly as she held up the third finger. “And finally, you will conduct this test alone, in the wilds. I will grant you a week’s supplies and a cottage in which to conduct your tests. It begins now.”

Morana snapped her fingers and a portal appeared behind the girl and sucked both her and the creature into the void. Morana nodded in approval, usually the child screamed when she did that.

“A harsh taskmaster.”

Morana shot up, knocking over her stool as she stood. The laboratory was empty, but there was no mistaking that voice, like ancient parchment crumbling in the dry winter air. A blue flame appeared on a nearby candle and Morana reflexively swatted at it, cutting the candle into a hundred pieces with a gale of razor sharp winds. The flame reignited on another candle, accompanied by a hoarse cackle of smug self-satisfaction that infuriated her to no end.

“Is this the way to greet an old friend thou haven’t seen in millennia?”

“Cowardly old fool!” Morana screamed as she destroyed another candle. “Show yourself so that I may show you my hospitality.”

“You know well enough that it is impossible.”

“Then show yourself so that we may test that theory.”

“What art thou doing Morana?”

Morana spun around and was face to face with Drogo, his black eyes peering through her to the very soul. Morana drew back her arm and stabbed him in the face with two fingers, which passed through him as if he were made of gelatin. Morana quickly drew back her fingers with an astonished cry as the blue flames melted the skin from her fingers. The wound on Drogo’s face quickly resealed itself as the skin around Morana’s fingers grew anew.

“It seems we are at a stalemate.” Drogo said with the hint of a smirk on his ancient lips.

“Why are you here?” Morana demanded.

“That child,” The old necromancer nodded his head in the direction where the child once stood, “who is she.”

Morana flipped her hair and pushed past her old master. “You’ve been eavesdropping enough, you tell me.”

“And Osric?”

Morana shrugged. “He suspects it has been born, but has no idea how much I have accelerated its growth.” She turned an icy glare towards Drogo. “And he shall remain so blissfully ignorant.”

“You’re ill equipped to give her proper guidance.” Drogo idly traced a crack on the table with a boney finger. “Asketill could offer a safe and nurturing environment.”

Morana laughed aloud and a self-satisfied grin crossed her lips. “So, this is what has you creeping through the halls like a pervert.”

“If thou doth not wish to leave the child in my care, then Libitania has agreed to act as the child’s tutor and guardian whilst the two of you fight and inevitably die in this ill-conceived contest.”

Morana cackled shrilly and held up a hand to halt him. “I shall pass, but thank you for the offer.”

“The time shall come when thou shalt not have a say in the matter.”

Before she could reply, Drogo faded into a blue flame that quickly fizzled out.