All three had been facing back, watching for spells to dodge. She killed the first with a lance of ice through the head. The remaining two turned to see her fall between them, lightning exploding from her hands. Limp and smoking they fell, very much dead. Aurelia’s fingers danced the semantic components of a spell. Her fall slowed as a levitation spell took hold. Shivering in the wind she floated to the ground, smirking at Deathmask the whole time.
“Show off,” he said as she gently landed. “If I wasn’t insane, I would have joined you in opening the portal and…”
He stopped as if slapped.
“What?” Aurelia asked.
“A portal,” Deathmask said. “Why don’t we open a portal to the Quellan forest?”
“You’re insane,” Aurelia said. “I don’t have the strength to move so many, and neither do you.”
“Not a free form one,” Deathmask insisted. “Think older, when portal magic was first discovered. If we carve the correct runes into the rock and then have enough of us join together, we can open a much larger portal. It would be healthy and strong and ready to move, say, thousands of people hundreds of miles away from chasing winged demons.”
“How many do we have?” Aurelia asked. “You, Tarlak, and I would be hard-pressed even with the help of the runes.”
“Veliana can cast spells, as can the twins,” Deathmask insisted. “We can do this. Tarlak will agree. Trust me.”
“If you say so,” Aurelia said, trudging back to the camp where hundreds of hungry people waited for her to create them food.
A re you insane?” Tarlak asked as he handed off a piece of bread. “What mushrooms have you been eating?”
“It’ll take more time, and patience, but we can do it,” Deathmask insisted. The three stood before long lines of people, each a representative of the groups Antonil had separated them into. Each person was given a loaf of bread and bit of cheese to divide up among his group. In the center of the camp Veliana had summoned a gentle spring for those needing a drink.
“We’re talking an entire day, maybe two,” Tarlak said. “Two days to carve the runes, ensure all of us know the words, cast the correct incantations, and then move everyone through while hoping no one has a slip of concentration that leaves hundreds of people stranded miles away from safety.”
“That sounds about right,” Deathmask said.
Tarlak sighed. He twirled his finger. A piece of bread appeared in his hand like some cheap parlor trick. Another twirl and he had some cheese. He handed both off to a haggard women with frostbitten fingers.
“Alright then,” the wizard said. “Let’s have a talk with Antonil.”
A bsolutely not,” Antonil said. “Even I know the risks of portal magic. What happens to those who might be left behind? Even worse, what happens if we are attacked in the middle of the ritual?”
“I have absolute faith in this idea,” Tarlak said. He removed his hat and scratched at the bald spot on his head. “It’s not like the portal is made of fire or anything.”
“You need to trust us,” Aurelia said. “You know our resources are limited. This is our best hope.”
Antonil frowned and crossed his arms. He glanced about his camp, pondering the options.
“Guard captain,” Deathmask said, stealing his attention. “How many did not wake up this morning? How many perished of exhaustion, of cold, of hunger or thirst or sheer hopelessness? I know the number, as do you.”
Over a hundred was the answer. Under his orders, the soldiers had left them where they lay.
“We will not survive this journey,” Deathmask said. “Even in perfect conditions we would be hard pressed, but we are in the dead of winter. One snowstorm, one torrent of icing rain, and all will die. Give us the order.”
Antonil sighed. Aurelia felt a sinking feeling in her gut at the sight of the guard captain when he spoke.
“Do it then,” he said. “And may Ashhur have mercy on us all.”
T he refugees collected around fires, huddled and quiet. Antonil had told them little of their plan, only that they needed to rest and stay warm. After his simple speech the guard captain retreated south to where a small cluster of trees surrounded a spring that emerged from one hill and vanished into the small cave mouth of another. The trees were barren, their leaves long since fallen. He had left his soldiers under strict orders not to follow. When he heard the soft hiss of a portal opening, he shook his head and sighed.
“I’m not one of your soldiers,” Aurelia said, guessing his thoughts. “And even if I were, I would still come here.”
He turned and faced her. His shoulders sagged, and his frown seemed permanently etched above his jaw.
“I don’t know you well, Aurelia, but I know enough to believe there is a reason for this intrusion, and a good-hearted one at that. I don’t want to hear it. My shame is…”
“Shut your mouth already,” Aurelia said, and at her harsh words, he obeyed. For a moment she said nothing, only glared. At last she spoke. “Your men are dying. Your people are dying. They are cold. They are hungry. And they are terrified.”
“I am well aware of that,” Antonil said. His right hand shook, clutching the hilt of his sword.
“Who are you, Antonil Copernus?” Aurelia asked. “Do you know anymore?”
“I am a failure to my people, to my king, and to my kingdom. And what do I do now? I let them sit here, gambling on the whims of wizards and sorcerers to save their lives from demons and the dead. What would you tell me, that I did the right thing? That they need me? What would you tell me that I do not already know?”
“You are their king!” she shouted. Tears swelled in his eyes even as he adamantly shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I have no bloodline, and no claim to a throne I abandoned.”
“Open your eyes,” Aurelia said. “You are no longer a guard captain. You are no longer a servant to the king, for you cannot be a servant to yourself. Every life in that camp needs to trust in something or someone to protect them and promise them a better life the day after tomorrow. Already they speak of you as king in their whispers. Take up the mantle.”
“I am not ready,” Antonil said, but the words came out weak.
“No one is ever ready,” she said. She reached out and took his quivering hand. With her other she drew his sword, flipped the hilt toward him, and grinned.
“What is it you humans say?” she asked. “The King is dead, long live the King?”
“It is. So will the portal work?” he asked as he took the sword.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” she said.
Despite his terror, King Antonil laughed.
“If you are ready,” she said as he wiped his eyes, “then I have this for you.” She removed his golden helm, held it to her lips, and kissed it. The helmet shivered and the gold drained away. The precious metal reshaped, and from the top seven spikes jutted into a warlord’s crown.
“It is awesome,” Antonil said as he stared at the gift she offered back to him.
“Just an illusion,” the elf said. “But in times like these, illusions will suffice. Your strength will give strength to others. Now wait here for my return.”
Aurelia did not want the newly crowned king to come strolling into the camp. No, he would ride in atop a horse and demand the courage and respect he deserved. They had no horses, but that wasn’t a bother to her. A few well placed teleports and she was much farther south, staring out across a chill field. Several wild horses trotted about, nibbling from grass that still held a bit of green.
“Come to me,” she said, casting a simple charm spell across the largest and most elegant. The beautiful beast strode up and snorted while shaking his head. His body was deep black, with only a thin line of white underneath his neck.
“It will be cold where I take you,” she told the horse. “But you will be the mount of a king. A fair trade, yes?”
Another shake of the head, another snort. Aurelia giggled. She knew the creature was intelligent, but not enough to understand her words. Only pegasi were smart enough for that. But the horse understood her tone and could feel her desires, the charm spell made sure of that. She put her arm atop his neck and lead the horse through portal after portal.
