Chapter 33: Are you serious

  Sir Darvish ran. Cassie a few strides behind.

  The cold made most men sluggish, dulled their steps, stiffened their lungs. But the snow only sharpened him. His breath came steady, each inhale a practiced rhythm, each exhale controlled. Cassie matched demeanor, her smaller frame weaving between trees with the ease of a seasoned scout. The night had fully settled by the time the fortress lights of Knighthelm came into view, faint glimmers of gold flickering behind drifting curtains of snowfall.

  Cassie spoke through controlled breaths. “Sir. Do you think the Lord and Captain Ronan will hold position until we return?”

  “They will,” Darvish replied. “Lars does not turn from shadows. He faces them until the sun rises or the enemy falls.” His boots pounded along the packed trail. “But even he cannot face what waits in that valley without support.”

  Cassie nodded grimly. “I have never felt corruption before, but even from what I read about in fairy tells this seems worse.”

  “That is because this corruption is not wandering,” Darvish said quietly. “It is rooted. And when corruption roots itself, it consumes everything around it.”

  Cassie did not respond after that.

  When they reached the outer gate, the guards reacted instantly. No gnome enchanted eyeglass could spot the two returning from the heavily wooded area. No warning of a tier 4 and tier 3 sprinting full speed at their walls.

  Alarm spread through the perimeter guards. Shouts and movement awoke the others.

  Eventually, one of the Lieutenants who stayed behind at Lord Lars orders noticed Sir Darvish, bringing the men down.

  The sight of Darvish and Cassie arriving at full speed triggered a wave of urgency across the ramparts. One man shouted for the inner ward to open. Another signaled toward the keep. The air transformed from calm vigilance into a whetted edge of anticipation.

  Margo was the first to reach them.

  She burst out from the side entrance near the stables, bundled in a thick brown cloak with frost clinging to her hair. Her voice carried more force than her small frame suggested.

  “Sir Darvish. Cassie. You two look like you sprinted the entire mountain. What happened?”

  Darvish did not slow his stride. “Where is the Duke?”

  “In the strategy chamber with Lady Lafiel,” Margo answered. “They arrived but an hour ago. The representatives and village heads are preparing for orders.”

  “Good. Take us there.”

  Lafiel herself stepped from the doorway of the central keep before Margo could turn. Her silver hair was tied back in a single braid, and her eyes, sharp as crystal blades, scanned Darvish noticing no Lars with him. with immediate concern flashed through her face.

  “You returned ahead of schedule,” Lafiel said. “What have you found?”

  Darvish bowed briefly. “Lady Lafiel. We found a corruption fissure. Not old. Fresh. Large. And active.”

  Her expression darkened. “Show me.”

  Darvish followed her inside, Cassie and Margo close behind. The warmth of the keep swept over them, but it did little to lessen the weight of urgency that hung in the air.

  The strategy chamber was crowded when they entered. Maps lay unrolled across a broad table, weights holding down curling corners. Torches hummed with steady crackling fire along the walls, casting a clean light that made every shadow crisp.

  Duke Nox stood at the center.

  He was a tall man, shoulders broad, his black and ember-red cloak marking him unmistakably as the Lord of Libraries, well a nickname many say behind closed doors of course. His hair was streaked with ash-gray at the temples, and his presence filled the chamber even without movement. He turned as Darvish entered, and the air tightened.

  “Darvish,” Duke Nox said. “Report.”

  Darvish stepped forward. “A corruption-based dungeon. Deep within the Valley of Hollow Shade. The creatures emerging from it are tier two and above. Their patterns indicate they are scouting the region, not acting blindly.”

  The room stirred with quiet murmurs.

  Nox’s voice remained steady. “How far from your last position?”

  “Six hours north of the drop ridge. That is where My lord and Ronan remained to hold a vantage point and monitor the fissure. 7 hours from here to reach the fissure.”

  Nox’s expression hardened. “They should have returned with you.”

  “Baron Lars chose to stay to provide immediate intelligence if movement occurred. He trusts that support will reach him before dawn.”

  Nox gave a short nod. “Then support is exactly what he will receive.”

  He raised his hand in a brief signal.

  Four armored figures stepped from the far side of the chamber and moved into formation behind the Duke. Their armor was dark crimson trimmed in ember-toned runic alloy. Each carried a different weapon: a long-handled glaive, twin hooked sickles, a heavy tower shield with an axe, and a spear tipped with molten-forged steel.

  Fire Elites.

  Veterans from the Ironkeep. Although Darvish didnt see any he knew he could tell they were strong.

  Darvish turned to inspect them. As he met each of their gazes, faint system windows flickered at the edge of his vision.

  First, the one with the Glaive, clearly annoyed to be here. His status read:

  Name: Garric Emberhold

  Tier: 4

  Level: 38

  Class: Pyreguard (Rare)

  Next,

  Name: Torvak Redmaw

  Tier: 4

  Level: 36

  Class: Ember Reaver (Rare)

  And the last two,

  Name: Serra Vaelwyn

  Tier 4

  Level: 37

  Class: Flame Warden (Elite)

  Name: Name: Kael Ferronspear

  Tier 4

  Level: 35

  Class: Blazetounge Spear

  One has to remember the progression for classes goes like this.

  Common → Uncommon → Rare → Elite → Epic → Legendary → Mythic → Paragon → Transcendent

  For all of these reinforcements to have gotten an evolution of the original class after Tier 3 with a Rare or Higher rating is impressive, there is even an Elite class.

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  Darvish’s brow lifted slightly. “High-level reinforcements for a scouting mission.”

  “Not scouting,” Nox replied. “Stabilization. If the corruption spreads, the first line must be strong enough to halt anything that emerges.” His gaze sharpened. “Your report makes it clear that this is no minor disturbance.”

  Lafiel moved toward the map table, her eyes tracing the route Darvish and Lars had taken earlier. “We do not know the dungeon’s full depth or scale. But if the Broodmother is present, then the risk is every bit as severe as the old records warned.”

  One of the Fire Elites, the Pyreguard with the glaive, stepped forward. “Duke Nox. When do we deploy?”

  Nox looked to Darvish. “How long until we reach them?”

  “With minimal rest,” Darvish said, “Seven hours. Five if we push the mounts hard.”

  Nox nodded. “Then we leave within fifteen minutes.”

  Cassie blinked. “Sir, there is still the second wave. Andrei and Scar are gathering their troops.”

  Nox’s stare fixed on her. “They will follow. But the elite strike will move first.”

  Near the entrance, Margo shifted anxiously. “Sir Darvish, should I send word to the militia captains? They were told they may need to prepare for travel at dawn.”

  “Send it,” Darvish said. “Tell them to be ready for immediate movement. The corruption will not wait.”

  Lafiel spoke next, her voice calm but steeled. “What of the children? Lance, Aoife, Slade. They have been restless since your party departed.”

  Margo gave a quiet groan. “Restless is not the word I would use.”

  Darvish exhaled. “Keep them inside the inner ward. Do not let them leave until I return with Baron Lars.”

  Margo nodded reluctantly. “I will do my best.”

  “Do better than your best,” Lafiel added. “Lance gets ideas.”

  Nox placed a hand on the table. “Then the course is set.”

  His voice filled the chamber, quiet but resolute.

  “We march for Hollow Shade.”

  The room steadied around his words. The tension became purpose.

  Darvish gave a salute, Cassie following suit.

  As they turned to leave and prepare their gear, Lafiel reached out and touched Darvish’s arm. There was a rare softness in her eyes.

  “Bring my husband home.”

  Darvish met her gaze with equal sincerity. “I will. By sword or by Storm, I will bring my Lord back.”

  Lafiel nodded once, then turned to give orders to the staff moving through the chamber.

  Outside, the fortress was stirring. Horses were being saddled. Torches lit. Armor strapped. The walls hummed with the impending wake of war.

  Cassie tightened her cloak and spoke quietly as she and Darvish stepped into the snowy courtyard.

  “Sir. When we return to that valley, do you think we will face more scouts?”

  Darvish glanced toward the dark horizon where the corruption awaited. “No.”

  “Then what?” she asked.

  He adjusted the strap on his sword scabbard.

  “The mother.”

  —

  The barracks behind Frostwall keeps east watchtower swarmed with motion as the second scouting wave prepared to mobilize. Men and women hurried between crates of rations, bundles of oilcloth, and stacks of spears. The forges had been burning since before dawn, filling the air with a metallic heat that mixed strangely with the rising winter chill.

  The winter bison getting strapped to their reigns while carts where loaded.

  Lance dragged a simple gray jerkin over his padded underlayer, grimacing at the coarse feel of the fabric. Aoife stepped in front of him and pulled the hood low over his forehead.

  “Stop fidgeting,” she said. “If you keep messing with it, everyone will notice you.”

  “I already stand out,” Lance muttered. “Look at this. I look like a noble thief trying to hide in a hay cart.”

  Aoife reached up and straightened the cloak. “You look like a runner with bad posture. Which is exactly what we want. Keep your head down.”

  Slade joined them with a pack slung over one shoulder. His disguise suited him entirely too well. Scuffed chainmail, a frayed cloak, and a scarf covering the lower half of his face. He looked like he had been part of the militia for years.

  “Relax,” Slade said with a grin hidden behind the cloth. “At worst they think we are a recruit who cannot hold a spear without poking your own foot.”

  “That is not comforting,” Lance replied.

  “It was not meant to be,” Slade said.

  Lance looked down and thought to himself quietly-

  an extra large pair of gloves I wore to hide my gauntlets, my daggers stashed beneath my outer layer. At least I was able to bring a spear along with me to fight without revealing who I am instantly.

  Their conversation cut short when a horn blared from the outer field. The sound echoed through the courtyard and froze every moving hand. The militia members began to form ranks, tightening straps and checking the weight of their packs.

  Two large figures stepped onto a supply wagon that had been repurposed as a makeshift platform. Andrei Aldrige took his place at the front, his cloak snapping in the rising wind. Frost decorated parts of his hair and beard, giving him a look carved from winter stone. Beside him stood Scar Stoneson, Slade’s father, taller still and built like a fortress wall. His skin bore heavy scars and his expression remained carved into a permanent half scowl.

  Scar’s voice carried easily across the gathering.

  “Listen up.”

  The field fell silent in an instant.

  “You already know the reason we march,” Scar said. “The corruption near the valley is spreading faster than expected. The Squad Duke Nox brought with him are already on their way to accompany Lord Lars and secure the primary entrance. Our duty is to make sure they are not fighting alone.”

  Andrei stepped forward. “Three supply stations will be established along the route we have marked that lead to Lord Lars original holding point. The X’s marked on the route will be were we want those stations created. The first two will serve as supply stations to help facilitate the movement of medical supplies and rations should this draw out. The third will be wherever our Lord has decided to Dig in.. These posts will feed the knights and reinforce them when they start breaking into the corrupted dungeon. Your work is what keeps them alive.” His voice sharpened at the end. “Do not underestimate the importance of what you do today.”

  Scar lifted an arm and pointed toward the east ridge. “Second scouting wave, you stay with us until the ridge. Once there, you break off and chart the lower trails. Mark fresh tunnels. Confirm if beasts have pushed farther out. You do not pick fights. You do not investigate alone. If you see anything unusual, you report it. Simple as that.”

  A shout swept through the militia, full of resolve that carried across the frozen air.

  Aoife exhaled slowly beside Lance. “Here we go.”

  Slade adjusted his pack. “We follow the rear line until the ridge. After that we move fast.”

  Lance tugged his hood lower. His heartbeat drummed with a strange mixture of fear and excitement. “Same plan as before. Blend in. No sudden displays of our skills unless one of us is dying.”

  Slade nodded. “I have to pee. You think I cou-”

  A sergeant with a broken nose approached them. “You three. Runners for the second wave, correct. Stay in the front pack and keep pace. No wandering.”

  They answered together, then joined the formation already marching toward the north gate.

  Hearts beating like drums

  Cold wind rushed through the opening in the outer wall. Snow crunched heavily beneath the militia boots. The stag banner of Knighthelm fluttered above the column, guiding them onto the frostline path that wound upward toward the ridge.

  Aoife leaned in close as they walked. “If my father recognizes me before we reach the ridge, I am prepared to pretend you two kidnapped me.”

  “He already knows,” Slade replied calmly. “He just has not decided whether he is going to drag you back by your cloak or simply shout you into the ground.”

  Lance laughed before he could help himself, earning a sharp elbow from Aoife.

  2 hours passed at the group began marching with the group.

  Aoife broke the silence, “Luckily enough… or unlucky whatever you want to say about it but we are apart of the team setting up the third station. Closest to the corruption entrance.”

  The two just nodded.

  The climb grew steeper. Ice clung to the stone and powdered over the path. The sky above turned a washed out gray as cold clouds drifted overhead. The mana in the air thickened the closer they came to the corruption zone. Lance felt it brush against his core. A metallic pressure, heavy and restless.

  Less than one third of the original scouting team was with them now. The team to help reinforce the main position by the dungeon.

  Few more hours passed by. They noticed their climb was almost towards the peak of the hilltop. Seems they were close.

  “Feel that,” Lance whispered.

  Aoife nodded. “Same pressure as the original scouting team described only wayyy worse”

  Ahead, Andrei and Scar halted near a fork in the trail. After a brief exchange, Andrei raised his hand.

  “Second scouting wave. Break off.”

  The order rippled down the line.

  The team reached the top of the hillside, movement and mana flooded the area

  Militia members with Earth affinity are helping dig more trenches, and reinforce the current area.

  Fire users helping set up cooking stations and melting nearby snow.

  Lances posse of 3 looked around for a second, wondering what to do.

  The sergeant stopped them beside a fallen tree. “Runners. Listen closely. Your task is to confirm the lower ridge is clear. If you see fresh tunnels, beast prints, anything at all, you run back. Do not investigate. Do not engage. Understood.”

  They looked at each other..

  After the sergeant walked away, Aoife spoke “Did he just say the lower ridge? As in.. right by all that nasty purple twisted corruption? With just us three?”

  “Fuuuuuck” Slade gave out a long sigh.