In the Shadow of the Storm -Chapter 1-15

Chapter 14

Chapter 14 - Ingvarr

“Forerunner, Forerunner!” The hammering at the door woke Ingvarr before the shouting did. Coming awake in an instant, he rolled out of bed and to his feet. Striding to the door, he pulled it open to find Katja standing in the hallway outside, hair tousled, and garbed in her customary woollens. It was clear that she had dressed in haste, for the top-most laces of her shirt were only loosely tied, and for the first time, Ingvarr became acutely aware of the curve of her breasts. As a Forerunner, he had never really allowed himself the luxury of showing an interest in women; his foremost concern was defending his people.

Looking at Katja standing there however, he let himself hope, however faintly, that it would be possible. Maybe not Katja, although it was not for lack of attraction, but rather the fact that any relationship with her would weaken his command. Despite this, Ingvarr was hard-pressed not to appreciate her beauty. Even tousled, her long silver hair formed a gleaming halo around her perfectly proportioned face. The clear blue eyes set either side of a small nose and above high cheek bones served as a startling contrast, and only made her more attractive to him.
Shaking himself, he struggled to focus. “What is it? The council?”
As he had been looking at her, he realised with a jolt that she had been doing likewise. Fighting the sudden unbidden and confusing feelings, he waited for an answer.
“Yes, they have reached a decision. Come on, they are about to announce it.” She disappeared briefly into the room set aside for her, returning as she was shrugging into a leather jerkin. They descended the stairs to the ground floor, where Valdemar was waiting, the remains of a morning meal strewn across the table. He leapt to his feet, and fell in with the two of them. They left the erstwhile barracks and began making their way towards the square.
The last few days had been spent essentially confined to quarters. While it was voluntary, Ingvarr was aware that the officers he was sharing the building with were becoming increasingly restless. Ostensibly, they had been holding meetings to plan more individual training for each of the Arrows.

The abandoned house had proved a good find, and Ingvarr was thankful to Ingimirr for having offered it. As his predecessor’s house, he owned it but much preferred his own smaller, more simple property. The house was ideal, boasting a large downstairs room with a long table to seat around a dozen people, as well as a layout which meant there were a similar number of rooms on an underground level, with another six one level above the ground. Most of the underground rooms were occupied by the atamans, with the top level rooms going to Ingvarr and, for the moment, his two hetmans. The mud brick construction was typical of the Wastes; the abundance of dirt was something which leant itself to the expansion of settlements, and this had certainly been required recently.
Moving down the street, it was only a few minutes until the three of them arrived at the central square. The change in its appearance was startling when compared with a few days earlier. All of the rugs were gone and in their place, a small stage had been erected. Ingimirr and Aleksi were stood on it, with Fyodor standing slightly apart and behind them. As Ingvarr arrived with his officers, Ingimirr was just standing up to conclude.
“The council has convened, for the first time since the threat of the enemy emerged in the east some fifteen years ago. The purpose of this meeting has been to discuss a possible ‘restructuring’. The proposal originated with Forerunner Ingvarr, and the council has decided that he shall be allowed to train one of his ‘Sheaves’ of soldiers, for the purpose of carrying out a raid into Laternae territory.” Aleksi looked unhappy but was forced to accept it as, speech finished, Ingimirr descended and made his way to his house. Shooting a venomous look in Ingvarr’s direction, Aleksi followed him inside.

Ingvarr had no initial thoughts; his mind was completely blank. He had no idea how to take the news. One hundred men would not turn the tide against either the Laternae or the Enemy. Yet he knew that it was still the best that could be done given the circumstances, from Ingimirr’s perspective at least. The changes would come inevitably Ingvarr thought, but with this obstacle in the way, it would certainly take longer. Time was something they did not necessarily have. Until Valdemar nudged him, he was oblivious to the world around him.
“Forerunner, what does this mean?”
“What it means is that we train a Sheaf, and prove to them that our units are the most effective way to aid the migration.” Nodding slowly at the steel which had entered his voice, Valdemar’s face broke into a grim smile. Looking to his left, Katja had the same expression on her face, and he realised that these two were some of the most loyal officers, and friends, he would ever have.
“Get your atamans together, and gather the recruits we had, and no more. Head to the Dust.” Turning, Ingvarr spoke as he began to walk. Striding away, he headed towards the horse enclosures.

About ten minutes later, Ingvarr strode up to Orvar, slid the bridle over his head and placed a saddle on his back. Snorting as the weight of it settled behind his shoulders, Orvar shifted a few steps, until Ingvarr looked him in the eye. The restlessness ceased, and Ingvarr swung uo into the saddle. Tapping his heels into Orvar’s sides, he set off towards the training field. Spurring his horse into a canter, Ingvarr rode in the direction of the Dust to meet with his new ‘army’.
***
Qira

The Ethernath then turned and looked straight at her.
“You can come down now.” So startled was Qira that she very nearly fell out of the tree, and a rustle to her left told her Lillah had nearly done likewise. Instead they decided to descend more slowly, and by the time they got to the ground, the huge man was stood waiting for them.
He addressed Qira, saying something she did not understand. She looked blankly at him.
“No, clearly not then. Any enemy of the Lancers is a friend of mine.” The man said with a grin, and thrust out a hand.
Qira shied away from him, suddenly all too aware of what had almost happened less than half an hour ago.
Clearly the stranger realised his error, and dropped his hand back to his side.
“My apologies, I didn’t think.” Suddenly he grew earnest.
“I swear to you that so long as I am with you, no harm shall come to you.” Before Qira could stop him, he drew a small knife, and cut the palm of his hand, sprinkling blood on the floor between them.

“By my blood.” The oath clearly meant a great deal to him so she nodded and tried a smile. The man laughed at her attempt.
“My apologies, I shouldn’t laugh. My name is Filofei.” At this, Lillah interjected with her new found voice.
“What? What a silly name.” Qira winced, but Filofei only laughed his great booming laugh.
“And what’s your name then little girl?” Qira was struggling to reconcile the man now teasing her little sister with the one she had just seen cripple someone and leave him to be eaten alive.
“Lillah.” Filofei imitated Lillah’s expression, scrunching up his face, and crinkling the ruin of his nose as best he could. Lillah laughed, and Qira revelled in the sound: it was something she had not heard in a long time.
“...and that’s Qira. She’s my sister.” Straightening up, he addressed Qira once again.
“Two young women travelling alone is risky. Where are you headed?”
Qira hesitated. He had sworn the oath and saved them both, but he was still a stranger. At last she said:
“Saphrax.”
“That’s a long way. Why so far?” His honest face invited her to speak.
“We’re getting away from someone.” Qira was careful to look at Lillah and make sure she understood not to speak. If Filofei noticed the look, he did not comment.
“I feel I can offer you an alternative. Why not come with me back to my village in the Waste? Paaviken offers a simple existence, but we can train you to kill. There is a storm coming out of the east.” His eyes momentarily slid out of focus, and he muttered something in his own language.
Qira took the opportunity to mull the idea over. It would not really be different from Saphrax she supposed, and if she had Filofei to protect her and Lillah, it would be a good deal safer. She was sure both her and Lillah would be able to pick up the language quickly enough.
“Very well, we will accompany you.”
“Good, now, how are you to run? My horse is a few miles east.”
“Your horse?” It is incredible to think there was a beast capable of bearing him. He offered a hand to Lillah, who took it, and he swung her up onto his shoulders.

The two of them set off, and Qira struggled to keep up, until Filofei lowered his pace with a wry smile. It took them a little over twenty minutes to reach the area where Filofei said his horse should be. He had borne Lillahs weight as though it were nothing, and he wasn’t at all out of breath. In the heat, Qira was breathing heavily, and took a few sips of water to cool herself down.
Ahead, Filofei had set Lillah back on her feet, and was simply waiting. Qira walked up beside him, saying nothing. Together they waited for at least five minutes until, as Qira was about to speak up, a horse such as she had never seen entered the clearing, causing the very ground to shake with its passage. Like its rider it was enormous. Its shoulders were much higher than the top of her head, and its rear legs were almost as wide as her waist. Past that, it possessed a subtle elegance that the shaggy, heavy-footed horses of Cantar just did not.

Seemingly oblivious to their awe, he swung up into the saddle before leaning down and hoisting Lillah up to sit in front of him. He then offered Qira his hand, and swung her up behind him. The great horse shifted under the extra weight, but as Lillah and Qira were only slight, it did not seem overly troubled. In such a way they set off at a steady canter. Six hours later, they were still cantering. Qira was amazed at the sheer endurance displayed by the horse, and said as much to Filofei.
“Not all the Ethernath have horses like this, only my kind.”
“Your kind?” Qira wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. He looked as human as she was, if a little big.
“I am a...” Filofei struggled to translate the word, and then said something in his own language.
“Your language does not have the word, but one who runs ahead. That is the closest translation.”
“There are more like you?” Qira’s eyes widened. With men like this, it was a wonder the Ethernath did not rule the world.
“Only a handful I am afraid. Perhaps a dozen, maybe two?”
Qira nodded, almost disappointed.
“If I am to live with your people, should I not know something of them? For instance your language.”
Filofei turned his head to smile at her.
“Of course. Let us begin then.”
After that, both Qira and Lillah began to learn the language, customs and history of the Ethernath. The language was surprisingly easy, and both sisters picked it up fairly quickly. The customs and history were slightly more complex, made more difficult still when Filofei insisted on teaching them in his native tongue.
***
Markus

Markus woke up, feeling surprisingly energetic. He sat up with no ill effects, and so swung his legs out to hang over the edge of the bed. Summoning his strength –a remarkably easy feat- he reached tentatively to the ground with his toes and used the edge of the camp bed to push himself upright. Still, he did not feel any of the aches or bruises he usually felt following a battle.
What was more troubling was the gap he had nestled amongst his memory of the battle. The charge had failed, his horse had been killed, and he had been thrown. Past that, he had no recollection of events until he had woken. Markus had no idea how long he had been unconscious for, even where he was.

He already had trousers on and was busy with the shirt when his second entered the tent, clad in a leather under-jacket and rough-spun trousers.
“By God, you are up. How are you feeling? You’ve been out for two days.” Palatius looked concerned more than anything else; he was an officer first, but friend a very close second.
“What happened? The Darkness? Where are we?” The questions burned in him; he hated not knowing what had happened.
“You don’t remember?”
Markus shook his head.

“You...I don’t really understand what you did. I saw you go down and thought Death had claimed you. You got up though, but I was too far away, I thought you would be swarmed. But then...” He trailed off in a mixture of awe and, alarmingly, terror.
“You destroyed one of the big ones, then you were facing off against vampires...there was a blue glow...”
Markus was troubled by this: he knew that taking on vampires was near suicidal.
“After that...fire, there was so much fire...” Palatius closed his eyes, visibly trying to rid himself of the image.
The final words sparked a flow of memories for Markus.

An enormous pillar of blue flame crashed down, spearing through the Darkness and destroying vast swathes of undead. The Darkness peeled back at its touch, fleeing north in alarm. It did not quite move fast enough however, and whole sections immolated.
The noise was terrible: even over the loud, roaring of flames, Markus could hear the screams had intensified. Shaking his head, he tried as hard as he could to block them out. Markus’ movements were somewhat disjointed, as if he was merely a puppet. His other arm was raised jerkily to join the upraised one.
Markus was not sure how he was doing it, but he willed more power into it. The pillar expanded towards him and for an instant he was silhouetted, before being swallowed by the blinding blue light.

With a jolt, Markus returned to himself, and the fear was plain on Palatius’ features.
He struggled for something to say that might ease his friend’s nerves.
“I am fine. I don’t know what happened, but I’m fine now.”

Palatius seemed to accept this for now, before the officer reasserted itself.
“We lost 2,136 Blademasters. The main army’s casualties were significantly lower than they might have been, thanks to your intervention.” Palatius hesitated here, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“Everyone saw what you did, and everyone knows it was you. In the last few days, a ...faction has emerged. There have been whispers through the camp. Some are saying you are...the incarnation of Death Himself.” Markus looked shocked.
“What, why? That is a heresy, surely?”
“You must admit that what you did...it was nothing short of godlike. What else could it have been?”
“I don’t know anything- Are you saying you believe that?” Markus changed his train of thought halfway through the sentence.
“I don’t know, I just...I don’t know. The lords want to see you.” Palatius looked slightly sheepish.
Shaking his head, he abruptly turned and exited the tent, leaving Markus standing alone. In that instant, he felt more isolated than he ever had before. Even his oldest friend had deserted him in the face of- what? The fact that he did not even comprehend what had happened was truly terrifying, and for a few moments he was rooted to the spot as a paralysing fear gripped him for the first time in his life. When the wave of dread had subsided enough that he could move, Markus returned to the camp bed and sat down heavily.
He just did not know what to do. That fire could easily have killed his men, his friends, and he did not want to put those around him in any more danger than was strictly necessary. The fact too that people seemed to be idolising him was troubling. Of course, he was used to the awe and respect that came with command, but idolisation was something else entirely.
What had happened to him?

Summoning his courage, he stood up again, and strode to the point where Palatius had vanished. He sucked in a deep breath, and stepped through the opening, and out into the hazy morning mist.
The camp was much the same as he remembered: the ordered rows of tents were quiet. The lack of usual noise unsettled Markus; there was usually a bustle of activity everywhere. He knew that the camp would be quieter following the battle, with fewer men left in the tents. Soon he emerged into the patch of open ground, in the centre of which was erected an enormous pavilion.
***
Althalos

At the entrance to the white city, Vasek turned to him:
“Here we must separate. We are not permitted to walk these streets.”
Althalos dismounted and solemnly faced him. They each placed their right hand on the other’s left shoulder: a gesture of friendship. The others all repeated the gesture with each of the soldiers – each of their new friends. Then the Jesterka simply turned and marched away to find their supples, and Althalos turned back to face the beautiful, paved streets of the Pravitka city. Together they rode carefully into the city, hoofbeats echoing loud around the white marble buildings.

Before long, they were stopped by two Pravitka guards. They did not carry spears, but wore long swords, and were dressed in full armour. One demanded to know what they were doing here, and seemed surprised that Althalos not only understood the challenge, but was able to reply in the same language. With his stilted speech, Althalos explained their reasons for being there, and asked to speak to one of the senior rulers.
The stunned Pravitka led them through the streets to the very shadow of The Dwelling, and signalled they should enter the building immediately to its right. Before the travellers were allowed inside, they had their weapons removed, and were thoroughly checked for any they might have concealed. The Pravitka were efficient, and the search did not take long. Once they had surrendered their weapons and their horses, they were finally led inside. The interior was all polished marble, and Althalos found the effect stunning. It was beautiful. The architecture too was elegant; curves and swirls that delighted the mind as Althalos followed behind the white-scaled lizard. They crossed a wide atrium, passed through a high doorway, and emerged into a large room, where all four of them were once again struck dumb.

The entire wall before them seemed not really to be there, for Althalos could see the city stretch out before him, and even the sea, with its shifting waters. The view was a little distorted, and there were clear imperfections in the material, but it was still unlike anything Althalos had ever seen.
The occupants of the room realised they were being ignored, and Althalos was brought out of his slack-jawed amazement when one of them spoke.
“We call it glass. It’s solid, but fragile and you can see through it.” The Jesterka who had spoken was seated in between two others, and had a long scar that ran the length of his snout. The scar tissue was a dark, crimson colour and Althalos struggled not to stare.
“Why have you come?”  This time it was one of the others who spoke, but the one with the scar kept his eyes fixed on Althalos. Before he began to speak, Althalos placed his hands on his knees, bowing at the waist, with the others following his lead. The three Pravitka opposite inclined their heads in acknowledgement, and Althalos straightened.

“I am here on behalf of my own kind, as well as others.” He gestured around at the humans. “I come to ask for friendship and alliance. My home is threatened by a great evil, something my people call ‘The Darkness,’ but I believe it to be the same as your ‘Great Shadow.’ I would ask that you stand with us.”
All three of the Pravitka sat back in their seats, expression inscrutable. The silence stretched, until even Althalos began to feel uneasy. Eventually, the scarred Pravitka spoke up.
“Why should we help you?” The question caught Althalos off guard. It had not occurred to him that they would believe him, and yet still refuse to aid him. He stammered, struggling to come up with a compelling reason.

“If you intervene, and help us, you will have the thanks of the elves, and that of the Saphracians.” Both sides knew the answer was weak, but
Althalos could not think of anything they might want. Their slaves provided them with anything they could possibly need, from food to weapons.
“The very reason we have not expanded east is due to the lack of any terrain as defensible as the ______ Mountains. Why should we give it up, for the sack of friendship?” The point was a fair one, but absent-mindedly, Althalos wondered if the Jesterka were cold-blooded.
“I am simply asking for some aid, not for you to abandon the Expanse. Do you not wish to stand together, with allies, against The Great Shadow?” A pause followed these words, as the three Pravitka looked at him, calculating.
“I fear your home would be lost before we got there in any case.” The words had a mixed effect on Althalos. He wanted to deny that his homeland would fall, but at the same time, he realised the Jesterka had very nearly offered to help.
“Even if it is too late for his homeland...” Jorge paused and swallowed as three sets of golden eyes fixed on him “...it is not too late for mine.” He looked apologetically at Althalos, who nodded. Jorge had sensed their interest too, even if he was slightly callous in his phasing.
Again, the Pravitka said nothing, working it through in their heads. Althalos had no doubt all three of them had keen military minds, and waited patiently.
“For now, all we can spare are five Legions. They will garrison Saphrax, and determine whether or not we should commit fully commit to defending the Easterners.” The scarred one in the middle answered slowly, examining their reactions all the while.
50,000 Legionnaires. Althalos was pleased with the number, though he was troubled that they had still not promised any lasting aid. Jorge could barely contain his joy. A grin split his face, and he began thanking the Pravitka profusely. Althalos realised that he had heard onl;y the answer he wanted.

“How soon will they arrive?” Althalos asked.
“They will march with the new year.” So that meant about four months then. Surely Saphrax could survive then?
Not long after that, they were escorted out, and their horses and weapons were returned to them. Jorge had decided he would return overland to Saphrax, to carry the news to Sophia, and Althalos thought that Tobrecan and Sceotend would probably want to go back with him. He was surprised therefore when they refused.
“Our orders are to accompany you home. You aren’t home yet.” Tobrecan had spoken with a simplicity that had touched Althalos.
And so they aske done of the Pravitka escorts about acquiring a boat.  He had simply coughed a laugh, and led them down to the docks. He quickly found a boat to suit their needs. It was small enough to be crewed by just the three of them, and yet large enough to carry the provisions they would require for the three month voyage.

Neither of the brothers were particularly good sailors, Laternas having no coastline, but Althalos had sailed a few times in his youth, and was fairly confident he could direct the others. The boat was a simple structure; with a tiny covered cabin at one end, a mast with a small sail and a few sets of oars. To begin with, the wind was favourable, and they were able to stay close to the coast, and its relative shelter.
***