A man was dragged across the floor of the castle’s main structure, screaming at the top of his lungs. Behind him, several others were pulled by their hands, their feet, their hair—kicking wildly, scratching, and fighting for their lives.
Seku watched as they lashed at their Legionarie captors. He knew that they would be the first of many civilians to be thrown into the dungeon, under a sentence of death. Seku recalled his conversation with the Warlord only a few days prior. To force King Maebus out of hiding, Damian spoke of unleashing the full fury of his Legion upon the Centre Pointe. And Damian was a man of his word.
As a soldier, Seku understood the Warlord’s tactics to flush out the King. Yet still, the brutality seemed a bit excessive even for him. “But is this not what I wanted?” Seku asked himself. Did he not want to seek revenge? To see the admonishment of the Magicals who tormented him and his people, and of the Laymen in the kingdom who allowed other Laymen like himself to suffer? Seku walked past the dragged prisoners as if they didn’t exist.
As afternoon approached, he had walked from the castle to one of the neighboring communities within Centre Pointe. These were but a few of the homes and markets belonging to the residents of the capital city.
Waves of Legionaries ran through the avenues of the community, smashing windows, setting fires, and looting. They lusted for the spoils of war, which they were entitled to—perhaps deserved. The citizens, being no strangers to conflict, fought back to the best of their abilities. Children threw rocks, while adults struck with their weapons and fists. Those who could use magic, did so. But most who fought back were immediately killed, and those ones who were captured were taken back to the castle and would never be seen again.
Like an unseen apparition, Seku assayed the frenzy, roaming quietly through the misery. He feared little for his own safety. In his time, he’d survived many skirmishes as a stealth warrior—a silent killer—and his age had not dulled his covert abilities. Debris littered the walkways, and the heavy aroma of burning rubble penetrated the air. Blood painted his shoes like a canvas as faint screams echoed in his ears. Seku paused at the edge of an intersection in what he assumed used to be a marketplace. Across the avenue from where he stood, the severed arms of citizens who had physically assaulted Legionaries hung by the dozen within merchant stands. Back in Amden, before the kingdom fell, Damian said he would do just that. Seku’s neck stiffened as the shock of the promised deed hit him.
Seku believed in the Warlord. He believed in his cause. But at which point did the aggrieved become the aggressor? Seku immediately shook the conflicted feeling out of his head. Who was he to say what was or wasn’t necessary to obtain one’s goal? Perhaps that was what separated the Warlord from other men—possessing the conviction to do what others couldn’t, having the ability to push beyond limitation, to strike indiscriminately against all who would oppose. Not knowing how to truly respond to the slaughter surrounding him, Seku simply continued to observe, hoping that clarity would eventually come.
• • • • •
General Thane traveled swiftly through the woods. Since obtaining the reflector device, he moved through the forest entanglement with renewed urgency. Following the hidden Realmsic symbols, he and his men were led to a small stone cottage outside the Hellish South Plains. Dismounting their horses about a quarter mile out, the five of them stealthily approached the haven, squatting low in the underbrush.
“Stay alert, you lugs,” Thane hissed.
Remaining as still as possible, he monitored the structure’s single window, looking for any movement. He listened carefully for voices, some indication as to who might be inside. In his heart, he believed it to be the hiding location of Maebus, the Grand Wizard, and their Council. It was well masked in a secluded, untraveled area of the Realm. He himself couldn’t have picked a better location. Had it not been for their chance encounter with the bandits, perhaps it would have remained undiscovered.
Although he could only see one entrance from the front, he was certain that there would be another in the back. Thane silently signaled to a couple of distant Legionaries. With two fingers, he indicated for them to travel around the other side of the structure. He and his remaining men would proceed through the front, hopefully trapping whomever they encountered inside.
Thane’s breath quickened as he gripped the hilt of his sword. He slowly slid it from the metal scabbard. His two remaining men also prepared. With two fingers and the slightest nod of his head, his men fell into attack formation, mimicking countless hours of situational drills.
Mindful of his every movement, Thane took a single step forward, as balanced as an acrobat, as light as a ballerina. Not even the shivering leaves betrayed his position. One by one, his men followed in single file, aligning with one another’s profile, to give the appearance of a single person if spotted head-on. Each stepped with the same mindfulness—as stealth killers.
Closer they crept. As they approached, voices could be heard inside the cottage. Thane’s mind was as clear as the crystal he hoped to obtain. Now standing only inches away from the steel door, the General quickly assessed its integrity. Nothing he couldn’t handle. One kick from his massive boot broke the lock.
Chapter Twenty