A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

The rest of the squad takes a moment to catch my meaning before looking at me with a mix of horror and fury.

The Vestal shakes his head.

I push the anger down. What indeed? How can they not be concerned?

Our voices are raised. Conflict is never good in a squad. Not resolving it and letting it fester is even worse.

Phineas shrugs. Our difference of opinion cannot be reconciled. I do not care. We are exactly where I want us to be.

Although I prefer winter myself, Poland looks quite nice at the height of summer. Perhaps the lack of acrid smoke carrying the stench of burnt human hair plays a part in my general impression. Nevertheless, we have been dropped in one of many isolated stations, with the only signs of civilization being log-house villages surrounded by ripe golden fields. We are not too far from Krakow, which reinforces my suspicions. According to Sivaya, our world and its neighbor are dimensionally single-point contiguous, meaning that portals have fixed destinations. She implied that places in the same vicinity on earth would lead to similarly close locations on the other side. In other words, and assuming that the invaders live in some sort of settlement, then this area of Poland is close to said settlement. Once again, the Poles have drawn the short straw, it seems.

The train conductor gives us directions and we shoulder our bags and walk out along the edge of a light forest. Great patches of fields lie around us, with piles of straw showing that the harvest is underway. We move on for an hour under Lars’ vigilant guidance. Our destination is easy to spot from the column of smoke. We go through one last thicket to see a small camp set in the middle of a village. A smattering of tents has gathered around a much larger one, a blue structure that only a travelling festival would possess. I would not call it gaudy. The word did cross my mind, however.

The mortals of the camp look up nervously when we announce ourselves. Their attempt to show a relaxed front falls short, and they keep jumping at shadows. Most of them wear the sort of clothes one could see in the streets of Vienna, most of them are male, too, and quite fetching at that.

“The lady was expecting you, she waits inside,” one of them informs us in German, dreamy amber eyes betraying his worries.

The tent’s flaps bounce aside to reveal the strutting figure of a young woman, even younger than my own appearance. She has black hair and velvety dark eyes that glance at Phineas and Lars with naked interest before landing on me.

The tiny lady is the very same I met on the train as I was going to Torran’s castle, sans her protégée, this time.

The short lady strides to my teammate. She is shorter than him by a large margin and still manages to look down upon him.

It is unremarkable apart from the fact that the doors are open and there is not a single soul to be found.

She turns to Esmeray.

Our team mate growls softly.

I remember that she mentioned killing one with a pitchfork while she was still mortal.

She can certainly bellow for one so diminutive. Her voice has this stable, high-pitched quality that I associate with trained sopranos.

As we watch, two men sheepishly exit the tent while shoving shirts into their loose pants.

I cannot prevent myself from groaning.

We follow Viktoriya inside to find a positively princely arrangement: a large bed with a scarlet canopy, a low table surrounded by plush pillows and a massive writing desk in warm colors. Lamps provide enough illumination that mortals could comfortably read. I wonder how she transported all of that to this remote region.

It also smells a bit ripe and I scrunch my nose in displeasure.

Lars does not care about the scenery or anything else. His mind has a single track and he picks a map from his backpack, which he unfolds on the table. It shows the surrounding area with a degree of precision that local noblemen would envy. It was made by the previous master of Krakow, who has temporarily left.

He then places little red flags on the remaining pins, revealing a clear pattern.

We have a patch of destroyed villages and then three others in opposite directions, like someone scouting around.

How kind of him to take credit for my vigilance.

I succinctly explain the ritual. Although it requires four people at the very least in order to be stable over a large area, only one person is responsible for the casting, therefore the role of supporter should be easy enough for an experienced mage. Phineas already knows his part and I take a few minutes to explain it to our newest companion.

Our team leaves their personal effects in her tent. We only keep with us our weapons and a few select tools. Viktoriya does not wear armor, but she does change into something like a forester’s dress. We move at a brisk pace with the two mortals on horseback following us at a good distance. They are quite slow. It takes us a couple of hours just to reach the first abandoned village. It stands intact yet empty, just like the one we left. Doors and shutters turn with the light wind. A disturbance echoes throughout its silent buildings.

Everyone remains calm, yet I cannot help but secretly fear for the future. The implication of our discovery has been mentioned. The other side has opened a portal themselves.

They are not friendly.

Between the Scourge Hive earlier and those raiders now, I wonder if the number of incidents involving foreign incursion will grow with time. If it occurs, it will only be a matter of time before our side sends their own war parties. Perhaps.

The world has grown quite strange in the past few decades.

We separate, and I roam through the nearby forest like a ghost. Strolls such as this one used to be a great source of enjoyment and relaxation, but this time someone disturbed the life and tranquility of this heavily wooded area. The night is too silent. Most of what could move did so already. In another few months, the trees will start to die from whatever they hide from us.

My feeling of unease only grows as we tread deeper with great vigilance. I see no traps, perceive no magical constructs. It does not mean that there are none. The invaders’ grasp of magic is simply too different, and we might be walking into a trap. It does not matter. Someone has to go.

I crest a small incline in the forest and watch the next valley unfolding in front of me. The vibrant green of early summer greets me in all its glory, with many leafy trees struggling to gather the sunlight they need by day. Nothing out of the ordinary can be seen, yet I close my eyes and taste the weave, and my unease only grows.

This is wrong, all wrong. What those creatures are doing is the burnt earth, take everything sort of conquest that even the Huns did not do systematically. Our enemies have more in common with the locusts that they have with us despite their clearly humanoid appearance. I wish I could unleash my sire upon their world and then close the portal behind, forever.

A bird call interrupts me. I react immediately and leave my hiding spot to rush forward. There are very few birds here, and I easily recognize Esmeray’s call sign.

I am first to arrive by the woman’s side. She kneels by the only path through the thick underbrush, the same that Viktoriya and her mages are currently following behind us. The Turkish girl does not move, she has no need to. Her finding is obvious. Someone put up an alarm between two trees.

I feel thoroughly insulted.

When setting up an alarm, discretion must be considered. Any enterprising thief will find a way to bypass a trigger if it is too obvious. Whoever designed this one did not take discretion into consideration at all. They performed the magical equivalent of dragging a rope across the path and fastening a pair of bells to it. I will admit that the enchantment is sound. I just feel ridiculed, looked down upon. The glyph is even plainly marked against the surface of a withering tree! Its alien composition shows a lot of triangles and twisted angles, a sharp and aggressive design that gets in resilience what it loses in subtlety.

The hunt goes on. At first, we follow the uneasy feeling but soon it proves unnecessary. There are campfires in the distance. The smoke rises in the air in diffuse plumes into the cloudless sky. We reconvene once more with Viktoriya.

We sprint to a small elevation to the side and make our way to the top. There are no sentries and no traps. If there were advanced traps, we would have seen them already.

We all crawl through high grass and inspect what we are up against.

The camp is as large as a small town already, arranged in a triangle. Cages of baying hounds form one side, individual tents in purple leather and racks of weapons another. As for the center, it hosts a massive gate that leads to… a city. An actual city. From where we stand, I can only spot pavement and dirty walls. The stench permeating the place reminds me that those are waterless soldiers at the height of summer, and that their latrines must be full. As we watch, a new convoy crosses the veil, bringing with it fifty soldiers in metal armor and another undead mage.

Just like its predecessor, they are incredibly tall, but this one wears grey robes inlaid with colorful gems and a strange sort of crown. It confers with one of the servants who kneels before its presence. Another undead mage exits from one of the tents.

So.

Yes.

We are going to need reinforcements.

We stay put for a few more moments then leave like mice. As we run, I cannot help but consider the unexplainable circumstances we find ourselves in. First, they have had this portal open for a while now, which begs the question: where are the rest of them? I counted only about five hundred fighters. There should be many times that number now unless they are being overly cautious, and if they are being cautious, then why not build fortifications? At the very least a wall? Warfare in their land must be quite different from ours, or there is more at play than we can guess. I shiver and give up on understanding their alien motives. We ignore too much. Any hypothesis I could conjure would be an idea floating in the air. No, if we want to learn the truth, we are going to need prisoners.

I know just the way.

So do the others as we run back to the alarm with no one the wiser. We come across other similar constructs and even tracks that suggest common patrols, but no other signs of activity.

And it will cost them. You do not let your guard down even when taking out a weak prey. Those who do not learn, die.

I am in no way the architect of the spell. It was made by Constantine, the greatest blood mage since Semiramis herself, based on notes by Sivaya, genius of the Court of Blue.

We are gone in a moment and I settle to wait. We stay unmoving for half an hour, then I see our quarry through a gap in the trees. Two men with hounds trot along the path in relative silence. They have no light with them, instead, they wear helmets with visors decorated with two tinted glass circles. It likely allows them to see in the dark.

The two men pass by and we decide not to trigger the spell. We wait for another minute and hear the ululating cry of an owl, the signal for a meeting. I find four bodies near the alarm. Both hounds and their guardians are dead.

Instead of answering, Lars peels back the man’s gorget to reveal a glyph tattooed under his throat. The symbol is dark and smoky, still smouldering after its activation. It shares the angular nature of the alphabet used for the alarm spell. I cannot read it.

The rest of the team does not react. We are back to my lack of trust in our hierarchy. This time, I believe that our leadership made my point for me.

Her concern is genuine. With summer well on its way, the nights are shorter and so is our window of opportunity. It has become clear that we will not get a prisoner. We should still attempt the spell.

Esmeray leaves once more to observe us from afar and we wait in ambush again. One hour later, a larger patrol arrives. Seven men plus tamed hounds, more cautious than their predecessors. It seems that, although they may be arrogant, we are not facing complete idiots. Unfortunately for us.

Unfortunately for them, their vigilance does not save them against a Knight squad and a powerful lady.

Time drags on and we now expect a more serious war party. It takes another hour for them to arrive, and only two hours remain before sunrise. This time, the twenty-men group is led by an undead mage from what I can hear of heartbeats and feel of its oily aura. I lay low as they move on because I fear detection. The undead mage searches for threats, I can tell, but it does not seem to find us before it walks into the perimeter.

I feel its nauseating passage in the deepest part of my being. The creature is an abomination, a reaver of life. I now believe with certainty that this creature is partly responsible for its native world’s demise.

A signal, the call of a bird of prey.

I cast as the sound of combat erupts from the patrol. I have little time. I use special runes I inserted in my gauntlet and call upon the spell by slicing my palm open. Thick black blood levitates and coalesces into a form, both simple and so very evocative. An anvil.

The world is heavy. Oh, yes, so heavy. It refuses to be moved. It fights and resists like a grumpy old bear, only allowing the lightest and trickiest of schemes to alter its shaggy fur. What the world hates the most, however, is strangers encroaching on its territory.

The trap shuts close like a fortress gate. I gasp.

So powerful. Gravity and inertia and every other little thing we like to disregard slam on me like a yoke and stay there. For one precious moment, I fear that I may have killed my teammates, then I move and everything is… not right, but in working order.

I may be just a tad slower but not by much. Every step is close to my usual speed, even though I feel the world holding me back more acutely than ever before. It feels like a stern guardian allowing me to cheat for the greater good. It knows what I am. I am only permitted to exist, for now, until the sun rises over the lost valley.

And a massive, building spell collapses.

I arrive at the path to find that the melee is in full swing and that Phineas is missing an arm. He still dances between attackers and skewers a hound as I watch. Viktoriya carries the fight.

I do not believe I had seen anyone fight with a trident before. Her foe hides behind a powerful shield, sometimes casting rays of fire that she gracefully dodges. Her strikes chip at it with repeated pings. She remains static and strikes perhaps dozens of times every second over a large area, testing for weakness, then she is gone.

As for her adversary, it still casts. This undead is shorter than the previous one we faced and wears on its head a stylized helmet showing horns and long hair in the same dull metal his compatriots use for armor. A long black robe covers its desiccated body. It shimmers beautifully in rainbow hues from the cascade of jewels woven in its form. As I attack the first foe on my path, a few of them lose their spark and a massive bolt hits Viktoriya, sending her tumbling on the ground.

“Sie sind Tiere,” the creature screeches in a horrid voice like tearing metal. “Tiere.”

We are animals.

I dispose of a fighter who was trying, in vain, to use one of their orbs to mesmerize Lars. I grab his focus and throw it back towards our exit. No need to offer additional resources to the monster. Rose is out in an instant and her thorny back lands on the shield. I infuse it with the essence the Watcher granted me for defeating the Herald and shred. It distracts the creature for long enough to allow Viktoriya a quick escape from the next fire spear. Her limbs still twitch.

I start running and drag the shredding part of Rose against the shield. This place is still filled with life, stubborn, angry life that refuses to move, and the creature uses its robe as fuel instead. Not only that, but it can still cast. I cannot.

DANGEROUS PREY. What manner of adamantine does it take to pierce through this level of magical inertia? By the Watcher! Finally, an interesting challenge.

I hiss and duck under a blue arrow, never remaining static. The shield is weakening and second after second, more gems dim. All the soldiers are dead now and Lars’ javelins plink against the protection. The monster stretches its hands. The temperature drops to arctic lows. I even hear trunks snap from the frozen sap.

We remain unaffected.

“Schnelle kleine Tiere.”

Fast and small animals. Perhaps some of the captured mages were German mercenaries and that is why it now has approximate knowledge of the language. No, Ariane, focus. Keep attacking. We must kill it fast, or else…

I feel its will when it turns its glare on me and I feel something connect to my flank as I momentarily stop to reverse course. I check and see nothing there but a potential, a tension. The creature raises a skeletal hand. I see thunder.

DIVE.

Need metal, quick. I drop on the floor and stab my spare knife on the ground, then Rose too for good measure.

I am kicked by a mule

“Gah!”

Cannot move. Hurts. Cold pain that courses through my body and burns everything away. Then it is gone. Actinic bolts still dance between my weapons, the ground, and I. The shield is fading. The creature snaps its fingers and disappears, landing a hundred feet away.

Impossible. Teleportation?

For one instant I feel its gaze on me as I pick myself up. The others are going after it. It raises a finger and I am lifted, feet dangling. I struggle against the spell and feel it break. My right hand is free.

I twist in the air and avoid a fiery bolt aimed at my heart.

With the other hand, I draw the Big Iron and perform the most seamless, beautiful shot of my entire life. The creature’s head snaps back and its helmet cracks with the sound of broken chimes. It falls like a bag. The others land on it and Viktoriya tears its head off.

I stumble once again. HURT. My left arm hurts horribly and I can see why. There is a burnt hole where most of my elbow used to be. My arm hangs by a miracle.

PAIN.

FIRE.

From the camp comes a flare. A yellow projectile climbs to the heavens and bathes the Polish forest in sunny radiance for a handful of seconds. Somewhere to the side, a lone surviving bird lets out a startled chirp, then the thing descends upon where we fought.

I yelp as I am thrown to the floor by the cataclysmic shockwave. We are all sent tumbling like puppets. Heat and something else washes over us.

I cannot breathe.

I cannot hear.

I can feel my arm painfully knitting itself back together.

I know the Thirst again.

Then the world snaps back into focus and there is nothing left behind us but an incandescent crater where the forest used to be. It spews spent life force like the fumes of burnt petrol, and I know that nothing will grow there again for a very long time.

My ears pop.

Excellent advice that we all follow. We pick up the two mages who were huddling in the distance like they were ordered to and race back to the tent. Viktoriya’s servants display shock when they see us arrive only an hour before dawn. We collapse around her table without a word. This will be a short discussion.

It is Lars’ turn to speak. He proves uncharacteristically talkative.

An artillery force? Oh, they will do nicely.