The Realmsic Conquest: The Hero of Legend
Gone. Without a trace. General Thane squeezed the reins of his horse, unsure whether he was more angry or impressed with King Maebus’ daring escape. Needing a moment to collect himself, he deviated from the search party that consisted of his men and the local townspeople. Wandering further into the woods, the trees began looking like monsters grasping for him under the moonlight. The chase had been over for about two hours, but his body still thrummed with adrenaline. Having Maebus in his sights, nearly in his clutches, was excruciatingly dissatisfying. Someone had helped them—someone whose tracking skills were equal to his own. But who?
“General,” the voice came from behind.
Thane pulled his horse around and acknowledged the soldier with a nod of his head.
“Sir, we’ve searched every inch of the woods for at least a five-mile radius. We’ve found no trace of the Realmsic King nor his Advisor.”
“Expand your search,” the General replied.
The soldier raised an eyebrow.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Thane said. “It’s not likely that Maebus would have traveled beyond five miles already.”
The Legionarie nodded.
“I, too, agree with that assessment,” Thane continued. “But I dare not tell the Warlord that we searched only five miles for the man who is the linchpin of his conquest.”
The Legionarie saluted. “I’ll inform our men to expand their search.”
“You do that,” Thane responded, returning the soldier’s salute.
He watched as the Legionarie walked away and eventually disappeared into the wooded darkness. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for what was going to be a long and fruitless night.
Hours passed, and the search for Maebus yielded no results. It was as Thane expected. Hoping to resume the search in the morning, he and his Legionaries returned to town. Thane rationalized that it would be easier to track Maebus by the light of day. Riding back into town, the General noticed for the first time just how dilapidated the place really was. Tying their horses to a dried-out trough, he and his comrades sloshed through the streets in search of accommodations for the night. In every direction, the buildings were either structurally unstable or condemned.
“There,” he pointed to a shabby structure on the right where a candle burned in the window. If someone was currently living in that broken collection of wood planks, then surely it was suitable enough for them.
Thane banged on the door. Boom, boom, boom. The force of his fist practically broke it down. A tired looking, elderly man answered.
“Y-Yes?” the man asked in a weak voice.
“Sir, the Warlord’s Legion is in need of your domicile.” Thane shoved the elderly man aside.
He walked into the main room. The place was pitiful. One quick glance at the abhorrent living conditions made Thane’s eyes water slightly. He felt pain in his heart for so many of the Realmsic citizens who had to live this way. Surely Damian’s cause, regardless of its extremity, was just. Not wanting to take what little the elderly man already had, Thane adjusted his attitude and spoke in a less harsh tone.
“Sir,” he began, “my name is Thane. I’m a General in the Legion of Warriors, led by the Warlord Damian. My men and I were pursuing fugitives from this area, and we now need a place to stay, only for the night. If you would be so kind as to accommodate us, we will compensate your hospitality. But if you are unable to oblige, then we will look for another place to stay.”
The man stretched out his weak, shaky hands to welcome them. “I would be honored for you to stay here,” he said with a big smile. “I don’t have much, but all of it is yours, for as long as you need.”
“Thank you, sir,” Thane said.
“No, thank you!” the old man replied. “Magic has ruined our lives. Many of us Laymen have lived here in fear for decades, with nowhere to escape. The Warlord brings us hope we haven’t felt before.”
Thane reached into his pocket and pulled out his leather purse. He drew out several gold coins and handed them to the man. It was enough to buy at least three months of food.
“For your troubles,” he said, placing a gentle hand on the man’s back. He then slowly led him out of the structure.
“You three,” he said to his Legionaries. “Keep watch. Rotate shifts until first light.”
“Aye, sir!” they saluted before following the elderly man outside.
“Shut the door behind you,” Thane ordered.
After the last man exited, Thane inspected the room, assuring himself that he was indeed alone. Sitting down on a stack of straw that was used as a chair, he suddenly remembered that he needed to speak with Damian. His stomach briefly fluttered, as he had no good news to report.
Might as well get it over with.
Thane removed the mobile device from his travel pouch and noticed a small crack that now stretched along the mirror’s surface. He looked at his distorted reflection. His beard was tangled and dirty, and eyes looked tired from travel.
“Failure is not an option,” he remembered the Warlord saying. Thane sighed.
“My Lordship, can you hear me?” he spoke into the mobile device. It usually took a few minutes for Damian to respond.
“My Lordship, can you—”
“Yes, General,” Damian’s ghostly face appeared within the mirror. “What do you have to report?”
“I found King Maebus...”
“And?” Damian asked using a pitch much higher than his regular voice.
“He escaped.” Thane waited for a response, some kind of display of Damian’s displeasure, but none came. Therefore, he continued. “As you had suggested earlier, we rode to the Pumice Path. We tracked Maebus to a small mountain town and pursued him and his Advisor into the surrounding woods. But they eluded us.” Thane maintained eye contact as he deliberately spoke in a clear even-toned voice. He needed to convey absolute confidence to Damian, otherwise the Warlord may assume failure.
“We’ve searched a wide perimeter throughout the night but found nothing. We’re currently staying in the town but, at first light, we will resume tracking Maebus toward the northeast where he fled. It shouldn’t take long for us to—”
“Don’t waste your time,” Damian interrupted.
Thane paused.
Damian’s eyes were piercingly focused. “Go to the Ancient Lands,” the Warlord ordered.
The logic of Damian’s order escaped Thane. “I don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head.
“You just told me that King Maebus and Grand Wizard Kelm fled northeast from a town near the Pumice Path, correct?”
“Yes,” Thane confirmed, stretching the word as he tried to follow Damian’s thoughts.
“There’s nothing of significance in that direction ... other than the Ancient Lands,” Damian explained.
“But that region is unpopulated,” Thane retorted.
“That’s where you’re wrong, General. The Ancient Lands is the secret home of the sacred Archival Order. For millennia, its Archivists Wizards have spread knowledge to the Realm and preserved a living record of our history. In regards to their duty, it’s not a wonder that they’d be centralized in the heart of where our world began. Maebus is seeking the Order’s guidance. He will use that knowledge to fight against us!”
“I see,” Thane said. His face remained expressionless, though he felt another surge of adrenaline rush through his tired, aching body.
“Go to the Ancient Lands and wait. The Realmsic King will come to you.”
With that, the mobile call ended. Once again, the Warlord’s face was replaced with Thane’s own reflection. He stroked his tangled beard as he paced a few slow steps within the room. Damian was indeed brilliant. Thane would’ve never thought about the Ancient Lands. It made perfect sense. “They’re trying to fight fire with fire,” Thane mused. “Yes, fight back, my prey. I love a challenge!”
He placed the mobile device back into his pouch and stormed from the hovel. His men snapped to attention.
??
?I know where Maebus is going,” he said. He gestured to the farthest Legionarie. “Get our horses, bring them here. Come on you lugs, no sleep for us tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven