Chapter 4

The ground shook seismically, rending the earth in twain. Magical storms thundered, and lightning struck relentlessly, bursting trees into splinters and turning forests into seas of fire. Bodies of water bubbled, and torrential rain poured. Hailstones the size of torsos tore through buildings, crushing wood and stone alike.

Screams filled the air as steel clashed, and enough blood spilled to stain entire fields red. Boots pounded on the dirt, turning the soil over. Feral snarls filled the air, followed by short yelps and whimpers. Whimpers…?

"Hah!" Varen jolted back into the land of the living with a shout, drawing in a long, audible breath. "Wha—" A lance of hot pain surged through his mouth as he tried to speak, and he tasted iron.

"Easy, Varen, it seems you bit your tongue pretty hard when you landed. It's going to sting for a while," Kleven said from his left. Caelie was seated by his side, expertly tending to her brother's wounds. Claw marks were raked across the blond's leather armour, adding to his already sorry sight.

Though, Varen was sure he looked much more pathetic than his companion at the moment. The sounds of combat still surrounded them, and he tried unsuccessfully to push himself into a seated position to see what was going on. His vision swam as soon as his head left the ground, and the strength left his arms. Thankfully, Kleven caught him before his head could impact on the floor again.

"We're safe now, soldiers on patrol came by. Dorian and Arden are helping them to finish off the remaining wolves," reassured Caelie, correctly guessing what Varen had been about to ask before his bout of dizziness. She dabbed at one of Kleven's many minor lacerations with a cloth, and he hissed from the pain.

Varen sighed in relief at the good news, allowing his rarely used muscles to relax. His entire body ached from the tension of combat, his right shoulder especially so from where he had absorbed the energy of his shots. Tuning out the sounds of battle, he stared up at the stars in the night sky.

"You know," he managed to eke out, wincing with each word, "when I said I'd be glad to serve the end by your sides… I hadn't meant it to be quite so soon."

"It would have been a pretty sad continuation of our stories, dying to wild wolves after all we've been through," Kleven said mirthfully. "And like Dorian said, we'll be in much worse situations out there. We'll have to be prepared mentally, if not physically."

"But that's why we're having professionals escort us right? To the place where Varen's step-brother went missing," Caelie pointed out. "We were just unprepared and outnumbered tonight."

"That's the thing, Caelie. Out there, we'll always be outnumbered, and I don't doubt that there will be times where we'll be caught unprepared," stated Kleven, and Varen was inclined to agree, albeit silently, not wanting to aggravate his swollen tongue any further.

Caelie simply pressed harder into another of Kleven's wounds, causing him to grimace in pain, and Varen was suddenly thankful that he hadn't been able to articulate his agreement. "I know, but you're always such a pessimist," the blonde girl muttered.

Dorian strode over before anyone could say anything else, and Varen realised that the sounds of the wolves had died out, with only the clanging of weapons and armour in movement remaining. "The surviving wolves have fled," he said, collapsing onto the ground beside them with a weary grin. "Pretty heroic of you there, lad, saving the damsel in distress."

Varen blushed slightly from the compliment, finding enough strength to give Dorian and Caelie a thumbs up. Dorian threw his head back in a laugh at the wordless response, but the petite blonde shot Varen a look that showed that she hadn't found it quite so amusing, before her gaze softened, and she silently mouthed her thanks.

"Let loose a little, lassie, we live to see another day!" crowed Dorian, his eyes lighting up with pride. "I meant what I said about giving you three those weapons. The vests, too. They have been christened in battle, and I can think of no one more suitable as their owners."

"No spare ammo for you though, Varen," the weaponsmith added with a smirk. "I'd be a poor businessman if I simply gave things away, wouldn't I?"

"That might be trouble if we get into another fight," Kleven noted, speaking for Varen, and the latter gave him a grateful smile. "I don't suppose we could change your mind about that?"

"No, but I didn't say I wouldn't be up for selling it, did I? Standard market price, of course," Dorian mused, giving them a sly wink. "Feel free to peruse my other wares too. They'll be of better quality than anything you can find in the towns, and I bet my reputation on that!"

A snort escaped from Arden as the hired guard made his way over, having clearly heard their conversation. "What reputation? Dorian the womaniser and braggart? Dorian, the arrogant weaponsmith who overcharges for commissions?" the mercenary snickered, placing his bloody spear down as he too sat.

"Oh? And who says that?" Dorian asked, leaning forward and baring his teeth. He looked angry, but the glint in his eyes revealed that he had taken no offence to Arden's words.

"Only everyone in town."

"Well, I suppose I'll have to change things when we return," jested Dorian, cracking his knuckles and giving them a shrug. "Luckily for those ungrateful bastards, I don't plan to. I'm off to enjoy my retirement and live in excess after we finish the shipment."

"Long as I get paid," Arden mock scowled. "And you better not think of reducing my payment just because we need to hire a few more hands, in case things go wrong again when we cross the border."

"Hey, it's your idea," said Dorian with raised palms.

Arden glowered at his employer, before turning to the three Archivists. "Anyway, there's lesser cause to worry now. The guardsmen have offered to escort us to our destinations – well, as far as to the border, in our case. Two will be following us, and two with you lot. I'd personally be fine with a bigger escort party, but that's all the space we have in both our carriages, without slowing down our journeys. Still, it's never a bad idea to be prepared for a fight – and if you buy something from Dorian, he just might pay me."

Kleven nodded, "We'll look at what you have in the morning then, Dorian. I'm thinking I might need a shield, with how rusty I am. Been years since I've been in a proper fight."

Caelie was already nodding off, leaning into Kleven's side, having finished wrapping her twin's deeper wounds with bandages. Kleven took her by the shoulders and gently laid her down onto the grass before standing, his arms reaching for the stars as he stretched.

"On another note, I'm famished, and I don't think I'll be able to sleep anytime soon," he said, glancing cheekily down at Varen. "Want anything to eat?"

Varen's eyes widened, and he shook his head vehemently, horrified by the very thought of trying to eat. Even the action caused his swollen tongue to hurt, and he grasped his hands to his cheeks, wincing. He glared up accusingly at Kleven, the latter merely returning the intense gaze with a not so apologetic smile.

"Lad, you are a cruel one!" Dorian cackled, his entire body trembling with laughter as he slapped his knees. Arden simply rolled his eyes at the scene before him, before laying down with his eyes closed and arms splayed out.

It took the older man several moments to calm down, even with Varen shooting him venomous looks the entire time. A grin remained fixed to Dorian's face once he had ceased his laughing fit, and he said, "I'm hungry too – a fight really whets the appetite – but I can't be arsed to cook. What do you have in mind, lad?"

Kleven shrugged, "Dried meat, though if you want some, I'm sure we can reach an agreeable price."

"Oh ho ho, I see what you're doing," Dorian quirked an eyebrow up, pushing himself to his feet as well.

"Why, I'd be a poor businessman if I simply gave things away, wouldn't I?" They walked off in search of the food, and soon their voices faded, leaving only the sounds of the campfire crackling and the milling of soldiers about the camp.

Varen allowed himself a chuckle at their banter, his body stiffening momentarily from the numbing pain that ensued. He twisted his head to his sides, and found Caelie and Arden already fast asleep. Staring up once again into the night sky, he watched the stars for a small while, before closing his eyes and joining the two beside him in slumber.

xxxxx

Matilda Crowen sat straight and unmoving at her desk. Her long auburn hair cascaded past her shoulders, and she resisted the urge to run her fingers through it. It was a nervous tic of hers, a weakness, and she despised it. Her hatred of being perceived as frail ran deep, and she especially couldn't afford to look weak before her soon-to-be arriving guest. She stared at the plain letter before her for the umpteenth time, pondering its contents.

It promised the power and the chance at redeeming the family name that she wanted, that she craved, but it asked much at the same time. The heiress remembered when her first husband had died. It came as no surprise to anyone, considering the fact that the man had been weak from age and obesity. He had been disgusting, but necessary, as their arranged marriage raised the family's social standing. Still, she hadn't been able to stand his presence, and the poison she slipped into his food every other day accelerated his death.

Thankfully, the family's standing didn't fall after that, for the marriage had produced a prodigy. Her son, Draeon, who had been one of the strongest magicians that Crowen blood had ever produced. The boy wasn't the son of that disgusting man, of course – he was the result of her trysts with many strong mages. She didn't know which one of them was the child's father, but it wasn't like it mattered to her in the long run.

Still, Matilda was human, and she had needs. She met with powerful men in secret, but strangely enough, none were able to satisfy her. Then, one day, she met him. He had been weak and pathetic, snivelling on the streets, but she could see the desire for power in his eyes. So she took him in, seduced him, and built him up into a strong and ruthless man. He came with a son, but she didn't care for the runt, weak as he was.

It seemed at that point that everything was going well for the Crowen family, before tragedy struck. Draeon's disappearance – right after his initiation too, when Majstoria members came under the most scrutiny by the public eye – shook her world, and it destroyed all the prestige that she'd worked hard over the years to develop. In her rage, she banished her new husband's son, refusing to have anyone sullying the family name with weakness.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, and she realised that she'd started to stroke her hair subconsciously. Berating herself in her mind, she clasped her hands together on her desk and called out, "Come in."

The door opened and her husband marched in. Gone was the man who wore his emotions on his sleeve, replaced by sharp eyes, a near permanent frown and a fierceness that matched her own. It was the face of a man that would do anything to reach his goal, and she allowed herself a barely noticeable smile, the corners of her mouth curving up just a tad in triumph.

"Matilda, our guest has arrived," he said tersely, and she nodded her acknowledgement.

"Please send him in, Jedrek."

Jedrek turned on his heels without another word to escort their guest in, and Matilda waited in silence. He returned promptly, and she steeled herself as the door opened once again.

Standing, she greeted, "It is an honour for you to grace us with your presence, Ambassador Ky'ran."

"Likewise," the green-robed ambassador said as he sauntered in. He waved her greeting off and immediately moved to take a seat, which Matilda quickly imitated. "I presume you have an answer for me, Lady Crowen? There are others I must speak too, and I'd appreciate it if we get straight to the point."

"Others?" Matilda asked, and the ambassador frowned, clearly unsatisfied that she hadn't provided him the answer he seeked post-haste.

"Yes, other noble families, Lady Crowen," he snapped in annoyance. "You didn't think you were the only ones we made an offer to, did you? Your family are merely lesser nobles in a lesser Kingdom, know your place! You should be grateful that the Empire has even considered you as an ally!"

Matilda's eye twitched as her rage built, but she kept it well-hidden, bowing her head and smiling apologetically at the man before her. "My most sincere apologies, Ambassador Ky'ran. I only meant to inquire the identity of our counterparts, so that we may work in tandem for the Empire's sake."

"That will not be necessary," Ky'ran said dismissively, slightly placated by her reply. "Simply play your part, and you will have a place in the Empire."

"And what do we specifically have to do?" Jedrek asked flatly, and their guest spun round to look at him, apparently offended that someone other that the Crowen heiress had dared to speak.

"Nothing, until instructed," the ambassador stated after a moment, addressing Matilda – and no one else. He stood and made to leave, and with his back turned to them, he intoned, "For now, you are but mere pawns in our grand scheme, but when the Empire rules your lands and the Emperor has deemed your contributions worthy, then only will we speak as equals."

The door closed quietly as Ky'ran left, and Matilda allowed her built up anger to show on her face. She gripped the side of her desk till her knuckles went white, and she hissed, "Damned yellow-eyes… We will succeed, Jedrek. No matter what it takes. You know what to do?"

Jedrek nodded, "I'll find out who the other nobles are, and work out a plan to take them out of the picture. Will I have to take care of the elders?"

"No, I will personally arrange for their… acceptance. Go."

The image of Jedrek's exiled son came to mind as her husband left to perform his duties. The ambassador had treated them like trash, like they were the same as the boy, and the very connection irked her to the depths of her soul. Clenching her fists hard enough that her nails threatened to draw blood, she swore that she would find the runt again, if only to remind him of his place in society.

xxxxx

The stone walls of Lakenside loomed into view as the light of day had begun to fade. A lake lay to the east of the town, giving it its namesake, and the setting sun was reflected beautifully off the water's surface. To its south, a flat plain stretched for miles, with the forests of the Unknown at its end. Armoured guards lined the ramparts and guard towers, with more standing watch at the gates, which was to be expected of a frontier town. Numerous torches were already lit on the walls in preparation of nightfall, when Vaettir tended to be most active.

Varen's party sat quietly in their carriage as it trundled along. Introductions had been made with their soldier escorts when they had parted from Dorian's group, and while they had made small talk in the beginning, there just wasn't much else to say after two days of consecutive travel. Thankfully, they hadn't been waylaid by any feral beasts or other threats along the rest of their journey.

"So… have any of you been to a border town?" Julien, one of their escorts, spoke, his eyes darting conspicuously to where Caelie sat. To Varen's surprise, Julien was younger than them by two years, and the teenager was by all accounts infatuated with the female blonde. A recurve bow sat on his lap, which went along with the quiver of arrows that was slung over his mail shirt. Leather gloves and greaves, accompanied by a bronze skullcap that sat upon a mop of brown hair completed his look.

The young soldier's armour, however, was subpar compared to their other escort's superior armaments. Magnar was older than all of them, clearly evidence by his nearly-white hair and beard. A large, spiked warhammer leant on the carriage's walls by his side, adding to his already battle-forged appearance. Looking out of the carriage at the town before them, Magnar grunted, "Yes."

"What can we expect?" Caelie asked, and Julien gave a slight pout that exaggerated his boyish features, miffed that she hadn't answered him directly.

Magnar said nothing and simply pointed to the numerous scars on his face and arms, silencing the conversation.

"That's not very encouraging to our friends, especially when they're headed out into the field," Julien pointed out after a few seconds, and Magnar stared him down, stating plainly, "I outrank you, son."

"It wasn't very encouraging, sir," Julien gulped, emphasising the last word. It elicited a giggle from Caelie, and the younger soldier beamed proudly at his deed.

Magnar rolled his eyes, "They're older than you, Private, and they know what they're getting into. I see no need to sugar coat it." He looked over to Varen, who gave him a determined nod, eager to prove the older man's point. Julien opened his mouth to say something, but quickly shut it again when nothing came to mind.

"Halt!" one of the gate guards commanded as they neared, and Kleven reached out to tug on the horses' reins. The carriage ground to a stop, and the guard moved around to the rear of their coach to get a closer look at the occupants within. His eyes caught the three Archivists' grey robes, and he asked, "Purpose of entry?"

Varen handed the Head Majstor's letter over, and the guard skimmed its contents before returning it with a satisfied nod. "Welcome to Lakenside, sir Archivist. You'll find the Chief in the town hall, at the centre of town. Gaudiest building in town – you won't miss it. Hand this letter to the receptionist and you should be granted an audience. The Adventurer's Guild is right next to it, when you're done with the Chief."

"Thank you," replied Varen, slightly cowed by the guard's politeness as he placed the letter back in his bag. Really, they were just Junior Archivists…

"What of the barracks, son?" Magnar questioned gruffly.

"Southern quadrant of the town," the guard said, giving the older soldier a respectful nod. "You'll find the Captain there."

"Understood. Once we've stabled the carriage, Private Julien and I will report in to the ranking officer at the barracks," said Magnar. Julien seemed like he was about to protest parting with his new friends with such haste, but quietly hung his head in defeat when Magnar shot him a hard look, mumbling softly, "Loud and clear, sir…"

Kleven tugged on the reins again to command their carriage steeds to move, and the guard ushered them through the already open gates. They'd barely made it fifty paces past the walls when a loud bugle sounded, and Kleven halted the horses, startled by the sudden racket.

The guard from before immediately came running up from behind them, exclaiming, "My apologies, Archivists, but there's an impending attack by Vaettir at the southern walls. I'm afraid your meeting with the Chief will have to wait. Right now, we'll have to follow protocol and gather all non-combatants in the town centre. I'll lead the way."

The bugle sounded out again with a longer note, and Caelie asked aloud, "Should we help?"

Magnar and Julien were already climbing out of the carriage with their weapons in hand, and Kleven turned expectantly to Varen, "What do you think?"

Varen shrugged, "I don't see why not, if we can." Grabbing his rifle and its accompanying pouches, Varen stumbled off the coach as well, much to the guard's confusion.

"I've never known any visiting Archivists to join in the town's defence," the man admitted after a moment's thought, "but I suppose you're armed enough to qualify…"

Caelie was the last person left in the carriage, and she moved to get off. Before she could descend its back step, however, Kleven said harshly, "What do you think you're doing? You're heading to the town centre, so you're not getting off here."

"What?! No way, I'm helping out as well!"

She glared at her brother defiantly, but Kleven shook his head, his brows furrowed deeply in displeasure. "No. You're not fighting, and that's that."

"Don't you dare tell me what to do now—"

"U-uh, guys… now's not the time for an argument…" Varen coughed, and the petite blonde shifted her attention to him, fixing him with an accusing glare. She gripped her dagger threateningly, before throwing it into the back of the coach with an indignant cry.

"You know what, fine! But when this is over, oh brother of mine, we are having a long, long talk."

Magnar drove the pommel of his weapon into the ground before either of the twins could continue their argument, and he commanded, "Private Julien, escort Miss Caelie to the town centre and join us by the southern walls when you're done. I will have you reported for desertion if I don't see your mug in an hour, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Julien swallowed his acknowledgement nervously, quickly hurrying to the front of the coach to grab the horses' reins as Caelie fumed silently.

"Wait!" Varen called out as he remembered something. "Caelie, could you get the letter to the Chief in the meantime? Please? It's in my bag."

She simply scowled and untied the the carriage's rear flaps, hiding her from their view. Varen took it as a hopeful yes.

As the carriage was led down the street, Varen reached a hand to his blond companion's shoulder. "Kleven…"

"Not now, Varen," Kleven snapped, pushing Varen's hand away. "Not now."

"Right…" the guard finally spoke up, having stayed silent throughout the siblings' harsh exchange of words. "Follow me."

Varen stared worriedly at his companion's back as the guard briskly led them through the city streets. He was nervous about the Vaettir attack, but the twins' was more of a cause of concern at the moment. It hurt to see his two closest friends arguing like that.

"Look, Varen, I'm sorry for snapping at you," Kleven said softly, slowing his pace to match Varen's. Varen looked up at the blonde's face, but the latter avoided his gaze, choosing instead to keep staring ahead at nothing in particular. "You've seen how Caelie is. Our father is out of the picture, and I have to be the one to protect her."

"…She really dislikes it, being treated like a helpless child."

"To me, that's what she still is. She was an emotional crybaby when she was younger, and that image has never really left my mind, no matter how much we've grown…"

"But she has. Besides, I really don't like watching the two of you fight."

"I know," Kleven chuckled drily, "it's very obvious. I'll settle things after this, let's worry about the battle for now."

The taller blond stepped forward again, preventing Varen from saying any more, and Varen sighed heavily. It wasn't his fault that the twins had issues between them, but he felt like he could have done something to help out. Then again, he had only known—

"You've only known them as more than acquaintances for three days, don't put the blame on yourself," said Magnar, moving to walk next to Varen.

The latter asked after a second's pause, "I'm not that obvious, am I?"

"You wear your thoughts on your sleeve, son," Magnar pointed out bluntly, and Varen sighed again, drooping his head.

"Every person I've met in the last few days seems to say that, and every time it comes as a little bit of a surprise to me that my poker face isn't as good as I thought it was…"

The veteran soldier simply shrugged. "Like I was saying, let them sort it out between themselves. If they can't, a third-party's interference might just make it worse."

"Alright… I'll take your advice," Varen conceded. It still felt wrong to be a bystander when his two closest friends were fighting, but the older man did have a point.

The buildings lining the streets gave way to a large square as they neared the southern walls, and they joined the mass of people already gathered there. As more poured in by the fringes, Varen couldn't help but wonder uneasily what threats the frontier towns faced, that required this amount of people to deal with. There were many soldiers, but the majority of the crowd was formed out of mercenaries and adventurers, all armed to the teeth with various weapons.

"Silence, please!" a voice rang clear over the noise of the crowd, drawing attention to the raised platform before them. A man in a dark-green officer's greatcoat stood there, with his hands clasped behind his back. When the restless buzzing had subsided sufficiently, he spoke, "I'm Captain Reid, and I'll be in charge of our operation this night."

A handful of whoops erupted from the throng of non-military personnel, which Varen assumed to be from people who had worked with the Captain before. The Captain acknowledged them with a nod, then continued, "Thank you for volunteering to join in the town's defence. My scouts have spotted Vaettir moving in our direction, and we estimate that they will be upon the walls within the hour."

Someone called out, "What kind of Vaettir?"

"It is a Goblin force – riders, slingers and general footsoldiers, led by some Hobgoblins," Reid answered coolly. "A force of fifteen thousand, by my men's rough estimations. The hobgoblins number over two thousand, and they are the real threat. We have sent word to the town garrisons down the road to be wary of any that slip past us, but we will deal with the majority here. Any questions?"

Varen paled as the Captain uttered the numbers of the enemy. He knew of goblins – the frail, pink-skinned monsters were the weakest documented Vaettir – but the sheer amount that they were to be facing still chilled him to the core. He almost couldn't comprehend that there were to be so many of them. Looking around, Varen estimated that there were only a few hundred gathered – a number he'd thought was unnecessarily large just moments before. How were they to weather a force of fifteen thousand with such a paltry force?

Yet, only a minority of the faces Varen saw showed fear. The majority were nervous yet eager, while the grizzled veterans either exhibited excitement or had unreadable expressions. By his side, Kleven was muttering something under his breath, a deep frown on the blonde's face.

"…Is this normal?" croaked Varen, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Par for the course out here," Magnar said with a stone face. "Vaettir raids happen once or twice a week, though I don't think something of this scale has happened for a while. We're lucky none of the stronger ones have shown up this time."

"Hah, lucky doesn't even cover it," a bald, heavily-scarred man with a double-bladed battleaxe strapped to his back gave a hearty chuckle. He wore a sleeveless hard leather vest with nothing underneath it, which exposed his burly chest. He'd obviously overheard their conversation, which admittedly wasn't hard to do considering how densely packed everyone was. "Three Skyvaettir – Fire Drakes specifically – showed up in Aldglass few years back, and in the day, even. They had to abandon the town for a year until the drakes decided to move out and the land could be recovered."

"I don't think I've heard of that incident," gulped Varen, trying to imagine the terror of three of the strongest categorised Skyvaettir to be discovered, in the same place. Just three had been enough to force the decision of abandoning a town to be made, and here they were standing their ground against an army of fifteen thousand. It spoke of an overwhelming difference in strength, one that Varen struggled to wrap his mind around.

The man shrugged, having already noticed Varen's conspicuous grey robes, noting the rifle slung across his back as well. "News like that doesn't reach Ivolas or the inner cities. Morale issues, I reckon. The world's shit enough as it is without the Vaettir." He paused, then added, addressing Kleven as well, "You don't have to fight if you don't want to. Your jobs in the Archives are admirable enough, we're enough to handle the town's defence."

Kleven shook his head, but Varen answered the man before the blond could say anything, stammering, "N-no, it's okay. We're heading out to a dig site, and we could use the combat experience to better defend ourselves out there."

"Interesting," the man nodded with an approving grin. "All the Archivists I've escorted preferred to hang back behind us. Well, let me tell you something that might cheer you up then. The Purple Robes are in town today, and we'll have their firepower on our side."

"Purple robes? You mean Majstors?"

"Ex-Majstors," Magnar corrected. "The Purple Robes are what they call their mercenary group, and contrary to the name, they don't wear those anymore. I heard their leader is ex-Majstoria too. That is indeed good to know."

"Alright, we will begin getting into position soon," Captain Reid shouted, commanding silence again. "Ranged combatants, please gather to my left. Close quarter combatants, to my right. Those in official service to the Kingdom, report to the centre of the square. Let's move, people!"

"That's our cue," the axe-wielding man said as the crowd began to split. "Watch our backs with that gun, yeah?"

Magnar gave them a solemn nod as well, before pushing his way through to the square's centre. Swallowing his nervousness, Varen turned and found Kleven already moving in the same direction as the axe-wielding mercenary. "Hey!" he hastily reached out and grabbed the blond's arm. "…Be careful."

"I will," answered Kleven briefly. His arm was released, and he was quickly swallowed by the moving mass of people. Standing still for a moment, Varen inhaled deeply, focusing his thoughts as the crowd flowed around him. Then, exhaling slowly, he began the herculean task of navigating through the human sea to his spot.