A new plan had to be devised.
Fatalities were catastrophic, with half their regiment already dead. They could not wait for another imperial ship to come with reinforcements. Enough time had been lost. They had crash landed near Mystara, the Kingdom of Red Sand, at the mouth of the Crimson Crescent—the curvature of a vast tundra that led to the deep vales. They had to cross through that to reach Quintaris. Over that stone ridge lies the Cimmerian Mountain. When the wounded were being tended to, only then did the Electus choose to avail himself. With the backdrop of the sundered ship, and debris cast out in all directions.
"Oh, so you are still alive?" Elysia said in a jeering tone.
"I really don't do noble deaths," he said with equal contempt. "Though I should mind my tone when regarding Elysia, the beast-feller." He performed a theatrical bow. "A chronicle for your bravery, for you have surely earned your name."
"And you have sullied your own."
Gallagar stood upright. "Should I be judged by the metrics meant for another?"
"Did you ever tire of your own inadequacy?"
"My apologies, is slaying Leviathans a common standard?"
"Those men," she uttered, anger thrumming through her blood, "called out to you. They believed in you."
"And look what that brought them." A hollow laugh trickled from his lips. He moved ahead, then brushed past her. "You have only yourselves to blame for your own folly."
Elysia gaped at him, stunned by the cruelty of his cool indifference. She had clung to some morsel of hope that destiny was free of error. She came to believe Valerius's truth about him: he was dishonorable, self-centered, and a coward at heart.
The convoy commenced the trek on foot. Beneath the scorching gaze of an unforgiving sun. The vast expanse was painted in hues of fiery rust and burnt sienna. The very earth seemed to exhale heat in shimmering waves. Salvation was on the horizon. The tree-line branched out like a limb of refuge. Zephor had faintly recovered, enough to walk on his own. The attack had drained much of his life-force; he needed rest circumstance could not afford. They forged on. Gallagar watched them. He thought the bear-like warrior would care for nothing but his duties to the Crown. And yet he loomed over Zephor occasionally, with a predatory intensity, like a wolf watching over its pup.
Valerius often checked on his hordes of men, especially the wounded, checking if they needed a recess, but they were as steadfast as he was. Only when he spoke with Elysia and Blackthorn, did he seem content. Nothing resembling the shape of a smile would crack through his stony and invulnerable guard. However, there was a softness in his gaze when he found himself in their company.
They reached the vales when evening fell. The convoy made an encampment in a clearing. It wasn't long before Valerius and a score of soldiers returned from a night hunt with enough wild game to feed everyone. Still, Valerius surrendered his portions to the wounded and vanished. The loss of his men was taking its toll. A hundred, now only fifty.
Zephor' worry was diluted by Elysia. When he got like that, it was best to spare him his space. Most could hardly eat, but Gallagar feasted happily, unmoved by the bone-chilling mood. Blackthorn glared at him with only red raging through his mind.
"We saw them," he grumbled to Gallagar.
Gallagar glanced back at him quizzically, his cheeks bloated.
"Your status, an honoree marking belonging to the second-in-command of the elite special forces of the Verdantia." Firelight roared in his eyes. "How does a respected warrior of Etherlund fall so far?"
Gallagar continued eating like he wasn't there.
"I saw your back," he said, prodding at him further. "Whilst you were nothing but a bastard drunk. Those burns were made by requell, an acid that eats at the flesh." A simple observation, but something profound behind the delivery. "It keeps from your organs to keep you alive, so you can feel every bit of your agony."
Gallagar swallowed and used the bone of the animal to pick his teeth. "And what? You think there is some sob story that has whittled me down into what you see before you?" He laughed emptily. "There isn't. There is no good or evil in this world, only perspective. Mine is clear, for I see the world for what it is."
"Then how would you expect it to change?" Zephor shuffled into sight, his hand bound to his stomach as if injured. "The only way is if we all were not as we are, but as we should be."
Gallagar smiled again, but there was no humor nor delight behind it. "I do adore your idealism, Zeph. No matter how misplaced."
~
The deeper the convoy ventured into the vales, the more it darkened. A fissure was nearby, leaking out its poison. The woods were shadow-touched. And soon they found out what happened to the people who vanished without an inkling.
"Wait." Horror like talons dug into Gallagar's gut. "We're just going to continue like we don't see those maimed corpses?"
Thick-trunked trees loomed around them with bodies hung from their boughs, their ends protruding from their chests. They had been gutted and skinned, their flesh torn with eye socks empty. Gallagar winced. An all too familiar smell, the stench of voided bowels, violently tugged at his memories. His gut lurched, and he took a step out of line to vomit on the charred bank.
Zephor analyzed the burnt foliage, then turned to Valerius. "Shadowfire."
Zephor erected, then peered up into the darkness. For a moment, all was silent, then his eyes widened. Valerius looked up at the maelstrom of black barreling towards them from above. Winged creatures swooped down, their feet outstretched, to pluck soldiers off the ground. Mid-air, they ripped flesh from bone. Blackthorn leapt into Gallagar's path to rent the many-eyed monster, his long ax slicing it apart effortlessly and sending either part flying. Gallagar ran.
"Coward!" Elysia yelled.
"Self-preservation!" he shouted back.
A screeching cloud descended upon them. Zephor raised Starweaver and shot down as many as he could. One flew towards his rear, and he spun around to swat it out of the sky. Zephor swiveled to try to find Gallagar, but he couldn't. With a flourish, Elysia dispatched two flying pests with the precise stabs of her daggers. Zephor released a bright blast from the staff that made even the air vibrate. The winged creatures fell to the ground, and the convoy felled the rest of them.
Zephor rushed through the carnage of man and monster. "Where is the Electus?"
Elysia wiped her black-bloodied face.
Valerius had spotted a hooded Gallagar… stealing. White-hot rage surged through him with boundless force. He stormed over to him and hurled a gut-wrenching blow that made him stagger. Zephor was quick to stand between them, urging Valerius back.
"He dares to steal from the bodies of my dead brothers."
Gallagar moaned as he straightened. "Unless there are death tolls in the afterlife." He held up the leather pouch. "They'll be in no need of earthly currency."
Valerius lunged at him. Zephor held him back.
Valerius whipped around, moving away, his stride scorching the earth beneath his feet. "Bury our brothers with honor," he ordered, and the ground groaned beneath the weight of his command. "All journeys are born of death. Let us ensure theirs were not in vain."
Once their bodies were buried and marked so they could be found—if they survived, so they could be transported home. The soldiers were grouped in formation behind their leaders. Blackthorn and Elysia stood side by side. Valerius was far ahead on his own, squatted by the graves undeserving of valiant men. His soul, scarred by their loss, condemned to trail a phalanx of phantoms.
A snap of a branch.
Valerius's frenzied eyes flew up.
He rose to his feet and skulked towards the sound with his hand stilled on the hilt. Valerius edged closer and drew his sword. Followed by the sharp ring of dozens more unsheathed. His longsword rose with a ferocious glint—a blur of movement. The blade froze. Valerius glared at Gallagar, who had caught it, his hand clamped around the blade, fist trembling from the force, and blood dripping from his palm. He released and steered his gaze to a child who oozed out from the blackened woods, his tattered garments stained with blood.
Gallagar approached him carefully, lifting his hood from his face.
"Are you hurt?"
The boy quavered, trauma teeming in his eyes.
Valerius's eyes were still wild as he lowered his sword.
The boy spun around and fled. Gallagar went after him, drawing the entire convoy after them. They had pursued the boy to an enclosed hamlet devastated by abominations. Fleeing folk barely escaped. Many were seized by gaping, blood-flushed jaws that shredded through soft flesh. An eldritch shriek wrenched from the jaws of raw-boned creatures. Its face split apart to reveal a monstrosity of wickedly sharp teeth, bloody ichor dripping from each one. They released another skull-rattling screech. Valerius's thunderous command launched the convoy into an attack. Valerius charged into the fray, decapitating three heads with one mighty swing, carving a path through them. With Blackthorn slewing the stragglers he left behind.
The full weight of mindless creatures crashed into them with a dull thud. Valerius plowed into one, sending them both to the ground. Long arms flailed before his blade punctured its neck, releasing an explosion of arterial blood. Zephor summoned a blast of magic that made the remainder easy prey for their blades.
The black ichor bleeding down Valerius's face made it seem like his dark hair was leaking. Unscathed, he hurried to Zephor, who collapsed on the ground. He forced his arm around his shoulders and lifted him off the ground.
"Find him," he croaked out, his skin flaking with darkened eyes like dying embers.
Valerius remained immovable.
Zephor slipped from his grasp as he used his staff for support. "Go."
Valerius tore himself away. His eyes darted to Blackthorn, who snapped him a reassuring nod as he hauled another to their feet. He strode through the mud-slick streets. Everywhere was death; the air was thick with the metal tang of blood, bodies and buildings charred a hellish black. Valerius caught the sound of a babble of voices; urgent murmuring. He came to a guarded entryway, but the ill-equipped farmer stood aside immediately. Valerius froze in the doorway. He watched as Gallagar coordinated the peasant folk inside, expertly calling on long-named herbs as people swarmed around a severely wounded woman. The bloodied boy, who was covered in his mother's blood and not his own, knelt at her feet.
Valerius's commanding presence beckoned Gallagar's gaze without word.
Gallagar fetched an older boy and grasped his shoulders, forcing his gaze. "Look at me, Kai. With your father gone, and your mother stricken. Your family looks to you now. Remember, fear lives in us all, as does strength." He drew out two of the stolen sack purses and handed them to the boy. "Take this. And when you are ready, travel to Etherlund. There is a convent there, the Haven of Elvarpass. You will find the aid you need there. I will find you again to make certain of you and your brother's welfare."
"You promise?" he whimpered.
He placed a quick, affectionate hand on his cheek before he raced out of the dwelling. Valerius followed behind him. Gallagar could feel his stare like a weight upon his shoulders.
"What?"
"How do you know about the convent?"
"A sanctuary I once knew," he said, to end the matter.
What he failed to mention was that it was his place of birth. He was raised there as an orphan, and they took care of him. And when he was of age, he took care of them. The convent was poorly funded, with little less than two hundred children to feed. In time, Gallagar became their donor. And from his generous contributions, he was even able to aid their expansion; his own profits built two more parishes.