18-2a
The prefect absentmindedly rubbed his neck as he looked around at the barren grassland surrounding him. It was hot, it was harsh, and it was a hundred leagues away from where he’d rather be. It was bad enough he was reassigned to the border lands, but then to be sent to some skirmish in the middle of nowhere was testing his servitude.
From atop his horse he turned to look back over the long column of four hundred similarly unamused soldiers trudging behind. At least he had lots of company in his misery. Deep down he wondered which of his governors he displeased to be given this mission.
He returned to the horizon before him and the thin ribbon of green spanning the distance. At least he would have something more interesting to look at than rocks and scrub grasses. He turned to his commander riding beside him, “At least it’s pretty.”
The commander turned an absent look. He was more senior in age than his prefect, but his disdain for being in charge gave him his lower rank. He stared at the prefect for a moment before snapping to the present, “What? Pretty?” He looked around and focused on the far distant line of trees, “Oh, the trees. Yes Prefect. It is pretty. Too bad we’ve come here to fight.”
The prefect dismissed his concern, “Oh don’t worry about that. It’s probably just some wild men getting upset over losing their territory. I’m sure we will get rid of them quickly and can enjoy the scenery.”
The commander was amused by his nonchalance, “Well the council of the village that called for us didn’t think so. Their forest devil story was good enough to convince the governors to have us drag a full battalion out here.”
The prefect mused darkly, “Superstitious old fools that sent a peasant posse to take care of a wildling uprising in a dark forest.” He leaned in closer to his commander and spoke softly, “Old men eating old mushrooms; in all my battles, those are the greatest devils I’ve come across in this world.”
The commander acknowledged him with a grim smile, “and here we are, even greater fools sent to chase their gho…”
His words were cut off as a glint of movement on the road ahead caught both their eyes. They looked at each other, then the commander called forward a mounted officer, “There is something on the road, ride ahead and see what it is.” The officer nodded a quick, “yes sir” and trotted out before them.
They watched as the soldier continued ahead, and after some distance, stopped and dismounted his horse. He picked something off the road and returned to the prefect and commander, “I found an arrow. Is this what you were looking for?” He handed to the prefect an unusually long, thin arrow. The prefect held it out for the commander to examine, “it’s a flight arrow; long range”
The commander looked around at the dry flat landscape, there was nothing more than small rocks and tufts of grass for someone to hide behind. He looked back at the prefect confused, “Long range? There’s nobody out here? You think it can from the forest? We’re over a quarter league away.”
The prefect merely shrugged and continued examining the arrow. It was incredibly fine quality. Looking closely he could see it was embellished with delicate etchings of leaves and feathers blowing in the wind. They did not seem like runes or magic, merely adornment. He could only imagine the devotion of someone that would put in so much effort to decorate an item that would be used once and never seen again.
The prefect let out a groan, there is only one type of people that would put such care into piece of ammunition, “Religious fanatics!”
The commander similarly cursed and tossed his head back, “uuugh, so much for our quick little campaign.” He turned to the officer that stayed by awaiting further orders, “Send the word back for everyone to be alert. Whoever fired that arrow, wherever they are, they can fire more.” The officer nodded and rode up to the back of the column calling out to the marching men along the way. The prefect tucked the arrow into his saddle bag. His clerics could examine it more closely when they set up camp.
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The battalion continued with a more determined march for some ways further. All the time, the prefect and commander scanned the open landscape watching for archers. Both felt it was futile though; there was simply no place to hide. A call for the prefect suddenly broke their attention. It was a soldier of the rear guard galloping towards them.
He stopped suddenly in a cloud of dust next to them, “Prefect, a man has been felled by an arrow.”
The prefect looked down the long uniform lines of his men. At the distant end the uniform columns were disorganized and trailed the main group. The prefect wanted to send an order to get them back in line, when midway in the procession, a commotion broke out. Men split off from their files and spread off the road. He could discern two men carrying a third away from the troops.
Angry and baffled he turned back to his commander, “We’re being attacked out here?”
The commander only shook his head and shrugged his confusion.
The prefect went to relay a new order to the officer, when right in before his eyes, an arrow thumped into the man’s chest. With a startled gasp the officer coughed out blood and fell from his horse.
Confusion instantly gave way to the prefect’s hardened instincts. He shouted behind, “Everyone off the road! Break ranks!” He addressed his commander, a deep knot tightening in his stomach, “Someone is ranging us. We’re being bracketed!”
Disbelieving, the commander shot back, “Bracketed!? For what? There is no artillery out here…” His voice trailed off as both he and the prefect took notice.
In the distance before them, a shimmering sparkle rose high into the sky. It raised up for a few moments before stopping and holding still in the air, slowly growing brighter.
The hairs on the prefect’s neck bristled and his reflexes spurred his horse to a full gallop before he could shout, “RUUUUNNNN!!!”
The world around the prefect went white and a hammering blow to his head sent his ears ringing; drowning out all sound. He was vaguely aware of flying, then tumbling, then flying some more. The white faded out from his eyes to reveal a confusing rush of spinning ground, and sky, and smoke, and fire, and rocks, and his horse, and his men.
Disoriented, but still an experienced soldier, the prefect rolled through his tumble and came to his feet. He staggered for a bit while he tried to understand what was happening around him. There were men scattered on the ground about a large black column of smoke. The column rose up above him as a sinister, writhing, dark, taunting beast. Then, through a twinkle in the eye of the beast, another glimmering white sparkle passed; disappearing into the smoke to land on the other side.
A wave of heat and light raked over the prefect, and a blast of force smashed into his chest, lifting him of the ground. Again the world tumbled into a flying spin of ground, and sky, and fire, and rocks streaking at him. He laid himself flat on the ground and covered his head as the stones pelted into his armour.
Once the battering stopped, he tried catching his breath and look up, only to see a third glimmering sparkle high overhead disappear into the black smoke. The prefect ducked beneath his arms and braced himself as a third wave of heat, crushing force, and smashing rocks, blasted over him.
-
The commander staggered to his feet with a bleeding gash on his forehead. A rock had struck him unconscious. For how long, he didn’t know. His ears rung, his head was spinning, and his whole body hurt. Around him, injured and dying men wailed and crawled about while some able body men helped the wounded. Along the road, amongst the shattered regiment of soldiers, three large, black, smouldering craters released dark smoke into the sky. The commander looked for his prefect half wondering if the men’s prefect now blearily stumbled in his boots.
Away from most of the other soldiers, the commander found the prefect by his horse. The horse lay on the ground breathing but unmoving. The prefect knelt by its chest. He leaned over the horse and stroked its mane as he plunged a dagger into its heart. The horse stiffened for a moment then let out a slow breath in peace.
He gave it a final pat before withdrawing his knife with a shake of his head. He noticed the commander and stood up. He was angry, but the anger was not directed at the commander, “I’m glad you survived.”
The commander could only blankly reply, “I survived. I’m glad you made it too. Your orders?”
The prefect took in a breath, “You collect the men on the left of the road, I’ll collect the men on the right. Gather the wounded and set up camp at the distant ridge. Hopefully that is out of range of these arrows.”
The commander grimly nodded, “Yes Prefect.” But before the prefect could turn away, he grabbed him by the shoulder and gave him an anguished look in the eyes, “What god have we angered to deserve this?”
The prefect looked at him for a moment. Then with a growl, stepped around his horse and pulled at the saddle bag until it was free from the horse’s dead weight. He slung the bags over his shoulder and pulled out the now broken arrow they found on the road earlier. He examined its beautiful intricacy for one last moment.
Then with a shake of his head he stepped up to his commander, “Gods don’t use arrows.” He slapped the splintered shaft against the man’s chest as he walked passed, “What we fight is a demigod.”
by DuskArcanist
The world called him a Null. The Well calls him a God.SageWHAT TO EXPECTTraditional Progression:Slow-Burn Academy Life:Eldritch Horror:Slow-Burn Romance & Mystery:Character-Driven Epic:Book 1 Finished (140k+ Words Already Written)Edits and rewrites are being done after feedback and the book will be sent for developmental editing next month.
