The mountain villages were already gone. The warning had not reached them in time. Demyan’s uncle, Mikhael, had gone to fight the demons that flowed through the pass between Kormaine and Cartha, to give their people a chance. News of his capture reached Demyan’s ears that morning. Each moment they loitered, was another moment that the demons came ever closer to the city walls. Guards stood at the ready, a battalion of arcanists dispatched to fight off the coming horde. It would not be enough.
“Moy korol.”
Demyan glanced over his shoulder to his vassal. The man was a good fifteen years Demyan’s senior, but was patient with him and kind when others had been quick to judge. Demyan was no king no matter what the man said. He intended on abdicating the throne to his uncle within the week, before things changed. He no longer had that option.
“Shiro, please,” Vassily said. He used the name Demyan was most familiar with, the name of a slave. Shiro's story was convoluted and woven of the same fabric one might weave a fairy tale. His fairy tale was rapidly turning into a horrid nightmare that made him yearn for the simple life of a slave once more. It said something of the state of things that he would wish to be someone’s property rather than a king. He sighed, forcing his thoughts to focus on the immediate moment. Finally, he left the window with one last prayer of hope for his people and joined Vassily at the door.
“Where will they go?” Demyan asked in the Imperial tongue that he knew better than the harsh language of the Kormandi. The elder man regarded Demyan as they walked through the cold stone halls of the Sapphire Tower before answering.
“Damaskha,” Vassily answered, maintaining the same flowing tongue of the kitsune for Demyan’s benefit. “Or Itahl, I suppose. There are rumors that their Great Mother is sending ships to the south where our people are going.”
Demyan looked at his vassal with great skepticism and only just barely managed to not snort. His new bride was a high priestess of Itahl, a union meant to build an alliance with the alchemy-centered nation. They were an odd people, however, with many prejudices. It would be terribly convenient for them to let the demons cleanse Kormaine like they had done to the Phoenix Empire. It was punishment for their sins or something equally trite. The Itahli valued science over magic, claiming magic was for the gods alone and not meant for mortal kind. Any mortal with the capacity to cast was considered a grave sinner. It often made him wonder what they thought of him. His bride met him just around another bend in the hall with a surprisingly large group of people that remained in the tower castle.
Kendall bobbed a quick curtsy when she saw Demyan. It was a practice he was not accustomed to. At least this time he did not flinch when she curtsied or bow in response as it was customary for the kitsune to do. He nodded instead, standing in awkward silence before this woman that was his wife. She was beautiful in her own right, with coiled brown tresses and mocha-colored skin. She never said much, spending much of her time in prayer. They did not communicate well. She did not know the Imperial tongue and her grasp of Kormandi was only passable at best. His was worse and his grasp of the Trade Cant that was used in Itahl was atrocious, which made communication difficult. The times they were together, they simply sat in awkward silence, much like they stood now.
“We are the last,” Baron Karov said in the Trade Cant for the benefit of the Itahli amongst them, breaking the silence. Demyan looked to the older man and nodded. Nadya, Demyan’s aunt, stood beside the baron with five of her own personal guards, all in black leathers with odd masks donning their faces. The eccentricities of the nation Demyan ruled never ceased to amaze him. Behind Kendall and her acolytes were two of her own guards, an alchemist that served as her adviser and another young man that stood out so starkly compared to the rest that Demyan gave him a sympathetic look. Aeron Solvanis of the Phoenix Empire was a guest of Kormaine, an adviser in his own right to Demyan, and the only real friend the very inexperienced king had.
“There are still people in the city,” Demyan said, his words so horribly accented that Aeron winced and shook his head. Aeron was teaching him the Trade Cant, among other things. Demyan was not learning as quickly as they’d hoped.
“They will be gone before nightfall,” the Baron assured. “The shield will hold long enough to give them time. We cannot wait.”
Demyan nodded, allowing the Baron to take the lead. The large group followed the elder man in silence. A roll of thunder overhead momentarily slowed everyone’s steps. Kendall reached for Demyan’s hand, griping it tightly. Her hands were soft and warm while his were not. They were calloused and always cold. He did not stop her, however, finding odd comfort in the small gesture.
“The shield?” Aeron asked, catching on to what the Baron said. Nadya looked at him and smirked but no one answered the young tirsai prince’s question.
The Sapphire Shield stemmed from a giant Shard that sat at the peak of the tower proper. It hovered just above the structure with its own Power and radiated a magical shield around the entire city. In times of war, the arcanists of Kormaine could extend that shield outwards to a total of five miles around the city walls.
To Demyan’s knowledge, it had only been used in that capacity once. Shield or no shield, however, there was nothing that would stop the fell magic brewing inside the thunder clouds above or prevent the demons from pouring over the walls.
“We will go south,” the Baron explained as they walked through
