The Old City

0.77: The Upper Ringer

There was no escaping this fire. The damn stuff was everywhere, searing his skin and stealing the breath from his lungs. Why hadn't he been born an Elementalist?

Arkades sunk into a loose patch of snow and cursed. It was melting so fast there was hardly any safe place to step.

Someone howled in pain nearby, but it was so guttural he couldn't tell who it was even though just hours ago they'd all just sworn to each other as blood brothers. A nice thought. Fight together or die trying to take this damned hill.

These blood brothers would boil tonight.

His foot gave way again and Arkades winced in pain as his ankle twisted. The only thing that saved him from eating dirt and twigs was the heavy blanket of snow. It was so pleasantly cold. He wanted to stay there a while, to cling to this chill so that the fire up higher did not claim him.

It would have been nice to rest. To stop. To die.

But another scream rang out over the mountainside and Arkades's eyes shot open.

He could not rest. Nor stop. Nor die.

Seneca had entrusted him with this mission and he would see it through. If they failed, Magnar would overrun the northern campaign and thousands of his fellow Soranians would perish.

He pushed himself up, hands slipping into the now-melting snow, and forced his feet under him. His aura groaned under protest as he tried to access it. He didn't have enough energy to perform particularly powerful magic, but he whispered "Berriss!" and formed a pocket of breathable air around his mouth. It filtered the smoke well enough, though it did nothing for the soot which now tore at his eyes.

The way down was brutal still, slippery from the melting snow and uneven. About halfway down, he found Rastipoor. The bastard was soaked through to protect himself from the flames. He'd seemingly swam through the snow to reach this point. He had a deep gash along the right side of his face, just nicking the bottom of his ear, and he had wrapped a torniquet around his right arm, which also bled heavily.

Together, they sprinted down the mountain, listening for other survivors but knowing there might not be any.

At last, with about a quarter of the way to go, they reached a clearing free of trees. This calm space was full of rocks and Arkades allowed himself the moment to sit and rest.

Then he looked up and Hell itself stared back at him.

The entire mountain was ablaze. Every tree, shrub, and blade of grass had lit like kindling. There were more groaning sounds, but this was not of men. Rather, it was the sound of trees dying, falling under protest after centuries standing proud along the mountainside.

It was a travesty of nature that would take years to undo. In that moment, he hated the Magnarians again. They'd killed his friends and started this war, and now it seemed they only wanted to destroy the world.

"That cannot be allowed to pass," Arkades whispered. He stood up, tapped Rastipoor on the shoulder, and shuddered as the very ground beneath their feet began to quake.

Then the mudslide began.

The Jaws of Soran, later that day.

The crags breathed in the lapping water below, which churned warmly like a grist. The moon hung overhead, illuminating the uneven rocks in a pale silver light.

The night was calmer than her constituents.

Angelica had laid out a few blankets to cushion them from the sharp stone. She and Alaria were trading stories about their respective clients. Banjo, Ryster, and Graymark were playing a game of cards. Graymark seemed to be winning handily by the size of his chip pile. Mika hung a bit lower, her rod cast in the ocean though no fish bit this night. The water near the Jaws was too choppy, too violent for any to venture near.

Marcus sat the furthest away, smoking a pipe and looking out to sea. Seneca couldn't see his face at this angle, but he could feel the animosity rolling off his friend. This was a dangerous play.

"What is this?" Arkades asked.

"This is our crew," Seneca said. "They're a sorry lot but they helped save the city today."

Nobody said anything, but they watched from the corner of suspicious eyes. Even Angelica, usually so friendly to strangers, didn't come up to Seneca or Arkades.

"You brought him?" Marcus asked, raking his pipe across the stone as he continued to sit.

"He helped convince the soldiers to change their path and capture the real Magnarians. He deserves to know what we're doin'."

"He's an Upper Ringer. None of them can be trusted."

"Arkades served under me until the Golyan Plateau. Helped see me through the bloodiest day of my life. I'd trust him with my life and yours, Marcus, even if he is an Upper Ringer."

"They threw your life away and mine too. I won't discuss our plans if he's present."

Seneca bit his lip. This Marcus, the stubborn one, the one who always believed he was right, couldn't be reasoned with. For all his conviction

"He can help us. He can provide intelligence from the Upper Rings! And we can tell him how the Magnarians are enterin' the city. We can stop them together."

Marcus didn't even look up. "I won't have him."

Arkades tapped Seneca's shoulder and moved to pass him. He walked unsteadily toward Marcus and sat down a few feet above him.

"Our squad was ambushed when we tried to take Kroyn Keep. They lit the mountain ablaze with Hellfire to smoke us out and it sent us streaming down the mountain. Only problem was that the Golyan Plateau is covered in snow. That fire tore through the snow and ice so fast it melted into a river and kicked up a mudslide like none of us had ever seen.

"Have you ever seen a dozen men buried alive? Have you ever heard them gurgle for life when the only thing that can enter their lungs is mud and grit? I have.

"There were no search parties for us. We were just the distraction to make sure the defenders of the Keep didn't see the main force coming up the other side of the Plateau. We were acceptable losses."

Marcus looked up at Arkades, whose eyes burned in fierce contrast with the moonlight. Seneca hadn't known Arkades to have such a harsh look, but he recognized it. It was the same one he saw every time he looked in the mirror. The same one he saw every time he met Marcus.

"The people you hate left me for dead," Arkades continued. "Until this morning, the Major thought I was dead, and I had no idea even to look for him. Whatever loyalty I have to my family in the Second Ring, it does not extend to the people running this city. If you have a better way forward, I want to hear it, Marcus."