We climbed up the ladder, making our way to the surface once more. To my surprise, she wasn't burdened by the confession. Turning to me, she offered me a hand — quickly helping me out of the worn-down pit. The convoy marched on ahead. Cutting across the dirt road, we cut corners — following our swinging lantern to its ultimate conclusion. Sparks spilled out as the flame raged, demanding I look on ahead to where the convoy stopped.
False flames continued to burn forevermore, but with shovels, soldiers picked up the fire and planted them elsewhere. Dumping them aside, they made room for the convoy's vehicles to gather around a gravesite.
"It can't be," Anise whispered to herself.
She and I watched as the vehicles and their machinery dug down into the ground. Scraping with metal teeth, they tore the earth, smashing apart the lone tombstone that stood, marking the spot where the victims of the massacre were buried.
"They'll stop at nothing," she whispered. "Nothing is sacred to those bastards."
Petrov's guard and the royal soldiers dug away, hacking away at frozen earth with pickaxes and digging machines until they reached their ore — an alchemic monster. Bone was fused to bone. Like the spine of a snake, they dragged out corpses who, after being buried together and melted by the false flame, morphed. Metamorphosing underground, they were stewed in resentment and hatred — merging into the undead form they currently existed in.
Skulls laid at the end of limbs. Being dragged out of the earth, the hulking mass was too weak — too underbaked to survive. Falling apart, piece by piece, the tribal beast was hauled into a metal box of a cage. Skulls fell off and chomped at whatever they could reach. Fueled by hatred, the skulls — varying in size from adult to child — sprouted bone and tendon legs, skittering like crabs.
"Ghosts!" the soldiers cried — screaming when the crabs leapt, biting down with jagged teeth.
Halberds and shields were deployed. Boots stomped on the undead, sending them back to the pits of hell. The old shaman Nanna stepped off her truck, standing in the center of the mess with a sigh. "The Hollow tribe were always so feisty," she said. "To conjure curses like these — with runes and curses branded upon their own corpses. How barbaric."
A familiar commander stepped out. Lucas, with a spear, skewered the undead, muttering, "The things I do for the empire. To think I'd be digging up the remains of their massacres, and for what?"
"This is a sacrifice — a chip to play against our opponent," she said. "The flameseeker needs sacrifices to revive the primordial flame. We have to gather tribute, creating an offer he can't refuse."
He stared at the skulls he pierced — at the broken arms and limbs that were possessed by eternal hatred. With a sigh, he muttered, "There has to be a better way."
The soldiers worked together to wrestle the undead mass, forcing it into its cage with spears and shield barricades. While they worked, I noticed a distracted pair.
While the men were busy, we spotted a pair of patrolling soldiers. Anise looked at me, and with a dagger, we pulled them into the shadows. The soldier struggled in Anise's arms and she had trouble taking him out — biting back regret before plunging her dagger into his throat. I didn't realize it, but the man in my hands was already dead. I had unconsciously cut him like a surgeon, bleeding him dry while I stared at Anise who was having trouble.
I had nothing to say. Wearing their uniforms and cleaning the blood off with snow and fire, our faces were hidden behind masked helmets. Carrying halberds, we joined the rest of the soldiers — infiltrating their ranks and fitting in like a stolen glove.
"I'll distract the soldiers," Anise whispered to me. "Go and steal the sacrifice."
She took it upon herself to help me, and stepping away from the crowd of soldiers, she made herself stand out on purpose. With her halberd, she stamped it into the earth — pointing to the distance with a shout.
"Interloper!" she cried, imitating a soldier. "Under decree of his imperial majesty, you are under arrest!"
The soldiers all froze, turning to see what she was pointing at — chasing after Anise who grabbed her halberd and ran after the fake interloper. Every soldier, bored and made miserable by the freezing winds, were more than eager to stretch their legs and run around in the scorched remains of the village.
Commander Lucas pulled out a pair of binoculars, sighing to himself when he saw what was ahead. "They've run off into the forest," he said before pointing to a group of men, telling them to go investigate and back Anise up. With the help of a truck, they drove off to go on a wild goose chase, all I made my way to the back of the tank.
There, kept in a metal box was the sacrifice. The fireproof container was air tight, forcing me to find any crack in its defenses. Meanwhile, Lucas and Nanna stood near the container, whispering to one another.
"The flameseeker is coming with an army of his own," she said. "It's best if we returned back to the safety of an imperial city."
"It's a smart move," Lucas said, "but I'm afraid General Wartrain won't allow for a retreat."
Lucas wanted to leave. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't the highest authority here. Stepping out of an armored truck was General Wartrain — a man covered head to toe in light armor and military medals and medallions. Covered in a skull mask, he carried a wooden staff reminiscent of a walking cane.
"There is no running away," Wartrain said. "The flameseeker's army is approaching. We'll face off against them here where we have the advantage."
"An open village, scattered rubble and undying flames," Lucas muttered. "Are you sure this is the best choice for a battlefield?"
"Of course," he said. "After all, we have superior firepower."
General Wartrain commanded Lucas. With a shout to his personal soldiers, he moved them like pieces on this chessboard. "Continue moving!" Wartrain ordered. "Keep the sacrifice moving and make your way back to Cardia City! The rest of you soldiers will stay back and meet the Flame Rebellion head on!" and he took his staff and stamped it into the earth, shouting, "By decree of his imperial majesty, this minor rebel faction will be wiped out — buried beneath the white winds!"
The shaman Nanna approached Wartrain. "I can sense their presence. They'll soon be arriving any moment now."
"Good," Wartrain said. "It's about time that boy arrived."
Wartrain made his final adjustments in preparation for battle. Moving up a hill, he positioned his army in the safety of the woods — partially hidden and covered by the scorched foliage. Crossbows were put into play. Bolts were gathered and even I was thrown into the frontlines, a crossbow placed in my hands, forced alongside the rest of the army.
Wartrain took one glance at his men and nodded. "Very good," he said, turning to Commander Lucas. "This will be enough."
Lucas stood, watching as Wartrain opened the door of the truck. "Where are you headed off to, general?" he asked.
"I'm heading off to bolster the rear guard," Wartrain said. "I trust you to handle the vanguard and whatever comes with it."
"Am I to wait for reinforcements?" Lucas asked. "The vanguard here can fight, but they can't handle the flame scourge's rebel army. If we want a fighting chance, we'd need reinforcements."
"Don't hold your breath," Wartrain said. "Your one duty is to hold them off — to fight till your last breath."
"Are you damning these men to death?"
"Their sacrifices won't be in vain," Wartrain said. "You're a roadblock — an obstacle for them. Keep them occupied, and if you can, try to cripple them."
As far as I could tell, Wartrain was ordering Lucas and Petrov's guard to death, all while he and the royal knights retreated to the safety of a rear guard who refused to take part in the fight ahead. In other words, Wartrain was sentencing Lucas and his men — designating them as cannon fodder. With the closing of the truck door, Wartrain made a tactical retreat with the sacrifice in tow.
Lucas stood, clenching his teeth — unable to argue against his superior. "Coward," was all he could say.
I was disguised as a lowly soldier — an imperial soldier left behind by Wartrain to die as cannon fodder.
Despite that, I had the audacity to speak up.
"He's afraid, isn't he?" I asked Lucas.
Lucas quickly turned to me, grabbing me by the collar. "Enough," he spat out. "Not a single word out of you."
"Why?" I asked. "Aren't I right? Aren't we being abandoned by the empire — turned to cannon fodder for their interests?"
"Shut your mouth," he ordered. "Normally, I'd give you a dozen lashes for insubordination, but I think I'll instead make an example out of you."
I couldn't tell if anger changed him or if this was his real face. Despite that, I could tell he wasn't mad at me, but at Wartrain. I was just a sponge who absorbed it — someone for him to shove aside.
Shoving me ahead, Lucas turned to his entire army. "We stand our ground," Commander Lucas ordered. "We stand here for Prince Petrov, to ensure his ascension to the throne — to ensure that we have a brighter future. Prince Petrov is Nordsummer's last hope and we shall fight to preserve that."
Looking around, the other soldiers weren't as convinced as Lucas wanted them to be. The imperial soldiers looked like they were on the verge of splintering off while Petrov's guard grew weak in their faith. Commander Lucas noticed that change, and with a kick, he pushed me to the front — down a hill towards the distant threat.
"Lead your fellow brothers," Lucas ordered, his spear pointed to my back. "Show them the bravery of the empire or be sentenced to death."
I could hear the marching. In the distance, I saw the familiar helmets and the weapons that killed them sticking out of their heads. I was running out of time. The army was approaching ahead, all while the sacrifice was being hauled away behind me. Standing up with snow on my face, I took my halberd and threw it aside.
"Pick up your weapon!" Lucas cried.
"They're approaching," I told them. "The flameseeker comes, carrying the banner of the Flame Rebellion."
"And we will stop them here and now, even if it costs us our lives!"
Hearing that, I turned towards Lucas before reaching for my helmet — a veil that hid away the truth. When I lifted the metal mask, I saw his expression shift.
"Impossible. This can't be real," Lucas muttered.
"Oh, this is real, alright," I said, and I pulled something out of my pocket, a sight that drove Lucas mad.
"Flame scourge!" Lucas cried, and with a thrust, he nearly impaled me. It was a good attempt at stamping out my embers, but unfortunately for him, it wasn't good enough.
In my hand was the explosive arrow Anise made. With just a droplet of fire, flames burst out from my grasp, sticking to his armor like napalm. Lit ablaze, the commander clawed at his own armor, screaming as he tore it off his burning body. The other soldiers all pointed their crossbows at me, but they knew better than to shoot.
"Soldiers!" I cried, tendrils of fire escaping my body. "Are you willing to die here, burning at the end of my fingertips, or will you submit to me!?" My flames erupted — burning into a wildfire that spread like wings of fire. The flames were brilliant, outshining the false fire that filled the dreary ruins. "Join me!" I told them. "Join me and wage vengeance against an empire who so easily throws you aside as cannon fodder! Together, we'll begin a new era for Nordsummer!"
I was asking them to join me — to help topple the emperor and take our conquest overseas to the mainland.
And to my surprise, one by one, those crossbows lowered.
It seemed like the empire truly believed in the legends of the flameseeker — of an emperor who fought a campaign of fire, conquering the island of Nordsummer for his people. Not only that, but the army behind me finally caught up — quickly joining forces with the swayed soldiers who swore allegiance to the Flame Rebellion.
From behind, Gawain approached, patting me on the shoulder with a chain-smothered hand. "Very impressive," Gawain said. "To sway enemies to your side so easily. The myths and legends of flame scourges are bedtime stories for children of the empire. It must be shocking for them, to see one in person."
"I was worried I wouldn't be able to convince them," I told Gawain, "but that's beside the point. The imperial soldiers have stolen the sacrifice — taking it away to Cardia City."
"Is that so?" Gawain asked.
Gawain approached the burn victim who laid, his armor torn off, his wounds soothed by snow. Grabbing Lucas by the collar, Gawain lifted the commander off his feet.
"You must be the commander — now ex commander — of this platoon," Gawain said.
Lucas, held up by the scruff of his collar, glared with his one eye. Half his face was torched by my flames. "Rebel scum," Lucas muttered. "Put me down, you traitor!"
Gawain did as asked. Slamming Lucas to the floor, Gawain beat the commander — bloodying his face with a chain wrapped fist. "Tell me where they took the sacrifice," Gawain asked, calm as ever. "That sacrifice belongs to the flameseeker. It doesn't belong in the hands of the empire."
"I won't tell you a thing, rebel bastard!"
I could do nothing but stand there, watching as Gawain took advantage of the shifting tides — beating the ex-commander senseless with knuckles reinforced by chains. Even with an ex-soldier hammering his face in, Lucas held strong, refusing to budge to Gawain's demands.
A sane person would intervene — stopping Gawain and sparing Lucas, but I could do nothing but watch, knowing that the information was valuable.
"Tell me all you know," Gawain said — asking kindly with his words and demanding harshly with his fists. "I'll spare you if you play nice, so speak up already."
Gawain wanted everything. Army count, location, traps, routes and plans. Any information he could get was worth reddening his knuckles with Lucas' blood. He wanted to even the odds as much as possible against an enemy like the empire — using any and all methods to get that information.
Blood stained the snow, and with a huff, Gawain stood back up.
"Chain him up," Gawain ordered. "Take him away. I'll get information out of him later."
I watched as flame rebels took Lucas and chained him up. From his shirt pocket, I watched as a bag of tea leaves fell to the snow. As they dragged him away, Lucas looked at me with a bloodied eye — his last remaining eye. A broken jaw combined with a swollen tongue made him incapable of speech. He'd be taken care of and medically treated by the rebels, enough for him to speak, at least.
Gawain watched as Lucas was taken away, and with a handful of credits, he turned to the treacherous imperial soldiers who turned to our side.
"A hundred credits to the man who can provide me with information!" he cried.
It was the jingle coins that broke their silence.