Raegn strode from the armory with spear in hand and a shield slung on his back. He had already been made late by the final meeting of the War Council and now the sun sat low in the sky, ready to abandon the city to the night. Still fussing with the straps of his half cuirass and pauldrons, he headed towards the eastern gate. The heavier armor had its place in these battles within the valley, but each time he donned the pieces of metal he was reminded of how much he favored his Sentinel light armor. The pauldrons, elbow covers, vambraces, greaves—all of it had to be fitted and adjusted precisely to allow the same freedom of movement that the hardened Sentinel leather offered with minimal effort.
Luckily, Raegn’s position as both heir to the throne and Sentinel offered him priority with the smiths. Over the years he had refined his armor set to cover exactly what he wanted with no excess. It looked piecemeal like that of all the other warriors within Bastion, portions of plate over mail or gambeson, but he had added several ornamental lines of red across the chest and at the edges. His shield was the standard-issue, of course, a thin sheet of metal overlayed on a piece of circular wood with a notch on each side for a spear. The sigil of Bastion, a circle with a flared opening at the bottom, was emblazoned on the front.
Of all the pieces he wore, he was most proud of his helm. A custom design of his own creation. The y-shaped opening for the face was angled and ended in fierce points, a theme that he’d carried throughout. The headgear combined with the ferocity in which he had hunted the Void on his first trips as a Sentinel had earned him his nickname. He never called himself the Reaper, of course, and he wasn’t so naive as to miss that some spoke it in jest. It stung at first, but in time it became just another name. He had even noticed that several other Sentinels had begun to wear helms similar to his own.
Raegn paused at the outlet of the Keeper’s Bridge, one of two bridges that rose above the city and joined the two sides of the valley wall. Looking out from above he could see the warriors in the valley were already in loose formations, rows of rectangles with smaller groupings between each line. He tightened the thick leather belt around his waist that held his sword to minimize the blades’ movement and took to a light jog. At the bottom of the long stairway the stone roads on each level of the tiered city were slick with mud and his boots sunk to the top of the sole with every step. Wet feet were hardly a way to start a battle, but thousands of others willing to offer their lives in the fight against the Void had taken a similar route earlier in the day. Raegn would be the last warrior to complain of discomfort. He would lead by example, a beacon for his people to follow. He hastened his stride, reminding himself that he was already late and no one could follow him if he were at the rear of the entire battle. The guards opened the gate wide enough for a single person to pass and saluted smartly with a fist to the center of their chest as he crossed the threshold out of the city.
Outside the gate the pending battle’s participants scurried about, running information and last-minute supplies to each company. Near the wall several officers surrounded a hastily built table and Raegn was quick to pick out Ulrich amongst them. The Old Bear leaned over the table, height hidden by his posture and gray hair blending in amidst all the armor. He might’ve been harder to find if it weren’t for the deep brown fur that lined the top of his breastplate at the shoulders and across his back.
Raegn approached just as Ulrich finished issuing orders. The officers straightened and saluted before scattering in various directions. Ulrich remained over the table, studying the dozens of wooden pieces on the large sheet of parchment and quietly muttering to himself. Raegn removed his helmet and set it to the side.
“Everything going as planned?” he asked.
Ulrich looked up in greeting but stayed over the table, towering over the depiction of the valley. “The sign of war? Foolish of me to think you might choose something else. You never do.” The Old Bear’s voice was deep and gruff, as usual, but Raegn heard something else in the words. Fatigue, perhaps?
Raegn instinctively brought a hand to his left cheek and touched a portion of the blue warpaint that crossed over his eye before angling sharply towards the bottom of his ear. “And you’ve chosen...sanctity?” Raegn said, observing the blue diamonds over each of Ulrich’s eyes.
Ulrich answered with a soft grunt. Raegn took to studying the table and visually overlayed the pieces with the formation that he had observed from the bridge. Four lines, each five companies wide with groupings of clerics behind each except the first. Over two thousand warriors in the formation. He had never seen so many within the valley. Raegn glanced upward, searching for the archers that would be posted along the valley walls, nearly invisible against the dark rock. The city of Bastion, however, was impossible to miss. The unnaturally straight lines of man-made structures built into the sides of the mountains stood out enough, but the imposing wall that blocked any movement through the valley and the two bridges looming above the city were unmistakable.
“No archers in the pass?” Raegn asked, searching for a way to contribute.
“No,” Ulrich replied. “All of them are above, either on the wall or in the mountainside.”
Raegn nodded. Despite its formidable appearance, Bastion, much like its sister city, chose not to depend entirely on the wall to separate the Void from the rest of the Realm. The structure was tall and the enormous stones barely had seams between them, each filed into near-perfect shape to fit together. The gate, too, took nearly a dozen men to open a single side without the use of the pulley system. The Void had never reached it in Raegn’s lifetime and many a warrior doubted if the enemy could break through even if they did. Their ancestors, however, had feared the darkness reaching the wall and so the strategy had been maintained through generations of warriors. Still, Ulrich was right. It wouldn’t do to have the archers trapped on the wrong side of the gate if the Void broke the formation.
“We received word from Bulwark today,” Raegn said, recounting the information from the War Council meeting. “It seems they have a similar force bearing down on them.”
“A messenger came to inform me earlier,” Ulrich replied. “They are unwilling to spare any forces given the unprecedented attack. It seems they were also surprised by the number and cautious despite their more sizeable population. We will fight this battle alone.”
“As we always have,” Raegn murmured. There was little else to see on the map, so he simply waited for Ulrich to finish whatever it was he was trying to memorize. While Raegn stood holding on to what little patience he had, a thought that had occurred him at hearing the message returned to his mind. “Ulrich, when was the last time both Shield Cities were threatened simultaneously?”
The Old Bear took his eyes from the battle plans to look at him. “I do not know. Maybe not since the Void War.”
“Would this not mean, then, that the Void is starting another?”
“Perhaps,” Ulrich said, stroking his beard. “On the surface, all wars start with a single battle. If you look deeper, however, you will usually find it started years prior in secret council meetings and with hidden preparations. The Void does neither of those, so perhaps this is merely a coincidence. Nothing more than two large battles.” Ulrich stood straight and reached for his helm and the large axe that leaned on the end of the table. “Come, it is time.”
Raegn was quick to follow. As the two walked through the formation, few acknowledged their presence. All focus was forward, waiting on the first sighting of the enemy. Raegn too, gazed ahead, the raised ground giving way to a slight downward slope that allowed him to see over the remainder of the formation. He made it several steps down the gentle decline before coming to realize that Ulrich had stopped back at the crest.
“Tired already?” he began to ridicule as he turned to see what had caught Ulrich’s attention. To his surprise, Ulrich’s face was hidden by his now-donned helm. The simple, dark steel exactly like the thousands of others around him. The old warrior stood, partially leaning on the top of his axe.
“Not at all.” Raegn’s eyes narrowed at the response. “You thought we would stand on the front line?” Ulrich asked.
“I thought we would lead our forces!” Raegn said through a clenched jaw. Standing there and observing was no way to lead! No way to achieve glory!
“Calm yourself, boy,” Ulrich answered. “We will remain here until we can assess the enemy. Our companies are assembled in the second line. We will join them when the time comes.” Raegn’s lips pursed, but Ulrich continued, “Imagine the impact to morale if you and I were taken out by some unexpected foe. The battle would turn immediately.”
“Imagine their morale when they realize we’re not even fighting!” Raegn snapped. “And there wouldn’t be an unknown if my vanguard had gone out!”
Though he yelled, no heads turned to face the sudden uproar. All eyes were locked on the approaching darkness. Thick gray clouds wove their way through the sky like blood in a stream, flowing steadily toward the valley.
“You’re letting your emotions goad you into battle, boy!” Ulrich scolded. “Can you not see how reckless you are? We cannot change the past, so we will learn now. You and I will observe from here where we can evaluate the enemy and adjust accordingly.”
Raegn couldn’t remember the last time Ulrich had taken such a harsh tone with him. He turned away, not wanting to anger the Old Bear any further, and placed his helm over his head. Although it narrowed his vision, he was thankful that the metal would at least hide the anger so plainly written on his face.
“I commend your bravery,” Ulrich said more gently, but Raegn left his back to his mentor. “I know your desire to be written into legend like the heroes of the past, but all glory eventually fades into bloodstains. Let an old warrior caution you, there are parts of every tale that are not told. The part where none of those mighty champions died peacefully in their beds. The part where the hero meets their end surrounded by the enemy and in horrible agony. They were alone in their final moments and unsure if their sacrifice would bear fruit. I do not want that for you, Raegn.”
Words only spoken to soften the criticism that preceded it, Raegn thought. Bearing the uncertainty of sacrifice was part of what made them heroes. He gripped his spear tighter and glared down the pass, willing the coming storm forward. Let me stand among the worthy. Let this day start my legacy.
