The cold wind blew unceasingly from the north: a violent wind, a merciless wind, a wind that crept inside your ears and pressed hard against the back of your neck. The desert sands swirled, leaving a lingering haze. Talis lifted his head and stared. The afternoon sun blurred over the horizon. The day had turned sour, and now a sand storm pelted them mercilessly.
He bent over his horse and clung to the reins, searching the horizon for signs of life. The journey across the desert was unlike anything he’d experienced. The wind left him feeling exhilarated yet also exhausted at the same time. They’d ridden long and hard that day, the desert growing colder each mile as the party rode north over the white sands.
Talis rode up to Jarvis. “When will we rest for the day?” He could barely stay on his horse and his tailbone was numb.
“Quit complaining. Did you think your mama was coming?” Jarvis kicked his horse, trotting farther ahead.
An hour after twilight, the storm cleared and the party reached a ghostly oasis, dimly lit under the four moon sisters. The soldiers slumped off their horses, jostling around and joking with each other. Jarvis grunted and ordered them to collect wood and start a fire. The party bustled about, unloading supplies from the horses and setting up camp.
Talis was starving and couldn’t wait for the soldiers to cook dinner. He rummaged through his packs and found a bag of dried meat. He smiled, and thanked the gods for giving him such a wonderful mother. He ate a few pieces until his stomach stopped complaining.
“What’s this?” Jarvis said, eying the dried meat. “No acting the noble brat out here with the troops hard at work. Pull your own weight… Do something useful like starting a fire.”
Withering from his harsh words, Talis nodded and marched over to where several soldiers were assembling wood for the fire. The men regarded him suspiciously, but moved away as Talis raised his hands at the wood, attempting to cast Fire Magic again.
But before he even had a chance to try, a spidering flame illuminated the dark night and engulfed the wood in a whoosh, then the magic disappeared, leaving only the brightly burning campfire.
“Can’t even cast a simple flame to start a fire?” Rikar said, his voice filled with contempt. He emerged from the shadows, chuckling with Nikulo.
“That’s what I was about to do…” Talis muttered.
“No, what he was about to do was lose control of magic and kill himself and everyone else around him!” Rikar said, his face turning suddenly wrathful. Talis knew he was still furious at him over Cassis’s death.
The soldiers went silent, staring at Rikar and Talis like they were about to fight. Some even stepped back into the shadows, as if wary of wizard duels.
“I ask you to start a fire, not start a fight!” Master Jarvis marched up and glared at them. “Now do something useful…preferably in difference places, you hear me?”
Talis nodded, and Rikar skulked off towards his horse, Nikulo trailing gloomily.
“And did I give permission for the rest of you to just stand there gaping at these fools?” Jarvis shouted.
Soon the soldiers went back to bustling around, setting up a cooking pot over the fire and preparing dinner. Talis helped them unload the food bags and one of the soldiers thanked him and said they could do the rest.
After eating dinner, Talis retreated with his blanket to a place behind several bushes, shielded from the northern wind. He thought about all that had happened…had it only been two days since the Jiserians had attacked Naru? Where was Mara now, locked up someplace in the Lei mansion, furious at her parents?
Talis let his thoughts drift away, and he leaned back to stare at the stars flickering in the sky. He dozed off to sleep, but was awakened by a rustling sound in the bushes. He tensed, finding himself completely awake in an instant. When the sound came closer, Talis gripped his short sword, feeling the fire crawl up his arm.
“It’s me,” Mara whispered, holding her hand out to stop him. “Put your sword away.”
“Mara? But…how did you get here?”
“I’m in disguise.” She pulled her hood down and grinned. “Proper soldier of House Lei… Did you miss me?”
“Of course! I can’t believe you escaped from your father. Everyone said he locked you away.”
“He did…but he doesn’t know I can pick all the locks in the house. I sneaked out in the middle of the night while everyone was sleeping…including the guard at the front gate.”
“Good secret to keep.” Talis grinned. “I’m glad you came-”
“Somebody had to keep you from getting yourself killed. When I heard Rikar and Nikulo were selected for the party, I was furious. I couldn’t let you go alone…especially not with grumpy Master Jarvis and those two fools…”
“Did you eat?”
Mara shrugged. “I packed chocolate and sweet bread.”
“That’s not food!”
“I didn’t want Rikar or Nikulo or Master Jarvis to recognize me by the fire…”
“Here, eat some dried meat.”
Mara nibbled on the edges. “This is delicious… You know, I really love your mother’s food. Why can’t I have your mother? My mother never cooks. Can we swap?”
“Not in a million years,” Talis said, and grinned.
They went quiet for awhile, listening to the droning sounds of insects in the oasis. Talis’s mood darkened, knowing that sooner or later someone would recognize Mara. “But what are we going to do when they find you’re here? You know they will, eventually.”
“Worry about that when the time comes.” Mara lay next to him, pulling his blanket over her, and stared at the stars. Twin meteors shot across the black sky, sending a pulsing thrill shooting through his body. Mara was really here with him… For the first time since leaving on the trip, hope blossomed in his heart.
After three grueling days north through the desert, Talis stared out across the stormy horizon, wishing they’d leave this bleak place. How far was it to the northlands? Jarvis was sullen and quiet, refusing to answer his questions. They’d stopped to rest in a gully underneath a massive sand dune.
Rikar was entertaining the soldiers-again, at Talis’s expense-telling stories about Xhan, Talis’s older brother, and what a tremendous fighter Xhan was (as opposed to Talis). It didn’t matter that Talis had beat him in the Blood Dagger competition, Rikar always chose to tell stories about older fights in which Talis lost. Rikar whispered something in a younger soldier’s ear, and they both scoffed and shook their heads at Talis.
This was the worst expedition possible. Talis wished he’d gotten to know his father’s men better, as they seemed to have the same challenging attitude towards him that his father had had for all these years. Especially the younger ones.
Mara kept quiet, keeping her face covered in disguise; she wasn’t about to get escorted back to Naru by one of the soldiers. Talis caught her gripping her dagger as Rikar was deep in ridiculing Talis. This wasn’t easy for her either.
Talis opened a pack and withdrew more dried meat from his dwindling supplies. He was getting sick of dried pork and dried beef. With the wind and storm as strong as it was, they didn’t even attempt to start a fire. He knew he couldn’t expect much in the way of variety on the expedition, especially the farther they went north and the colder it got. But still he missed the ovens of Naru filled with sweet bread and pies, dumpling soup from Fiskar’s Market, and most of all, his mother’s cooking.
But after an hour or so of waiting out the storm, the wind slowed and the clouds dissipated. An eerie calm possessed the desert as the soldiers stared around in wonder. Then one of the soldiers let out a shrill whistle, and Talis turned and noticed that the others behind him were staring at the western horizon.
“Raiders,” shouted Jarvis.
Talis squinted. Far away, a dust cloud swirled towards them.
“Prepare to ride!” Jarvis yelled, charging around his men. They gathered their gear and mounted up. “Battle formation, but keep it loose and fast, I’d rather not engage whoever is out there.”
Talis scrambled onto his horse, and rode after them, the wind stinging his face as they sped north. The horses of Naru were famous across the western world. Bred for speed and endurance, the thoroughbreds selected for the expedition were among the finest champions of Naru. But as Talis glanced back, whoever was chasing them rode like demons…
An inky-black sandstorm swirled behind the group chasing them, the fringes of which reached up to the zenith. The storm rose higher and higher as they gained on them, until it seemed that darkness would blot out the sky. White uniforms against the blackness. Jiserians.
The enemy soldiers on horseback didn’t travel alone. A hundred feet in the air behind them flew three figures in blood-red cloaks. Shadow tendrils lapped at their legs, shrouding their feet. Outstretched hands creating the power of the storm. Talis watched as the figure on the left dove from the sky and brought a spiraling arm down, a black lance of shadow and sand. The storm aimed directly at their party.
Talis stopped and gaped. His horse reared, spooked by the fury of the elemental assault. They would die out here. Or be captured and taken as slaves. Or worse, tortured for information. How could the Jiserians know they were out here?
A few seconds before the spiraling arm struck, it curved inwards and away, sending a blast of cold, sulfuric air washing over them. Talis froze, clearly seeing the Jiserian soldiers now. They weren’t human. At least not anymore. The soldiers and horses were all bone and rotting flesh. Swirling red and gold orbs blazed in their eye sockets. Talis glanced up at the figures in the sky.
Necromancers.
Talis gripped his short sword, feeling heat burning up his arm and racing down his spine.
Jarvis rode to the front, as if he could stop the overwhelming force. “Stay back!” Jarvis brandished his two-handed great sword.
The undead soldiers raised their swords and axes and halberds as they charged them, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. They rode in a twin blade formation, splitting before they reached the party. Circling, the undead soldiers paused, leering at them.
The lead necromancer flew down from the sky and landed twenty feet away. A pool of shadows swirled in her webbed hand. “You will surrender.” She extended her palm towards Jarvis. Talis had never seen such a terror before. Waves of shadowy mist billowed from her figure and light spilled in from above and illuminated the mist. Her eyes were radiant and cruel, yet her face appeared like a child.
“Go to hell,” shouted Jarvis, and raised his sword.
The woman chuckled and brought her hands together, sending a wave of shadows and light speeding at Jarvis. The force slammed into him, knocking him fifty feet back.
“Surrender…or die,” the woman said. A devilish smirk appeared on her lips.
“What do you want with us?” shouted a soldier. “We’re a simple scouting party-”
“You lie,” the woman hissed, and set her face into a twisted scowl. Now, she seemed a thousand years old, spidery veins on her neck, pulsing and black.
Another necromancer with a shaved head landed to the right. “Hand over the boy with the map case.”
“I sense the power.” The woman strode forward until she was inches from the soldier’s face. Her palm twitched. “I sense a powerful relic is near.”
Talis shrank back behind the soldiers, wanting to find a hole and disappear forever. They were looking for him.
Some strange power came over Rikar and he marched up and stood next to the soldier. The woman had gazed at him as he approached, as if her eyes searched his soul.
“You know of magic.” She frowned. “Yet you are not the one.”
“Deal with me, not the young ones.” The soldier stepped in front of Rikar.
“This one talks too much,” the bald necromancer said, and released a flood of demonic faces at the soldier.
He grabbed his throat, his face turning ashen, neck bulging and throbbing, and dropped to his knees, face planting into the sand.
“Now the map, and the boy, if you please.” The woman eyed the other soldiers.
“I have a better idea, let’s kill them one by one-”
“Patience, Oren, patience…”
“Talis,” Rikar said, “you might as well show yourself.”
As Talis stepped out, furious at Rikar for giving him away, he caught the woman’s gaze and the feeling of power grew from the sword in his hand. It built up into an uncontrollable rage, which he fought to suppress with all his power.
“This is the one.” The woman flew forward to where Talis stood.
Talis withdrew the map case and displayed it to the woman. “Is this what you are looking for?” he said. He used the moment’s distraction, stepped forward, and plunged the sword into her heart.
A wailing and hissing sound was heard as she vanished, her body melting into ash. The blood-red cloak wrapped around her floated to the ground.
Half the undead soldiers and horses collapsed around them. Bones clacked against bones, wilting on the sand. The sky cleared. Sunlight rained down on the dark army.
Talis fell to his knees, dizzy from the exertion, blinded by the sudden outpouring of light.
“What do we do now?” Rikar yelled, and stared at the glowering faces of the other two necromancers.
Talis laughed madly. He’d killed a necromancer and it felt amazing. Not some wild animal in the swamplands. The most feared opponent on the battlefield. A Jiserian necromancer.
After a brief moment of sunlight, the darkness rained down once again. This time it came with a fog so thick it suffocated all visibility. Talis heard a moan that sounded like a soldier being struck. Mara screamed. The sound of steel shattering bone and armor. A deep, booming roar that echoed over the sand, as if the fog itself was the source.
Turning, he charged through the mist towards Mara’s voice, trying to protect her. Out in the edge of the fog, Talis noticed Rikar talking with a shadowy figure. He turned his head towards Talis, as if surprised at being found. The figure disappeared into the fog. Rikar frowned at Talis. What was Rikar doing?
Soon four undead warriors strode towards Talis, leering at him, weapons raised. The fog lifted, and Talis could see they were beaten. Rikar charged at the undead, slicing off a leg and kicking another over. Talis joined in, severing the other two in half.
But the necromancers, hovering fifty feet off the ground, shot a stream of grey and black particles towards the slain undead, causing them to reassemble back to life. The undead warriors shook their fists above their heads and glowered at Talis. Looking around, Talis could see they’d lost. Almost every soldier from the party had been slain or beaten down. The undead surrounded them and the necromancers floated down to gloat over their victory.
“We can’t die like this,” Talis said, edging close to Rikar.
“Dying is for quitters,” Rikar said, and raised a ruby to his lips. He whispered a name, a name that Talis could barely hear, a name that sounded familiar, like from his nightmares. Aurellia… The ruby glowed red and bits of silver shimmered inside.
Instantly, it was dark again, so dark, Talis couldn’t see his hands.
A rumbling sound, as if millions of bison charged across a plain. Then a whooshing sound, like when the wind from a storm races through the trees. Brilliant lights pierced the darkness, forming a magical portal, filled with shadows and light.
An ancient man, face distorted and leathered, wearing a black hooded robe, stepped through the portal and glanced around, chuckling to himself like he knew some secret joke. He rammed his ruby-tipped staff into the sand. An explosion of red and orange and silver light shot out in all directions and vaporized the undead warriors and horses.
“Be banished to eternal night,” he said, his voice slow and slurred, and he aimed his staff at the bald necromancer, and pointed a finger at the other. A rift appeared in the sky and moans and screams of agony from a million dead souls cried out from that rift, as if the sound came from the torments of the Underworld.
The necromancers were pulled (or rather the darkness enveloped them) into the rift and they fought and shrieked against the force, but in the end lost the struggle.
And then the shadow portal came to the old man, rushed over him, and consumed him, until he too disappeared.
The air was clear. The sun was strong. The wind, cold from the north.