Bear Territory, Outskirts of Wall Visalia

  The following day, the group was getting close to Wall Visalia, the great barrier mountain that flanked the eastern half of the Wall rose even higher before Elizabeth. Elizabeth had been able to see it from a distance since she arrived, but it had gotten closer. The fact that they were so close to the eastern coastal mountains was a sign that they were close to the Eastern Gate.

  As they kept on heading south, the scars of a thousand years of conflict became more apparent, the very southern tip of the Baikov lands, part of the Dark Wastes, were completely barren, devoid of even desert life. Perhaps one of the most iconic sights, other than the wall itself, was the Skull Hills, massive piles made up of the skulls of Wastelanders. It was a rite of passage for someone serving on the wall to kill a Wastelander and claim their skull, so they could add it to one of the piles.

  If one noticed, it wasn’t just the skulls of adults that adorned these hills, any Wastelanders, even the children, were considered fair game by the soldiers of the Bear. The Bear considered the death of Wastelander children to be an act of mercy, though the Wastelanders disagreed with that sentiment and used it as proof that the humans were not as righteous as they claimed to be.

  The area itself was patrolled by retired soldiers and militiamen, hunting down any critters that managed to sneak their way around Wall Visalia, usually by climbing over the mountains, a difficult task, but not impossible. The biggest issue they had was with Ri-Gribs, who, despite their great size were stealthy and cunning and had the easiest time sneaking past the watchers.

  As they got closer to the gate, they could see the smoke from many fires rising. After cresting a hill, they saw why. Before them, a massive army was camping around the Eastern Gate. The banners of the greater and lesser nobles who had sworn fealty to the Baikov were fluttering in the wind, along with the banners of the Baikov themselves, a great black bear covered in armor.

  As they traveled through the camp, they saw that everyone was on edge, those who were not drilling were on constant alert, speaking only in hushed tones, as they eyed the newcomers warily. Eventually, they reached a large stone fort, which resided next to the Eastern Gate. The sign above the door to the fort read, Recruitment, Registration, and Aptitude Testing.

  “Aptitude Testing?” Elizabeth asked aloud to herself.

  Sir Frederick responded “To determine if anyone coming to volunteer has any unique skills or abilities. Some people have incredibly valuable bloodlines with unique abilities, especially among the nobility. The Baikov seek any advantage they can get. Though, they tend to get the cast-offs from the rest of the Kingdom.”

  “You know, I can’t help but take offense at that.” Damien sounded downright indignant.

  “I meant no offense, but what other reason do you have to be down here if you were wanted back home? The last I checked; the Diotrephes are very secretive and insular when it comes to their family members. If you had any value to them, they wouldn’t have sent you away.” Sir Frederick continued to be blunt with Damian.

  “You could have phrased it more politely.” Damian had forgotten the fact that he often referred to himself as a failure, or he just did not want to hear it from Sir Frederick. Damian had not bothered to share the full reason why he and Madeline had come to Wall Visalia, as he had no desire to sweep them up in his family's drama or schemes.

  The recruiter, a muscular and scarred woman in her late fifties walked out and looked them over. “So, we’ve got recruits with us. Well, your timing could not have been better. We’ll likely need to be replenishing our ranks in the coming days.”

  “I take it that there’s a major operation underway?” Sir Frederick asked her.

  “Indeed, we got word that a massive army is marching upon the Zarakova Fortress, the Archduke himself is leading the army down to relieve them, it should be assembled in two days. You won’t be doing much of anything until they get back, we don’t even have spare uniforms, but we can at least get you registered.” The recruiter took a long look at all of them. “This is quite a collection we’ve got here.” The recruiter focused her sight on Elizabeth. “Mam, I don’t think that you belong here, at least not if you’re going to show up wearing a serving wrenches uniform.”

  “I don’t have any plans of signing up, I’m here under an unusual set of circumstances, Sir Frederick, and I need to speak to you and your superiors about it.”

  “Very well, they’re very busy now, so make sure that what you have to say is relevant and concise.” The woman said as she led them inside. The woman gestured to an aide who came forth and led Sir Frederick and Elizabeth to the General's office, they were going straight to the top for this report.

  As Sir Frederick and Elizabeth moved to the waiting room, the others lined up for examination.

  The woman stood at attention and looked them over. The recruiter had tan skin and short black hair. “I am Commander Ivanka Katzev, head of recruitment and placement. You are here of your own free will, I will not force you to stay, but be warned that this is not an easy duty. You will be expected to put your life in danger in defense of this wall. We of the Bear Duchies have a sacred duty to defend the Kingdom of Lions from the barbaric hordes to the south of us. It is not an easy job, it is a thankless job, but it is one we take great pride in, and it is a duty we take very seriously. If you cannot cut it, you will be sent away, you can even leave of your own free will, and many do, you are volunteers after all. But if you choose to stay on, you will have my respect and the respect of all who march under the banner of the Bear. Now, let us begin with your evaluations.”

  Commander Ivanka went to each of them and handed them a slip of paper. “These are the room numbers I want you to go to, I have a good eye for talent and if I’m wrong, we’ll send you to the right room.

  Hezekiah and Madeline, Divine Auxiliary

  Hezekiah and Madeline both went to room nine, on the door were the words, “Spiritual Support”. Hezekiah and Madeline entered and saw two hallways split up. One hallway had “Martial Support” over it, while the other had “Healing Support”. Hezekiah went down the hallways and listed martial support. Brother Hezekiah came to a room and discovered an elderly Oathsworn of the Holy Flame sitting at a desk going through paperwork. The elderly Oathsworn looked up and smiled as Hezekiah came into the room.

  “An Ascetic, we don’t see many of your kind down here, still, you are welcome. Tell me, do you have any specialties?” The man asked.

  “I am skilled in hand-to-hand combat, along with the use of my staff. Using the power of my spirit I can enhance my body while possessing the ability to read the souls of others. I have decided to dedicate myself to helping defend the lands of the Bear as my sacred duty.”

  Ascetics, while devout like Divine Callers, did not draw upon the power of the gods. Instead, they trained to hone their bodies, minds, and spirits, unlocking their internal spiritual energy. This energy could allow them to perform many amazing feats, with physical and sensory enhancement being only the tip of the owl's talon.

  “Good to know, we’ll be putting those abilities to good use.” The elderly Oathsworn said.

  “Aren’t you going to test me, sir?” Hezekiah asked, confused.

  “Don’t worry boy, you’ll be tested soon enough.

  Down the other hallway, Madeline met with her instructor. The woman was an elderly Mother of Lenera, but much to Madeline’s shock she was smoking a cigar and drinking whiskey, she even had her veil removed while doing so. The elderly woman looked up from the holy text she had been reading, and upon seeing the shocked look on Madeline’s face, decided to speak.

  “If that is the reaction you give me, you’re not going to last long on the wall Little Sister. My habits are nothing compared to the horrors you will face my little indulgences are what allow me to get by.”

  “I am sorry venerable Mother; I meant no disrespect.” Madeline was quick to apologize.

  “You meant no disrespect, but you showed me disrespect. Still, it cannot be helped, many sheltered northern Daughters and Sons of Lenera are often shocked when they come down south. The world is not as pretty or neat as they were taught, but the White Lady needs us down here all the same. I will not lie and say that our work is glamorous, but it is work that must be done. And the men and women you care for will appreciate it. Speaking of which, I have a difficult case behind the screen in the corner, this might be a good time to gauge just how talented you are.

  Madeline followed the Mother over past the screen to see a horrific sight. A young man, even younger than her, was lying in the bed. This man had lost both of his legs and his left arm, but the worst part was the dark oily splotches that had dug into his skin. The splotches were pulsating and glowing in a sickly green light. The young man was completely unresponsive, just staring up at the ceiling.

  “What passes as Divine Callers amongst the Grib tribes have gotten quite clever as of late. The foul Grib gods have gifted them the ability to create this substance that resists our healing magic and makes it more difficult for a person to recover from injury. You can also see that it paralyzes the victim as well. I can remove it with great effort, but many of my staff lack the necessary spiritual resonance. Let us see what you’re made of.”

  Madeline gulped, knowing that this was a test. Madeline placed her hands over the young man and silently said her prayer. “Lenera, give me the strength to purge this foul substance from this brave young man’s body.” After she had said her prayers, her hands began to glow with a bright and luminous light, that fell upon the victim. The light consumed the substance, dissolving it and healing up the wounds, even the bandaged limbs, sealing them up. The young man came back to his senses and looked around the room. The Mother just stood staring awestruck at Madeline.

  “My dear, I do believe that you have a talent for this.”

  Ragnar, Infantry Corp

  Ragnar went down to an area of the fortress known as the fighting pits, where warriors trained and fought with each other, honing their skills. It is also where new fighters would go to register. When he got down, he saw a grizzled and scarred old veteran overseeing the training of recruits. Ragnar walked up and presented himself to the man. The grizzled old veteran looked him over, with a cold hard stare.

  “You’re a big one isn’t you, I take it you’re a northerner.” The man asked.

  “Yes, I am,” Ragnar replied.

  “Coastal raider or wandering nomad?” The man asked.

  Ragnar was genuinely shocked at this. In the Land of Ice and Fog, there were two groups of humans, the coastal dwellers who raided the south on their longboats and shied away from the interior, using the Everwinter Forest as their shield from the terrors beyond, and the nomadic tribes who dwelt in the mainland proper, amongst its many perils. There was little love between the two groups, despite sharing common ancestry and the same gods, the two had quite different views on the best way to live.

  The coastal raiders boasted of their valor in raiding fishing villages and the freedom they had because thralls did all their work for them. The nomads on the other hand had no use for southern excursions or southern thralls, most of whom would not be able to keep up with the harsh life of a nomad.

  The nomads were content to be left alone, warring amongst themselves and the dangers of their land. Any man, woman, or child who did not pull their weight was left behind to die. It would bring shame to any true northern nomad to have a thrall do a job that they could do themselves. Most Southerners did not know of the distinction between the two groups.

  The old man just smiled at him. “From the look of you are a nomad, do not act so surprised, not all of us are ignorant of the nations around us. As a young man, I went on a sanctioned expedition to the Land of Ice and Fog. The King at the time was curious about our northern neighbors. I feasted in the halls of Huscarl Bjorn of the Ice Devil Tribe as an honored guest, though he refused to return the thralls he had taken. We lost twenty good men wandering in the Everwinter Forest and another fifty when the ice giants descended upon us. We spied on the Castle of Witches and dined as honored guests of the King Erik of Silver Pillar. King Erik was a nice fellow for a man who drank blood and who had been punished by his dark northern gods.”

  “You saw much of my land then,” Ragnar said.

  “Indeed, I did, which is why I know of your people’s prowess in battle. But I do not think that those three do.” The trainer pointed to the three swaggering swordsmen from House De Lorme that they had confronted on the road. They eyed him with visceral hate in their eyes. “I do believe they want to fight you.”

  “Those weaklings may, I will fight all three at once,” Ragnar said as he stepped forward, drawing both of his battle axes.

  “We’ll pay you back for the insult you gave us on the road.” Said the middle boy who was the leader. To Ragnar, he seemed the least fearsome of the three. Ragnar found it humorous that he was somehow prettier than all the women in his tribe back north. The other two were only slightly as pretty. The grizzled old veteran came forth to watch the match, lifting his hands in the air and then bringing them down. The three men charged Ragnar who called forth on the fury of his ancestors to fill him with their fighting spirit and strength.

  Moving quickly, he sidestepped the man in the middle who lunged forward with his rapier, knocking the man on his right to the ground with the flat of his axe. Ragnar then ran over and slammed into the chest of the man to his left while the man in the middle was recomposing himself after Ragnar dodged his attack. Ragnar jumped off the man whom he had slammed into the ground and faced his only remaining opponent.

  The man lost all composure and began poking at Ragnar. While Ragnar’s fighting prowess was filled with fury, he knew how to channel and control it, and could dodge each clumsy attack from his opponent who was blinded by his unfocused rage. Eventually, the man tired himself out and Ragnar kicked him in the chest when he let his guard down, sending him flying into his two companions who had just gotten back up.

  Calming down, Ragnar coldly looked at the men on the ground. “Learn how to fight like a northern warrior, and then you might prove to be a challenge to me. Also, learning how to use an actual weapon might not hurt.” Ragnar said looking with disgust at their rapiers.

  The grizzled old veteran just clapped his hands signaling that the fight was over, with a smile on his face.

  Damian, Arcane Auxiliary

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Damian was not in a good mood, the Ortoff Arc-Blood had just given him a bombshell that would shake the very foundation of his existence.

  “There must be a mistake, I can’t be an Arc-Blood, I’m a Diotrephes.” Damian continued to argue with her.

  The Ortoff Arc-Blood, whose skin was bronze with pieces of granite jutting out of her body and grainy hair made of condensed graphite just looked at him. “Your family lineage is exactly why you are an Arc-Blood. You can’t have a family be surrounded by that much magic and not have Arc-Bloods pop out now and then.”

  Damian knew this was true, but there was a reason the Diotrephes had no Arc-Blood family members. It was no secret that the Diotrephes looked down on Arc-Bloods as magical freaks who were weak and let their bloodlines be mutated by magic. More so, Damian knew what his family did to Arc-Bloods. Any Arc-Bloods caught in Diotrephes lands would be, Refined, or rendered down into raw magical energy, themed around the magic that flowed through their blood. Arc-Bloods with an Arcane bloodline, like the Ortoff was insinuating he was, were the rarest and most desired for Refinement.

  “If I were an Arc-Blood, my mother would have known early on, she would have refined me rather than attempt to teach me High Magic.” Damian thought he knew his mother well enough to know what she would have done to him.

  “Your mother likely knew, and she was trying to protect you and perhaps she hoped that by teaching you High Magic you would never utilize your Arc-Blood abilities.”

  “But my mother hates me, she considers me a failure.”

  “But here you are, instead of being refined into pure arcane magic, your mother let you come to a place where you would be protected from the rest of the family. It’s presumptuous of me to guess at her motives, but it could be that she cared more about you than you believed.”

  It occurred to Damian that his mother, while disappointed in him, may have still loved him after all. “But I don’t know the first thing about being an Arc-Blood, other than what I’ve read in my story books.”

  “Well, that’s easy, the first thing to do is forget everything you know about High Magic. The magic is in your blood, that is where you draw your power from. For an Arc-Blood, it's counterintuitive to try to shape magic from outside sources. Your only limit is your imagination, your will, and your stamina, think about what you want to do, and the magic will manifest. In a way you hit the jackpot, being an Arcane Arc-Blood, means you have a lot to work with, in time what you can accomplish will surpass that of most Arcanos. You do not control a single form of magic; you are magic incarnate. Unlike myself, who must work with rocks and minerals, you can do whatever you want.”

  “This will take some getting used to,” Damian said.

  “The other Arc-Bloods and I will help you any way we can, we all went through what you are going through, and we will help unlock your potential. Also, be prepared for physical changes.” The Ortoff Arc-Blood tapped the granite spike jutting from her left shoulder. “The changes will be disconcerting at first, but in time you will get used to it.”

  Damian struggled not to faint.

  Bridgette and Francesco, Scouting Corp

  Bridgette and Francesco were struggling on a testing gauntlet. The Scouting Corp wanted to make sure that recruits were up for the job physically. So far, the gauntlet had taken out most of the other recruits, with only Bridgette and Francesco still standing in the final stretch.

  Standing on a wobbly platform they could see a thin wood wooden bridge suspended unevenly by ropes, a series of hanging circular platforms that swayed in an artificial wind, and an array of rusty metal bars that they would need to go under to get to the final obstacle, a narrow path filled with spinning pillars that would knock them off if they got hit.

  Working together, Bridgette and Francesco began crossing the thin wooden bridge, they shifted their feet as the bridge wobbled back and forth, threatening to throw them off. Despite a near slip from Bridgette, they made it across, with Francesco helping to balance her out before she fell off.

  On the hanging circular platforms, they jumped across to each one, keeping up their momentum less they fell off. While Francesco may not have had the strength to make the final jump, Bridgette grabbed him and helped throw him to the next platform, using the momentum of the throw to help guarantee her landing.

  On the rusty bars, Bridgette’s fatigue and size were working against her, while the lighter Francesco was having an easier time. Fortunately, Bridgette could make it across though she was beginning to have trouble breathing.

  Finally, they got to the final obstacle, which they were handling with masterful skill until one of the spinning pillars hit Francesco knocking him off. Bridgette grabbed onto him and put him back on the path before he hit the dirt. They made it across much to the satisfaction of their instructor, a one-legged member of House Zarakova, now relegated to the instruction of recruits for the Scout Corp.

  “Well done, it has been a while since we have seen anyone complete the course on their first try, let alone two recruits. Welcome to the Scout Corp.”

  Bridgette and Francesco smiled at each other and gave each other and collapsed to the ground.

  Carmen, Entertainment Corp

  Carmen looked up from her playing to find her supervisor in tears of joy. The Entertainment Corp provided a vital function for the soldiers on Wall Visalia. Pain and loss were everyday issues, and to help relieve the stress the soldiers needed a distraction.

  Carmen could do more than that, with her Mugic she could also provide support for the defenders, either empowering her allies or befuddling her enemies. Carmen knew that she would find no shortage of work down on the wall, and perhaps she could even come up with a few new songs for her repertoire while she was down here.

  Frederick and Elizabeth, Eastern Command

  Elizabeth and Sir Frederick had been waiting for a while.

  Sir Frederick had gone off to the corner to pray at the office’s shrine, while Elizabeth sat by the door. Even though she knew it was wrong, she could not help but eavesdrop on the conversation.

  “Why haven’t the troops been mustered yet, we need to leave as soon as possible to relieve the Zarakova, if this scout’s reports are true, this is an army of a size not seen in over 500 years when Queen Emma the Brave had to intervene with the royal army.” Said a very loud, gruff, and commanding voice.

  “Brother we are mustering the troops as quickly as possible, the recent decrease in assaults upon Wall Visalia had led us to believe that we were entering a dry spell, and now it appears that they were just rallying their forces around a new warlord.” This came from a voice as loud, gruff, and commanding as the first.

  “Ah yes, and do we even know anything about this warlord, what he is, and what he plans?” Asked the first voice.

  “Our scout only reports him as a mighty Ma-Grib of monstrous appearance.” Said the second voice.

  A third voice chimed in, speaking a tongue Elizabeth had never heard before, it had the harshness of rocks being ground together and was as pleasant on the ears as fingernails being scratched across a chalkboard.

  “Yes Rorrek, you can tell your King to mobilize his forces, if things don’t go well we're going to need your people’s support.” Said the first voice.

  At this Elizabeth moved to peek through the keyhole, only to have the door suddenly open and to come face to face with an imposing man, seven feet in height. The Archduke had a wide and well-muscled body under his thick gray, brown, and black armor, bearing a heavy bear motif. Upon his back was strapped a mighty Warhammer.

  The face was harsh and cold, with a long scar running down from his forehead to his chin. The Archduke had long and thick black hair with streaks of gray on his head, weathered swarthy skin with gray eyes so cold that Elizabeth could feel the warmth leave her veins. Most impressive of all, was his black handlebar mustache, that somehow shimmered in the candlelight, and at least appeared sharp enough to cut someone.

  Above his heart was an Alnardian Heart Badge. Quicker than someone that size had any right to be, the imposing figure grabbed Elizabeth by the throat and lifted her as he entered the room. There was a cold fury in his eyes at what he perceived as a spy wriggled in his grasp.

  “Young lady, I don’t take kindly to eavesdroppers to my private meetings. You better have a good reason for this, or you may find your stay here short and very unpleasant.” The Archduke looked past Elizabeth to discover that Sir Frederick had drawn his blade and was pointing it at the man before him. “Boy, do you have any idea who I am?”

  “I take it that you are Archduke Yuri Baikov, but that does not excuse your behavior, we came here peacefully to warn you of a threat gallivanting about in your lands, preying upon innocent young people and this is how you treat my companion.” There was righteous indignation in Sir Frederick’s voice.

  “Considering I have a massive army seeking to wipe out my loyal vassals, any threat you must tell me about seems insignificant and should have been left with the local magistrate, though that still doesn’t clear up this girl’s crime of eavesdropping.”

  The second man entered the room behind the first man, he appeared to be an almost exact copy of his brother minus the scar, gray hair, and the lack of intensity in his eyes. “Brother, you are overreacting, I’m sure that this girl did not see or hear anything that she wasn’t supposed to see or hear, after all, it should be common knowledge that an enemy force marches on the Zarakova.”

  The Archduke let go of his hold of Elizabeth. “You’re right Dimitri, I’ll leave these two and their message in your hands, right now I have an army to mobilize.” As he left the room, he added one more thing. “I want a full background check done on the girl; This girl still may be a spy of some sort.”

  “Of course, brother,” Grand Duke Dimitri, the general of the eastern forces of Wall Visalia, replied, “As for you,” turning to Elizabeth “anything you think you heard was just your imagination, me and my brother were the only ones in that room, do you understand me?”

  Elizabeth nodded her head yes, but could not help but respond, “But my lord, I never said anything about hearing anyone else.” At this Grand Duke Dimitri began to eye her suspiciously before dragging her into the room, which she now found empty, the only door in and out was the one they were standing in. Elizabeth was dumbfounded because she could have sworn that she heard a third voice in this room.

  Sir Frederick decided to chime in. “My lord, I still need to tell you everything I know about this foreigner who is preying upon our people.”

  “Of course,” Grand Duke Dimitri said, “Follow me, we’ll get the background check started on your friend and you can tell me everything that you know about this human trafficker.”

  With that, they headed on out.

  Five days passed as the background check continued, even with the aid of magic it took a while to contact the magistrates of House Remington to find out what they knew about Elizabeth and whether she had any prior illegal dealings.

  In the exchange, they were able to tell Elizabeth’s family where she was and that she would be returning to them in three months at the latest, as the Baikov could not spare any horses. Elizabeth and Sir Frederick planned on getting horses later, but now, they would settle on walking back.

  While waiting she saw the Bear Army march off to war to relieve their Zarakova vassals at their fortress-home of Mount Defiance. It was an awe-inspiring sight to see all the banners of the Baikov, their vassal families, and the other great houses all march as one.

  The bulk of the Bear’s eastern military assembled, 120,000 strong, ranging from higher nobles down to the common citizen levies that had been called up to the Eastern Command Fortress. 80,000 were still stationed a week away at the Western Command Fortress under the command of Yuri Baikov’s younger sister, Grand Duchess Katerina, along with 50,000 at the Halls of Defiance under Yuri’s eldest son, Vladimir, four days away.

  Elizabeth had even seen the famed Baikov Bear Cavalry, a regiment of Baikov knights and nobles riding fearsome, armored bears. What they lacked in horses, they made up for in war bears. The army had left three days ago and had now made it down to the fortress. But that was no longer her concern, today she and Sir Frederick would be heading northward, back to her home. Elizabeth would be sad to leave her new friends behind, but her place was not down here, it was back home, working alongside her mother in her family’s inn.

  Elizabeth was no hero; she was just a sensible young woman trying to have a comfortable and safe life. Elizabeth would miss her new friends, but right now she had to get home and get on with her life, no matter what that crazy man kept telling her, she had no great destiny or power, she was just Elizabeth, apprentice inn manager. But before she left, she did have to say goodbye to her companions.

  Elizabeth left the guest quarters where she had been staying to find her friends, who were still going through orientation, focusing on team-building exercises today. Elizabeth made her way to the training field to find them in the middle of trust falls. Sir Frederick was observing them passively. Elizabeth made her way to the right as Damian failed to catch Ragnar, who fell flat on his back. Damian had little faith in himself to catch Ragnar’s mighty form and an argument started.

  “Ragnar, I’m small and you’re large, if I had caught you, I would have been crushed.” Damian was trying to get out of trouble with the northerner.

  “In my homeland, we would have tied a weakling like you up and left you to the wolves, witches, fair folk, Tormags, frost giants, or the blood-sucking king of the Silver Pillar. A man who cannot pull his own weight cannot be trusted.” Ragnar was annoyed.

  “I am sorry that I have offended you, I am just trying to explain to you that I’m not a mighty warrior who can lift a man who towers over me.”

  “Do you think the beasts past this wall will go easy on you just because you aren’t big or strong? In this world, the strong feast upon the weak, and the creatures out there understand and embrace that truth, it is kill or be killed. I hope you live long enough to learn that lesson before the beasts take you.” Ragnar shoved him and knocked him to the ground.

  Carmen moved in trying to relieve the tension. “Friends, friends, there is no need to fight, We are all down here together and we need to learn how to work together. Mighty Ragnar, if you’re worried about Damian being a weakling why don’t you tutor him on how to be a real strong man who can pull his weight?”

  Ragnar looked thoughtful. “All men have the potential for greatness.” Ragnar took a hard look at Damian. “But with him, I’ll have my work cut out. Damian is meek and apologizes too easily, refusing to meet my gaze. The moment I got in his face he should have shoved me back and asserted his dominance.”

  Damian got an annoyed look on his face. Regaining his composure, he tried to assert himself, standing back up. “I will be willing to learn if you are willing to teach.” Damian tried to put confidence in his voice.

  Ragnar moaned, “First lesson, threaten to kill me if I don’t teach you.”

  Once this exchange was done, they looked over at Elizabeth and Frederick and went on over.

  “So today is the day you are leaving us?” Madeline asked as the group reached them.

  “Yes, it is, I can’t wait to get home. My mother needs me more than ever, in three months a tourney will be hosted for the 30th anniversary of the King’s reign, and my mother will need all the help she can get to take care of the travelers on their way to the capital.”

  “Well, that sounds like a waste of valuable resources.” Hezekiah the Ascetic joined in, despite the vows of his order to serve the nobility, he and others like him had no love for extravagance.

  “I agree with Hez, if those knights wanted to prove their martial skill, they would be down here on the wall, or aiding my family against the Queen of Eternal Autumn. Then again, I doubt they would know how to deal with the tricks of the faeries.” Bridgette appeared to be deep in thought with a troubled look on her face.

  As they continued their goodbyes, they heard ominous war horns in the distance as the signal fires on Wall Visalia were lit in mass.

  Chroniclers Notes

  Wastelander Secrets of Survival

  Grib: The Grib possessed excellent noses for searching out sources of water in the Wastelands, while also keeping aware of their surroundings with their sensitive ears. Food Arc-Bloods were also common amongst their people, representative of their near-constant hunger and love of food. Grib Arc-Bloods would transform their victims into edible food stuffs, instead of wasting time cutting them up and cooking them.

  Even with these tricks, Gribs were small, weak, and denied even the meekest of supplies, so all Grib children were raised in a communal pen, given only enough food so that the strong would survive, and the weak would perish. Heartless? Maybe, but no one could deny that the Grib were survivors.

  Ma-Grib: Disciplined and organized, the Ma-Grib had developed several ways to sustain themselves while on the march. The Ma-Grib deployed mobile magical wagons that collected and condensed air moisture into drinkable water.

  The Moisture Mobile also served as makeshift mushroom farms, which formed a central pillar of the Ma-Grib diet. The Ma-Grib, while not as heartless as the Grib, would still leave weak and sickly children to die, while choosing to focus their resources on children who they believed could survive the harsh conditions.

  Also, unlike the Grib, they strictly monitored their breeding cycles, ensuring that they didn’t overpopulate themselves with children they could not realistically take care of. Their Morags, large hairy beasts reminiscent of wolves, aided them in their hunts with their keen senses. Their bodies worked in such a way that they could make do with a calorie intake, far lower than a beast that size should have. They were also semi-sentient, making it easier to work with and command them.

  Chren-Zul: The Chren-Zul of the Wastelands took on a very different method of self-sustainment, consisting of raiding their fellows and chopping up and cooking those they defeated. Unlike the Grib who would transform their victims into edible food stuffs, the Wasteland Chren-Zul preferred to view anyone who was not them as cattle.

  They also lacked the capabilities to find water that the Grib and Ma-Grib possessed, instead subsisting on milk taken from their mothers. Chren-Zul breeding pits were the location that housed the mothers of a Chren-Zul tribe, where older and infertile magic-using crones would use spells to keep the younger ones calm and content. During the invasion, the Chren-Zul would, for the first time, replace their mothers with the “bipedal livestock” they intended to capture and subjugate for this purpose. This would also have the added side effect of freeing their women. It should be noted that Chren-Zul in other parts of the world did not engage in such behavior, as these are Wastelander Chren-Zul traits brought about by desperation.

  Final Analysis: It is true that the Dark Wastes were limited in resources and forced the inhabitants to perform drastic, and downright horrific, actions to stay alive. Though, if I were to speculate, I believe there may be more to this issue. It could be that the residual dark magic that suffused the land, rendering it so hostile to life, also affected the Grib, Ma-Grib, and the Chren-Zul, bringing out and worsening darker impulses.

  The evidence for this is self-evident in the lack of such drastic behaviors in their cousins abroad, and the increased aggression of House Zarakova and those on the wall. When the King of Lion and the Three Thunders drove these people into the Dark Wastes and out of their lands, they may have made them far greater threat than they could ever be on their own.