The Two Armies

From the moment Red had arrived in Orrendale, she hadn’t managed to see the Warden. Still, she had made sure everyone in the city knew that Dravenholt was under siege. And to be certain the Warden himself was informed, she’d caused just enough commotion outside the council hall where she had learned he was meeting with his advisors.

The guards had turned her away.

Now she paced the streets of Orrendale, furious. She felt no fatigue, no hunger, no other thought except one: raise the greatest army possible and march to Dravenholt’s aid.
“Why isn’t he doing anything?” she hissed between her teeth.

A whole day had already passed – a day that brought Dravenholt closer to destruction.

That was it. She could wait no longer. Three options lay before her.

She could take Kestrel from the stables and ride to beg aid from the other cities – but those were even farther away.

She could turn back to the battlefield alone, strike the enemy from behind, and cause whatever havoc she could. Kestrel would die with her. Her hand went instinctively to where her war hammer should be, but she had lost it with the fall of the Turning Tower. There were other weapons she could “borrow,” but none would ever feel like hers.

No. There was only one option left.

She went to the stables, stroked and embraced Kestrel, her gaze soft with understanding for all the horse had already endured – his wounds were still half-healed. Then she mounted and spurred him forward.

Not toward the city gates. Upward. Through Orrendale’s climbing streets, past the circular plaza, and higher still, where the public buildings rose and the library guarded the knowledge of the Common Ground. Two well-dressed citizens, wearing small crimson drael as earrings, leapt aside at the horse’s wild charge. Red urged Kestrel on until, through the other buildings, she saw the dome of the council hall where she had made her scene yesterday.

Behind her, city guards had rallied and now gave chase, but they were all on foot. With sheer momentum, Red burst through the cordon of guards around the hall, nearly splintering the wooden doors as she forced Kestrel inside. The horse slowed but still pressed forward, heavy and threatening, toward the chamber’s heart where the Warden stood.

The room erupted. Councillors leapt from their seats; some threw themselves in her path with arms outstretched, but Kestrel’s weight shoved them aside as though they were paper. Others fled outright.

“Good, you came,” said the Warden.

His hair was ebony, trimmed short but not too short, with gray at the temples and in his beard. His eyes –sharp red, sharper even than Red’s– watched her with world-weariness. He was finely dressed, but not as richly as most of those around him.

“I did not walk through death and relentless pursuit,” she declared, her voice echoing across the hall, “only to abandon my comrades and the Talmerfolk to fight and die alone!”

The Warden turned to his advisors, not the least bit perturbed. “Do you see now why I insisted on sending her? And look at her red eyes!”

He stepped forward –she still on horseback– and seized Kestrel’s reins. The stallion shuddered under his grip.
“They were blue, the last time we met, if I recall.”

She nodded. To her surprise, the fury she had been carrying drained from her, as if a hidden valve had been opened inside her chest.

The Warden turned again to the councillors, all dressed in rich fabrics, most with expensive drael glittering on their ears.
“Here is how it will be. I will march to Dravenholt’s aid–”

Red’s heart soared.

“–and Red will march against Vorath!”

“What?” she burst out. “But… they are waiting for my return!”

“Do you think I don’t know what happens in the Common Ground?” the Warden barked, suddenly fierce, his voice booming through the chamber. “I know better than anyone. And Dravenholt’s siege is not our greatest danger. You must go against the First Shade!” His face flushed with anger.

Red dismounted. “I will go…” she said reluctantly, her head bowed.

The council began to break apart, and the Warden walked toward the exit, Red falling in step beside him.

“Listen well,” he told her. “I cannot explain everything now, but if Orrendale were to fall, that would be the end of the Common Ground.”

Red studied him seriously.

“A shade army that swept through Tarlmere and now besieges Dravenholt is dangerous indeed,” he continued. “But Dravenholt is a fortress-city. And near it stands Myrrholt, which must already be sending aid – perhaps their troops have even arrived by now.”

They descended a few streets. Passersby dipped their heads as the Warden passed, and he returned their nods with a simple hand gesture.

“But if what I have heard of Vorath is true –that an army is gathering at the Frostshores– then, now that the barrier has been breached, once he crosses the Katon Mounts, he can sweep through the vast valley before us like a flood. Our men will be the last wall standing between him and the Common Ground itself. That is why you must ride to meet him far away. Surprise him where he least expects it. Even a delay will buy us time to rally men from every city.”

“And if all this is only a ruse to draw us from Dravenholt?” she pressed.

“Yes…” the Warden admitted, grim-faced. “Which is why I go to Dravenholt myself.”

They reached a quarter of the city built on a towering rock. One long road stretched straight to the walls.

It was late afternoon. The light was still strong, but tinged with red. The plain before them spread endlessly, tall grasses rippling in the wind like waves about to crash upon the walls.

The Warden lifted one palm high, as if summoning those waves upward. The earth trembled. Dust and soil rose. And then – an army. Red couldn’t tell through the haze if they were shaped from stone, from roots, or something stranger still. But they formed ranks at the shouted orders of their captains, arrayed in perfect formation. Smaller than the shade host, perhaps, but still a force to tip the balance.

“Those who stood upon the walls, on that lofty height of the city, watched in awe. Many hurried closer, eager to witness the Warden’s power at work.

Red noticed the Warden beside her gasping, almost alarmingly.
“It’s been long since I drew so much imagination in a single breath,” he confessed, eating a crimson drael.

He raised his other hand. On the right, another host surged from the earth, nearly equal in size to the first. Then he collapsed forward onto the wall, bracing himself on his palms. His face was flushed, sweat pouring down.

Red immediately bent to steady him.

“Thank you,” he said as she helped him sit on a low stone ledge. He was still gasping.

“That was… amazing,” Red breathed. The armies stood ready below, awaiting their orders.

“Hurry,” he said between breaths. “Take the right flank. Ride for the Frostshore Wilds. The farther from here you find Vorath, the better. I march at dawn.”

Red hesitated. “What makes Orrendale so vital to the survival of the Common Ground? Is it you?”

“No… not me.” He was still catching his breath. “I will tell you… but not now. Now, go!”

She nodded, mounted Kestrel, and spurred him away.