Chapter 176: Harbingers

Chapter 176: Harbingers

Harbingers

West of the Capital

Dust billowed into the sky as seven thousand cavalrymen surged furiously from the west. Their faces were haggard, their horses spent, yet they clung on tenaciously. Duke Alvaro, notoriously slothful, now rode determinedly at the front with his knights. The Imperium had asked for aid, and the sons of Centuria had answered.

"Ride, ride!" commanded the Duke's knights as they switched to fresh horses at intervals—a tactic borrowed from their nemesis, the western nomads. With barely a pause, they continued, hearts swelling with hope as they glimpsed the imposing white walls of the Capital, its majestic towers and grand gatehouses looming in the distance.

"It's burning," murmured a woman, her voice as cold as her lips, cloaked in gray trimmed with gold. Murmurs rippled through the ranks at her observation.

In response, the Duke's most hardened Captain bellowed, "Harden your hearts, the time is upon us!"

Like his men, the Duke was similarly spurred into action. He rode with a newfound vigor, tapping into a strength he scarcely knew he possessed. His spare horse, bred for endurance, trotted eagerly beneath him. Since receiving the dire news five nights prior, he felt fortune had smiled upon him. If he could save the Imperium now, he would wield unparalleled leverage over the corrupt ministers.

Not that he intended to negotiate. His disdain for them ran too deep; he would not permit them even a sliver of power. Once he regained control of the defenses, he planned to accuse the ministers of grave incompetence for allowing the city to fall to rebels. He would execute them en masse for such failure, sparing only those agreeable enough to help maintain a functioning bureaucracy.

To Duke Alvaro, this crisis was a dream come true. He envisioned reviving the High Noble Court and restoring the Imperium to its former splendor.

"My Lord," called a Hunter Guildsman, riding up from behind.

"Speak," the Duke commanded, not breaking his pace.

"The hawks have returned, still carrying their messages."

"Keep sending them. Pray they receive our warnings in time," the Duke instructed, muttering, "I only need an hour, just an hour."

The Hunter Guildsman nodded and moved away, ready to coax his tired hawk into another flight.

The Duke turned to his side and called, "Berengia, come closer."

"My grace." The Royal Mage rode up beside him, her golden hair peeking from beneath her beautiful cloak.

"Tell me what you see," he commanded.

But before Berengia could reply, a violent blast erupted in the distance, sending a towering plume of debris skyward. The earth-shattering roar that followed halted the horses and silenced the men, who exchanged stunned gazes. Even the knights were at a loss for words.

"What happened?" the Duke halted, his heart sinking with the realization that something catastrophic had occurred.

"That's from the direction of the palace," the Royal Mage answered, her usually composed face now etched with shock.

"By the Ageless," Duke Alvaro cursed, spurring his horse forward. His lead was followed by all seven thousand cavalry, charging toward the Capital, oblivious to the tragedy that awaited them.

...

Despite Duke Alvaro's timely arrival, it was too late to save the Royal Palace. The inner gates had been breached, the nobles' quarter lay in ruins, and flames engulfed the palace.

In the midst of this chaos, the Duke ordered his men to engage any rebels they encountered. Despite mounting fatigue, his stalwart and hardened men from western campaigns easily subdued and massacred each group of rebels blocking their path, before moving on to another pocket of leaderless rebels, largely unaware of their presence.

As they advanced into the inner complex, they rallied the beleaguered palace guards. From them, they gained crucial information about the situation. With the defenders now united, they began to drive the rebels out. The Duke’s powerful cavalry allowed them to reign uncontested on the wide roads of the Capital, while dismounted knights inflicted untold horrors on the remaining rebels.

For four intense hours, they fought from street to street, corner to corner. Yet, the Capital city was vast, the rebels numerous and everywhere, and the sun dipped low.

Illuminated by the eerie glow of gemstones of light, Duke Alvaro’s forces solidified their hold on the area around the palace’s inner walls. Yet, behind them, the Royal Palace continued to burn. Its ancient elven wood—prized beyond gold, brought from the old continent, and once part of the Grand Progenitors' ships—blazed brightly against the night sky.

As his troops established a new defensive perimeter, allowing citizens refuge, Duke Alvaro and his staff approached the burning wreckage of the palace.

Armored, though tightly around his girth, Duke Alvaro stood watching the palace burn under the darkening skies. From where he stood, he could see the area around the inner courtyard, once imposing and magnificent in its vastness and symmetrical beauty, now lying in ruins, strewn with debris, ash, and corpses.

And there was the Royal Hall, once the center of this realm and a proud testament to the Imperium's enduring majesty and unmatched splendor, now defiled and crumbling. Its central gardens, directly below the dais and the grand throne, lay desecrated. The celebrated golden tree had succumbed to the inferno; its once majestic branches were now bent and twisted into grotesque shapes, dripping into a pool of blackened ooze. The stream that once flowed beneath it was now filled with smoldering rubble.

Berengia, the Royal Mage, approached quietly. "I see a lost cause," she whispered to him.

"I did not ask for your opinion, sweetie," the Duke replied curtly, his gaze fixed on the flames as if in mourning.

Berengia stepped back, giving him space to watch the great ancient structure being consumed by fire. Several sections collapsed with loud crashes, sending dust and debris to the immediate area.

Moments later, his Captain approached with a group of officers.

"Your Grace," the Captain greeted first, then introduced, "the palace guard commander and his officers who led the inner sanctum's defense."

The Duke turned and saw the officials, who bowed their heads politely. "Your Grace," they greeted, their demeanor seemingly upbeat.

Observing their unfitting demeanor, pristine armor, and clean gauntlets—only slightly marred by blackened soot—Duke Alvaro exchanged a knowing glance with his captain, who subtly blinked in acknowledgment.

"Has anyone here witnessed His Imperial Majesty?" the Duke inquired.

The men looked at each other before the commander replied, "No, Your Grace. We did not see anyone fitting His Imperial Majesty's description. Surely, he wasn't in the Palace. In fact, not even our seniors have ever seen anyone resembling the August One."

The Duke nodded. That was all he needed to know. "Commander, you and your staff have performed admirably in defending the palace," the Duke announced. "Berengia, please bestow upon them a fitting reward for their breathtaking efforts."

"Breathtaking, Your Grace?" Berengia echoed, her tone neutral, seeking confirmation.

"Indeed," Duke Alvaro affirmed.

Berengia turned to face the officers, her expression unreadable. "Gentlemen, please embrace the sensation. You will find peace and rest."

The commander and his four officers suddenly felt a cold, rejuvenating breeze sweep past them. Initially pleasant, the sensation soon turned unsettling as they became dizzy, then began gasping for air, their eyes bulging. They attempted to shout or scream, but no sounds emerged from their mouths. In a panic, one tried to draw his sword, but Berengia closed her eyes and, moments later, all five collapsed, their bodies convulsing as their lungs and muscles starved for air and their blood vessels ruptured.

"Oh, none of them were even wearing the slightest anti-magic," Berengia commented indifferently as the officers bled from their eyes and mouths. Based on their poor reaction, it was evident they were poorly trained and unfit for their roles.

"This is why the ministers wanted you lot away," the Captain remarked from nearby.

"Trust issues," the blond said dismissively.

The Captain motioned his men to come closer. "These five felt dishonored by their failure and redeemed their guilt by throwing themselves into the palace fire," he instructed.

The group of men nodded, accustomed to such commands. They stripped the officers of their valuables and dragged them into the flames of the burning palace.

Gazing at the Captain, the Duke asked, "Do you think we'll face more resistance?"

"We can handle any resistance," the Captain assured him.

"Make sure to secure the provisions," the Duke added.

"At your service," the Captain bowed his head.

"One more thing. Rescind the order to attack tomorrow, unless it's for raiding supplies. We'll maintain our gains."

"The Great Ancient Forest," Sir Stan remarked.

Bengrieve chuckled softly. "People tend to add 'Great' and 'Ancient' to everything old," he quipped. "Its name is Amertume Forest, from the words 'amārus,' meaning bitterness, sadness, and sorrow. There, a kingdom once rivaled the dwarves' achievement but faced a tragic demise. Now, only fell beasts lurk, and no man dares to go near it, turning the whole area into a vast swath of forest."

"That's an interesting tale; perhaps we ought to send an expedition party there. There ought to be gold," one of his knights quipped, prompting laughter from his fellows.

"What are we, the Old Continent's Explorers?" another joked.

Bengrieve enjoyed their reaction, finding respite in his men’s good morale.

Then one of the newly joined knights spoke, "My Lord, my mother was originally from the area bordering that forest, and there's more to that legend."

"Please, speak freely," Bengrieve encouraged.

"There's a legend that a man who died at the heart of that forest returned as a different person."

"Doppelgänger story?" Sir Stan ventured.

"Similar, possibly related," the knight confirmed. "It happened to my mother's neighbor. The man went out looking for firewood, as he had done for years, and then one day he disappeared for several days. Half the village searched for him but found nothing—his traces simply vanished. Then, suddenly, after a week, he returned. What's strange is, he could no longer speak properly, only gibberish. It took him months just to communicate again. Only then did he start saying strange things, like how he couldn’t remember anything—not even his mother, siblings, or his wife."

"Ah, such stories won’t spook me. If I don't remember my wife, all the better; then I have no issue finding a new one," the Captain commented, triggering a round of laughter.

"But what if you forget how to joust? Or where you keep your secret stash?" Sir Stan teased.

"I kept mine in these fists!" the Captain insisted, chuckling along with the others.

Bengrieve was amused by their playfulness, but his mood soon changed when two hawks arrived almost simultaneously from the north. With them on the move, the Hunter Guildsman on his service was hard pressed to maintain the line of communication. Because of this, news reached them slower. Now, the majestic creatures crossed the skies, screeching as if harbingers.

***

Commander, Bald Eagle

Against all odds, and under the mysterious Sagaria's watch, the column of men successfully crossed Tiberia at the height of winter. Their journey was nothing short of legendary. An ethereal shield above them protected them from the snow and provided a stream of warm air. Their only issue was the melting snow beneath their feet, which wetted their boots and socks—a minor inconvenience compared to facing the full fury of snowstorms.

It was no surprise that the four hundred men under Bald Eagle became devout believers. Sagaria had led them to a cluster of villages in northern Elandia. The villagers were initially shocked to receive guests in the dead of winter, but they soon warmed to the newcomers, especially when they noticed several welcoming anomalies, such as the winter becoming milder wherever the group was located. Some villagers even saw their vegetables and trees bearing fruit in the middle of winter.

During the winter months, Sagaria crafted various items, including salves for skin disorders, soap, ointments, and remedies for common ailments. Unlike herbalists who often guarded their secrets, she openly shared her knowledge, teaching anyone willing to learn.

If there had been any doubts about her abilities, Sagaria was now truly revered.

Bald Eagle, once worried about payments since they had gone rogue and could not hope for more payments from the Sages, was relieved when the men declared they required no pay beyond sufficient food, having become soldiers of faith rather than fortune.

Only after Sagaria's intervention could Bald Eagle freely distribute confiscated valuables from the last war, allowing the men to purchase personal items like socks and boots for their journey.

And march they did, ever since the snow had thawed. To avoid too much attention from the locals, they had split into two groups, with the Guardsman and the Squire leading the rear group.

With that arrangement, they steadily journeyed southeast. Sagaria had learned that a certain lord was in southern Elandia, and she wished to join his cause. Normally, this would pose a problem, especially since she lacked noble lineage. But Bald Eagle was convinced of her ability to prove herself as more than just the daughter of a hat-maker.

...

The spring sun shone brightly on the barn where they had stayed. Bald Eagle, though old, woke up refreshed, despite only using straw mats and leather carpets as a bed. As his men began to eat breakfast, he glanced at his silver necklace—the only thing he wore because of the war—and was surprised to see the small gem had not changed color. It remained milk-white, although he had clearly witnessed magic or been in close proximity to it.

While Sagaria remained subtle and never admitted that she used magic, the results were evident. The clanking noise and laughter from outside quickly drew his interest. He saw eager men honing their skills with swords and spears.

Now, the young knight had grown fond of Marc, the new member, who trained himself hard after he had recovered.

"How is he?" Sagaria asked as she snuck next to him, bringing two bowls of thick soup.

"Marc or Sir Munius?" Bald Eagle asked as he received the bowl. As agreed, he didn't call her 'lady' during the journey for fear of complications from the locals or bandits.

"Marc," she replied while sipping her soup.

"Well, he's lucky to have met you. And for the record, many are jealous of him."

"Why?" Sagaria asked, her tone indifferent, without a hint of curiosity.

"Well, you took good care of him, and he isn't even one of us," Bald Eagle explained between spoonfuls of soup.

Sagaria only nodded once but didn’t comment further.

Bald Eagle continued, "I sort of understand, you know. I mean, you didn't even treat our champion, Sir Munius, that well."

Only then did Sagaria’s lips form a smile, though she quickly busied herself with another sip of soup.

"Still, I have to ask, why do you take special care of the Arvenian boy?" Bald Eagle asked, his tone fatherly. "I've noticed you chat with him more than with anyone else in the group."

"The chats aren't anything special—just about the place he was born and his family. However," she turned to him, her expression serious, "he is indeed rather special."

"Special as in talented as an herbalist?" Bald Eagle had seen Marc assisting Sagaria often while she prepared medical concoctions and salves.

“No, not as an herbalist," she said, holding back her full thoughts. She continued in a tone like an old mentor, speaking in riddles, "Perhaps you should talk to him. Ask about his family or his sister."

"His sister?" He was puzzled. He knew she wanted him to find out on his own, but it was beyond him.

"She has golden hair and blue eyes," she hinted.

"You mean they're nobles' bastards?" Bald Eagle asked, clearly skeptical.

"No," she said firmly. "I'm not interested in that."

"So...?"

"He is not of northern descent, yet his sister has that kind of mutation." Seeing Bald Eagle frown, she explained softly, "He's gifted."

"Of what kind?" Bald Eagle whispered, his voice barely audible.

Sagaria didn’t smile, but her eyes were gleaming. "Magic," she breathed softly.

Bald Eagle was surprised; he quickly turned his gaze outside to see Sir Munius and Marc training with the rest of the men-at-arms.

Sagaria's voice was a whisper, meant only for Bald Eagle, "The boon does not reside with him alone; it extends to Sir Munius as well. I suggest he take Marc under his wing. That way, he'll secure a powerful ally."

Bald Eagle nodded thoughtfully, wiping cold sweat from his brow. How could he not? Their company had grown into a tapestry of legends: a prophetess in disguise, a knight returned from the dead, and an ordinary farmboy turned mage. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was at the start of a great saga.

***