Chapter 6
Chapter Six
The necromancer’s name was Vraethik. While Cerise knew many of their former enemy’s names, this was one she didn’t recognize.
Neither did she recognize the name of his clan, which perished three decades prior when Cerise was still a child.
The prince explained most of Vraethik’s people died when the mountains they called home toppled, yet somehow Vraethik survived.
The prince didn’t know how Vraethik went from an orphaned dwarf to one of Azkanix’s necromancers, as the dwarf refused to discuss his life.
Or much of anything. He was captured in the Battle of Vreiyaraen and held in Tyrnoraen Keep’s prison until his escape.
The prince caught Vraethik fleeing the capital and chased after him.
“By the time I caught up to him, he’d already summoned his lichboar and I couldn’t fight both.
He took a lock of my hair and cursed me into a bear.
Why he didn’t simply kill me, I do not know.
Yet still, I followed him as long as I could.
Though I started to get hungry, fatigued.
Then I saw you,” the prince said, flicking his pink eyes toward Cerise.
“Collecting firewood. I assumed you’d have a home nearby.
Hoped that if you didn’t slaughter me, you’d help me.
To at least stop Vraethik, if not aid my transition back to human. ”
“Why did you not return to Tyrnoraen? Surely there are clerics who could’ve broken the curse. Soldiers to track Vraethik through the wood.”
“The city is much changed since the fall of Azkanix’s curse.
I wonder if you’d even recognize it.” The prince’s shoulders slumped, eyes growing distant as they stared into the fire.
“My brother has tried maintaining the local economy, despite the failing agriculture, abrupt end to imports and exports, and overall absence of motivation for living in the general populace. Yet, with little food or coin, it has proven difficult to entice people to keep their jobs. To remain on active duty when they doubt their king can keep them alive. As you well know, simple survival now consumes everyone’s minds day in and out.
“Perhaps I could have rallied a few brave templars and clerics to aid me. Yet the amount of time it would take to gather a force seemed too great a risk to take when he was already carving his path through the wood. I did not want to lose his trail.” The prince paused, releasing a long, slow sigh. “Although it seems I have, regardless.”
The prince had long finished his breakfast, and Cerise was nearly done whittling a new, small cup.
She carved a piece of wood away, thinking.
Trying to imagine the great stone walls of Tyrnoraen, built into the Merathel Mountainside where the Veryael River flowed through the city and fed into the great agricultural plains outside of it, diminishing into darkness.
The dead crops. Tens of thousands of starving people.
Likely even more dead, those too poor to trade or ingratiate themselves with others in power.
Cerise glanced at her sister, who seemed to be thinking the same.
Woe hovered in Eirwen’s frosty gaze as they silently spoke, imagining all the dead orphans from Vhypael’s Temple.
How lucky they’d been to be discarded before the curse clutched the land.
“How is he conjuring Azkanix’s power?” Eirwen asked. “I thought when a Celestial or Ix-God died, their magic did as well.”
“We thought this as well. Either we were wrong, or Azkanix is not truly dead.” The prince’s face fell, flame and shadow playing across his rugged features.
“He cannot be,” Eirwen murmured, fingers entangling in the fabric of her skirt.
A heavy beat of silence passed, the prince picking up a log and balancing it in the hearth. “I do not know how the Lich God’s magic persists, nor do I know why Vraethik is amplifying the curse. All I know is that he is, and he must be stopped.
“Please,” Oberon pleaded, switching his gaze to Cerise. “Please help me stop him.”
Cerise’s hands slowed over the cup, and she rolled her tongue against the inside of her cheeks. “I fail to see why I am the one who must help you. As you said, you could rally some heroic templars and clerics. Those who have real Celestial blessings, not just those imbued in a weapon.”
“I do not need someone Celestial-blessed. I need someone who knows the forest. Who knows how to survive in it.”
“We survive it thanks to Zyrdriel’s blessing.
Following the necromancer would mean abandoning the boundary.
Braving the dark forest, of which I do not know what creeps at night.
Nor do I know how much the temperature drops.
” Cerise shook her head, a twisting weight pulling on her chest. She set the cup down and stared into the prince’s eyes, the glimmering hope within them fading.
“It is a fool’s quest. There is no surviving the forest. Return to Tyrnoraen, gather all the Celestial-blessed you can, and strengthen the boundary around your city.
Recruit all the remaining soldiers possible.
Offer them an additional ration of food, if it can be spared, to encourage them to help. ”
Cerise rose to her feet, glancing out at the window.
A heavy snow continued to fall, the day dark with cloud cover.
Winter grew too deep, too fast. She, too, would need to ensure their home was protected.
Perhaps Eirwen could beseech Zyrdriel to offer his blessing once more, strengthening their barrier against the curse.
She strode to her layers of clothes, bundling herself in furs and pelts, putting on thick hide boots and a furred hat, picking up Beloved.
Swinging the door open, a frigid gust fluttered into the cabin, snowflakes drifting in along with it. “When the storm dies, go home, prince. It is the best chance you can give your people at surviving.”