Chapter 265: 261: Cycles and Struggles

Ancient pronouncements whispered from within The Ravener. The usurper had reappeared after so long.

What measures were needed?

Reaching across great distances, it inspected certain energies, processes and paths. Ones of key importance. It examined them with great care, searching for patterns that were unusual…or any that should be long inactive.

It found nothing abnormal. All was as it should have been, and all proceeded as it had dictated. Good. The worst had not come to pass.

Then the task was clear: the usurper must be eliminated, but quietly. Too much escalation could bring too much attention.

And so, a subtle approach was needed. For now.

Reaching out, The Ravener called to its one remaining Hunter within Thameland, instructing it to travel southward. The usurper’s precise location was unclear, but The Hunter’s had been created with particular senses and abilities to find their target and disguise their termination as just another monster attack.

But…the other Hunters had been dispatched beyond Thameland’s borders a long time ago. None had returned. Perhaps reinforcements were in order.

Yes, that was not denounced in the pronouncements.

The Ravener searched its network of dungeon cores within Thameland. One by one, it analysed the monsters that each had been dedicated to creating. It eliminated those focused on creatures of unbridled destruction: monsters who would form the front lines of armies, elites who would draw The Heroes out, and devastating creatures designed as siege engines to tear cities apart.

None of these were suitable. The task at hand would require a more subtle touch.

Perhaps the dungeon core that produced creatures of stealth, like silence-spiders: they would be very useful. The Ravener directed the core to dispatch a force of silence-spiders to The Hunter.

One more force possessing a different set of skills would broaden The Hunter’s team and improve its chances for success.

Ah yes.

The Venom Walkers.

They were not the most subtle of its forces—unlike the silence-spiders, or the Hunters—but they could avoid detection as needed, and were effective assassins if need be. The Ravener gave instructions to the core for a unit of Venom Walkers to be sent to The Hunter.

Now, for the anom-

Its senses reached out.

There was no longer any sign of an anomaly. Strange. Whatever it was—if something had indeed appeared—would have to be left for now. Its forces would unearth it, then destroy it if that was needed. The usurper was priority right now.

The Ravener turned its attention to The Heroes. They were engaging its cores in the west. More reinforcements would be necessary.

Shuddering, the great orb of darkness used its gathered power to craft more dungeon cores and sent them shooting through the underways.

All would proceed.

All would be preserved.

This cycle would succeed as had most others.

It would not fail.

“Welcome to Luthering,” a rough voice said in a thick northern Thameish accent. “Uldar only knows what possessed a bunch of fancy school-folk like you to choose these forsaken lands for your expedition, but here you are.”

The teams of surveyors gathered around the teleportation circle, forming their groups while supplies were unloaded from the shimmering portal. Around them, armed soldiers had begun gathering, trudging through the mud, or leaning against nearby buildings as they eyed the expedition members like they were watching otherworldly beings.

One group approached them from the village square: in the centre, a lean man strode through muck which coated his boots and metal greaves in thick mud. Ten soldiers clad in breastplates and chainmail flanked him; swords bobbed from their waists.

Their plate armour clinked with every step and their leader’s sharp features gave the impression of a hawk as he eyed every member of the expedition like a wolf appraising a pack encroaching on his territory.

After a while, he seemed to be satisfied with something and turned toward Baelin. “Is this all of them?”

“For the most part,” the chancellor said, towering over the man. He was also standing in the muck, but Alex noticed that no mud stained his hooves or trousers. “Our other less-combat ready members will be brought in at another time.”

“Right, well I’ll just say what I have to say to this lot.” The soldier squared his shoulders, turned back toward the rest of the expedition and wiped some of the damp from his greying hair.

“If I understand correctly, you’re to be our neighbours and you’ll be clearing the land and working on some sort of weapon against The Ravener,” he said.

‘Close enough,’ Alex thought.

“That’s good,” he nodded, though very little cheer entered his voice. “Uldar knows that we could use every weapon we can get: this cycle’s been a bad one, and I’ve lost too many that followed my command already.”

Some of his soldiers grumbled at the words, shifting in place and throwing looks at the church of Uldar. It was a fairly towering structure—about three floors high—and the only one in the village built entirely of stone.

The white hand of Uldar was painted on a wooden board above the entrance and Alex noticed another symbol hanging over the side of the building where a small fenced in graveyard lay, likely where priests were buried.

He wondered how fuller graveyards in his homeland had gotten in the past year.

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“We hope that our presence will ease your burden, Sir Swift,” Professor Jules said, picking her way around some of the deeper puddles. “And that we are good neighbours to each other.”

“Ah, and who might you be, then?” Sir Swift looked down at the tiny woman.

“Professor Vernia Jules, Head of the Potions Department of the University of Generasi and head of the alchemy division of the expedition.” She extended her hand to the tall knight.

“Right, to those who don’t know, I am Sir Sean Swift of Devon, Knight sworn to King Athelstan Merciex, and Baron Robert Roos,” he said, shaking Professor Jules hand and turning toward the rest of the expedition. “Long may they rule. You lot are in the village of Luthering which is part of my fief, and in better circumstances I would—by rule of courtesy—invite you as guests to my manor for a feast of good fortune.”

His eyes hardened. “But any pig or cow we’ve got left will be needed to feed my own soldiers, we’re near out of beer, and my manor was burnt to the ground last winter in an attack led by Skinned Ones.”

Alex winced and several of the students murmured.

The bestiaries had described Skinned Ones as quite a nasty form of monster: humanoid, skinless titans whose bloated, naked muscles were hard enough to turn away spears, and powerful enough to batter stone.

Alex imagined such monsters stalking through the moors toward the village. No wonder these soldiers looked so…beaten down.

“But—with you lot here—let’s hope that things will turn around; we’re all seeking the same thing. So, I see no reason for there to be any sort of pissing-contests or arm-wrestling going on among us. You’ve got your lands over in the wilderness there just as I’m warden of this village, and the surrounding fief. You seek solutions to the scourge of The Ravener and I seek ways to square accounts with it. You’ll keep your lands clear of monsters, and I’ll do the same on mine. So, in the end, we’ll be helping each other.”

“Indeed,” Professor Jules said. “Through our combined effort as neighbours, it is our hope that we shall have mutual safety and profit.”

He paused. “Profit,” he repeated the word as though he’d tasted something bitter. “That brings me right to it, then: there’ve been folk about taking advantage of these desperate times. Bandits infest our lands—hiding from our armies like the rats that they are, yet keeping themselves safely hidden from The Ravener’s monsters. Which is another reason to despise it and its spawn. We’ve had pirates and predatory merchants creeping around taking advantage of regular folk. There are hamlets, farmhouses and manors sitting empty waiting for our people to return to their homes. If you range beyond your boundaries, then you may encounter some of these places. What you do on your lands is your affair, but outside, you are expected to follow Thameish law.

He raised his voice. “No looting or theft of property found on Thaemish soil will be tolerated. None of it. And if you catch anyone on your lands stealing, poaching or raiding, you have full authority—and my encouragement—to capture and punish them as you see fit. We have no time to worry about the fate of outlaws. They’re parasites, I expect you will not act as they do: we’ve had folk offer help before them turn on us. I’m not accusing you of anything, but these are evil times. Desperate times.”

Alex noticed that the knight’s armour showed signs of recent repair; his companions kept their eyes on the surroundings. The buildings around them had been patched, and the tavern walls were a mix of new and old boards. Lanky dogs wandered about the village and each warrior looked like it’d been too long since they’d seen a hot meal and peaceful night’s sleep.

‘No wonder he said ‘desperate times,’’ ‘These people, and even their animals look like they’ve really been through it,’ Alex thought. ‘Wonder what he’d think if he saw how we live in Generasi. Maybe the supplies we brought can ease their burden for a while.’

“Right.” Sir Swift looked on as the expedition finished piling supplies beside the teleportation circle. Many of the crates were for the university’s encampment, but a significant number were being gifted to the village. Alex could already see the knight evaluating the new provisions. “Let’s show you where you’ll be wanting to go.”

“Excellent.” Baelin nodded to the expedition before turning and speaking a single word.

The portal closed behind them.

The teams shouldered their rucksacks and began trudging through the mud. At Alex’s side Claygon’s heavy footsteps sucked through the muck.

He noticed the soldiers’ eyes following them as they made their way through the village. After a year in Generasi, the novelty of being surrounded by so many strange and magical things had worn off. But here, almost everyone in Luthering appeared to be human, with only a few folk that looked like they had mixed ancestry. Perhaps elven, orcish and dwarvish ancestors from their looks.

In contrast, Generai’s expeditionary force was formed of humans, elves, dwarves, beastmen—including the towering, unique Grimloch—and a giant, four-armed golem. There were also familiars—like Brutus and Najyah—and other beasts accompanying the group and that didn’t even include Vesuvius who was simply too big to be teleported into the village and would be brought to Thameland later.

Still, the group made for a fantastic sight in the quiet moors and countryside of Thameland.

“I’ve sent rangers into the moors in the last few days to make sure nothing nasty’s been brewing there,” Sir Swift said as they passed through a street filled with buildings that had become converted barracks for the soldiers. Men and women sat around, taking care of their equipment and gaping at the group. “And they’ve not been reporting anything more dangerous than a few beast-goblin warrens.”

“Sizes and locations?” Baelin asked.

“To the east,” The knight said. “And no more than packs of ten or twenty in each. Nothing to worry about for a group of wizards like yourselves, but you’ll need to roust them if you want full run of your lands. If there’s more lurking out in the moors, then you’ll need to find that out yourselves…still would’ve been better if you’d let some of our priests come with you, I say. If it weren’t for their miracles and Uldar’s mercy, half my force would be dead.”

“We have our own sources of healing,” Professor Jules said.

‘Yeah, don’t go forcing any priests on us, please,’ Alex thought.

“Suit yourself.” Sir Swift pointed to a smithy they were passing, which looked like it had been converted into an armoury. “If you need any help, you can come to Luthering for care and what supplies we can spare: you’ve provided for us, and if we can, we’ll do the same. At the same time, I will be expecting hospitality for any of my soldiers if they need to travel through your lands.”

“They shall have it,” Baelin said. “As long as they follow Generasi law as they do.”

“Good,” The knight said as they approached the village gate. It was surrounded by a wooden wall that looked like it had been patched repeatedly using different boards, stone, and metal. The gate looked like it was newly crafted.

“Open the gate!” Sean roared.

Six soldiers slid a massive oak post away that was securing the gate, then heaved it open. The gate creaked and sloshed through the muck, opening to a muddy road that led to the harsh lands of Greymoor. Generasi’s property.

The air was heavy with the smell of peat and rain.

“Happy hunting to you all,” the knight said, standing aside. “Oh…and just one more thing. If you should happen to find anyone hiding on your lands, it would do me a great favour if you search them thoroughly and hold them, or bring them here to our priests.”

Sir Swift drew a piece of parchment from a case on his belt, unrolled it and presented it to the expedition. Alex’s blood ran cold; he noticed Theresa and Thundar throw glances at him.

On the scroll was a detailed drawing of a grinning jester’s face. “If you should find anyone with this symbol on their bodies, capture them. This symbol is The Mark of the Fool. It glows gold and marks the body of a missing member of Uldar’s Heroes. They’re most likely long dead, but if they happen to be hiding in some hole out there in the moors while others fight and die in their stead, then I ask that you submit them to my custody: they’re wanted by the king of Thameland and the Holy Church of Uldar.”

His eyes were like steel. “If they’re not dead, then it’s more than time they started doing their duty. After all, who are they to deny Uldar’s plan?”

Alex fought to keep the agitation off his face. ‘Uldar’s plan? What about Alex’s plan? We'll see how much his plan matters when we do things our way and take The Ravener’s dungeon cores from it. This cycle’s going to be different.’

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