Ch 29– 

They were tall, and made even more so by the long black horns jutting like crowns from the tops of their heads. The lead creatures’s black armor glinted in the fiery sunset as the group stepped one by one from the portal, forming a small perimeter. Traces of smoke rose from their cloven hooves as the grass singed where they stepped. Scaled tails the length of their whole bodies snaked behind each.

Among them, unconscious and obviously injured, were four human Wayfinders being carried by horned creatures.

The team that was sent to close this Dungeon entrance!

One of the horned people, Netherim as Lorna had identified them, spotted us and sounded a call in a language I didn't recognize. The Netherim instantly closed ranks into a loose skirmishing formation. The military precision made me extremely nervous. 

“What in the world could they be doing here?” Lorna murmured.

“You recognize these things?” I asked. 

“They are not things.” Lorna corrected, studying the creatures with concern. “They are a people. And they are very far from home.” 

“How do you know that?!” I demanded. 

Bernsley’s armor pieces clattered dangerously, like a rattlesnake’s warning, as he stared down the strange people. 

“I am very old and have been a Familiar on many worlds.” Lorna raised an eyebrow. “The imminent conflict?” 

Ah, right, fuck. 

“Professor!” I hissed at his back.

“Class Greenbeans, retreat to the woods, and signal professor Valant!” He bellowed. 

“NOW!” He screamed, when we didn't act. 

“Professor, one of my Familiar’s knows these people!” I hissed to Bernsley. 

One of the Netherim was slowly approaching. Their posture didn't read as threatening, per se, and they were approaching quite slowly, breaking out in front of their group. 

Bernley threw out his arms. 

“Wait!” I cried. 

Lorna called urgently to the Netherim.

Too late. I could tell Bernsley saw monsters with Wayfinders captured. Wayfinders downed. And his students were in range of the threat. 

Six hovering shields broke off his armor and began patrolling around us, humming with magical power. 

Magics and weapons rushed to readiness among the Netherim. Again the leader shouted.

Bernsley shot forward like he’d been shot from a cannon, straight toward the main group of Netherim. 

There was a blur of movement too fast for me to track. Then a burst of hurricane force wind ripped me off my feet. 

For two seconds, I flailed helplessly in the cool evening air, then my back hit the grassy hillside knocking my breath away. 

I recovered, gasping, to my feet. Where a month ago, such a thing would have scared and disoriented me, now I scrambled back to my feet in an instant. 

Half the hillside was simply gone. Vaporized. The Netherim had closed in a formation around the ones carrying the injured Wayfinders. I sensed Bernsley bristle at the movement.  But to me, the Netherim looked oddly… protective? 

“Where…?” I asked, searching for Bernsley and the leader. 

“Look up.” Hera whispered. She was next to me, staring open mouthed at the sky. 

Above us, streaks of color smudged the sky like a paintbrush was sweeping the clouds apart. Thunder rolled, and another streak appeared. 

A sound like a distant gong sounded a minute later. 

A crackling series of multicolored explosions rippled over the sunset. A second later, a series of concussive thuds rattled my bones. 

Below, the Greenbeans and the Netherim scrambled to recover from the shockwave, and huddled together in our respective groups, eying each other warily. 

“So that's what high Level combat looks like…!” Hera murmured. Her voice was awed. And a little excited. 

“Undiplomatic.” Lorna shook her head in dignified exasperation. 

“What do we do?!” I asked. 

“Wait.” She sighed. “High level combat tends to be decided–” 

The Netherim slammed to the flat ground. Bernsley pinned beneath the tip of a massive stone sword.

He roared something in his own language, right in Bernsley’s face. 

Several students launched attacks at the Netherim leader, in panic. Bernsley was a Bayloft faculty member. They were among the most powerful people in the world.

The Netherim swatted them aside like flies with a single jet black hand. 

He roared his odd  words again. 

“I can translate.” Lorna announced, gliding forward. 

Beside me, Violette dismissed her bow in a shower of pink petals. “Damn. I was hoping for a fight.” 

“We’ve been fighting all day?!” I said. 

She shrugged. 

Lorna reached the two Wayfinding titans. 

“Eir stop! Call her back, and don't get involved!”  Bernsley barked from the dirt, slightly muffled from the sword tip at his neck. “They could–” 

Lorna raised her chin high and opened her arms. 

After a tense moment, the surprised Netherim released Bernsley and mirrored the gesture. The professor shot back to plant himself defensively between the Netherim and his students. 

Lorna and the horned man held it for a moment, then both relaxed.

Lorna asked a short question, the only word of which I recognized was Netherim. 

The Netherim’s coal black eyes widened even further but he began speaking urgently, gesturing between himself and the group, and our fallen allies. 

Bernsley snarled, his armor clacking as it moved to cover some of his exposed wounds. “Tell them to release their hostages at once, or I will obliterate them all.” 

Lorna turned, and leveled a look of such patience and poise on Bernsley that he took a full step back. 

She turned to me. I nodded. Lorna was obviously the only one on what remained of the hillside who had an idea what was happening. 

“Professor.” Lorna said. “These are the Netherim. The Wayfinders of worlds much like your own. They came upon this team stranded and incapacitated, and removed them from imminent harm in the Dungeon. They are requesting a healer for them.” 

“Tell them we have healers. Give them to us.” Bernsley responded carefully. 

Lorna spoke with the Netherim leader, and in short order, the injured were brought to us, by some very skittish horned fellows, and Ravale and the other healers were seeing to their injures. It was apparent that their injuries were beyond our ability to quickly repair, but Ravale announced that they'd be fine. 

“What are these Netherim doing here, if they're from one of the other worlds?” Asked Bernsley. Lorna relayed the question and translated the response. 

“Their civilization spans a number of worlds.” Lorna corrected. “However, it seems many of their worlds have been displaced, forced to flee into the Dungeon. These are representatives of a larger group of refugees.” 

“Displaced?!” I asked, disbelieving. “What could make these guys leave home?!” 

The idea of Wayfinders more powerful than one of the Bayloft faculty being forced into anything was… laughable. Inconceivable. 

“Eir, don't interact with–” Bernsley started. But Lorna was already asking my question. 

The Netherim hesitated, looking back at his people. Then he whispered one word. 

A dread fell over the hillside, like a soft blanket, dimming the fading sunlight, and muffling the breeze in the grass. A memory, half forgotten flickered through my mind, unbidden. From my awakening. Or after it. The brief moment I had been alone in the world between moments. The dark figure, a black wound in the horizon, staring at the sky. Six long fingers flexing slowly. 

It lasted two, awful heartbeats. Then it was gone, like it never was. Birds chirped their evening songs to the trees. 

Lorna slowly sank to the grass, holding her delicate hands over her heart. 

I rushed to her side. 

“What is it?!” I asked, frantically. She looked … terrified. Her gaze was a thousand miles away. 

I glared up at the towering Netherim who looked down on us with something like sympathy on his face. 

“What did he do?!” I snarled. 

A frosty hand clutched mine. 

“Eir.” Lorna’s hand trembled, “We must alert the staff. The guilds.” 

Her voice was steady and calm. But it carried the weight of war. 

“What’s happening, Lorna.” I asked, stroking her ethereal cheek. 

She looked up at me with sad blue eyes. 

“The Strangers are awake.” 

 

~~~~~~~~