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Core Collapse Chapter 28
🕑 Added 2024-04-02 07:14:05 +0000 UTCChapter 28
Tirns was exhausted. Ever since the night that the dragon had burned down the tents of the refugee camp, or the invasion army, or whatever it had been, the poor knight surveilling them had gotten very little rest. He had been following behind the dragon, and then somehow gotten in front of it as he raced to warn the villages on the border of Welsius that they needed to evacuate.
It was dangerous, he’d much rather be at the dragon’s tail than in its path, but the warning he carried might save lives, so he braved the risk to himself.
His mount was even more exhausted than he was. Fortunately the crossbow wound had not festered, or else his mission might have been over already. In fact, the wound to the wyvern’s leg was completely healed.
He still cursed that stupidity, although the situation with the dragon had mostly put the worry of the approaching Velundese out of his mind. Both a dragon and an army were grave threats to his homeland, but the dragon was the more mobile of the two, and the one that he had been ordered to follow.
Even if the idea of confronting the beast made him shake in the saddle. He was a brave man, proud of his training and position and Class. But that was a freaking dragon! He was no Vanquisher to deal with a threat like that! He was only level fifty-three! It would be suicide to try!
His orders were not to confront, however, but to warn. And that he could do. His wyvern wasn’t especially swift, but it was slightly faster than the dragon. And unlike the dragon, he had a mission which drove him, rather than a simple instinct to occasionally descend and cause destruction. Even if the warning came only a few hours before the fire, his words could save lives.
He passed from village to village until something interrupted him. In the distance, a piece of white that was too small and moving too fast to be a cloud. His heart filled with hope, and he angled his trajectory to take him closer.
He had excellent vision. At a distance, at least. He could see clearly things from afar that others would squint and perhaps vaguely be able to identify. The trade off to this ability was a slight impairment of his near vision, which had made learning to read difficult. He had to hold most writing at arms length to see it clearly.
So he saw the pegasus clearly before the rider identified him. He pulled from his pack the flag that he used to communicate with other Winged Knights and began frantically waving it in an attempt to draw her attention. He didn’t know what her mission was, but unless it was of extreme importance he would commandeer her for his own.
He was surprised, however, when the other knight abruptly turned and fled from him.
Perhaps she thought he was a raider from the oncoming army?
He continued to ride after her, signaling her in the flag-language that every knight was drilled ot understand. Peace. Parlay. Important. Peace. Parlay. Important.
Finally, after pursuing her for almost ten minutes – she was fleeing from him in about the same distance that he was traveling anyway – the distant rider landed. He swooped over head, then landed nearby.
The dark-skinned woman on the pegasus regarded him cautiously, clearly ready to take off at a second’s notice. Tirns frowned as he realized for the first time that she was not a knight. That was odd, as flying mounts were precious, and few outside of the knighthood were capable of breeding them. But it was not so uncommon that he was shocked by the development. If anything, it explained why she had fled from him; she probably didn’t know the flag-language.
“I am Sir Tirns of the Welsian Winged Knights,” he shouted to be heard over the distance. “I mean you no harm. May I approach?”
“Alright, just keep that beast under control,” the woman called back. “For a moment I thought you were the dragon. What is that thing?”
Tirns frowned. While he could forgive a Commoner for the mistake, who among those trained to fly in the skies couldn’t recognize the difference between a dragon and a wyvern? Wyverns were a fraction of the size, for one. Aside from which, dragons had four legs and a pair of wings, while wyverns had wings that doubled as their front legs while they were on the ground.
And, of course, wyverns lacked the dangerous fire-breathing capabilities of their cousins. They remained dangerous predators, but were far further down the danger scale compared to the winged catastrophes that dragons were.
“I fly a wyvern,” Tirns explained. “She’s quite tame. I carry important news. A dragon approaches from the northeast. I am perhaps an hour ahead of it. Will you help me in spreading the words to the villages in the area? You would be performing a great service to the kingdom, and --”
“And to be honest with you, Sir Tirns, I’d only get lost,” the woman answered. “I am glad that I’m in the right area, however. I’m a healer. When I heard that there was a dragon attacking, I packed up to help deal with the aftermath. Has it attacked any villages in the area?”
Tirns was surprised to find a healer in the saddle of a pegasus. He supposed it would be helpful to get to where the sick and the injured were located, but it was not a standard practice by any means.
“I don’t suggest that you continue in the direction you were heading when I spotted you,” Tirns advised. “The dragon hasn’t rained destruction on Welsian soil just lately, but it is only a matter of time. Will you come with me? I shall be warning the villages in the area and keeping an eye on the dragon itself. With my help, you would be able to avoid the danger of being hunted by the beast and still be able to perform your sacred duty to the injured.”
The woman considered for a moment, then nodded. “I am Aisha. I’m a Medico and a doctor from Earth. As long as you can bring me safely to where people are injured, then I’ll follow you.”
Tirns nodded. It would be good to have a healer along with him. “I greet you, Aisha from Earth. Come on then, we must rush to notify others to begin the evacuation.”
~~~~~
The party of Antoine, Rory and Sevin rode their horses half to death, then switched steeds in a city as they passed through it, only to repeat the process twice more. And they still only crossed a quarter of the distance to the zone where the dragon was expected.
Sevin, for one, was as exhausted and ragged as his fourth mount by the time they switched again. And chaffed in places where chaffing is unpleasant to be chaffed in.
Rory, filthy cheater that he was, had cheerfully avoided the most unpleasant aspect of riding through cheating with his completely unfair ability known as Armorskin. Sevin shot him a glare when they finally made camp and the stupid red-haired prick had the nerve to sing a limerick written by someone with rather more experience in a certain matter than the young knight-applicant possessed.
Or perhaps less experience, as some of the descriptions in the song sounded impractical.
Both of the teenagers, however, began to blush when Antoine piped in with a bawdry song that made Rory’s look perfectly tame. Sevin was uncertain whether to pretend that he needed to answer the call of nature or begin taking notes.
Rory suffered no such moral conflict. Embarrassed as he was, he listened with rapt attention, mouthing the lyrics under his breath to try to remember them for later.
“Morale,” Antoine informed them after he’d finished singing his very, very inappropriate song, “Is important to being a knight as your skill in arms. The situation is dire, and the distance we must cover is great. But if we kill ourselves in the attempt to arrive on time, then we’ve done nobody any good.”
“Are you saying we’re going to take a break?” Sevin asked hopefully.
“No. We get a full night of rest tonight and we resume our pace tomorrow. I’ll take middle watch. Decide among yourselves who takes first and last.” Antoine said, crushing Sevin’s hopes.
Before they made much more effort in setting up camp, however, the ancient knight tossed the hurting squire a tube of balm. “Apply that the next time you visit the bushes. Be generous with it. It won’t solve your problems, but it will make the prospect of getting back in the saddle tomorrow less dreadful.”
“Thanks!” Sevin said, truly appreciating the gesture.
“Rory, if I catch you using Armorskin like that again tomorrow I’m going to tan your hide until you can feel it, just like your mother used to when you were five,” Antoine threatened. “Don’t think for a second that I’m not being literal, or that you could stop me if I wanted to.”
“What? Why?” Rory asked.
“It’s a waste of Stamina,” Antoine said simply.
“Yeah, but--”
“Don’t argue with me, boy,” Antoine said sharply. “Do you want to get ambushed by bandits while you’re low on stamina because you’re trying to avoid learning to ride a horse properly? Skills like that are for combat. Not avoiding a bit of discomfort.”
Rory fought the urge to pout. “Fine,” he said at last.
“And quit that damn pouting. You’re eighteen, not four.”
“I said Fine!”
“Anyway, before we go to sleep we should probably deal with the bandits who’ve been trailing us the last twenty miles,” Antoine continued, drawing his sword in his left hand. His dominant hand; being a southpaw was a factor that Antoine had long turned into an advantage in his swordsmanship.
“The what?” Both boys jerked in surprise, looking for the details that they’d missed.
“We rode right through their ambush before they noticed us,” Antoine explained. “So they sent riders after us. They’re about five minutes out. I didn’t see any archers. Not sure if they’re class holders or just desperate.”
Rory and Sevin both swallowed nervously as they stopped making camp and raced for their weapons. Rory didn’t have time to put his armor on – the clanky plate mail took up a significant portion of the pack on their pack horse – but he strapped on his sword and shield.
Sevin strapped on the leather breastplate that he delved in, grabbed his halberd and stuck it butt first in the ground so that he could use both hands for the javelin he had gotten from the dungeon in Caseville. He frowned when he noticed that the weapon was slightly pitted, but didn’t have time to consider the matter too seriously.
The riders came before he had a chance.
“Be ready to defend yourselves,” Antoine warned as the riders approached. “If they stop to talk, keep your fool mouths closed and let me handle it.”
They didn’t stop to talk.
The five oncoming riders likely felt confident in their numbers. They burst over the hill with weapons drawn and, seeing their prey, they charged. Their poor mounts, exhausted after having been ridden hard to catch up to Antoine and his squires, could barely rise to the occasion. Seeing that they weren’t stopping, Sevin let fly with his javelin, taking the lead rider in the chest.
And then there were four riders.
Screaming in outrage at their fallen comrade, the rest of the bandits came in hot. One charged at Antoine. Sevin put that one out of his mind entirely, confident that someone known as The Vanquisher would be able to handle such a charge without his interference.
Another charged Rory, who, rather than dodging, raised his shield to meet the charging horse. The momentum knocked him back, but not as much as it should have. Rory’s ability to channel Stamina into his fighting stance kept him from being knocked down. Instead, he staggered, while horse that ran into him found out what happens when an unstoppable force meets an unmovable object.
They both gave way, but Rory came out the better of the two. The horse was a classless animal, unable to reinforce its charge with Stamina. The animal was knocked to the ground, and the inexperienced rider was trapped beneath it for a moment.
Unfortunately the second rider was just behind him, and this time Rory jumped aside just a second before the bandit’s flail struck him.
Sevin had no time to consider his friend’s fate, as one of the riders came for him as well. That was a mistake. Sevin Dashed to the side, enhancing his movements with Stamina, and swung an Empowered swing with his halberd at the rider. The rider got his own weapon up in time, a short sword, but was knocked from the saddle and badly wounded.
Sevin was acting on instinct when the blade of his halberd slammed down on the bandit.
It was that easy.
He turned back to the others. Antoine had finished with the rider that had charged him, and was standing by with his head cocked in curiosity to watch his squires at work.
“Don’t look at me, fool, help Rory,” Antoine scolded.
Sevin turned to help Rory, and saw that the young Shieldbearer was facing two men at once. One of them was injured from falling out of the saddle, but they were both harassing him mercilessly. It was clear, however, that neither man was a class holder, and Rory’s enhanced speed and reflexes compared to Commoners, or in this case criminals, allowed him to hold his own.
High on adrenaline, Sevin lowered his halberd and Charged. Stamina enhancing his movements, he crossed the distance in a flash and impaled the uninjured man. He cried out and went slack.
The remaining man dropped his weapon and put his hands up.
“Forgive me!” he cried. “We didn’t think you was classed! I’m sorry, don’t kill me!”
“Do you think that praying on Commoners makes banditry forgivable?” Antoine asked.
“No, me lord! I didn’t mean that!” he protested. “I meant we never would have chased you if – I’m sorry, don’t kill me.”
Antoine sighed. “I don’t have time for this.”
Without further consideration, he threw the dagger that ended the final bandit’s life.
A moment later, Sevin realized that he had killed two men. He had killed hundreds of monsters at this point, but never a person. He didn’t know how to feel. He knew that it would be a possibility, possibly even an expectation of him to fight humans and slay them in combat, but these were classless--
He vomited.
Rory was a moment behind him.
“Right. Good job boys,” Antoine said. “Once we dig the graves we can get some sleep.”
