Magic Comes to Whiteport: Chapter 1
Fist-sized rocks were still falling from the night sky when Sergeant Ralinn reached the square. He winced as a piece of brick clanged off his helmet.
Downhill, near the outer wall of the fortress, smoke and flame poured into the night sky from the ruins of a shattered building. After the explosion's deafening roar, there was now the incessant clattering of small stones and debris raining down around him. Amid the rubble, a man started to scream.
Ralinn spat on the ground, and drew his sword. When he heard the pounding of boots approaching from behind him, he turned to look back uphill. Dozens of armoured soldiers were coming down the street toward him, the red glow of the fire reflected on their breastplates and helmets.
"Bear Company!" he bellowed, his voice hoarse. "To me!"
The troops began to form up around him. Some were missing their shields, while others were still pulling at the straps on their armour. All of them were watching him, their eyes wide and alert. Pebbles and grit continued to fall around them, striking helmets with sharp metallic pings. A thick cloud of dust was billowing up the hill toward them.
Ralinn pointed at one of the soldiers. "Harson!" he yelled at the man. "Go to the keep. Tell the Captain that the armoury has been blown up. Tell him to call the Imperial Guard."
The growing circle of soldiers parted, making a path for Harson, who saluted and broke into a run up the hill.
A voice came from the back of the group of soldiers. "Where's Eagle Company, sir?"
The sergeant shook his head. "They were at the armoury." He took a deep breath, and raised his voice. "Bear Company," he shouted, waving his sword in the air. "With me!"
With the cries of "Bear!" behind him, Ralinn turned and started a fast march down the street. Smoke rose into the sky, and a wall of dust was flowing uphill to meet them. He ran into the dust, blinking as it stung his eyes
The grit in the air became thicker, and Ralinn coughed as he stepped around a man-sized stone that lay imbedded in the street. Somewhere off to his right, he heard a man moaning, and beyond that was the muffled sound of someone pleading for help.
Clambering over a larger rock that half-blocked the street, Ralinn spat out a mouthful of dust. His stomach had started to twist on itself, and he found himself gripping his sword tighter.
He paused in front of a massive piece of the armoury's front wall, the face of the stone still covered in faintly glowing runes. Ralinn shuffled sideways between the stone and the building at the side of the street, watching as the magical symbols slowly faded. When he was first stationed here, he'd been told that the runes on the building were cast by a High Mage builder, to render it invulnerable. Now he watched as the light of the powerful wards faded and winked out.
Through the thick, gritty dust that filled the street, Sergeant Ralinn could make out the flickering light of the fire up ahead. They were close now; he took a moment to look behind him. His troops followed, their blinking eyes white against their dust-covered faces. The soldiers further back looked like slow-moving ghosts, shadows in the murk.
Climbing over a section of fallen wall, Ralinn saw bodies piled on the other side. The smell of burning human flesh filled his nose as he recognised the breastplates of Eagle Company. A dozen or more of their soldiers, heaped against the wall like a handful of discarded toys.
Ralinn licked his lips and tried to swallow, tasting grit and soot in his mouth. He said nothing, just motioned for his troops to follow him, as he crossed the last few steps to the armoury's back wall.
He put his back against the stone, and watched his soldiers silently fall in beside him, with more of their comrades slowly emerging from the dust, climbing over the debris. Some of them paused to look at the bodies of Eagle Company, but most just glanced and kept moving.
There was little sound here. No screams or moans of the dying, no pleas for help, just the faint hiss of grit and dust falling on their armour and the ground, and the crackling of distant fires. A few stones clattered nearby as the debris shifted.
When most of his troops were with him, Ralinn put a finger to his lips to command silence, then began to shuffle sideways along the armoury wall. The soldiers of Bear Company followed.
With his sword in his right hand, clenched so tight his wrist ached, Ralinn advanced along the outside of the armoury, keeping the stones of the wall on his left, brushing them with his fingertips as he moved. The intricate runes that covered the wall had all lost their blue glow, and now looked as still as the etchings on a tombstone.
He reached the edge of the wall. The front half of the armoury was completely gone, its walls blasted outward and scattered across the grounds of the fortress. Glancing once more at the line of expectant, anxious faces behind him, Ralinn nodded. Taking a deep breath, he launched himself around the corner of the broken wall and into the armoury.
The building was empty. What had been a massive stone building filled with racks of magical weapons and armour — enough to outfit an entire brigade — was now only a shell, three walls and no roof. The interior was bare: where there should have been full racks, there were now only the dust-covered tiles of the empty floor. Above him, the remaining rafters were afire, the dry wood crackling and pouring flame and smoke into the air. Beyond, the sky had begun to clear, and there were stars.
In the far corner of the armoury, there was movement. The Sergeant could see a flicker of yellow-green light, with a reddish silhouette in front. He shifted his grip on his sword, his other hand clenching inside his glove, and slowly moved forward.
As he stepped onto the tile floor, his troops began to enter the building behind him, fanning out on both sides. They kept pace with Ralinn, their swords at the ready, none of them speaking a word.
Moving across the tiled floor, Ralinn could make out the shapes in the corner. A small, hunched figure, in flowing robes, stood in front of a flickering magical portal that swirled with yellow and green light. An ornate wooden rack, the last in the room, moved toward the portal. Covered in a hundred neatly-stored magical swords, the rack of weapons slid into the portal and vanished.
The robed figure slowly turned toward Sergeant Ralinn and his soldiers, and took a step forward.
At first, Ralinn thought the kind, creased face was that of his grandmother, but her eyes were sharp, and stared right through him. She wore robes of red and pink, elaborately tailored in flame-like patterns.
Sergeant Ralinn felt the blood drain from his face, as a vast weight formed in the pit of his stomach. "Oh gods," he stammered. "High Warmage Banavia. Ma'am, what are you—"
"Such brave young men and women," said Banavia, a sad smile on her face. "It's all my fault." She shrugged. "I was supposed to be gone before you arrived. I'm not as fast as I used to be." The High Warmage shook her head. "Never grow old, children. It's miserable."
The Sergeant tried several times before his voice would come. "Ma'am, you can't… the Emperor will—"
Banavia gave a dismissive wave. "He'll do what he always does, Sergeant: nothing." She paused a moment, then put her hands on her hips. "So now you've seen me… I'm so sorry, children. Please understand, it's nothing personal."
The High Warmage swept her hands up into the air in front of her, and spoke a single syllable of an arcane language.
Sergeant Ralinn heard himself scream as his body burst into flames. He dropped his sword and put his hands to his face, hearing the screams of his troops sounding strangely distant. As he collapsed to the ground, his final thought was of his grandmother.
