There is nothing quite like fire to blacken the soul. It stains you, chokes your compassion and burns away all mercy. I promise you this, Archon, once you have felt the flame’s kiss on your face, you will never judge me and mine again.

  - Kragnar, Chief of the Burning Hundred mercenary company to Archon of High House Silica of The Desolate Empire, circa .269

  Smoke stained the horizon as we drifted ever closer. The guards had begun murmuring nervously a few miles back when it first became obvious to them where it was coming from, but Jorge had informed us quietly well before that. His nose was keen as ever, and apparently it wasn’t just wood that was burning in the distance.

  Weapons and armour were once more donned, and the traders were locked below. Jorge had even taken care to discuss with the guard captain and his lieutenant about the plan and what to expect when we arrived, and they were in full agreement with the older veteran, unsurprisingly. They all still remembered how we had carved effortlessly through the pirates a few days ago.

  The barge moored a mile or so out from the port-town, and the guards did their best to hunker down by the newly extended oars, preparing themselves for a swift take-off up-river if needed. We promised to return within two bells time, and strongly suggested they return to the previous town if we didn’t.

  So it was that we found ourselves hiking through oaken forest towards a desolated town. There was no sound coming from the settlement when we arrived, no shouting of dockworkers or shopkeepers, no clatter of horses and carts. Even the ever-present screaming of gulls that we had started to hear as we approached the coast was missing, and the silence felt far more grating now than their screeching calls.

  We swept into the blackened town like a silent tide, disturbing the ash that dusted every surface and set it eddying in strange patterns near to the floor. Every home had its doors and windows broken in, though I couldn’t tell if that had happened during the siege or afterwards from the fire that had been left to ravage the ruins.

  And a siege is surely what had occurred here. The gatehouse, which stood at least 6 meters tall based on the remaining struts and pillars that hadn’t fallen, was smashed in, the gate half-submerged in mud. The low stone wall, similar in style to the town we had stayed in a few nights past, was left entirely untouched as far as I could tell. Bodies were strewn across it at regular intervals, charred husks still smoking in their dying poses telling a brutal tale.

  As easy as we had dispatched the small band of river pirates on the way here, this was the other side of the coin. I didn’t know whether this was the result of a larger, more well-equipped bandit group, or even the result of more ‘legitimate’ warfare between two feuding lords, but the destruction was total. This town would likely recover one day given its location, but it would not be the same town. Would never be what it once was.

  I spat to one side, ash coating my mouth and making my saliva thick and bitter. We searched in vain for a bell, hoping to find any hint of survivors, or even tracks showing where they may have fled to, but it was fruitless.

  But then I heard Vera call out for help, and arrived to a heart-breaking scene. She stood inside a burnt-down house, legs braced and a massive central wooden beam clutched in both hands held above her head. I was confused for a moment, wondering what the issue was, before I saw two things.

  A man, soot-stained and covered in dried blood, lying below Vera but clearly alive and struggling to move, and the roof of the entire house above slowly falling in, tiles slipping away and a terrible groaning escaping from the wooden structure.

  Vera was incredibly strong, but in order to support the weight of the wood and tile roof, she needed to remain in place, and the man was too injured to move. It appears she had lifted the entire structure off the floor, and he had escaped death only by being trapped within, hidden from notice during the chaos of the siege.

  I darted in, picking him up as gently as I could without wasting time, and slapped Vera on the back as I exited. She ground out through gritted teeth, “Check..for…others”, as I passed.

  I placed the man down on the mud outside, cradling his head to get a good look at him. I asked him, as clearly as I could, “Is there anyone else inside?”

  He looked at me with wild eyes, face streaked with tears and blood, and I was reminded of a horse on the verge of panic. “They took my girl. My Bessie, my little girl – they took her!” and he clutched gnarled hands on to my shoulders with feverish strength.

  I broke his grip and slapped him across the face, hard. His eyes seemed to focus a little at that and I asked again; “Is there anyone else inside?”

  He gaped like a fish for a few moments before shaking his head numbly, and I stood, shooting into the house once more to confirm for myself. After a cursory look revealed nothing, I retreated and shouted to Vera to let her know it was clear. She took a breath, and then heaved the entire structure off one shoulder and let it collapse to the floor while stepping aside.

  A loud bang heralded the collision of heavy wooden beams and the remains of the stone walls, which crumbled from the impact. Dust plumed into the air and roofing tiles scattering to the ground alongside shards of stone mined from the uplands near the Dragon-Spines and ferried long miles to be placed with excruciating care right at this spot. All torn down in an instant.

  The others soon arrived, and we managed to get the story out of the injured man. Bandits – a great horde numbering in the hundreds – had assaulted the town while its garrison of soldiers was on the move rooting out trouble further down the coast. They were surprisingly well-equipped for common bandits though, and a raid this daring was unheard of over the last few decades.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Shit,” Jorge cursed, and Vera eyed him warily.

  “We don’t have time, Jorge. Not this time.” She said it with finality, and I knew that her patience for distractions was at an end. The urgency I’d felt filling me was mirrored in her, though to a much greater degree, and this close to the Sunsets, there was no chance she would countenance another diversion.

  “No, no, I agree. But this is…” he puffed his cheeks out before letting out a weary sigh. “This changes our plans somewhat, I reckon.”

  He put his hands on his hips and motioned us to come to a halt. I placed the man down and gave him a reassuring nod before moving off to the side where the rest of the crew gathered. I’d been carrying him in my arms since we left Darrow’s Edge, or what remained of it, at least, on account of his injuries. He was worried when we stopped, but the reality had started to set in. He’d likely never see his daughter again, and that pain could go a long way to blunting any panic he might feel at being abandoned.

  “Right. We’ve all heard that there’s some tensions rising between The Desolate Empire and The Leviathan Coast, aye?” he asked, and we all showed our agreement in various ways.

  “Well, the guard-captain let slip a rumour that sheds a bit more light on things. I wanted to discount it – hearsay, you know? We all know how people love to talk, after all – but this,” he said as he gestured vaguely at the smoking ruin at our backs, “lends a bit of credence to it.”

  “He said that The Desolate Empire had sent a scion of theirs over to House Wavebreaker for tutoring. Common practice amongst nobility and the large countries – sort of like a hostage swap to make the costs of war a little higher for both sides, I suppose – but the rumour is that he’s gone missing.”

  “Missing? You think the Wavebreaker’s have killed him?” I asked.

  “Oh no, lad, I highly doubt they had anything to do with it. They might be getting increasingly vain and insular, but that’s a level of stupidity above standard, even for them,” he answered.

  Nathlan scowled as he interjected. “I wouldn’t put it past them. They have no trouble sending assassins after young boys,” he said darkly.

  “Aye, it’s not their compassion I’m relying on here though, lad, just their intelligence. Would be a stupid thing to kill a hostage – or ward, I suppose, though can’t think there’s much of a difference in practice – and the Wavebreakers, despite their many flaws, don’t strike me as a stupid bunch.”

  Nathlan begrudgingly nodded at that, and Vera took the opportunity to jump in.

  “You think a rival power carried out a hit?” she asked and Jorge shook his head.

  “I don’t know for sure, I’m just saying that there ain’t no way a dozen bandit crews just decided to join forces and ransack a well-defended port-town with easier targets still plentiful. I’d bet tarrots to toenails that they got intelligence from somewhere, probably even weapons and training, and only one of the larger powers could do something like that.”

  He looked around at all of us seriously. “This is all just speculation mind, but every time – every single fucking time – that these big powers get restless and bloodthirsty, smaller groups start to pop up with better weapons and strategy than they have any right to. Wouldn’t surprise me one fucking bit if the Desolate Empire have put their Spiders to use out here in the Riverlands in retaliation for the death or kidnapping of one of their scions.”

  We all digested the words, and the surprising force with which Jorge delivered them, for a few moments.

  “Why would they retaliate against the Riverlands though?” I asked. “If you’re saying this is between The Leviathan Coast and The Desolate Empire, then why are bandits attacking here?”

  “Sensible question, Lamb. The Riverlands in general support The Leviathan Coast with shipments of food and finished goods, and when stable are a boon. If they fall to infighting and civil war though, The Leviathan Coast are cut off and much more susceptible to loss of support from the seas themselves. If the Desolate Empire are to cut off their support as well…well, it would be a bloody big problem for the Wavebreakers.”

  “And all the commoners living beneath them,” Vera muttered.

  “Aye, that too,” he acknowledged. “Look lad,; the games of the powerful are fucked, and I wouldn’t be a mite surprised if The Desolate Empire were willing to let the whole of the Riverlands burn just to send a warning to a rival power.”

  “Fucking Gods,” I said, my turn to look pained. “All of this for one noble brat?”

  “The strong do as they will, the weak do as they must” recited Jacyntha, and I could see the tendons and muscles in her forearm bunching around the haft of her axe.

  “Right, so what does all this mean?” I asked. “You think there’s some sort of proxy war brewing between two big powers, and the Riverlands – and now us – are in danger of being caught in the middle? How does this change our plans?”

  “It doesn’t” Vera said heatedly, and I nodded to her to show I agreed. We had a different priority, and while my heart bled for the people who would suffer at the hands of the coming conflict, it was not to their lives that I owed a debt.

  “Aye, we still aim for the Sunsets” Jorge said. “But I don’t think we can afford to get there via The Leviathan Coast any longer.”

  “Where does that leave us then? I thought the plan was to charter a ship and head all the way up, skipping the marshes and taking advantage of the North Wind to get us there faster than on foot.”

  “You’re not wrong, Lamb, but plans must change or else be shattered. Best chance we have now is to leave the barge here and head direct to the Sunsets on foot. The Western Marchlands are directly east through the Riverlands, and while it might take up to a week longer, though hopefully not, it’s a hell of a safer bet than otherwise to my mind. What do we think?” he asked, looking around.

  We got out the map and poured over possible routes, with Vera and Jorge having by far the most input given their experience. Nathlan had local knowledge on his side when it came to the Leviathan Coast though, and begrudgingly agreed with Jorge that the risk of further delays and even more serious issues was too high to head to the coast.

  Jacyntha stayed silent, unsurprisingly. She had opened up a fair bit since we first took her on, but she still bore guilt for her actions, and shame for her weakness, despite the strides she had so far made in reorienting her beliefs in a less dangerous direction. She seemed to feel she had no right to speak in these group discussions and so kept her silence, and none of us had found a good way to break her from that routine.

  Sadrianna for her part didn’t have much knowledge about it all, and simply looked on, no doubt watching keenly how Jorge and Vera handled questions of decision-making in groups. They ultimately had final say as far as I was concerned, happy to bow to their greater wisdom and experience, not to mention this was, ultimately, Vera’s quest and we were just tagging along. But they didn’t seem to see it that way, and it was nice as a gesture if nothing else, for Jorge and Vera to include us in the decisions, regardless.

  Eventually, our plan was set. East, into the forests of the Riverlands, and through a country boiling on the brink of internal collapse, if Darrow’s Edge was anything to go by. We escorted the injured man back to the barge and debriefed the guard-captain and the trader of what we had found. We answered their questions patiently, and Jorge heavily advised them to turn around and head back upstream, but it was ultimately their call.

  We soon turned to the forest and began to run. East, to the Sunsets. East, to the Western Marchlands and Duke Ryonic. East, to our waiting destiny.