Eric had only a second or two to dive under some kind of shelter before the first of the debris landed. Thankfully, for him, that was plenty of time. Reacting to the shouted command from one of the few people he considered a teacher, Eric dashed to the side, taking shelter behind the thick stone wall of a nearby building. He had just slid to a stop when the first chunk of the palace wall struck. By sheer chance, it hit the exact place he’d been standing only an instant before.
The rock tore into the cobbled street, punching a large hole into the ground and sending smaller pieces flying in every direction. Eric was peppered with the small stones like tiny punches and covered his face with one arm. More pieces flew through the windows of nearby houses, shattering them easily. The rock bounced two or three times more before coming to a stop, but it was far from over. Thirty feet away, a chunk of debris landed directly on a house and smashed through the roof with devastating power. Screams rang out on all sides. Ominously, the struck house was silent.
For four or five seconds, a remarkably short time, the world was nothing but thunderous crashes, tiny impacts of dislodged cobbles, and thick clouds of smoke that choked them, cutting off any hint of fresh air. Finally, when the debris had settled, Eric scrambled to his feet. His right side, the side facing the street, was sore and painful, but nothing seemed broken. He’d have some nasty bruises in the morning, he knew. He clambered over the fallen piece of the palace and landed unevenly on the other side, trying to see through the dust for his master and friend.
“Master Ehran!” He yelled, then immediately coughed as some dust got in his mouth and throat. Eyes streaming, he put one hand to his mouth to cover it. “Master Ehran!”
“I’m here!” The call came from no less than twenty feet to the side. He sounded weary but not grievously injured. Eric moved in that direction immediately but found himself blocked by a thick piece of wall that had landed there. “The building collapsed around me. Stand clear!”
He hurriedly moved to obey, stepping to the side. After a second, there was a shuddering impact, and the rock shattered, piling out onto the street. From behind the now broken wall, his mentor emerged, his tunic dirty and his face smeared with dust. But, as Eric had expected, he was uninjured. They embraced quickly, both relieved to find that the other had survived unscathed.
“What happened?” Eric asked, his voice muffled behind his hand. He knew the answer, but he couldn’t figure out how. “What could do that to the palace?”
“I don’t know,” Ehran admitted. Then his face sank, and he stared around in panic. “But that’s not important. We need to help the people!”
“Right,” Eric said, moving with his mentor. Then, raising his voice, he shouted to the area. “Is anyone injured? Call out if you can’t move!”
He realized that was a mistake as soon as he heard more than one reply at once. Then dozens. Then more. Something ice-cold gripped at his stomach, and he looked at Ehran, the fear evident on his face. His mentor was shaking his head. He shouted, clearly audible over the din of scared townsfolk. “Stay where you are, and help will arrive! Do not attempt to shift any debris, or you will risk collapsing your homes further! Those who can walk, exit your home, and calmly gather to my voice! Men of Issho-Ni and the guards gather at my voice!”
It took a few seconds, but they eventually heard footsteps coming their way. Dozens and dozens of citizens appeared in the dust, often supporting others. Mixed in with them were the filthy uniforms of the guard and Maravino. The members of Issho-Ni were more easily identified, as they were sheperding the people in the right direction, directing them in Ehran’s direction.
“Those who are injured, settle over here,” Ehran said, pointing to the area where Eric had taken cover. “The stone buildings are more stable and will provide some shelter. If you are not injured, move with the guard outside of the city. Stick to the Queen’s Road, and don’t wander off!”
It was remarkable how quickly Ehran took control of the situation, Eric thought. While he’d been shocked by horror and panic, his mentor had smoothly begun to issue orders. Everyone obeyed them, even the members of other organizations. In times of panic or unrest, the people looked up to Issho-Ni for protection and were more than willing to do as they were told. The guards even seemed reinvigorated by Ehran’s sense of calm confidence and were inspired to follow his example. They began to quickly but calmly herd the healthier civilians toward the East Gate.
“Get to the palace, Eric,” Ehran ordered. “Direct anyone you find to the nearest gate, and tell any member of Issho-Ni to lead the efforts.”
Eric nodded his understanding. Like the guard, he felt sturdier now that he had guidance and immediately took off. But Eric called him back quickly with a modification to the order. “Before you go to the palace, rouse the Kabe Warriors.”
The Kabe Warriors. Issho-Ni’s rarely-used force of warriors. A highly trained, very effective force of warriors with identical weapons training and magical gear to support them. They were trained constantly but only called to action in the case of a real emergency like this one. And only three people had the authority to call them. As a recently promoted Grandmaster, Ehran was one of those three. Eric was smart enough to recognize the importance of that extra command. Ehran had some sense that this was only the beginning. With the fighting men of the city tied up in helping the citizens to safety, Milagre had no protective force.
But if Ehran was wrong, he’d be in trouble for rousing the Kabe Warriors. The enchantments on their gear were powerful and carried a heavy cost. While the Kabe Warriors were strong while wearing the equipment, they were also made incredibly vulnerable, and it exhausted them, leaving them unable to even lift their heads after several hours of wearing the gear. He shoved the thought aside as he ran towards the Queen’s Road, took a sharp right, and made his way for the center of the city. Ehran knew what he was doing.
Each member of Issho-Ni he saw, he quickly fired off Ehran’s instructions. The men and women he addressed knew he had the authority to speak in his mentor’s place and wasted no time in asking questions. They’d even already begun directing the citizens in a similar effort but now directed the people to the nearest city gate. Like Ehran, they couldn’t see the reason but trusted that there was one, and a good one at that.
It was as he passed the Issho-Ni training grounds at the edge of the Noble District that he finally deviated from his route. Thankfully, the compound seemed largely undamaged, doubtless thanks to the protective enchantments that had been placed. Either that or the divine protection of the god they served. Either way, it helped that they were ready for instant action. Several dozen men were visible, amassing in the center of the training grounds. Eric headed to the man who looked the most senior.
“Are the Kabe Warriors here?” He asked.
“We are the Kabe Warriors, Master Breeden,” The man said. He was perhaps in his late thirties and sported a grizzled beard. His face paled as his unit was mentioned by name as if guessing what would come next. “There are three units here. Are we required?”
The man clearly had some degree of foresight, Eric thought, noting that each man already had his equipment with him. Standard time to ready was five minutes. Blinding fast compared to most other fighting forces. “Yes. Grandmaster Ehran Tokugawa is calling you. Do you have a Master to direct you?”
He was already looking around to spot one and tell him what Ehran had suggested. Whoever it was would probably know best how to direct the elite soldiers. But the leader of the first unit replied in the negative. “There are no Masters currently in the compound. We’ve looked.”
“There aren’t any?” Eric asked, bewildered. “But there had to have been at least one.”
“They were all deployed an hour ago by Lord Bragg and Grandmaster Calemviir. Not a single Master is left,” the man replied. Then, after a significant pause, he added, “Except for you, of course.”
Only then did it sink in for Eric what that meant. He felt a sinking sensation in his stomach at the thought of the responsibility that that entailed. The Kabe Warriors were not a force to be lightly directed. The training each of them took required years of practice and dedication, and directing them was typically left to Masters with vastly more experience than him. Except that nobody else was around. Great.
“Alright, I’ll lead you out,” he said, cursing internally at the task that now faced him. Ehran had planned this, he thought. He clearly thought he was ready, even if Eric didn’t agree. “Gear up for the prayer.”
It took them about five minutes, as expected. This was due in no small part to their prodigious teamwork, helping each other into the heavy thick armor. White metal painted with arcane runes and very heavy, they made each individual fighter very hard to harm. Together with the Kabe enchantment, they were virtually unstoppable.
“Hear my prayer, Lord Tokugawa,” Eric said, reciting the words of the prayer he’d learned years ago but not used before today. “Grant these warriors of yours your guidance and divine strength so that they may serve as the wall between the innocent and their enemies.”
A simple prayer, but effective. At once, the runes on the armor and heavy shields began to glow, putting out powerful magic. The men hefted them with grim, determined expressions, and the Captain fell into rank, giving Eric a nod. “Ready at your command, Master Breeden.”
Well, at least they knew what they were doing, Eric thought. That just left him as the only one unsure. Still, he knew he had to at least appear confident. Drawing his swords, he turned to face the gate. “Follow me, then.”
They hurried out of the compound, sixteen men to a unit, for a total of forty-eight highly competent, devastating warriors, with inexperienced old Eric in the lead. He directed them south to the main area of the city before remembering Ehran’s command to go to the palace. He hid the mistake well by making them loop through a side street before heading back north. None seemed any the wiser, thankfully.
The closer they got to the palace grounds, the easier their travel became. This came as a surprise to Eric until he remembered that the worst of the debris had struck the middle ring of the city. The explosion, whatever it was, had been so powerful that it had flung pieces of the palace for nearly a mile. So the ground around it, while scarred and scorched by whatever had caused the explosion, was relatively smooth ground. Dozens of trees leaned at an angle away from the origin point, but no other damage existed.
“It was a magical explosion,” The Captain commented, echoing his personal guess. “How did it go off? Lord Bragg was in the palace. He should have been able to counter that easily.”
“He was probably occupied,” Eric replied. “Voices down and advance.”
The ruins of the palace quickly came into view as they rounded the last corner. A vast open space even before the buildings had been destroyed, they could now easily see to the opposite side. Eric had the main unit move with him in a direct line for the ruins and instructed the other two to patrol the outer perimeter. This close-up, he could see what looked like charred remains of the people who had still been inside. Would the Queen be among them?
“Look for survivors,” he ordered, though he fully expected not to find any. “Call out anything significant.”
Perhaps two minutes later, when they’d only just passed what used to be the protective wall, someone called out a warning and pointed with his spear. “Survivor!”
“What?” Eric said, thrown. “How could anyone survive that?”
He looked in the direction of the pointing spear and saw what looked like someone sitting against a small section of the remaining wall. Their face was hidden as their head was lowered, but Eric could see that they had jet-black hair and were wearing robes. Then he spotted the white streak that interrupted the hair and felt genuine fear set in. He ran over at once, forgetting the proper method of staying with his forces.
“Samuel!”
There was no reply to his shout. He dropped to his knees beside the Archmage and lifted his head, immediately checking for any sign of a pulse. He felt nothing. Cold was spreading through his body now, and he could feel his heart hammering, trying to break out of his chest. This couldn’t be true. He held a hand to the mage’s mouth, feeling for the sign of breath. Nothing. He lifted one eyelid, but the pupil didn’t react.
Samuel Bragg, the strongest mage in the world, was dead.
