The Last Lands

CHAPTER 7-ALWAYS BREAKING, BUT NEVER BROKEN

Light overwhelmed them.

There were voices within the bright burst of eternity, names were called out, passages of love from an unheard poem, deliverances of hate from creatures beyond the veil. The light was so prevalent, it tainted itself, rotting into darkness.

Busco's ears were ringing, a thousand church bells thronged in his brain. He was transported through time, through the great flash of his life above the city he knew, back through the end of the Aerth, to its very creation. For millennia he travelled, a soft speckle of dust that became a footnote to nothing, and within a single blink, he was back, in the halls of the castle of Oster Morrow.

The ringing grew louder, deeper, it was a scream of pain. Through blurred eyes, he saw Sareta struggle and squirm with a hand enclosed over the malevolent sword. She pulled at her arm, but she could not escape it. His Master had been thrown to the floor, and Busco was on his back, looking upwards.

The runes along the floor began to glow, blue red and white, her face was a patch-work of venomous colour. As she pulled and jolted, the sword itself began to move. From the handle, were six thin circles which began to open. Six thick coils sprung themselves out, writhing and metal. The serpentine wires buried themselves into her forearm, drawing thick, blackened blood. Her scream was something unholy, and through her distraught eyes, Busco saw there was something there beyond regret, beyond hopelessness.

Khol and Sir Douglas tried to get to her, but the air sparkled with glittering waves of light. The energy surrounding her was translucent, tangible to the touch, but swirling with a foul presence. Through the cascade of colour and sound, there was a rough scrape of metal and stone, as she finally pulled her hand away, and the sword came with it, freed from its earthly prison after thousands of years. The coils remained buried within her arms, the sword wrenched itself away, spots and splatters of blood following it. It clattered on the floor behind her, as she frantically tried to pull the coils out. Busco and Master Gybalt pulled themselves up, still in a daze.

The coils whirled and moved, retracting the sword, and almost smoothly, it was back in her hands. With a feral desperation of a trapped animal, she tried to free the sword from her hand. Suddenly, there was a moment, a frozen frame within a second, when she paused, realising its futility. Her dark, tear-filled eyes met Busco's. He couldn't say anything, he could only strain to hear what she whispered.

Make it stop.

She flicked her head back, screaming in agony. Her hair rippled and the energy throbbed and reached their apex, concentrated and pulsating around her. Busco tried to call to her, as she rocked and twisted within the circle. She folded her arms around herself, before releasing them, and with it, came a wave of sheer force that bowled them other again. Busco tried to keep his head up, but the air screeched around him.

Through the whirlwind, he saw her wield the sword, the sphere within it had begun to move, the hands were ticking, wildly, spinning, until they stopped, and so too did the wind. A sudden, discomforting silence dropped heavily on them. It lasted only a second, but it was an anvil upon the halls. The sword glowed, and something was released.

Sareta turned, a white flame was unleashed with a dragons roar, a scythe blade hurled towards the great doors, cleaving them apart, soaring towards the walls ahead. Cowering from the debris and shards of grey light flying within, Busco did not even see her flee. Without looking at the others, his feet pounded down the stone steps, and stood at the ruin of wooden doors. He heard the others, but only barely over his pounding heart. Master Gybalt said something as he placed a hand on his shoulder, but Busco shook it off, staring into an empty courtyard.

Sir Douglas pushed past him, and down the steps, alone, sword gleaming in the light, spinning around. He wiped at his sweating forehead, cursing to himself. He heard Khol pant behind him, whispering something. He stepped forward, slowly, not daring to believe she was gone. He looked to his master for any kind of wisdom, but his face was blank. It was that of a scientist's, studying the case of events in his mind.

Khol sank himself down on a step, cupping his massive head in his hands. Busco turned to look at Sir Douglas, whose sorrow seeped through his steely eyes. He began to shake his head, but before the gravity of that motion hit him, Busco turned, stomping towards his satchel, his hands shaking as he packed his sleeping bag into it, and slung it around his shoulder. Confused, he turned behind him to see the others still had not moved.

“Come on.” He said weakly. “We have to find her.”

Sir Douglas looked to Master Gybalt, who only looked to the sky. He slowly walked towards Busco, his sword twirling in his hand. Khol rose, and finally Master Gybalt turned to look at them.

“No.” He said softly. “We can't.”

The silence was stunning, it struck Busco in the chest. Sir Douglas turned to him.

“Gybalt.” He pleaded. “We can't leave her.”

“This is our mission, Aeinon. She was not part of our entourage, nor our concern. There's still much we don't understand about this castle.”

“But the sword-” Busco said.

“Is dangerous, yes.” Gybalt said sternly, with the eyes of a hawk. “We knew better than to touch it, Quinn. The fact that someone else has, again, is not our responsibility.”

“The sword is dangerous, Gybalt!” Sir Douglas said, stepping closer to the mage. “Who knows what power has just been unleashed, what it might even do to her.”

Master Gybalt did not flinch, staring his old friend in the eye.

“You think it's going to kill her, don't you?” Sir Douglas said quietly.

“I think it's a distinct possibility.”

“Th-th-th-then we have to help her!” Khol interjected.

“I will not waste anymore time or resources of this mission on that girl.” He turned to his students, taking the time to bring some humanity back to his stare.

“It's...a sad accident, it's true, but she should not have been her. Whatever is happening to her is a consequence of that. Busco was right about what he said before. This isn't Arnesfeld. This isn't New Peridios. This is a strange, new world we are in. One with unpredictable-”

Before he could finish, Sir Douglas had turned, sheathing his sword. He silently picked up his shield and satchel with calm movements, but Busco could see his jaw was tensed.

“Aeinon.” Master Gybalt said, exasperated.

“It's okay.” Sir Douglas said, struggling to remain amiable. “You three stay here, I'm going to go look for her.”

“Sir Douglas.” Gybalt said with an air of authority. “Need I remind you, you are here for me and my students protection.”

“They have you, Gybalt.” He said, fastening his belt, tightening the shield straps around his wrist. “Three mages would presumably have little need for an old swordsman in this castle.”

“Aienon.”

“I'm a paladin, Gybalt. A knight of the Old Order. I serve whoever needs me.”

He sunk a final look of swords into Gybalt's flesh, and turned to Busco's barricade. Beside it, along the wall, was a length of rope, with a grappling hook sunk into a part of the wall.

“Busco.” Sir Douglas called. “Drop the barricade for me. Bring it back up when I'm through.”

Busco hurried to his side.

“If you're going then I'm going to.”

“No. Gyb-” He replied, anger muddling his words. “Master Gybalt is right. You have a mission to accomplish. I have mine. I'll bring the girl back.”

Busco grabbed at the knight's arm, and was met with a fierce look of fury, one that made him shrink. He released the arm.

“Please Sir. You might need my help.”

Sir Douglas turned to look at the stoic Ganders, who only watched. He turned back to Busco, then set his way towards the mage.

“Busco wants to come with me.” He said. “So should you and Khol.”

Khol gave an expecting look to his master, whose expression did not shift.

“We have a mission, Aeinon.”

“Think about why you brought them here. What are they going to learn in that old castle they won't out here?”

“You could stay here, Master. And Khol, if he wants, but I think I should go.” Busco said earnestly.

The three gazed upon the old mage, whose face was that of a younger man.

“Even if it's only to bring back the sword.” Sir Douglas said. “We have to find it.”

“Her.” Busco corrected.

Gybalts green eyes were piercing, gleaming in the morning sun.

“Fine.” He said, reluctantly. “Take all the supplies, just in case. We'll find that bloody girl.”

*******************************************************************************

The barricade was brought down hastily, into a clamour of dust. The slopes that led to the jungle were relatively unscathed. They followed the wall around, until they saw that part of it was disturbed. Yellow rubble was strewn along the floor, leading to a trail of broken plants and hewn trees.

Sir Douglas was at the lead, quickly and thoroughly investigating the plants and soil. Busco kept behind close, but careful not to interfere with the tracker's progress. Khol clumsily tried to keep up, but the roots proved challenging, and the flies and mosquitoes chose him as their prime target. After ten minutes of frantic exploration, the brush began to thin out, and the trees grew larger and taller. In the undergrowth, they were darkened by shade.

There was a clearing ahead, and the trees gave way to a field of grass. Here the sun grew stronger, as too did the wind. A refreshing brush against their sweating bodies, the knee-height blades rocked to its gentle persuasion. Sir Douglas stood, staring out towards a series of craggy mountains ahead.

“Can you see the trail?” Busco asked.

Sir Douglas kept his focus abroad.

“Quiet.” He said, concentrating. “Listen.”

All Busco could hear was the stomping of the minotaur desperately trying to keep up with them. He strained his ears, only hearing panting breath and bristling wind. Then came a scream, deep in the distance, one of pain and anguish. An explosion was carried along the breeze, dull but booming. Sir Douglas pointed ahead.

“There.” He said.

A small cloud of dust appeared on the slopes of the crags.

How did she get so far away, so quickly?

Sir Douglas looked back to a disapproving Gybalt Ganders, and pressed forward, breaking into a run.

“Come on, we have to get to her, quickly.”

The four of them ran through the field, as insects darted around them. The sun broke through the clouds, roasting them as they ran. By the time they reached the dark grey stone, Busco was completely out of breath, and Khol was bowed in pain. The clouds had seeped back to the bruised blue sky, and the air had grown substantially colder.

Busco turned back to where the blue sky still lay, in the jungle beyond. The Silver Tooth sat alone, suddenly not so much of a fang jutting from the earth. The golden walls of Oster's Castle were still visible, rolled in yellow light. Sir Douglas had already begun his ascent. The mountains were each smaller than the Silver Tooth, and none so high as to gather snow on the top. They clung like the teeth of the lower jaw of some colossal beast. They were a lighter grey, but sharper. There were patches of vegetation threaded through the teeth. Dark greens, yellows and purple heather.

Sir Douglas scanned the stony slopes for clues, rubbing the silver dust between his fingers.

“There's no trail here. We have to find where we saw that explosion.” He said, no more than a mutter.

Master Gybalt stretched his back out, and Khol splashed some water on his forehead, shaking his dark fur flamboyantly. Busco rubbed at his thighs, and inclined himself, ready to move out again. Sir Douglas stepped his boot onto a jagged rock, his hands positioned ahead, although awkwardly with his dog-emblazoned shield, and pulled himself up. Busco breathed in the scent of the mountain. It was invigorating, a refreshing connection between him and the natural world. He effortlessly followed Sir Douglas as they climbed the spiky incline, that was sloped enough to make it only a matter of finding which stone-step was the quickest route to make it over the next hurdle. Busco felt himself bounding ahead of Sir Douglas, standing on a tall boulder, watching the line of ragged hills stretch on indefinitely. The tall brushes besides them bristled, and he followed the breeze back to where they came from.

“Sir.” He called out, pointing to the minotaur and the old man.

Sir Douglas turned with a sweaty brow, seeing how Khol struggled against the scattered stones, sending a land-slide behind him. Master Gybalt was clearly feeling the strain, though he tried to mask it with a prideful stride. The two were several meters behind them, and rapidly losing distance. The two ahead watched as they slowly trudged to meet them, but clearly they were rearing to go.

“Are you two alright?” Sir Douglas asked seriously.

They both nodded with a slight wheeze.

“I think me and Busco should go on ahead. You two have a break, catch your breath.”

He turned to study the hill they were on, seeing that it peaked not far away. Behind it, taller and spikier mountains lay waiting.

“We'll look for the trail up there. Head for the peak of that mountain, we'll wait for you there.”

Khol sat down with a heavy slump, rubbing at the fur between his horns. Master Gybalt nodded weakly, slowly lowering himself down too.

“Be careful.” He said gravely, as Sir Douglas and Busco turned.

Busco gave a small smile to his master, and set out to follow the Old Dog up the hill.

We're coming, Sareta.

Busco's new found energy began to sap as they reached the bottom of the larger, spikier mountain Sir Douglas had singled out. Sir Douglas had begun to slow too. The heat had subsided, but there was still a viscous quality to the air that draped itself over them. The sky had grown steelier, and the wind was far more biting.

Sir Douglas stopped, waiting perceptively, and signally to Busco. There was a sound, at first like a beehive, but in the empty quiet crags, it wasn't difficult to discern that it was running water. With a sweaty face, he turned to Busco and smiled. With a revitalised motion, they climbed the bladed rocks, until they found a clearing. There was a small waterfall pouring out, far above their heads, onto a small smattering of rocks, and trickling further down the mountain. A wreath of scattered plants and grasses swayed here.

Sir Douglas immediately cupped his hands over it, covering his face and beard, and exhaling, refreshed. Busco did too, wiping his forehead and back of neck. He was compelled to drink from it, but remembered Sir Douglas's lesson. The two stared at the lesion from whence the water came.

“It should be okay.” Sir Douglas said calmly.

The two of them filled their water-skins, and drank the cool water. Busco wiped his mouth, startled to feel that the water tasted extraordinary. The fact that it tasted at all was remarkable, compared to what they had in New Peridios. Not that you drank the water from under the Lynchlands, that was a guaranteed spell chained to the toilet.

“Do you think there are salamanders here too?” He asked.

Sir Douglas was crouched over the pool, gliding his hand through the oncoming stream. He shook his head.

“Shouldn't think so. The stream's too small.”

He retrieved his hand, flicking it, and watching to where Khol and Master Gybalt were. They had begun to ascend the first hill.

“Let's wait here for them. No point in getting ourselves too far ahead yet.”

Gratefully, Busco swung his satchel and sat next to the pool, watching the white mountain flowers bob themselves to the alpine music.

“Have we lost the trail, Sir?” He asked carefully.

Sir Douglas unstrapped his shield and sword, and sat opposite Busco.

“Maybe. I'm not sure.” He said wearily.

“But we saw her, she made some kind of explosion.”

“Mm.” Sir Douglas said, rubbing his neck. “It must be further up, from what I saw. I don't think we're far, though.”

He sighed, and leant in closer to Busco, their two glimmering eyes meeting.

“Tell you the truth Busco, I've never had to track anyone like this before. This is where theory meets practice, and it's not quite as simple as I thought it would be.”

He leant back, finding a rock to rest his back on, and Busco finally saw him as armour-less. He nodded, trying to process how his tracker wasn't sure how to track.

I suppose it makes sense, now that I think about it. There aren't mountains or jungles in the city.

“I hope we can find her.” Busco said quietly, and Sir Douglas smiled.

“I know we will.” He watched ahead, seeing how the mountains melded with the jungles. Only the very crest of the Silver Tooth was visible from here.

“Did you like her?” He asked, and Busco flushed red beneath his charcoal cheeks.

He felt his brain stumbling as he searched for something to say.

“I dunno. Khol does, that's for sure.”

Sir Douglas chuckled.

“Yeah. I bet he does.” He began to rub and massage his hands together, now looking at the floor. “I only ask as you seem to be the only one so eager to come help her. Even Khol wasn't so sure.”

“Khol gets scared easily, I guess.” Busco said, shrugging.

“So, how come?”

“I dunno. She got cursed with a demon sword or something, seems like the right thing to do was help.”

The two laughed, and Sir Douglas nodded thoughtfully.

“You make a good point.” He said. “Still, the desire to help and protect anyone, even if it costs something to yourself, that's the main tenet of the Old Order.”

Busco cocked an eyebrow.

“I think you would make a good paladin, Quinn. You're strong, persistent and adaptable, but you're also compassionate, that's the most important quality.”

Busco began to shrug, then took a second to imagine himself in the armour, with a shining sword, taking the oaths before the Chaplin Commander.

“I think I'd be useless with a sword, honestly.” He laughed.

“You'd learn.” Sir Douglas answered simply. “Not just how to fight, or track, but how best to serve those around you. It isn't all swordplay and oaths, you know.”

Busco grinned.

“Now I think you took me up here just to recruit me.”

Sir Douglas laughed heartily, a friendly bark.

“It's true, there's not many of us left.” He shifted his weight on the rocks he perched upon. “Still, it's not about how many paladins there are, it's the quality of them. It took me a while to realise that. My mentor, Li Shen, a great warrior, taught me it after we made the decision to rebuild the order.”

Busco chewed at his lip, knowing what he wanted to say, but fighting the urge to do so.

“I think I wanted an army, not an order. I was so angry, that my fellow brothers devolved into fighting us. I wanted to prove that I, no, that we were strong again. He brought me back, made me remember why we became paladins in the first place.”

Busco felt the floodgates emerge.

“That's something I never really understood, Sir.” He began, trying to word it as tactically as he could. “Why have paladins? All these things you say they stand for, protection and what-not, that's what we have the Guardsman for though, right? Don't you think that makes the paladins...you know...”

He stopped, seeing through Aeinon's eyes he had wounded him. Sir Douglas cleared his throat, and left a swift breath out through his lips.

“The Guardsmen are not there for your protection, Quinn.” He answered sternly. “Always remember that.”

Busco blinked in confusion.

I swear I've heard Havlok say that, too.

“The way it works, I suppose I should probably say, is that we are what the Guardsmen should be. We take on private contracts, that have little or nothing to do with them, but have to be approved and monitored by the government, who also take a tax on whatever payment we receive.”

He grunted darkly.

“From what I've read, we used to be these saviours in the Old Age. One main citadel, but outposts and chapters everywhere. They were self sufficient, too. Meaning, we rarely had to take payment from those we helped. It was a glorious thing, to be a paladin then. Now, it's all tangled in bureaucratic nonsense. It's no longer we're dying out.”

He sighed wistfully, staring out into space.

“So why not call it quits? If the Guardsmen are so bad, why not try to change it?”

Sir Douglas scoffed.

“It's not about that, Busco. Even if I thought I could, I doubt I'd be able to. It's about purpose, Quinn. After all, isn't that why you joined the academy?”

Busco shrugged.

“I suppose, it just seemed like the right path.” He said quickly. “Bed and board, guaranteed a job for life if you make it through.”

He stopped himself, noting how he sounded like a brochure.

“I mean it's hard enough to try and find a job these days. Best I could do, is being a server at some restaurant, and even then there's a lot of competition. I always knew I wouldn't be able to get my own place. Not that there are any, and they'd all be so expensive.”

“Well, things are changing now, aren't they?” Sir Douglas responded.

Busco nodded, kicking against a stray stone, listening to the wind and the water behind him.

“She wanted to help people. I think. I think that's why she followed us.”

“Who, Sareta?”

Busco nodded, feeling a tightness in his throat.

“I think she felt like she owed us a debt, or something.”

He shook his head, thinking about how they got here.

“And now, you feel like you should help her.”

Busco looked at the old knight in the eyes. They were sage, experienced, but still hopeful.

“Well that's a start.” Sir Douglas said, smiling.

There was a bright blue flash, and a familiar screeching sound, and through barely visible rifts, an exhausted Khol and Gybalt Ganders stepped out.

“We made it.” Master Gybalt said.

“That's cheating.” Busco teased.

“Sh-shut up.” Khol panted.

“I'm not so young as you three.” Master Gybalt said, hands on hips, trying to hide his ragged breathing.

“I can't believe it took you this long to teleport here.” Sir Douglas said playfully.

“I wanted to make sure we knew where you were.” Master Gybalt said, findign a rock and sitting.

Khol immediately began to wash his hairy face, spraying Busco with the excess.

“Have you found the trail?” Master Gybalt asked.

Sir Douglas shook his head.

“It must be up ahead. If you want to stay here and rest, we can continue scouting.”

“Oh no.” Master Gybalt said, waving a hand. “We're done trying to catch up to you.”

Sir Douglas smiled, rising slowly, stretching out his limbs.

He reached for his shield, when he noticed some cascading stones before them.

Khol had begun to complain, but Sir Douglas raised a hand. Busco punched his friend in the arm, and pointed to him, poising himself. The wind had begun to quiet, and a brief plume of dust drifted slowly to them. Quickly and quietly, Sir Douglas grabbed his shield and unsheathed his blade. Busco and Master Gybalt began to stand, but Khol sunk lower.

“I-I-is-is-issit a-an-a-another m-m-m-” He began to whimper.

Sir Douglas through his hand out again, harsher, crouching slightly.

“Get ready.” Master Gybalt said in a low voice, stepping quietly in front of his students.

Their attention was steel upon the corridor of jagged stone, but nothing else stirred.

Maybe it was just the wind, Busco dared to hope.

Sweat trickled down from his forehead, the salt stinging his eye, but he dared not blink. Those few minutes stretched on beyond reckoning, and none of them dared move, until Sir Douglas finally relaxed his shoulders, reaching over the immediate outcrops ahead.

“I think it's clear.” He said finally, relaxing his grip on his sword.

Khol let out a long breath, reclining back onto his seat. Busco still felt the tension in his arms, and began to flex his hands. Master Gybalt sat down opposite Khol, refilling his water skin from the stream.

“In any case, we should get going.” Sir Douglas said, sheathing his sword.

“Yeah, right.” Master Gybalt snorted. “You two have already had a break, let Khol get his breath back.”

Khol rubbed his head, groaning slightly.

“I do not feel well.” He whimpered.

“Maybe we should scout ahead anyway, Sir.” Busco said, the adrenaline still lingering in his system.

The old knight nodded, and stepped onto the rugged stone-step eagerly.

“Don't get too far ahead.” Master Gybalt called out.

********************************************************************************

The jagged spikes seemed to ease out as they climbed the slopes, round rocks speckled with ancient scars and yellow lichen were passed, ever in the shadow of the spears that lay at the very top. Past them, more mountains stretched out, rugged vertebra flocked with deep green forests. The vibrant dense jungles ceased to be here, slowly transforming into trees that grew thicker and taller. The wind snarled around them as they rose to a crest flanked with purple heather. Before them was a small bush filled with blue berries. Busco looked at them longingly.

“Don't even think about it.” Sir Douglas said, stepping his foot onto the boulder to adjust his boot.

“I wasn't.” Busco lied playfully. “Although it would be nice to eat something that isn't dried meat or stale bread.”

“Then you should've had the stew.”

Busco felt a queasy sensation in his stomach.

“Yeah, no thanks. You know what I really miss from home, though? Bakrals. I could kill for one of those now.”

Sir Douglas straightened out his trousers and dusted his hands, nodding with approval.

“You know, I've never actually had a Bakral.”

“Then you haven't been to a Nocterran birthday party.” Busco grinned like a starving wolf.

He felt drool collecting as he thought about the deep fried pastry, filled with cheese, potato and ham, the smell of it lighting up the room filled with noisy kids as his mother brought in a big plate, and within a blink of an eye, they would be taken. There was something about the way she used to prepare them that outclassed any meal in any restaurant for him. Sir Douglas smiled, stepping closer to the edge, letting the cool mountain air coarse through him.

Busco studied the old knight, whose shield and sword lay by him, as trusty as both his hands. His clothes were ragged, his body tested, but there was always a fair dignity to him. He struggled to imagine himself in a suit of armour, gallant and heroic, a shining sword by his side. The knight turned and met him in the eyes.

“You alright, Quinn?” He asked.

Busco nodded, turning to stare at the floor. In between the lose stones was a small black beetle, oblivious to the woes of the giants that stared at it from above.

“Do you really think I'd make a good paladin?” He asked, squinting against the struggling sun.

Sir Douglas looked at him thoughtfully, before turning upwards to their set path, scanning for anything suspicious.

“Anyone can be a good paladin, Busco.” He said wearily. “The distinction between that and being a good man is caring for others. You have to ask yourself; can you sacrifice what others can't to help someone?”

Busco chewed on this for a second.

“I dunno. I never really thought about it.”

Sir Douglas studied him without any surprise in his wizened eyes.

“Have there been many Nocterrans who served as paladins, Sir Douglas?”

“Not in a while.” Sir Douglas admitted. “There may have been more in the Old Age, but very few in the New Age. From what I've heard, you Nocterrans have a tight-knit community from birth, I guess there's few who want to stray from that path.”

Busco took a moment to study his charcoal hands, seeing them flex in the afternoon light.

“Yeah, I guess you're right. I don't think the Stone Sage would approve if I changed from student, to knight.”

Sir Douglas nodded, understanding covering his face.

“To be born into a community like that, it's a rare thing. You're lucky to have that right off of the bat. I had to find mine at the Order.”

Busco felt his cheeks flush.

“I don't know if I would call it lucky. We were discouraged from talking to outsiders, I didn't really talk to any other races until I joined the academy.”

“Understanding others is the key to understanding yourself.” Sir Douglas said, lost in the rhythm of the wind. “At least, that's what Sir Sanyi taught me.”

“He was the Chaplin Commander before you, you said?” Busco asked, taking the time to watch the knight.

“He was.” Sir Douglas said, nodding. “The man who made me a knight. Gave me a purpose, after his was fulfilled.”

Busco felt something twitch in his brow, and he turned away. Sir Douglas noticed, studying him closely, waiting for him to speak, casting a spotlight on the student.

“Speak freely, Busco. I won't judge you.”

Busco hesitated, letting all of his thoughts flow.

“I just don't understand, Sir.” He said carefully. “You sound so devoted to the paladins, but you also said there were others who broke their oath, in that uprising you said about. Doesn't that mean the order itself is broken?”

Sir Douglas turned away, if he had been wounded, Busco couldn't see it.

“It's not broken if we keep trying to fix it.” He said quietly.

Busco felt a deflation flow through his body. He felt weakened, staring at the ever-strong stance of the man before him.

“I'm sorry sir.” Busco mumbled. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

Sir Douglas turned back with a pained smile.

“No, don't apologise for telling the truth. It's something I have to think about everyday. Still, if there's anyone who has to keep trying, it's me.”

“You're right Sir.” Busco said, finally understanding. “For what it's worth, I think if there's anyone who can stop it from breaking, I think it's you.”

Sir Douglas smiled gratefully at him.

“It's always breaking, but never broken. Not while I can still try to help others. That's what I believe, anyway.”

Busco smiled back.

“I can see there's an understanding to you, Busco.” Sir Douglas continued. “There's anger, too, but I think there could be a wisdom to what you see. You know, you might even make a great Stone-Sage one day.”

Busco felt the words strike him like a hammer. He tried to imagine himself in the anointed robes, carried all of the way from the Old Age. Thousands of years of wisdom were sealed within their fibres. He tried to imagine himself as the leader of a people, but it was unfathomable. Every image he had was of him falling through the massive robes, a naked teenager pretending to be something that wasn't a student.

When he returned to the mountains, he saw something moving. There was something behind Sir Douglas. The knight opened his mouth to speak, still smiling warmly, but Busco was struck cold at the black creature behind him. On long thin legs it was balanced on serrated rocks. His blood became ice, and a sickness filled his stomach. Sir Douglas said something, but the words were static, and he watched the students face, his own becoming a mire of concern.

The creature was deftly balanced, eight pole-axes jutting out of a deep grey circular head, it's mandibles were twitching. Silently but swiftly, it moved towards the knight. Sir Douglas watched the reflections in Busco's eyes with seething horror, quickly moving to his sword. With a smooth, curved motion, the shining blade was relinquished, swerving in an arc towards the colossal spider.

Its huge legs were longer than even Busco, spiked with dagger-like fibres. Busco tried to move away, puppeteered by fear, his boot sliding beneath his foot against a rock. He felt himself stumble, and as he did, he saw the rider on the monster's back.

Sir Douglas roared as the sword sliced at the creature, which moved its long front leg as he did, the blade skimmed against it, and struck the gravel below, he took a moment to study the creature, fighting against his legs buckling beneath it. Busco could only watch, feeling a terror unlike anything else he had ever felt before. It's two front legs pushed at Sir Douglas striking him in the chest, and knocking him to the ground. It began to push its fanged mandibles towards him, clear liquid was dripping off of them. Sir Douglas pulled his shield to black them, and they grotesquely groped at the painted visage of the hound. His sword flew towards Busco, and he stared at its gleaming blade. It its reflection, he saw something akin to a saddle, and whatever was in it, began to shift.

There was a roughly made saddle, made of different materials, but none of them were leather or cloth. They were light brown, almost shiny in the daylight. It was stitched together with thick white rope, and adorned with small animals skulls and symbols painted in black. There were wooden spikes at the back of the seat, similarly covered in tiny skulls, and ribbons of torn fabric. In the centre, was a small humanoid, with pallid grey skin. His armour was spiky and dark, made of some chitinous material that Busco did not recognise. Its half-helm covered its eyes completely, sitting above a pointed nose and a drooling snarl. In its hand was a crude spear, the tip was made of the same material as its armour, tied tightly with more white rope. As Busco shifted. It twitched, sending its sightless gaze towards him.

Lightning flew through Busco, a deep unknown horror, imagining the creature's hateful eyes beneath its helmet. He felt the stones bite against his hand as he pushed himself up, the other hand reaching for the sword. The spear pointed itself at him. The spider continued to bite and claw at Sir Douglas, and the blade struck against the spear, sending it to the side, and opening up a space for him to send a curving strike. The blade sunk into the front leg that pinned Sir Douglas, only buried itself it halfway through one of the joints, spilling sticky, translucent liquid that was almost a cyan hue. It hissed, a sound that scraped against air, and retracted itself from the knocked down knight. The rider buckled, struggling to keep itself in its saddle as the creature retreated, its back legs nimbly stepping backwards towards the inclining rocks, but Busco stepped forward, yelling as he brought the sword down a second time, cleaving its leg free from its stump.

It hissed again, still no grotesque sound escaping it except for the moist sound of its feet molesting the rocks behind it. The rider shouted something guttural, as he slid from the saddle, grabbing on to it as he hit the rocks below. Sir Douglas pulled himself upwards, staring at the enemy, and deftly taking the sword from Busco's hands. Quickly he stepped to the rider, who flipped itself over, its spear grabbed in both hands, poised into a crouched position. With another guttural curse, it thrusted its spear at him, which Sir Douglas swiftly cloven in two, bringing his sword back down, slicing the creature diagonally. Dark blood splattered through the air, and it screamed in pain, an almost unworldly sound, unlike anything ever experienced back in the city.

The creature fell, trying to grab at Sir Douglas as it sunk onto the rocks below. Busco looked beyond the two, as the spider backed itself away. Its eyes were in four pairs, emotionless and cold, but Busco knew it was scared, focused solely on them. They were no longer prey. Busco brought his hand up, feeling the skeleton of the mountain. One of the rocks shot directly upwards striking the creature in the middle of its thorax. More light blue blood seeped from the holes born into the spider. It let out one last hiss, its legs quickly struggling and flailing become coming completely still. The rider's ears twitched, and it cursed again, reaching for Sir Douglas one last time, who gently placed the edge of his blade against its throat, and pulled sharply.

In the dust of the skirmish, there was a disturbing stillness to the mountain. The wind returned, striking against the drumming in his chest and throbbing in his head.

“You okay?” Sir Douglas barked, spinning as he scanned the area.

“Yeah.” Busco panted. “Are you?”

“Uh-huh.” Sir Douglas said, his eyes were that of a hawk's.

He wiped each side of his longsword against his paladin's cloak, scanning every part of the mountain peaks before them. Busco slowly stepped towards the corpse that still twitched lightly. Its long fingers relinquished what was left of the spear. There was a sickly quality to the hue of its skin, not rock like like his own. It was half the size of Busco, skinny and lean.

“Holy Hel.” He hissed. “What is it?”

“No time now.” Sir Douglas said, backing away. “Back to the camp, move.”

Without another word, Busco turned to run, somewhat clumsily as the adrenaline still coursed through his body, piloting his feet over the uneven, descending surface. The two sent down a scattering of stones, leaning against the rocky outcrops. Along the wind was the sound of Master Gybalt calling out to them. They continued to drop, until they saw the other two running upwards at them. Master Gybalt and Khol stopped on a small crest of rock, the mage's hands cupped around his mouth.

“What is it? What do you see?”

“We don't know!” Sir Douglas shouted, jumping down onto a slope between spikes, still above them.

“You won't believe-” Busco began to shout, when he heard the tell-tale pitter-patter of too many legs tapping along rock.

He whipped himself around, and Sir Douglas did too. He heard Master Gybalt gasp, and Khol curse.

Another spider, with another rider aloft, was quickly gaining on them, hissing at the air. This rider was dressed similarly, but had a light grey horn hanging from its neck. In its hands was a crooked short bow, as it nocked a chitinous arrow onto its string. Without hesitation, Busco moved his arm to its side, and bringing it quickly down before him. The tip of the nearest outcrop snapped neatly off, and was sent as a torpedo towards them. It smashed itself against the spider's face, its silent agony spilling into the air. The rider struggled again as the monster tried to escape, but it held its aim true, sending the black feathered arrow towards him.

Busco's instincts instructed his reflexes, moving him smoothly out of the way as it whizzed past him. He heard it scrape the rock behind him, and heard the scurrying of hooves and boots against cover. Sir Douglas darted in front of him, shield held before him, sword close and primed. The spider shook itself, as the rider pulled at his horn, and bellowed, releasing a deep screech. Before the sound even registered itself in his ears, he heard more scurrying. They were coming from his left, and approaching quickly.

Two more riders, one with a curved sword and a scarred spider came at them quickly, leading the charge before one with a spear and black chain attached. Another arrow was loosed, splintering against the wooden shield of Aeinon. Busco looked beyond his enemies, and threw out both arms, aiming for a peak behind them. With fingers stretched out as far as they could be, he bellowed as he pulled, and the mountainside splintered, exploding with a deep boom. A wound opened, bleeding a torrent of dust before the scraping rocks barrelled down towards them, a land-slide of shrapnel.

Sir Douglas hastily pushed him to the side, both covering beneath an outcrop. More guttural screams and crunches as the peak fell, crumbling into more shards which flew down the slope and past them. As the sound quietened, Busco felt a brief surge of relief, but it was quickly diminished as he saw that new harrowing sight of black, hairy spears creeping over their cover. Before them, he saw Master Gybalt spring forwards, his fist pointed at the creature. It quickly barrelled over them, hurtling itself at the old master.

Busco scrambled out, ignoring Sir Douglas's call for his name. The creature landed on Gybalt, pushing him to the ground, the rider raised its cruel blade. There was a roar, the anger of a bull charging, as Khol rammed his horned head at the spider. It was lifted off, standing on half of its legs as the rider clenched itself. Busco prepared himself for a final strike, in his haste ignoring the last rider behind them. He turned in time to see the spear launched at him, its snaking chain following. Its bladed edge bit into his thigh, slicing through robes and trousers below. Immediately, his leg buckled, and the chain was pulled again, and the spear was back in its owner's hands. The spider was nearly on them.

Behind him, he heard Khol groaning as he pushed all of his strength against the spider, finally grabbing it with both hands, yelling and screaming as he tossed it to his side, hurtling the spider and rider down the jagged slope, bouncing as they crashed against the rocks.

In front of him, Sir Douglas waited for the next strike, as the spear was thrown once more at him. He deflected it, ducking as it was pulled back towards his head. The throbbing legs were upon them, but he was able to avoid them this time. He sent a shallow slice at the spider's face, popping one of it's eight eyes as he did. It's mouth was slobbering, and its curved fangs were desperate to bite into him.

“Get down!” Master Gybalt yelled, and the two obliged.

With a thrown fist, the world became blue again. The creature dissapeared in the envelopment of light, and only a small spray of tainted water was left behind. Several miles to the east and above the ground, another blue sparkle opened in the air, and what was caught within was unceremoniously dropped to the ground. The four looked amongst themselves, as Busco stumbled to his feet.

“You alright?” Sir Douglas said, helping him up.

Busco nodded with gritted teeth. Master Gybalt rubbed his messy hair, and Khol was looking downwards.

“M-m-m-Master?” He called out weakly.

The other three slowly stepped towards him, looking at the descending slope. Beneath the brief wisp of smoke and dust, was the curled up corpse of the giant spider, its legs were bowed towards it, completely still. There was a slight scraping sound, and a foreign muttering. Slightly below it, in between several crags, was the rider. Its body was bloody, and one of its legs twitched uncontrollably as it tried to pull itself up the rocks. It reached for its blade, some dirty curse still hanging from its lips.

Without a word or any desire to seek approval, Busco sent his foot behind him, and reached an open palm behind his ear. Quickly he brought them both before him, and one of the outcrops burst, flying like a cannonball towards the creature's head. It called out a final time, and became completely still. Busco let the breath he was holding out, not daring to seek the horrified look of his friend. He grunted as he stepped past him, sitting against a rock and holding his thigh above the wound. Blood ran down his leg beneath his trousers, an uncomfortable warmth left behind.

“Here.” Sir Douglas said, kneeling before him, whipping out a long white cloth, tying it tightly around his thigh.

Busco winced, and Sir Douglas studied him behind his pupils, a look of pride and concern perfectly blended together.

“What was that?” Khol finally breathed.

“I don't believe it.” Master Gybalt said, almost hollow. “Life. Sapient, or potentially sapient life.”

“What does that mean?” Khol asked frantically. “Is that a name for those things wi-wi-wi-with those l-l-lo-long legs?”

“No.” Master Gybalt said, irritably. “Sapient. Like you, me, or any race back in Peridios. Life that can think, communicate. To think, there's a species out here all along, existing alone in this world and we never knew.”

He sank against a wall, hands intertwining, anxiously rubbing against themselves as he became lost in a haze of thought, occasionally muttering to himself.

“But what are they?” Busco asked, as Sir Douglas stepped away from him.

“We can speculate later.” He said, once more taking his sword. “That one over there sounded a horn. We have to assume there's more on the way.”

Busco turned to where he shattered the mountain. Underneath a pile of rubble was a set of long legs that lay still, besides a single grey hand that rested behind it. Khol stood there, studying the others, his large figure visibly shaking. Sir Douglas looked to the muttering mage,

“Gybalt. Come on. We can talk about this later.”

Master Gybalt met Sir Douglas' eyes, continuing agitate his fingers.

“Don't you know what this means, Douglas?” He said quietly.

“It means everything's gonna change.” Sir Douglas snarled. “Come on, we have to go. Busco, can you stand?”

Busco nodded, grimacing as he used a rock to help himself up. Sir Douglas offered a hand, but Master Gybalt stood up independently, and quickly moved towards the pile of rubble. Busco watched curiously as the mage tried to peer through the rocks for a better look at the rider.

“Gybalt.” Sir Douglas called out impatiently.

“You fought another one, right? Up there?” He said idly, moving towards the ascension,

Sir Douglas growled.

“Come on, you two. Stay close.”

The three followed an almost frantic Gybalt Ganders to where they fought the first rider. The skewered spider has sunk lower on its stake, just before the collapsed figure who lay in a pool of its own blood. Master Gybalt stood before it, his mouth open. Slowly, he crouched before it, with an open hand above it as he struggled to find the will to bring it to the corpse.

“Gybalt. Be careful.” Sir Douglas said sternly.

Busco saw the frustration pull at his master's mouth.

“This is unbelievable.” He said quietly. “I mean, look at it.”

The three joined him, staring at the grey body. Its white tongue lolled above its teeth and past its cheek. Master Gybalt brought his hand towards the concealing helmet.

“It almost looks like a...” Busco began.

“Like a Consumer.” Khol finished, and Master Gybalt nodded.

Busco felt a shudder, thinking of the Consumers, always with covered faces, sickly grey skin, pointed ears. He was always told to keep away from them, that they were a menace to the society of New Peridios.

It can't be. Consumers, all the way out here?

He heard Master Gybalt gulp as he took the chitinous helmet in his hands, and gently lifted it. Immediately, he heard Khol wretch.

“What in Hel's name?” Sir Douglas cursed.

He felt fear alight itself in his hands.

That's no Consumer. What the Hel is it?!

What the helmet concealed was not eyes, in face, they seemed to have been melted over. Over the skin that covered where its eye-holes should have been, were hundreds of boils and warts, some where red and angry, but most were grey and sickly. On top of its head, was a small crop of greasy black hair tied-up with a piece of white rope.

Master Gybalt dropped the head, backing away. He looked to his hands, wiping them on his robes.

“What the fu-” Busco began, before the scattering of more stone and rock from further up the mountain interrupted him.

Higher up on the mountain, quick, black dots began hurrying towards them. Sir Douglas roughly pulled him up to his feet.

“We have to move, now!” He growled.

Master Gybalt snapped himself out of his studious trance. Sir Douglas nudged him forwards, and the four sprung quickly away, moving along the side of the mountain. They stepped on the rocks gallantly, dropping down to a stony slope. Sir Douglas led them back towards the forest, jumping onto more level ground. They hid behind trees, with Sir Douglas carefully watching the mountain. The black dots continued to scurry along the mountainside, but they did not come towards the forest.

Sir Douglas sighed deeply.

“I don't think they saw us.” He said quietly.

Busco felt relief wash through his body, as he began to feel the strain of the battle exhaust him. He shared a brief smile with Khol, and saw it wash through him too. Sir Douglas beckoned them through the forest, past a large set of mossy rocks. They stepped over a felled log, now hollowed, and the source of new plants growing through and from it. The silence was prevalent. A gentle bird call beckoned the way, and the skittering of a squirrel made them all flinch. A cautious smile was shared between the four of them, before a deep rumbling echoed in the distance. Quickly, Sir Douglas moved to the treeline.

The trees thinned, leading towards a set of grassy hills. Beyond the first two peaks, was a cloud of smoke. They could hear voices yelling. Sir Douglas led the charge up the hill, past the thick grass where white flowers grew. They reached the top, and saw the point of the explosion. There was a crater born into the hill-side, and several scars were burned into the grass. There were two figures, staring at each-other, panting gently, swords drawn.

“Oh my X.” Sir Douglas muttered.

“It's Sareta!” Khol shouted, excited and terrified.

He was right, he saw the tall, slender figure, still gripping that terrible sword. Her body was crouched, the tip of the sword submerged into the earth between them. Before them, was a figure not as tall as she, his sword held aloft, pointed directly at her.

Busco gasped.

It's him.