(96) A Storm Was Approaching

“Two, eh? Pretty bold,” Rodgar said, whistling.

“One. The other was someone else’s kill,” Daedron replied, wearing a small smile that did not reach his eyes.

“Ho, wasn’t aware anyone else had gone with you,” Rodgar mused, glancing at Daedron as he inspected the rabbit carcasses.

“Someone I met outside,” Daedron said.

“Got anything to do with the crowd around the amphitheater?”

“Yeah, said she was a representative from Nemesis, had a proposal for the elders,” Daedron explained.

The meaty thump turned Daedron’s stomach as Rodgar dropped the rabbits, his eyes wide, staring off into the distance.

“Sky above…” he muttered.

“You recognize the name?” Daedron asked.

“Course I do. You would, too, if you’d listened to any of the stories Daena tells. Always so busy tryin’ to get outside that you don’t know a thing about it when you finally do,” Rodgar chided, shaking his head.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before. Who are they, then?”

Rodgar stared at him for a few seconds before picking the rabbits back up, continuing his inspection.

“You know why we call the times when Chicolua was founded the ‘Gods’ Strife’, right? You at least know that much?”

Daedron gave him an embarrassed smile.

“You really need to come sit by the fire sometime,” Rodgar said with a sigh. “Back then, centuries ago, there were these super-powerful folk, and lots of them. They all made it into the Crater and…I don’t know if it was marching through the Gloam that did it or if they were all just violent to begin with, but they waged war.

“These gods fought each other constantly. They warred over the Crater’s resources, their battles shaking the land. That ain’t exactly abnormal. Plenty of fighting over resources is going on even today.

“What was abnormal was that none of them would stay dead. 

“They'd fight and kill until someone else finally killed them, then they'd simply appear somewhere else, ready to begin again. It was a permanent war of gods, and folk like us could do nothing but stay out of the way. 

“You want any part of these?” Rodgar asked, glancing at Daedron with a rabbit in each hand.

“No, go ahead and use them however,” he answered.

“Mighty generous of you,” Rodgar praised.

He placed the two rabbits on the floor over a drain and pressed and prodded them, focusing mostly on the belly. A liquid came out of them, clearly not blood, and Daedron wrinkled his nose.

“Oh, come on. You killed one of them. You oughta be able to deal with the rest,” Rodgar chided.

“Anyway, all these fighting gods started banding together, right? Like people tend to do. Organizations were born, guilds, and they all continued the war, more organized, but also more destructive. Battles were great and terrible events that could alter the landscape,” he explained.

He picked up the rabbit Daedron had killed and hung it on a hook. It barely dripped at this point, most of the blood having drained on the way back to town, not that rabbits had a lot of blood to begin with.

Rodgar picked up the rabbit Leia had killed and set it on a flat table, which tilted slightly toward the drain on the floor, a large knife resting beside it.

“There was one guild that rose during the chaos. There was one guild that the others feared. One guild which dominated so thoroughly that they came to own the entire Crater. One guild whose doors were never breached. One guild that never tasted defeat.

“That was Nemesis,” he said.

Thunk!

He slammed his cleaver down, separating the rabbit’s head from its body. He picked the body up and hung it upside down over the drain, which ran red with its blood.

“You really should have gutted these when you killed them. Leaving guts in a carcass for hours is a good way to spoil the meat,” Rodgar said, though it was under his breath, as though he were thinking aloud rather than addressing Daedron.

Daedron watched Rodgar as he grabbed the first rabbit, the drained one, from the hook and moved it to a separate table unmarred by viscera. He inspected a knife rack on the wall and, finding the one he wanted, grabbed it. He jumped slightly when he looked up and saw Daedron still darkening his door.

“You still here? I’m fixing to skin and gut these suckers. If you’re turning your nose up at squeezing the piss outta them, you’re not gonna want to be here for the rest,” he said, making a shooing motion.

“What about the story? Nemesis?” Daedron asked.

“What about them? I told you, they’re the guild that even those terrible, violent gods feared. If you wanna know more, you gotta ask Daena,” he said, taking his place before the rabbit.

Daedron shook his head, leaving the small stone building behind. The blue sky shone brightly above, though the sun had long descended behind the sheer walls of the shattered peak. They were tall enough that the sun only peeked into town for about an hour each day, at its highest point.

Chicolua was situated at the bottom of the enormous shaft beneath the Shattered Peak, a mountain missing its cap. It was terraced, each tier representing a different purpose. He was in the outer second ring right now, which was reserved for businesses and craft houses, while the inner second ring was residential.

The first ring, which lined the perimeter of the sheer walls, was farmland. The stone aqueduct surrounded it, feeding directly from the same raging river he had scrambled above to get back.

The third ring was actually a filled circle, and it was the center of town. Though it was still under development, the amphitheater and a few other managerial buildings occupied its barren grounds. It was a sort of meeting place, where the vacant stone ground held no other designated purpose yet.

Though Chicolua had existed for nearly two hundred years, the number of earth mages who had built its infrastructure was limited, and right now, there was just Daena. She hoped to find an apprentice in the next generation, but until then, she was handling all the construction on her own.

“It’s a beautiful place. The polished stone surrounded by agriculture really gives it a sort of utopian atmosphere,” Leia suddenly declared.

Daedron jumped slightly, shocked to see her standing right beside him. How such a giant had snuck up on him defied explanation—or, no. She was really high-level, so maybe it made sense.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” he replied lamely, caught off guard.

“Lots of clever engineering, here, or so I hear. I’m not really a thinker, more of a doer. My lady is pretty impressed, though. She specifically mentioned the black pits. Seemed interested in them. Called them ‘fantasy terra preta’,” she explained casually.

Daedron tensed, his entire body locking up. The black pits were Chicolua’s most closely-guarded secret, perhaps second only to its location. How could she possibly—

“I see that even our most closely guarded secrets are not safe from Nemesis,” Daena said, striding up and standing before Daedron and Leia.

She wore a serious expression, which was not unusual for her. Her demeanor, however, was. She had her hands clasped behind her back, and her body was rigid, as if she were thinking consciously about every move she made. 

Normally, although quite formal and strict, Daena was all about efficiency. She would not do so much as shake a hand if she thought it less efficient than nodding. She was currently the sole earth mage, and although she was the de facto leader for the colony, she spent most of her time building in the third ring.

Daedron always thought that her constant construction efforts were what led her toward a life of efficiency in action and thought, but whatever the case, this was far from her usual.

“We see quite a bit,” Leia agreed, a small smile creasing the corner of her lips.

“Forgive my forwardness, but I was not aware that the ambassador would be staying with us. I do not recall any of us inviting you to do so,” Daena said.

“True. No one asked me to leave, either,” Leia retorted, a hand on her hip.

The two stared at each other for a few uncomfortable seconds, but Leia eventually held both her hands up.

“Fine, I get the message. Hard to discuss things in private with a representative nearby. I assume that’s the reason you want me to leave, right?” she asked, that small, sly smile returned.

“Of course,” Daena replied curtly.

“Fair enough,” Leia said, dropping her hands and turning toward Daedron as she walked backward a few paces. “See you later, Ron!”

Before Daedron could respond, she burst into a conflagration of blue flames, burning for no more than a couple of seconds. Rather than dying like a normal fire, these flames simply vanished, winked out as if snuffed by a great, invisible blanket, and Leia was gone with them.

Daedron stared at the spot where she vanished, noting that the stone was not scorched or otherwise marred by the flames, when goosebumps covered his arms and the hair on the back of his neck rose.

He turned slowly, finding himself nearly pinned to the ground by Daena’s intense stare. They locked eyes, and sweat beading on his back. He held the gaze as long as he felt necessary, which, fortunately, was only a few seconds before she spoke.

“I have questions,” she declared, spinning on her heels and marching away.

Daedron sighed, the unspoken command obvious, and followed after her, wondering which part of his story she would object to the most.

————————————

Lyron stood with his hands behind his back, staring out at the glittering water, the sun’s reflection nearly blinding even from this distance. The ocean breeze swept past him, smelling of salt and fish. It would be pleasant, but the docks below wafted up the stink of the processing center.

This fort was manned year-round by no less than two hundred soldiers, and fish was the easiest source of food. A great many were processed every single day, and the smell could be found clinging to all corners of the great stone construction.

He stood atop the lower wall, facing the ocean, while the upper wall rose behind him, blocking the passage further inland. The great watchtower rose higher even than the upper wall, blinking regularly with the ever-burning pyre at its peak, signaling its presence to approaching vessels.

Lyron had sought this refuge to escape his spiraling thoughts. Everywhere he looked, he saw white eyes staring at him as if he were an animal with a valuable hide. Every shadow he saw was the suffocating embrace of Death, surrounding him with callous, cold indifference.

Every thought he had inevitably followed a consistent line, ending with the eyes, Death, or a reminder of how miserably he had failed.

As the waves crashed against the rocks below, he found himself calm, the destructive thoughts held at bay by the ocean’s mesmerizing sopor.

With a resigned sigh, he bid his peace farewell, likely not to return for days, perhaps weeks. For a great fleet darkened the horizon, Sardvend flags flying high, painting the sky with their colors.

A storm was approaching.