Covered by a blanket of snow, the duchy seemed almost peaceful. Perriman sat atop a hill, under a large pine, looking out at snow-covered ruins. Two generations of devotion to the crown and hard work to build the little town up, now it was nothing more than a graveyard. He looked down at his hands, pale and dry from the cold, but in his eyes covered in blood.

  The mare he stole roamed next to him, searching through the snow for frozen grass to graze on. Albrecht stood up, sighing deeply and clutching the makeshift cloak closer around himself to prevent the soft winter wind from sneaking its fingers through any opening in his clothes.

  “Let us go, girl, we have little further to go.”

  Clumsily climbing onto the horse’s back, the former duke rode east, following the road he knew all his life. One that led to the massive portal gate, now the outpost of the otherworlders.

  It was his only mission left, and he clung to it fiercely, though he’d rather just lie down in the cold and await death. Telling the otherworlders what fate was bestowed upon their comrades, what the only debt Perriman could repay.

  The mare moved slowly, exhausted from the long journey all the way from the capital of Marbella. Both of them barely slept as Albrecht knew that pursuers were sent after him, so he could not afford the luxury of time to rest. So long as he slept enough to avoid passing out, it was good enough. Even in dreams, he couldn’t escape the guilt.

  Every time Albrecht closed his eyes, memories of his family would besiege him. He wanted to pull on the reigns, to turn from his path and ride off in search of them. But he couldn’t. What would he even say to them? What would they say to him? They were robbed of everything, their lives at risk for crimes he alone committed. To stand before them was something Perriman was utterly unworthy of now.

  The duchy disappeared behind him, swallowed up by the sea of white. Through the soft snow, which fell relentlessly for days, Perriman could see the outlines of the massive stone oval, runes forgotten by the world carved into the stone.

  “Not much further.” He thought, feeling a smile creep onto his lips.

  “Perhaps they will just end me after I tell them I have to.”

  A sudden warmth washed over Albrecht like the gentle kiss of a fireplace. He turned to his left, managing to jump from the saddle just in time when a ball of fire engulfed his mount. Coughing, he stood, wiping snow off his face, looking around frantically for the attacker.

  At the edge of the treeline stood a small group, adventurers by the looks of it. Maybe once, now they were little more than hired help, led by a man Perriman recognized immediately by the look of rage and contempt on his face.

  “The guard captain was right in his assumptions,” Savik yelled, drawing his sword and walking towards the duke.

  “He said you might try and deliver a message to your allies, you traitor, and by Gods, he was right.”

  The traitorous duke rubbed his hands together, realizing this was not a fight he could avoid. Looking over at the stone structure in the distance, then back at Savik, Albrech decided then and there that he would not surrender to death’s embrace just yet. He’d do right by someone, even if that someone were three murderous idiots from another world.

  Slowly, without taking his eyes off Savik, Perriman bent down and scooped up some of the snow, squeezing and shaping it into a ball. Savik laughed, pointing his sword at the trembling man, looking over his shoulder at his group, who did not share in his amusement.

  Olya and Amalia urged him to just get it over with, their eyes focused more on the stone gate in the distance than on Savik and Perriman. The dryad clutched her wooden staff, which was still smoking from the fireball she cast earlier.

  “Please, Savik, hurry up. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

  “No!” The man yelled back, turning his attention to Albrecht again.

  “I want to enjoy snuffing this traitor out.”

  Perriman threw the snowball, aiming at Savik’s head, which the latter easily struck from the air with his sword.

  “Haha! Is that the best you can do?”

  Before the question even fully left Savik’s lips, the duke seized the opportunity and snapped his fingers while flicking his left wrist towards his opponent. A bolt of lightning shot out of his hand, like a spark, striking the young man and sending him flying backwards, landing on his back in the snow.

  Olya quickly rushed over to him, ready to cast a healing spell, if need be, however, Savik sat up almost immediately, leather chest plate burned where the spell had struck him.

  “Casting incantationless spells, huh? Didn’t think you had that much spunk left in you.”

  Perriman clasped his hands together, mustering all his mana as the sky above blackened, bolts of lightning, like serpents, moving through the clouds. The air crackled with energy as the duke shed his cloak, facing the party that now stood beside Savik.

  “I will make you suffer, old man!” hissed the former guard.

  “A cut for every lash I’ve received as punishment for your escape! Pray death arrives quickly!”

  Olya, the green-haired dryad, stood in the back, casting a supporting spell on all of her allies, taking their fatigue upon herself so they could fight unimpeded. Amalia drew her sword and, together with Savik, rushed at Albrecht. The old duke smiled, seeing how out of sync the two were, making their thrusts and slashes easy to avoid.

  He leapt into the air, hovering in it while swiping his right arm.

  “Tximistaren katea.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Lightning struck the earth from above, dancing in a line that followed his hand, melting snow and scorching the soil under it.

  Both swordsmen dodged his attack before it could hit them, Savik staring daggers at the old mage.

  “Arva! Stop staring at that fucking stone gate and move your ass!”

  Another member of the party sighed behind her face mask and raised her bow, chanting a few quick words before loosing several arrows at the duke, each arrow enchanted with a spell.

  Perriman managed to block most of them by merely extending his hand in the direction of the archer and creating a small barrier, but a few slipped past his defence, still missing their target. Arva smiled as the arrows suddenly began to glow, giving Albrecht not enough time to react before they violently exploded all around him.

  The smoke cleared, and Perriman was now on the ground, unharmed but shaken. He could feel his mana leave him, the exhaustion from the fight and long journey quickly mounting.

  He had to finish this fast.

  “Anvil of the Earth. Hammer of the Sky.” But Savik would not allow him to finish his chant, rushing over and striking the mage with the hilt of his sword across the cheek. Perriman stumbled but refused to fall even as punches and kicks began to rain all over his body.

  “I call upon your relentless strikes. Earth be your anvil; pound your mighty hammer upon it until it is flat.”

  The clouds above swirled, the thunderstorm raging as the words continued. Amalia could feel the static in the air, her hair slowly standing up on end. She quickly joined Savik, pushing him aside into the snow and swinging her sword down in hopes of ending the duke before he could finish casting the spell. Perriman struck her with an open palm, lightning shooting out of it and sending the woman flying backward. Still, her sword connected with his chest, not enough to kill him, but enough to make his words falter.

  Albrecht fell to one knee, blood staining his stolen uniform, as he struggled to catch his breath. A few feet away, Savik got up from the snow and walked over to the man.

  “Unleash your might, oh God of Forges, strike until the sound shakes the earth!” Perriman screamed, armed raised towards the sky before Savik kicked him across the face, knocking him unconscious, sending a tooth and his translator stone into the snow.

  Still, his spell was complete. Olya rushed to her comrades, planting her staff firmly into the ground.

  “Oh, merciful Mother. Shield your beloved from the evils of the world. Embrace us in your loving, protective arms.”

  A barrier enveloped the group as thick bolts of lightning began hammering at the ground from above. The dryad gasped for air, struggling to maintain the bubble that kept them safe under the overwhelming potency of Perriman’s spell. It ended quickly, the lightning barrage serving its purpose, unknown to Savik and his party.

  ***

  Olya healed Perriman just enough to keep the man from bleeding out as Savik brought the horses out from the treeline.

  “Tie him up.”

  “What do you plan to do with him, Savik?” Arva asked while grabbing the rope.

  “I plan to take him back to the Queen. Alive. Then she might allow be back into the guards.”

  Perriman could barely hear their conversation as he felt his arms and legs getting tied together through the haze in his mind. He hoped his spell succeeded, that they have seen it and would come to investigate soon.

  “Whatever, let’s just get out of here,” Amalia said, glancing over her shoulder at the stone structure in the not so far distance ever so often.

  With her help, Savik lifted Albrecht and tossed him over the horse. Olya stood behind them, motionless, watching the rest of them begin climbing into the saddles. She wept, feeling warm tears roll down her cheeks as her body heat seemed to lessen with each second.

  “Olya, let’s go. I don’t want to stay… here…” Amalia grew wide eyed, words caught in her throat as she watched Olya’s tunic become redder and redder, blood dripping from the dryad’s slit throat. The two locked eyes. Olya gargled in an attempt to speak before collapsing into the snow.

  “Olya!” The swordsman screamed, jumping out of her saddle and running to her friend, only for a soft whistle from afar to end her life on the spot.

  “Shit! Shit! Perriman, you bastard!” Savik cursed, looking down at the barely conscious duke, realizing his final spell wasn’t meant to kill them but to catch the attention of the otherworlder outpost. Death had come, but not for Albrecht. Savik reached for his belt, drawing a dagger. He’d be damned if he lets the traitor to the crown survive the ordeal.

  Another whistle and his horse leaned to the side, falling over dead before the young man could deliver the final blow to Perriman. He howled in pain, his leg stuck under the horse as he struggled to pull himself free.

  Arva did not wait, kicking her horse into a gallop, praying to the Gods that the whistle doesn’t take her out next.

  “Arva! You bitch! Come back and get this damn thing off of me!” Savik yelled after her before a shadow of a person fell over him. The young man looked up, staring down the barrel of a handgun, unable to tell who his executioner was as they wore full combat gear, face covered by a haunting image of a spectral woman painted on a face mask.

  With the squeeze of a trigger, Savik was sent to the afterlife.

  “We’ve got a runner, Ma’am. Shall I take the shot?” one of the soldiers asked, approaching the woman that had just executed Savik. Several more soldiers uncloaked themselves and walked over after making sure no one else was present.

  “No, let them go. No point in wasting bullets.”

  Through the haze and snow that covered his face, Albrecht looked up at his saviours. A squad of six soldiers, dressed in white combat gear from head to toe, armed with short rifles with long tubes at the front. Each wore face masks with the lower part of a skull painted on them, only their leader having an entire ghastly expression painted on hers. From the ground where he lay, they looked like emissaries of Death itself, coming to claim him.

  He almost surrendered himself to the inevitable end, watching as the soldier approached him, barrel of her handgun pointed at his head, before he remembered his mission through the fog of a concussion. Albrecht couldn’t understand a single word they said, realizing he probably lost the translator stone during the fight, and that meant they couldn’t understand him either.

  “Itxaron... Mezu bat daukat… zure lagunen partetik.” Albrecht mumbled, breathing heavily. He knew not a single word of their language, but he remembered the names of the three men. Hopefully, that would be enough.

  “Clyde. Mar…Marcel. Jeremy.” The duke croaked with broken English, trying his best to pronounce the names.

  The barrel of the gun was lowered as the person standing above him motioned for her comrades to come over.

  “Tell the outpost we’re bringing in a live one. This asshole just told me the names of those three boneheads, maybe he can tell us something more once we pry him away from death’s door.”

  Hi!

  This might have been the fastest chapter I've ever written. Yeah, from zero to a chapter in under two hours. Usually I write a chapter a day (for the Writathon).

  Today I might mess around and write another, if I'm feeling like it.

  I would also like to take this opportunity to bring your attention to two stories I have recently read that are amazing and deserve attention:

  Hope you enjoyed the chapter! :)