Rage of the Old Gods

By Tyler Edwards

Humanity was not born free.

Long ago, humans were slaves to the Old Gods. They rebelled, overthrowing the Gods and establishing their own societies, but peace did not last. Humanity slaughters itself in petty wars.

Now, an army of war Automatons threatens to destroy the land of Eastenhold. To save her people, a young woman named Leha travels to the to the lost worlds of Tyzu and Sy’om, whose alien powers defeated the Old Gods in ancient times.

But there is worse to come. The wars of humankind only hasten the Old Gods’ return, and even Leha’s newfound powers may not be enough to save her people from the Gods’ fury, or from the hatred in their own hearts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tyler Edwards
• Release date: Jun 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301950942

Tyler Edwards

A freelance writer by trade, Tyler Edwards has been creating worlds for as long as he can remember. He grew up in the country outside of Ottawa, Canada, and amidst the pristine woods and fields, it was easy to imagine Elves and Demons around every bend. After that, making the jump to fiction writing seemed natural. He will not consider himself a true success until people are writing nonsensical slash fics about his characters.

Book preview

Rage of the Old Gods

By Tyler F.M. Edwards

Copyright 2013 Tyler F.M. Edwards

Cover art by Nathalie Kraemer

Smashwords Edition

License notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of contents:

Acknowledgements

About the author

Chapter one: The Invasion

Chapter two: Sy’om

Chapter three: Tyzu

Chapter four: Bleeding Heart

Chapter five: The Urannans

Chapter six: No Sleep in the City

Chapter seven: North

Chapter eight: Wrath of the Old Gods

Chapter nine: Lost Threads

Chapter ten: Leave It All Behind

Chapter eleven: The Watcher

Chapter twelve: Tears of a Hero

Chapter thirteen: Broken

Chapter fourteen: The Changing of the Seasons

Chapter fifteen: The Council of War

Chapter sixteen: The Ziggurat

Chapter seventeen: For Every Action

Chapter eighteen: Downward Spiral

Chapter nineteen: The Pause

Chapter twenty: The Anniversary

Chapter twenty-one: Bridged by Fire and Ice

Chapter twenty-two: Something Higher

Chapter twenty-three: For Humanity

Chapter twenty-four: The Burning Dusk

Chapter twenty-five: The True Battle

Epilogue: The Next Journey

Acknowledgements:

I owe my thanks to the following people for their assistance and inspiration:

My father, for being my biggest fan, and my mother, for encouraging my imagination.

Christie, for her insightful criticisms.

Brett, Clark, Terry, Maria, and Barbara, for their help with that blasted opening chapter.

All the writers whose works I’ve enjoyed for helping me to understand just how wonderful fantasy can be.

Finally, you for picking up this book and helping my world come to life in your imagination. There is no greater feeling for an author.

About the author:

A freelance writer by trade, Tyler Edwards has been creating worlds for as long as he can remember. He grew up in the country outside of Ottawa, Canada, and amidst the pristine woods and fields, it was easy to imagine Elves and Demons around every bend. After that, making the jump to fiction writing seemed natural. He enjoys writing about Leha because she is completely unlike him in every way.

Visit Tyler’s blog at http://superiorrealities.wordpress.com/ for updates on the World Spectrum and his other projects and interests, and for an archive of World Spectrum bonus material – including cast photos, short stories, and more – visit http://worldspectrum.net/

Part one: Transformation

Chapter one: The Invasion

The human leaders had been herded together in the plains north of what is now Crossroads. Pursued by their enemies and low on supplies, they fled west until they arrived at the hills beneath Mount Keonum in what is now eastern Pira. There they dug in, and two days later, the Old God army arrived.

Humanity and the Old Gods battled across the field for three days and three nights. The armies tore the earth and churned it to bloody muck. Ash and smoke blackened the skies. Both sides suffered devastating losses. Skirmishes were fought upon the bodies of the fallen.

Then, at the dawn of the fourth day of combat, the great General Phanto led his troops in a daring strike at the center of the Old Gods’ lines. Drawing power from the chaotic world of Tyzu, the human wizards smashed through the Old Gods’ ranks and killed several of their leaders.

The Old Gods were forced to retreat, and it became one of the humanity’s greatest victories.

Following their defeat at Phanto’s hands, the Old Gods regrouped at Hensor Ziggurat and began one of their final and most ambitious projects: sealing Barria away from the rest of the spectrum.

Leha closed the book – a history book about the Liberation, the war in which humanity had overthrown their creators, the Old Gods – and put it with the others on the shelf behind the counter. As with most of her books, she had read it more times than she could count. The very scent and feel of it reminded her of the dreams of her childhood.

She allowed her fingers to play across the aged spines of the other books upon the shelf, over a dozen volumes of history and adventure tales. Her parents had begun getting them for her when she was little, and as she had grown, she had purchased more at every opportunity. She had even more on the second floor of the building that was both her place of business and her home. Her books were her most prized possessions.

She selected another book and leafed through it, reading bits here and there, before reluctantly putting it back and turning her attention to the rest of the shop.

She dusted the counter, brushed imaginary crumbs from her clothes, and tried to make herself busy to stave off boredom. The heat of the early summer morning concentrated in the broad room that she used for her shop, making her feel more impatient.

It had been three weeks since she had last made a sale. She had always known that selling antique and exotic items was a risky business. Her brother, Drogin, and the more sensible part of her own mind had argued against it. But she had ignored both, choosing the path that allowed her to satisfy her interest in exotic places and times.

Still, she’d never expected dry spells such as this. Normally, she could at least count on heartsick youths buying her Karkaran love charms.

She stepped out from behind the counter and surveyed her inventory with admiration. There was the Piran lute she had spent weeks restoring to its original beauty. There were the intricate carvings she had managed to charm off an up and coming Urannan wizard-artisan. A trio of battered rings a merchant had been selling for scrap, but which she had recognized as relics from the Jansian Empire.

These items and her other finds were not as impressive as the artifacts sold by the larger auction houses, but they were still valuable and interesting in their own right.

She went to the windows, her boots clapping on the wooden floor, and considered changing her displays. She knew, without undue pride, that she was an excellent saleswoman who could convince almost anyone to buy almost anything. Perhaps she just needed to change her displays to get more customers in. She removed a fine Urannan mirror and used it to perform a quick inspection of her appearance. Her brown hair, the color of damp soil, was cut in a shoulder length bob, framing a broad and open face that made her seem younger than her twenty-two years. Her eyes, a lighter shade of brown than her hair, were wide and innocent-seeming.

She put down the mirror and started to make other adjustments.

Then, she heard the ringing of bells – the city’s alarm. Outside, people began to scream.

An hour earlier, Drogin made his way across the city, a strange feeling of foreboding twisting his gut. He’d been called to help with a situation at the city’s north gate, an extremely rare occurrence. Despite technically being a member of the city guard, he rarely bothered himself with the actual specifics of guarding the city.

He was an Automaton technician – the city’s chief Automaton technician, he thought with a hint of pride. His duties lay in the Automaton yards, with his machines and his tools. He had been taught to fight, but he was more craftsman than soldier.

He made his way through the colorful chaos of morning in Three Gates, surrounded by smells of exotic food and the sound of foreign tongues. Three Gates sat at the edge of Eastenhold, near the borders of Tor Som and Karkar. The city was a melting pot, and he saw almost as many foreigners – finely dressed Pirans, pale-skinned Urannans, Karkarans of mixed blood – as he did his fellow Eastenholders, people of modest stature with earth-toned hair and eyes.

Whatever had disturbed the watch commander enough to call for Drogin hadn’t reached the ears of the citizenry, and the city was as cheerful as ever. He hoped that was a good sign. He had joined the watch to practice the unique blend of sorcery and technology that was required to build and maintain Automatons, and he had little interest in battle or conflict.

Still, he found himself fingering his wand, a hexagonal shaft of pure silver holstered at his belt. He lacked the talent to be considered a true wizard, but his magic was strong enough that his wand would be his weapon of choice if he ever found himself in a dangerous situation.

He made it to the edge of the city and began scaling the wall, sweating as his leather armor absorbed the hot summer sun. He rarely wore his armor, and he wasn’t used to it.

He crested the wall and made his way down to a knot of yammering soldiers upon the north gate. The gray stone walls were tall, broad, and thick – built to withstand assaults by Automatons.

He spotted Watch Commander Yeldar at the center of the disturbed soldiers. Yeldar, an older man, had a weathered and sun-browned face. He wore leather armor and an iron skullcap, and a long sword hung from his belt.

Drogin cleared his throat to get the watch commander’s attention, saluting. Reporting as ordered, sir. What do you need?

Yeldar turned to him. The caravans from the northern farms didn’t make it this morning. Didn’t think much of it, but then someone noticed that. His voice had a rough, gravelly quality. He pointed up the north road, and Drogin noticed a cloud on the horizon. It looked like dust – or maybe smoke – and seemed too large to have come from a farm caravan.

Drogin shivered.

We’re worried it might be a Tor raiding party, Yeldar said.

Drogin’s brow furrowed. They haven’t attacked us in years. You think they’d pull something now? Despite his words, the thought worried him, absurd though it seemed after so many years of peace.

Yeldar shrugged. Our job is to watch, so we’ll check it out. Send an Automaton.

Drogin nodded and pulled out his control amulet, a small piece of quartz attached to a silver chain, from a pouch at his belt. The device allowed him to command any of the Automatons assigned to Three Gates. He ordered one of the city’s machines to report to the north gate.

He let the breeze ruffle his sandy brown hair as he waited for the Automaton to come from its holding yard.

It would turn out to be an unusually large caravan or, at worst, a fire on one of the outlying farms, Drogin told himself. The Tors had long coveted Eastenhold’s fertile farms and rich silver mines, but they hadn’t launched a major assault in decades, and in recent years, they had rarely even bothered to send raiding parties. Most people believed that wars with Tor Som were a thing of the past – Drogin doubted even Yeldar truly believed an attack was coming.

Booming footsteps heralded the Automaton’s arrival.

Drogin turned around, gave the machine a quick visual inspection – from its glowing blue eyes, down its lead-plated and roughly humanoid body, to its massive feet – and gave it the order to investigate the cloud on the horizon. He didn’t need to be more specific; the machines’ artificial minds allowed for a rudimentary intelligence that could respond to orders.

The Automaton stooped to fit through the gate – it was too tall to go through upright – and set off down the north road at a clanking jog.

Drogin held up the quartz and used it to follow the Automaton’s progress through its own eyes. It traveled up the dusty road and through the farmlands that lay on the border between Tor Som and Eastenhold.

These farms had been the source of much of the conflict between the two nations. Both laid claim to the rich land. Weapons and bones, the remnants of countless battles, were buried beneath the idyllic scenery.

As the Automaton progressed northward, the dust cloud grew wider and taller, until it began to block out a wide swath of the sky. Drogin’s heart beat like a drum. It’s got to be a caravan. A very, very large caravan. But he had never seen traders kick up that much dust.

He slowed the Automaton to a walk. From this close, the cloud was enormous. He ran a hand through his hair, an anxious habit, and he felt his blood chill.

The Automaton crested a hill and tilted its head down, revealing to him a wide section of flatland. Drogin caught his breath.

Below, an army spread across the plain.

At the fore of the host, dozens of Automatons – including many Quadramatons, four-legged Automatons with engines of war mounted to their backs – led the way, the boom of their footsteps and the clank of their joints reverberating in the mechanical ears of Drogin’s machine. Thousands of foot soldiers, crossbowmen, battle wizards, and cavalry followed behind them. Further squads of cavalry rode out to either side of the force, and to the rear, nearly lost in the dust, he could see hints of a vast baggage train.

Leading the army were four Automatons of a design unlike anything he had seen before. They were tall – standing head and shoulders above the other, already unusually tall, Tor Automatons, they would have dwarfed any Eastenholder machine – and had winking bands of silver imbedded in their wrists. Each of their steps echoed with such force it seemed as if Drogin felt it himself instead of filtered through the cold mind of his Automaton. The mere sight of them sent shivers down his spine.

Drogin stumbled backwards from the parapet, severing the link with the Automaton in his terror.

What is it? Yeldar asked, offering Drogin an arm for support.

It took a moment before Drogin could calm his breathing enough to speak. The Tors. The Tors are invading.

Yeldar’s eyebrows rose for a moment; then his jaw set, and he placed a hand on his sword hilt. How many?

Drogin felt sweat roll down his back as he fought to breath normally. Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands. Automatons, Quadramatons, wizards, everything.

Yeldar’s worn features lost some of their color. He swayed on his feet for a moment. Then, he turned his back to Drogin and began marching away. Let’s get moving. He started shouting orders to the soldiers along the walls.

Leha ran into the street and looked about. A wave of frightened people ran towards her from the west, spreading anarchy and confusion.

A portly man with tangled brown hair stamped by her, and she called out to him. What’s going on?

An invasion, he shouted at her, not stopping.

She glanced around in confusion, and she saw Drogin run towards her.

Leha! Her brother stopped just in front of her, winded and looking like he’d awoken from a nightmare.

She grabbed his arms. What’s going on?

He jerked his arms free of her grip. The Tors are invading. Yeldar has ordered the evacuation of the city.

Several questions occurred to her at once. All that came out was a strangled gasp.

Before she could try again, Drogin said, Get packed. We have to get moving.

She felt a shaking in the earth, and a low rumble, like distant thunder, touched the air. As word of the invasion spread, the panic intensified. All around her, people ran and cried and tripped over each other.

Aren’t we going to mount a defense? she said. What about the Automatons? Shouldn’t you be commanding them?

Drogin looked over his shoulder. A dust cloud had appeared in the northwestern sky. I sent them to delay the enemy. He turned back to her. We can’t win, Leha. I’ve seen the Tor army. It’s like something out of the Liberation. His eyes unfocused. I have to go.

He started jogging in the direction of his home. Get packed! he shouted over his shoulder.

Leha’s heart raced. She glanced at the dust cloud, clenched her fists, and charged into her shop and up to the heat of the second floor.

She grabbed a backpack and filled it with clothes, some tools and utensils, a few fistfuls of food, and a skin of water.

As she returned to the ground floor, her eyes came across her books. Her gut clenched. They were her most prized possessions – they’d been her guide and her joy since childhood. She couldn’t take them all, but she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them behind.

Knowing it was foolish and not caring, she started removing them from the shelf, struggling to decide which ones she could bear to leave behind and agonizing over every decision.

A loud clap of thunder sounded from outside, shaking the foundations of her home. She flinched. Forcing herself to come to a decision, she stuffed fifteen of her books into her bag, already second-guessing her choices. She made for the outer door, but turned back and retrieved another book, a collection of short stories, and added it to her pack, wrinkling the cover in her haste. It was small, she reasoned.

She added money and a few of the smaller and more valuable items from her shop to her already heavy bag. Lastly, she strapped an antique sword to her belt and grabbed a Karkaran walking stick of fine, pale wood.

Her heart hammering in her chest, she burst back into the street. She realized she’d forgotten about her books on the second floor. She cursed, but she didn’t go back for them.

The rumble of the approaching army had grown stronger. Frightened citizens pounded up and down the cobblestone streets.

Drogin shoved his way through the panicked crowds and returned to her side. He carried a pack significantly smaller than her own. Ready? he asked.

She nodded.

He ran to her door, pulled out his wand, and traced a series of symbols on her door. A trail of light, like the tail of a comet, followed his wand tip.

What are you doing? she asked, yelling to be heard over the tumult that surrounded them.

Setting wards. The first Tor to try and loot your shop is going to get a nasty surprise. He finished. Let’s go.

They ran through the bedlam that Three Gates had become. They passed refugees with their entire lives strapped to their back, guardsmen trying to direct traffic, battle wizards placing wards and sorcerous traps, and even a few looters – Leha turned away from them in disgust.

She wondered why Drogin had not been assigned to help keep order, but she realized the answer was all around her. Order had been the first thing to flee the city, and one Automaton technician with only basic guard training wouldn’t have made any difference.

The sounds of a battle could be heard from the north – tearing metal, hollow booms, the searing crackle of magic. Drogin’s Automatons had engaged the enemy.

By the time they stepped out of the east gate and onto the Vein – the highway running from Three Gates to Eastenhold’s capitol, Heart – the battle had gone silent.

The Vein was choked with people. Yeldar’s men tried to keep the refugees organized and maintain a defensive formation against attacks by the Tors.

The crowds were hot and tight, and Leha, short even for an Eastenholder woman, was jostled and squeezed in the press. She couldn’t see over the surrounding people, and she didn’t know where she was going. Her breathes came quick and shallow, and she shoved the people around her to keep from being crushed. Drogin did what he could to keep them from being separated, calling his rank to the swarm and using his larger stature to help clear a path for his sister.

After they had gone some distance out of the city – it felt like miles to Leha, but she knew it wasn’t nearly so far – a terrible crash shook the earth and tore through the shouts and cries of the evacuees. She glanced behind her. Something was hurling pieces of Three Gates’s northwest wall into the sky.

She placed a hand on her sword hilt and tried to remember the lessons on swordsmanship her father had given her.

The cacophony of the city’s destruction rose in intensity until it was not just heard but felt deep in their bones. Underneath the larger sounds – buildings being torn apart, the tramp of mechanized feet – were subtler sounds, such as the smolder of fires and the sizzle of magic. The refugees increased their speed, threatening to crush the slow and weak. The air above Three Gates filled with dust and smoke.

Can you show me what’s happening back there? Leha shouted to her brother, struggling not to lose him in the teeming mass of humanity.

Drogin shook his head. I don’t know the spell. His expression asked, Why would you want to see it?

The earth trembled, and a massive projectile shot into the dust-streaked sky. It appeared to be a large piece of the Three Gates’s city hall. It seemed to hang motionless in the air, and then Leha realized that was because it was headed in their direction.

Drogin saw it, too. Get down! he hollered in a voice usually reserved for the Automaton yards.

Screams echoed through the stream of refugees as Drogin threw an arm around Leha and pulled her to the ground, protecting her with his body.

There was a crash so loud it seemed to come from all directions at once. Shrieks of pain and terror echoed from back toward the city.

Leha pushed herself free of Drogin’s overzealous attempts to protect her and looked back. The chunk of the city hall had smashed into the eastern gate, destroying it and causing the wall to collapse outward. Many of the refugees just exiting the city had been crushed to death or else badly hurt, but even worse, the gate was no longer passable. Those still in the city would have to go back toward the Tors in order to escape.

Keep moving! Keep moving! Watch Commander Yeldar barked, riding by on a sturdy warhorse. We’ve got to put as much distance between us and the Tors as we can!

The press began to shamble forward again as Yeldar dispatched a small number of soldiers to try to aid those caught in the eastern gate’s destruction.

Her heart aching for those trapped within the city, Leha focused her attention ahead. Those behind and beside her struggled to move forward – pummeling her with fists, elbows, and knees – and she kept to her feet by sheer strength of will. Leha tried to shut the sounds of the destruction of her home, the only home she had ever known, out of her mind, staying close to Drogin for safety.

The Tor army did not capture Three Gates. They did not conquer it. They annihilated it. They cracked open the walls like eggshells, and burned the buildings to the ground. Leha would never forget it.

Nor would she forget the terrifying flight from the city, the families trampled in the streets, or the elderly and infirm being left to die. She would not forget the choking stink of sweat, smoke, and fear, and she would not forget the weeping and sorrow that had surrounded her.

She and the other refugees spent the first few hours in terror of being attacked by Tors, but their enemy was too busy burning Three Gates, and by the time the city was nothing but ruins, they were too far down the road to be caught by the Tors’ main army. Leha began to relax, just a little.

But then, two hours past noon, shouts echoed from the west. A mounted soldier rode by, crying, Enemy riders! Make ready!

Panic spread through the refugees like fire through a dry field, and screams rent the air. Some of the people Leha saw looked ready to bolt, and she feared the entire pack would scatter in terror.

Yeldar rode up and down the column, shouting instructions and badgering people into order through sheer force of will. Crossbowmen and battle wizards to the outside! she heard him order.

Together with his lieutenants, he managed to form a ragged perimeter around the column. He gave the order to hold position, and the column stopped, making it easier for the perimeter to hold together. With trained soldiers surrounding them, the refugees’ panic lessened, and an anxious hush settled over the mob.

Drogin chewed his lip, then drew his wand and said to her, Stay here. I’m going to help. He began shoving his way through the press, yelling his rank to get people to clear his path.

Leha hesitated for a half second before following. The sensible part of her told her she should stay, but she wasn’t about to sit around and wait while her brother risked his life.

Drogin emerged from the larger crowd and joined the thin line of soldiers surrounding it, Leha pausing a few paces behind. In the commotion, he didn’t notice her. The line was mostly made up of stern-faced men and women armed with crossbows. Interspersed among them were a few battle wizards armed with huge, lead-plated shields and staves of silver.

Free from the throng, Leha could now glimpse their assailants, several dozen light cavalry with red painted shields and satchels of javelins. They had come up on the side of the column from the west so as to strike its broad sides, where it was most vulnerable. Leha assumed the Tors had sent a similar detachment of riders to assault the other side of the column.

As she watched, the Tors turned and charged them, their javelins glinting in the sun.

Yeldar’s rough voice echoed from farther up the column. Wizards, bring ‘em down!

The battle wizards raised their staves, and the air chilled as they drained it of power. Bolts of power like green-white lightning tore across the fields to either side of the column. A few found their marks, and Leha winced as those riders and their steeds were reduced to so much charred meat. Thankfully, they were still too far for her to get a good glimpse of the grisly details.

The Tors were capable riders, though, and many of them evaded the wizards’ attacks. The magic set fire to the sun-baked grass, and the advancing riders became obscured by smoke. A tense moment of waiting followed, in which the riders’ charge could be heard but not seen. A drop of sweat slid down Leha’s back.

The Tor cavalry burst from the obscuring smoke.

Fire! Yeldar shouted.

The air filled with the twang of crossbow fire. At the same time, many of the Tors loosed their javelins. Soldiers fell on both sides, crying out in pain. The heat again drained from the air as the wizards let loose another volley, cutting through the Tor numbers.

Drogin scanned the field of battle, firing off much smaller bolts of energy with his wand. The Tor shields deflected most of them. His magic was minor enough that they didn’t even need lead plating. He cursed to himself all the while.

A rider burst from a nearby wall of smoke, making straight for Leha’s brother. Drogin turned his wand on the new adversary, but the Tor’s shield shrugged off the blows.

Hit his horse! Leha screamed.

Drogin shifted his aim lower and fired a bolt straight into the chest of oncoming animal. The beast screamed and collapsed, hurling its rider forward. Drogin fired another bolt as the rider tumbled through the air, striking the Tor in the chest. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

Drogin turned to her, wide-eyed. Get back! he yelled, gesturing wildly for her to stay within the relative safety of the crowd.

Leha retreated a few paces but continued to watch the skirmish unfold. Her brother returned his focus to the enemy.

The Tors continued to harry them for the next half hour, emerging from the smoke to strike at wherever the refugees were weakest, but it soon became clear they didn’t have the strength to inflict serious harm. They had been sent to slow the Eastenholder retreat, not stop it entirely. They eventually backed off once their losses became too heavy.

They just wanted to make us fear them, Leha said to her brother after he’d finished scolding her for her recklessness. The rest of their army will have plenty of time to finish us off later.

Drogin put on a face that was probably meant to be encouraging. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He eventually just sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

Yeldar allowed the column just fifteen minutes to rest and tend to its wounded, and then they were on the move again.

The watch commander pushed them hard. It was well after dusk when the survivors of Three Gates – close to a quarter of the population, including the mayor, had not made it out of the city or been lost in the pandemonium – pitched their camp. Nightfall brought some relief from the heat, but it brought no relief from fear. When Leha looked into the shadows, she saw the spears of the Tors and the metal fists of Automatons.

Leha felt that she should search the camp for her friends to see if they’d survived, but she was too tired, and she feared what she would find – or fail to find. Many of them had lived in the northwest quarter of the city.

After a sparse dinner where sharing and rationing were enforced by armed guards, Yeldar announced his plans.

We will go east, to Broad Field. I’ve already sent a rider there to warn them of our arrival and raise the alarm. Assuming the Tors are heading east, Broad Field will be the logical place to stop them. Once there, you – he gestured at the civilians – will have the choice to either stay at the city or continue with me to the capitol, where I will make my report to Lord Heggarn. He stepped off the crate he had been standing on and disappeared into the camp.

Drogin laid out the makeshift sleeping rolls he and Leha had been given by a fleeing weaver. What do you think you’ll do? Stay in Broad Field or go on to Heart? he said.

Leha sighed and stared into their feeble campfire. She didn’t want to think. She was too tired. I suppose I’ll go to the capitol. I don’t want to be near the battle.

Drogin nodded carefully. You realize I will have to stay in Broad Field and help with the war effort.

What? Oh. She groaned. I don’t want to think about this now. Let’s talk about it tomorrow. When he didn’t respond, she took it as a sign of assent.

Leha lay back on her bedroll, feeling stones from the ground beneath it jab into her back. She tossed and turned for a few minutes, trying to settle her head, but the destruction of the city kept replaying itself in her head. She wished she could burn them from her mind, but she knew they would be with her until the end of her days.

A thought occurred to her, and her eyes flitted open. Drogin?

Yes? She wasn’t surprised that he, too, was still awake.

What happened to the farms north of the city? I haven’t seen anyone from them.

There was a long pause. They were never warned. We couldn’t hope to reach all of them in time, and Yeldar hoped looting them might slow the Tors down a little.

The ground still radiated the heat of the day, but Leha couldn’t remember ever feeling colder than she did at that moment.

As it turned out, the next day left little time for talk, as did the days that followed it. Each morning they would be awoken at dawn by either Yeldar’s men or the low rumble created by the pursuing Tor army. A mild panic would ensue, and within an hour, they would be back on the road, having rushed through breakfast and any necessary packing. They never had any opportunity for luxuries such as bathing or conversation.

Every day brought the same grueling march across hot roads. The clothes of the refugees became stained with sweat and coated with pale dust from the roads, and the caravan soon developed a pervasive stench. The dust and grit got into everything; Leha’s joints chafed, and her feet blistered.

Throughout the journey, they stayed upon the Vein. Eastenhold occupied the narrow space between the Northern and Southern Spurs of the massive Gormorra Mountain Range, and much of the country was made up of rough hills and jagged peaks. Most of its flatland was in a long strip that ran from the borders of Tor Som and Karkar to Heart, and the Vein traveled through this stretch, connecting three of the nation’s four major cities: Three Gates, Broad Field, and Heart. The peaks of the Gormorra Range rose up on either side of the roadway, slowly narrowing as they traveled east.

Occasionally, they would arrive at a small town. If the town had an inn, beds were given to Yeldar, his officers, and any civilians lucky enough to win a raffle. Leha never won any of the raffles, and Drogin didn’t feel right taking a bed when she had to sleep on the ground.

In the morning, the inhabitants of whatever town they had come across would join their ranks.

The Tor army didn’t attack them again, but the dust cloud always hung over the western horizon, reminding them of what would happen if they were too slow.

Leha had never been so exhausted.

The only times she took any solace were when she read. She did it whenever she had the time and wasn’t too tired to keep her eyes open – not that that was often. Sometimes, when she read tales of the Liberation, she wondered how General Phanto or any of the other heroes would have reacted in this situation. Then, she remembered that wars among humans had been unheard of in that era.

She cursed the Tors for starting this war.

After nine punishing days of travel, they arrived at Broad Field.

The city rose like a man-made mountain from the plain that was its namesake. Leha spotted Quadramatons and other engines of war arrayed along its thick, white walls, and patrols of humans and Automatons circled the area. The Vein ran strait through the city.

The refugees passed through a set of massive gates constructed from the local white stone, entering the shade and narrow streets of the city.

Leha swiveled her head and tried to see over the people around her, wanting to see this strange new place. Despite her love of the exotic, she had done little real traveling. Three Gates had provided so much to see, and she’d always had her books.

Yeldar and Drogin quickly fell into conversation with the city’s guard officers and officials, who had met them at the gate.

Leha had had an inn recommended to her by a fellow refugee, and she left for it as soon as the crowd at the gate subsided. She and Drogin had already agreed she would get rooms for both of them.

Leha strode through the streets of pale stone, taking in the new sights, sounds, and smells. Broad Field was the hub of Eastenhold’s military, and the signs of it were everywhere. Aside from the more obvious things – the fortifications; the squads of guardsmen marching through the streets, shouting drilling songs; the number of blacksmiths, armories, and Automaton workshops – there were subtler indications of its militaristic nature. Businesses offered discounts to soldiers; the wells and granaries were built larger to withstand sieges. Even among the simplest buildings, the architecture had a martial feel to it.

Like the walls, the homes and businesses were constructed of local white stone. The buildings here were taller and packed tighter than they had been in Three Gates, which made her feel oddly out of place, but at the moment, the only things she cared about were the shade streets provided and the fact that she would soon have access to a bed.

Her own bed had probably been used to fuel a Tor bonfire by now; she tried not to think about that.

The inn she had chosen was called the Horn and the Drum. The taproom was somewhat smoky and smelled of spilt ale, but it was well lit and relatively clean. The windows had been opened and a refreshing breeze blew through.

Several survivors from Three Gates had already arrived, and Leha had to wait her turn before renting rooms for her and her brother.

Once that was done, she sat down at one of the tables and ordered lunch. The food was simple but hearty, and far better than anything she had eaten on the road.

Later, she retired to her room. She tried to nap, but she found that her mind was too busy. She was filthy, but too tired to seek out a bathhouse. That left just one option.

She read. Tired of war and death, she chose one of her more cheerful adventure novels, a light-hearted romance. Her tired eyes blurred the words, and she could barely find the strength to keep the book upright, but she remembered most of it by heart. She needed only to glance over the words to stir the images she’d held in her mind ever since she had first read the book as a child.

When the innkeeper came to alert her dinner would soon be ready, he found her asleep, slumped over the book and wrinkling its pages with her face. She spent a good five minutes trying to straighten them before heading downstairs for her meal.

Leha was running her finger over the table, feeling a crack in the wood, when Drogin arrived. He seemed beaten and worn out, and he had not had a chance to bathe.

She waved him over, and he crossed the crowded and noisy inn to sit with her.

He took a deep breath, smelling the pig roasting on the fireplace. Please, tell me they’re going to be serving that soon.

They said it would only be a few more minutes. How was your day?

Drogin made a sound that was half snort and half sigh. Bad. No one expected an attack like this. No one’s ready. Nothing’s prepared. He put his head in his hands and said something about insanity.

They talked of inconsequential things until their food arrived, at which point conversation became undesirable and impractical.

A half-hour later, Leha swirled a piece of bread through the dregs of gravy on her plate, forming words in her mind. She had an idea she wanted to discuss. A sensible voice in the back of her head screamed that it was foolish, but she had never listened to that voice before, and she wasn’t going to start now.

You remember the stories of the Liberation, right? she asked. It was a foolish question; he loved history as much as she did.

Of course, he replied before drinking from his mug of ale.

Then you remember the tales about the other worlds, Sy’om and Tyzu, and how our ancestors used their powers to overthrow the Old Gods.

He leaned forward. What are you getting at, Leha?

If the powers of the other worlds can defeat the Old Gods, surely the Tors couldn’t stand up to them, she said coyly.

A familiar note of skepticism crept into Drogin’s voice as he leaned back. Wizards and scholars have tried for centuries to break the seal the Old Gods placed on Barria, and you think you can do it?

They had been down this road many times, and Leha knew how to win him over. She put on her best innocent little sister face. I know it’s not likely, but think of what it would mean for Eastenhold if we could access the other worlds and Tor Som couldn’t. Think of the exotic magics and weapons we could find! Her face held the same excitement it had when they had snuck into the Automaton yards as children.

Something lit up in Drogin’s eyes – the same thing that had lit up when she had convinced him to sneak into the Automaton yards. She thought she had convinced him, but then the light disappeared, and his tone turned serious. Even if there was a chance that we could break the seal, I don’t have the time to try. The city’s watch commander wants me to help build three Automatons from scratch before the Tors get here. I don’t have to tell you how hard that is.

Her heart fell. She lowered her