The Wandering Inn_Volume 1, page 481
Magic.
Gazi slowly walked over and pressed her hand to the center of the diagram. Slowly, the runes lit up. They glowed faintly at first, and then began to shine. Yellow, the color of the sun, and then brighter still. They became searing white lines, tinged with gold. Like—
Lightning.
—-
Uleth snarled as he screamed for ladders, battering rams, anything to break open the damned walls of Reim. The city’s wall were short, the defenders less than ten thousand in number. He would kill them all now—they had nowhere to run!
“Set up the damn trebuchets!”
He shouted at one of his remaining aides, a low-level [Tactician], before remembering he’d left all of his artillery behind in the chase. Even his foot soldiers were barely catching up, winded and exhausted from the run as they were. If they’d had [Strategists], they could have used Skills to reduce the effort of the chase, move faster. Damn Orthenon!
Lacking siege weapons, Uleth spurred his exhausted mount to one of his [Mages].
“I want you to blow down the gates! Now!”
“We’ll try, but it will take—”
“Do it!”
The [Mage] turned to the others, still panting from their ride and they began to link hands in preparation for the spell. Then one of them turned pale and pointed up.
“Someone on the castle walls is casting a massive spell!”
“What?”
“There! On the tower!”
Uleth spun. He couldn’t see any signs of magical activity—he could barely make out the top of the tower amid the gathering storm clouds. Where had his cursed clear skies gone? It wouldn’t save the King of Destruction though, nothing would.
“Kill the [Mage], then! Bring down that tower!”
Someone threw a [Fireball]. It burst harmlessly on the wall, as did the arrows of magic which failed to even damage the stones they struck.
“The towers are heavily enchanted! And the mage—it’s a Tier 6 spell! At least!”
Uleth felt fear worm its way into his stomach. He stared at the tower.
“Impossible. There are no powerful mages present. Amerys is at Wistram. She has to be!”
“No! It’s not one person. It’s—the towers!”
Another mage cried out, and now Uleth could see signs of magic. Each one of the sixteen towards of Reim was glowing now, and light was shining from the tips. No—not light.
Lightning.
Electricity was crackling around the tower’s tips. As Uleth watched in horror, it began to shoot out, flickering, reaching out. Not down towards the ground, but towards the center of the city. Towards the palace.
—-
Gazi stood with one hand on the magical sigil, tracing complex patterns on it. It wasn’t just a circle, Trey now realized. It was a map of the city, formed by the runic writing.
And now he could see the magic working. Trey glanced out the window as lightning flashed.
“W-what’s happening?”
“A spell.”
Gazi whispered it, all four eyes focused on the runes. She traced a line towards the center of the city, and Trey saw lightning shoot towards the center. It was gathering there. It was impossible for lightning to do that of course, but it was arching towards the palace, crackling as it danced across the stone exterior. And now Gazi’s hand had stopped.
Outside, the electricity gathered into one spot. High above the city, all sixteen towers shot lightning up, towards a…ball of lightning. Gazi paused, and looked at Trey. There was a wild grin on her face.
“Drevish made this.”
“Drevish?”
“Yes. He studied Drake architecture. They build their cities to fight back even without defenders.”
She gestured at the lightning.
“Amerys and Drevish both worked on this enchantment. They called it [Storm Keep]. A spell to destroy entire armies. It was never used. There was never a need.”
No army has ever attacked Reim. Trey stared at Gazi and then realized the plan. It was so simple. Lure the enemy close. Only it wouldn’t work if they stayed back and knocked the towers down with trebuchets.
Now Gazi turned. She stared out one of the windows, down at the army surrounding Reim. The dark shapes were moving. Fleeing. Running away from the city now the trap had been sprung.
But they were too slow. Too late. Too tired to run fast, and too disorganized. Gazi smiled.
“This is for you, Drevish.”
Then she touched the map. And lightning rained down from the heavens.
—-
Venith watched the lightning fall. He could close his eyes and remember Amerys laughing and coming up with the idea and convincing Drevish to work on the enchantment.
Lightning for a King of Destruction. Lightning for his crown. From his crown. It was something only they could make, something only Drevish could engineer and Amerys could enchant.
Now the thunder rolled nonstop, and the flashes of light split the earth. Electricity arced from soldier to soldier, seeking their metal weapons. And the light fell and men died.
In silence, the King of Destruction and his vassals watched the storm bring down its wrath. Even Amerys couldn’t have done as much. Not alone. But as Drevish would have pointed out, this was architecture. It was grand and terrible.
And it was merciless. From her tower, Gazi pinpointed [Mages]. Even the best of them on the field couldn’t stand more than three strikes of lightning. Then she struck the enemy [General] as he ran, brought down clusters of elite soldiers, and then hit any group she could find. And when it was over, Flos raised his sword.
“You are my army! My army! The [Army of the King]!”
Thousands of soldiers roared. Venith felt the exhaustion in his arms disappear in an instant. He lifted his sword and shield and felt as light as a feather. The gates opened and Flos led the charge. Venith rode at the King’s back, Maresar by his side. Orthenon and Mars flanked the King and they charged the remnants of the army. They were still outnumbered.
But their King was back. And Venith laughed and laughed. Because he was finally happy.
The King of Destruction had returned.
—-
Destruction. It was fitting name for it. When he had first heard the title, Trey had thought it was a rather silly name. A title for someone pretending to be a King maybe, or a mocking name. Not something literal.
But now he stood in a tower, and all he saw was just that. Destruction. The earth was blackened. Fires had started and had to be put out. But it was the bodies that Trey focused on. The broken bodies. The burnt armor.
And the captives. There were thousands of them. More captives than captors, possibly. But they had thrown down their arms rather than face Flos, face his vassals or his army.
Gazi walked slowly down the stairs with Trey and Teres. They had to help her; Trey was the one to notice how gingerly she walked, and the burn marks on her armor. They supported her down the long, winding stairs, awkwardly taking her weight. But Gazi insisted on walking alone to meet her King as he rode back into the city.
Flos was covered in blood. His eyes were still wild with battle, and his soldiers and vassals shouted with victory. Trey stared at them and then saw Teres with that same smile.
But he didn’t smile. He felt like a stranger, even more so now than before. A stranger, staring at something he couldn’t quite understand. Something that called to Trey. Something wonderful, horrible, enticing, revolting. Something foreign.
Flos dismounted, patting his warhorse as his vassals and subjects crowded around him. He seemed larger than life, the center of the world. Trey heard people praising him, asking him questions. But it was Orthenon’s voice that rose above the others.
“The captives, my King. What shall we do with them?”
“We can guard them for a short while. But not for long. They will solve our issue of funding and food for the winter.”
Flos was speaking to Orthenon, smiling broadly. Trey saw Gazi halt as she approached her King. There was a strange look on her face. Flos turned, calling out for someone with magical skill to send a [Message] spell.
“To Roshal! To the Traders! Tell them to send the nearest caravan they have. One should already be close by if they have been watching the battle. Tell them I want all the food and supplies they can sell to me!”
It was strange. Maresar grinned slightly at Flos’ words. Mars didn’t react. Orthenon just nodded calmly as if he’d expected it. Even Venith nodded, looking steadfast. But Gazi looked away.
“The Traders? Who are they?”
Teres whispered to Trey. He shrugged. But a small pit was emptying itself in his stomach.
And it was Gazi who heard. She looked at them, and there was no laughter, no smile in her gaze.
She answered them with one word. One word that changed the world that Trey thought he’d understood.
“Slavers.”
Above them, the sky changed. Something flew through the air, and snow began to fall. Just for a moment. Then it melted on the burning ground.
Winter had begun.
4.06 KM
It was the middle of winter when the first of Flos’ vassals began to reach his city.
Standing on the balcony on one of the higher floors of the palace, Trey stared moodily down at the procession of armed warriors entering through the southern gates. His eyes were good—too good in fact; Trey was a bit farsighted—and he could see these were a different sort of people. He stared down darkly, shivering a bit as a cold wind blew at his clothing.
The foremost leader of the procession was wearing some kind of veil. It might have been a she or a he—Trey couldn’t tell from this far up. And it might not matter, because he recognized the kind of people that were being cheered by Flos’ citizens.
String People.
Trey had met a group of them once before, weeks ago. Now he hated all of them, even if these ones weren’t slave traders. He knew they were one of the main races inhabiting Chandrar, along with the Garuda and human populations. Well, String People looked human too. Until you got close and saw the stitches keeping their bodies together.
Yes, they looked human, but they were made like Frankenstein’s monsters. Their bodies were cloth, and they could be made of any fabric, from tough wool to silk. That actually mattered to them socially; Trey supposed it was a class thing. But a String Person could be built, or repaired by someone with a needle and thread, so long as you had the right cloth.
Actually, according to Orthenon it was harder than that. But Trey hadn’t asked him for details. He wasn’t speaking to Orthenon right now.
Or anyone, really.
These String People, or Stitch-Men and Stich-Women—possibly Stitch Boys and Stitch-Girls although they didn’t look that young—were on foot. They had long, wicked spears and other polearms and they all had veils on their faces.
They were probably some elite band that had served Flos years ago. It didn’t surprise Trey that String People would call Flos their King either; no doubt he would have loved having them in his army. The String People were supposed to be fearless warriors, hardy survivalists, and all the things you said about anyone you wanted to talk up. They didn’t fear being cut to death; they could just sew themselves up, after all. In fact, the only thing String People truly feared with a passion was fire.
It was odd that a flammable people would live on the hottest of all continents. Chandrar’s days were filled with blistering heat, and the nights were cold enough to freeze to death on. But when you thought about it another way, Chanrar had less vegetation. Less things to burn.
Behind the group of Stitch-warriors, Trey spotted another band of people entering. These weren’t String People, but they were being cheered just as loudly. They looked like Humans, robed and holding an…Trey had to squint in disbelief. Was that an umbrella they were holding?
It made no sense. Winter in Chandrar didn’t mean that much snow, and though it could still get very cold, you didn’t need an umbrella except if you were trying to keep out of the snow. But Trey was used to strange things in this world.
These people looked like [Mages]. So two groups of his vassals were entering the city at the same time? Trey knew that meant more feasting, and Flos welcoming his vassals into his palace with open arms. He’d certainly thrown a big enough party for Venith and Maresar and they had only been two of his former vassals.
Trey scowled and gripped the railing tightly. He wasn’t happy. And he didn’t want to be in the banquet hall, sitting at the tables—the ones far from the high table—and have to listen to Flos laugh. He didn’t want to see the King of Destruction’s face right now. Or anyone’s. Right now, Trey hated this entire kingdom.
They were all slave traders.
Trey couldn’t believe it when he’d found out. Flos had slaves. To be more accurate, he sold people as slaves. He’d struck a deal with the Traders of Roshal to sell all the prisoners he’d taken captive in the battle for Reim. Some had been ransomed off, but the rest…
Slaves. Trey couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe Orthenon, or Venith, who had seemed so honorable, would allow people to be slaves! But no one had understood his outrage. And worse…
Trey closed his eyes. It had been over a month since that day when he’d realized the entire continent of Chandrar actively owned or allowed slaves. If some kingdoms like Flos’ were too poor to have many slaves, most nations had a good deal of slaves. People, held in captivity. And it had been a month since he and his sister had stopped talking, after they’d fought bitterly about that very issue.
That hurt worst of all. That was why Trey was alone, had been alone, for so long. Because he had fought with his sister. Because Teres wasn’t willing to condemn Flos for dealing with slave traders. Because she was just as bad as the rest of them.
It had been a terrible fight. It hurt Trey now. He’d had fights with his sister before. That was normal. But fights were supposed to end after a while. There might be tears, or hitting, but in the end, after days, or maybe a week at most, you’d make up. Trey and Teres were twins. Being apart was too difficult.
But this fight was different. It had been bitter and harsh, and the scars weren’t healing. Trey could remember every word he’d said when he was alone.
—-
“You think it’s alright?”
Trey screamed at Teres and threw a chair. Not at her, but a wall. His voice was hoarse; he’d been screaming for a long time. So had she, but she screamed right back.
“You’re not seeing the bigger picture!”
“Fuck your bigger picture!”
Trey looked for something else to hurl, but he’d already broken everything else in the room. He turned to Teres, face red.
“He’s keeping slaves, Teres! Slaves! ”
“He’s not keeping them! Idiot! He’s just selling them!”
“Oh, just selling them, is it?”
“You heard him! He’s doing it for his people! Without the money from those merchants—”
“They’re not merchants. They’re slave traders!”
“Shut up!”
Teres was red with anger. She’d tried to ‘explain’ Flos’ reasoning to Trey several times before and he wasn’t willing to listen. She took a shuddering breath.
“Flos has to protect his people—”
“By selling other people, is that it?”
“He’s got to keep people fed! You heard Orthenon—we need the coin or we won’t last the winter!”
“So that makes slave trading alright then, is that it? Oh wow, I guess if I’m hungry I should see if I can sell some folks off for a bit of cash!”
“It’s the way things are done here! You don’t have to like it—I don’t like it! But we have to change Flos’ mind, not tell him no—”
“Bugger that! You think we should just let it go? You’re mad!”
“I’ve talked with Flos and he’s listening to me. You’re just making him put his back up every time you start shouting—”
“No!”
Trey was shaking with anger. He felt betrayed. He pointed a shaking finger at Teres.
“I heard you. You think its okay? You think its okay to keep doing it? To tell Flos he can sell off thousands of people just like that? You’re as bad as the rest of them!”
“I’m not—”
Teres looked like she was on the verge of tears or lashing out. Or both. But Trey wouldn’t listen. His voice rose, cracking with emotion.
“You’re as bad—no, you’re worse because you know it’s wrong. But you’re bloody sick in the head. You’re so obsessed with Orthenon that you’ll watch his lot sell slaves without blinking twice. You’re not my sister. You’re a monster, you sick, twisted, addled cunt—”
That was when she drew her sword and Trey ran for it.
—-
Later, Trey had stormed into the throne room and shouted at Flos. He remembered that, too, in anger though, and not regret. He’d marched up to Flos and yelled at him. At the King of Destruction. Somehow, he’d said his bit without Orthenon kicking him out or cutting him to bits, and Flos had quietly shaken his head.
“Slaves are part of Chandrar’s blood and body, Trey. I will not change that. Nor do I disagree with owning slaves. I have explained that to Teres and she understands. I hope you will too.”
Cold fury. Trey remembered shouting at Flos and Orthenon snapping at him to mind his tongue.
“You think its okay to sell and buy people against their will?”
“Better than letting them rot in a cell. That is what your world does, is that not true?”
“Yes—but—”
Trey faltered. Flos’ gaze was piercing him like a needle. The King spoke softly.
“For years. For twenty years in cases of murder. Longer for some. Forty years? That is a lifetime. And these people must obey their captors, live by their rules, labor as part of their imprisonment. And you tell me that is not slavery?”
