Echoes and Embers

By now, Elias and Fawks were dragging their feet. The ordeal of their unintended flight had left them wretched, and a full day’s march after it only ground them down further.

Cecile, walking a little lighter than the two, tried to lift the silence. “Where are you from?” she asked.

“From Tarlmere!” Fawks answered quickly.

“From Tarlmere?” Bard repeated. “Is that a joke?” He was always serious, a sharp contrast to Cecile’s cheer.

“No – from Tarlmere, that’s where we came,” Fawks insisted. “We were there yesterday!”

“Yesterday?!” Cecile spun with surprise.

“He’s joking,” Bard muttered, nearly bumping into them as he thought they’d kept moving.

“I’m not joking!” Fawks protested. “Look– ” he was about to explain.

“I’ll explain,” Elias cut in, apologizing with a glance at Fawks. Cecile turned forward again.

“Did you notice this morning some meteorites falling on this side of the Common Ground?”

“You did that?!” Cecile stopped again, staring at them with deep suspicion, eyes searching them over.

“No, we didn’t,” Elias tried to explain.

“We just rode it!” Fawks said proudly.

“I’ll lead,” Bard snapped, clearly tired of stopping every few steps. He strode ahead, the others falling in behind – Cecile last.

“You didn’t see the island that rose this morning?” Fawks added, enjoying his role as bringer of news. “In the bay, just beyond that ridge!”

“There is no island there,” Bard said curtly.

“There is now,” Fawks countered.

For a while, no one said a word.

“Well,” Cecile said at last, “once we arrive, I’ll show you the tricks of your little meteorite.”

“It’s not our meteorite,” Elias muttered, already imagining what might have happened.

Sure enough, after a few more steps, they reached a clearing – and before them stretched a crater, vast enough to swallow half the valley.

“You’re telling me you came on that?” Cecile turned as she stood on the rim of the crater. “Even for the Outskirts, that’s far-fetched!”

Fawks and Elias had their eyes fixed downward, marveling at the depth and sheer size of it.

“Well…” Fawks began as they started walking again.

“Was anyone hurt?” Elias asked, genuine concern in his tone.

“Thankfully not,” Cecile replied. “Only the far edge struck a little of our land – the greater part fell into the jungle. None of our animals were harmed.”

They walked a while longer along the crater’s perimeter, following the side that leaned closer to the sea. The sounds of it reached them now, clear and alive – the rush of air, the calls of seabirds, even the crash of waves rolling in. Yet they couldn’t see it. A stretch of distance still lay between them and the coast, though the path was straight. No longer at their right was the ridge that had enclosed the bay where they had awoken at dawn. Now they could see from the back side the tall rocky headland that stretched far into the sea, circling the bay from which they had come.

The suns were beginning to set.

Elias looked up and caught sight of the one sun (the last, beyond the two dim ones) sinking slower than the rest. How harmless it seemed now, alone on the sky’s rim – yet he could still feel on his skin the memory of how fiercely it burned.

“We’re here,” the bard announced curtly.

♦♦♦

Red muttered half aloud, “We won’t make it…” The realization struck her like a blow: it was already too late for them all to escape – if any at all would escape.

She turned up toward the watchmen on the gate. “Do you see anything?”

“Not yet!” came the answer. But the mist lay too thick to see far. Had the skies been clear, they would already have spotted the enemy moving in the forest. A second horn was heard and a single war-cry followed, echoing from the forest.

Red ordered the guards on the walls to spread to the ballistae and make ready. Then she told the stablemaster to drive the horses with the townsfolk, to use them as best as possible. She kept Kestrel by her side.

The whole town was on its feet. People ran this way and that, and many were already rushing toward the upper gate, the one beneath the Turning Tower. Thankfully, the city was small – small enough that the guards should reach every house in time, unless they were already all outside with the commotion.

“Don’t take anything with you!” she shouted, hoping those who weren’t already fleeing for the gate were at least warning others – not running back for possessions. “Everyone to the Turning Tower! We leave now!” Was it in vain? Not all would be saved…

“I see them!” a watchman cried from the wall.

At once, screams broke across Tarlmere, panic rolling like a wave. Guards in the streets struggled to marshal the townsfolk toward the upper gate. Now, many battle-cries echoed through the night.

“Roric!” Red almost seized the guard as he passed. “You lead them!”

He stared at her, refusing to understand what she was saying.

“Take them to the Common Ground!” she urged.

“But– ” he began, realizing what she meant: she meant to stay behind, to buy them time.

“No – no time for that now! Just go!” Her eyes were fierce, yet filled with grief. She thrust Kestrel’s reins into his hands. “Here. Take him. He will serve you well.” She stroked the horse’s mane one last time. “Goodbye, my friend,” she whispered, before holding him steady as Roric swung into the saddle.

In that instant, a deafening roar tore through the air, and the black dragon swooped over the city, belching fire down upon the roofs.

“Ride forward!” Red barked over the thunder. “If it’s safe, open the gates and take them by the Stenvar path – you know the one that winds through the woods around the mountain. That should be the safest way.” Her words tumbled out too quickly, breathless, but she would not rest – not until those who could still be saved had gone. Roric obeyed at once.

Red lingered only a moment, watching them flee into the mist. Then she turned, climbed the steps, and took a place atop the gate.

♦♦♦

Ahead, the vegetation around the great hollow thinned. There, Elias and Fawks saw a low wooden wall – more like a fence – though a large section was missing, replaced now by the edge of the crater.

From the other side drifted the sound of a flute. The bard unhooked his lute from his back and struck up a lively run of notes, weaving around the flute’s steady rhythm. The flute grew louder and stronger, as though inviting the lute to dance alongside it.

Together they played, flute and lute blending into something unexpectedly sweet and nostalgic for music born on the spot.

By the time they reached the gap in the fence, the tune had climbed into a crescendo. With a final flourish, both stopped at once – just as the flutist came forward to open the way.

“Heeey!” he called happily to the bard, still glowing from their duet.

“Heya, Tavian!”

The bard himself seemed a different man entirely – gone was the stern, clipped figure they had seen till now. He was radiant, like someone who had just struck up a tune in a tavern after a few pints of the finest Tarlroot Ale.

With a wide grin he gestured to Elias and Fawks. “This is Elias and Fawks,” he said. “We found them battling the First Shade– ”

“Vorath!” Tavian gasped, staring hard at the two.

“You’re lucky my friends here found you in time,” he said at last, letting them in.

“They are,” Cecile confirmed.

One by one they all passed through. Behind the fence, trees were clustered so thickly that from afar – or above – the place would have been nearly invisible. Well, at least before a whole section of the island nearly dropped on it. To the right stood a small hut with a low fire burning in front of it.

Deeper inside, between the trees, narrow well-trodden paths wound here and there, though it wasn’t clear where any of them led.

“You here alone?” the bard asked Tavian, already seating himself by the fire with his lute in hand.

“Buck and Jeane are in the back, and Wells should be returning any moment,” Tavian answered, taking his own place by the fire. “What about you two – how did you fare?” The two began muttering to each other.

Elias frowned at the burning fire. The day had been warm enough that it felt out of place. He was still overheated from the long walk – until he noticed the first sparse flakes of snow drifting down.
“What?”

“It’s snowing!” Fawks exclaimed, delighted.

“But… it was so tropical till now,” Elias said, bewildered. By now, nearly all the suns had slipped beneath the horizon. Darkness was settling fast over this part of the Outskirts. Above them the mountain tops glowed purple for a moment longer, then dimmed quickly to gray.

“Welcome to the Frostshore Wilds,” Cecile said with a smile. She turned to the two by the fire. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she added, vanishing into the trees along one of the narrow paths.

“Does it snow often here?” Elias asked, still baffled.

“Not last night,” Tavian replied with a smirk, his green eyes catching the firelight.

Fawks rushed to settle beside the fire, and after a moment Elias followed, already feeling the bite of the cold on his skin. The bard began plucking gently at his lute, and then, suddenly, he broke into song:

Verse 1
Beneath the walls the brave have bled,
Their stories told, their names unsaid.
The hearth lies cold, the streets run bare,
But echoes rise—they linger there.

Chorus
Lift your glass, though kingdoms fall,
Sing the song that binds us all.
Stone may burn and steel may rust,
But memory rises from the dust.

Verse 2
The bells have tolled, the towers flame,
Yet we endure, though none the same.
The ground may break, the night may claim,
But hope walks on in every name.

Chorus (x2)
Lift your glass, though kingdoms fall,
Sing the song that binds us all.
Stone may burn and steel may rust,
But memory rises from the dust.