Firebrand

The spellbreaker did not return alone. The entire mining colony followed him in tow. They looked haggard after days of journey on mountain paths, but without signs of injury or struggle. As the city-dwellers organised food and shelter for them, Atreus sought out his fellow triumvirs.

“It is Karolos,” he declared, once they were alone. Rather than the aspiring grove, they had withdrawn to Martel and Eleanor’s house.

“You saw him?” Martel handed Atreus a cup of ale.

“No, but I recognise the stench of his magic. Which, alas, is overwhelming. We should expect to be under attack,” the spellbreaker told them and emptied his cup.

The other two exchanged looks. “Tell us from the beginning,” Martel requested.

“Once I arrived at the mining village, matters had turned worse. A handful of undead had shown up at night and abducted several of the miners. A clear sign that some malicious will moved them, considering shambling, reanimated corpses don’t take such actions on their own.”

“Go on.”

“I pursued, hoping to rescue the victims. I followed the trail through the mountains and eventually reached a valley, where my hopes were dashed,” Atreus admitted.

“How so?”

The spellbreaker took a deep breath. “In the valley beyond, I saw an army. There must have been thousands. Any hope of sneaking through to save the abducted people proved folly. This is an army raised by a lich, and it can only have one purpose.” “To conquer Archen,” Martel mumbled.

“We need to know what we face,” Eleanor chimed in. “What should we expect? And are you certain this is the work of the lich?”

“With evil magic, I have the nose of a hunting dog. There’s no mistaking it,” Atreus claimed. “As for what we face… an army of thousands that can march day and night. They suffer no thirst or fear. Arrows and weapons to wound the living mean little to them.”

“We have fought undead before,” Eleanor continued, a tad impatiently. “We know their strengths and weaknesses. But how do they act in battle?”

“They are mindless creatures, simple reanimations of dead bodies and bones. On their own, they pose little threat to a strong warrior. But Karolos’s will animates them along with his magic. They do as he bids,” Atreus explained. “If we kill him, the threat is gone.”

“That will be our strategy, in that case,” Martel considered. “In the meantime, we must prepare the city for a siege.”

“And we must send for aid. We will need our northern neighbours even sooner than anticipated,” Eleanor added.

“Let us hope they meant their words even when the foe we face is among the unliving.”

“I will return to the mountains,” Atreus declared. “You have no need for me when it comes to military matters. I will scout the enemy’s advance and learn what I can, including how much time we have.”

“An important question. Did you see any sign that this horde of bones had begun their march against us?” Eleanor asked.

“None, but we must assume it will happen soon.” The spellbreaker looked from one to the other. “Karolos will know that taking the miners alerted us. He would only do this if his other plans were ready.”

“I will alert Valerius and have him prepare the militia for guard duty. And I will bring in all food and animals from the farms and prepare the outskirts to be evacuated to the city,” Eleanor considered. “And dispatch a messenger to our Tyrian allies.”

“I will make more fire pots,” Martel muttered. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs noveⅼfire.net

Panic broke out as the news spread; truth and rumours spread by the miners and their experiences spread swiftly through the city. War was one thing, but facing an army of abominations who felt no pain and would give no mercy?

Using his militia, Valerius restored order to the streets, urging people to return home; reluctantly, they did so. But the next days did not fare much better.

Throughout the waking hours, those of Khivan descent trickled towards the border; although not allowed to cross the border, none could recognise them as foreigners once in Khiva, and for many, it seemed a lesser risk compared to the evil that marched on their city.

As for the farmers, they had no desire to seek shelter inside the walls nor allow their animals to be brought inside; if undead monsters threatened Archen, it seemed safer to them to be far away. One family after another, they packed up their belongings and livestock, herding the latter into the forest, where the people could hide and the animals find feed.

Martel and Eleanor discussed whether to force them back; without the people working the land, the city would not have food for long, and they would be vulnerable to a siege.

In the end, they decided against it. Martel could not make himself force these people under threat to return; mages acting as tyrants was how inquisitions began. He did not imagine their enemy intended a long siege either; presumably, the lich did not care about losses, considering in the case of victory, he could replenish his ranks with ease.

Willing to seek help from any source, Martel also went to Leander, their resident lich. The alchemist had lived quietly in a hut by the forest’s edge ever since his arrival; while he had noticed the departure of people from the farms, he had not bothered to ask why, and when Martel explained the threat, he did not seem particularly fazed either.

“What an odd fellow, this Karolos. I can’t imagine being so animated by ambition or anger or whatever drives him.” Leander gave a shrug and resumed cutting herbs. “Though you never mentioned I’m not the only lich you know.”

“Well, it didn’t seem relevant. Any advice you can offer on how to fight him?”

“By your own words, he’s an archmage. I was an apprentice when I died. What advice might I give?”

“Well, you’re both – possessive of the same nature.”

“It’s not like we have a guild, where we gather and exchange news.” Leander looked at him briefly. He had not bothered with the potion that mimicked the signs of life, and his lack of warmth and breath made it clear he was still a corpse, albeit with the ability to think, speak, and walk. “That fellow of yours, on the first day I got here. He had some nasty spells that hurt me. Just use those.”

“That’s the idea,” Martel sighed. “You should go to the forest.”

“Why? I doubt he’s coming here to hurt me. From the sound of it, his grudge is against you lot.”

“For the sake of the people. You can’t help us defend the city thanks to the wards. But the people hiding out there might need your cool thinking, should matters go poorly.” The lich was the one person in Archen who could be relied upon to never panic.

“Oh. Sure, I can do that.” Leander blinked, an oddly human characteristic that felt a little unsettling. “What kind of thinking am I expected to do?”

“Lead them away without panic erupting. Go west into Aster. Alert the nearest legion about the danger, should the undead march on after Archen.”

“Right. I can do that.” Leander resumed chopping his herbs. “It doesn’t have to be now, does it? I dislike interrupting my work.”

Martel simply stared. “Sure. You got time.”

The battlemage left the hut, returning to Archen. Although his parting words were spoken facetiously, they proved true.