Book 13: Chapter 49: Pressure

Path of Dragons

“Walls will not stop them,” said Zek with an exhausted sigh.

“Maybe they would slow them down, though,” Benedict suggested.

“Useless effort,” Moza – one of Dravkein’s other council members – stated. She represented the Tradesemen who lived and worked in the center of the city. “They will simply destroy them.”

“But –”

“There is a reason we do not build walls, outsider,” interjected yet another council member. Ovanizar. The man who led the Farmers. Like the people he represented, he was heavily mutated, with a crown of wiggling tentacles growing around his head. Working so close to the abyssal corruption had consequences, and none – save for the hunters – were more exposed. His voice was raw and ragged as he continued, “They interfere with the rings. If we incorporate them into such structures, they will invite attack. If they are damaged, we will all be swallowed by the corruption.”

“I know,” Benedict conceded. And he did. He’d been studying those rings since he’d arrived in Dravkein. He was as close to an expert as anyone else in the city. Maybe even more so, considering that he understood more of the underlying concepts. Meanwhile, the natives simply copied designs left to them long ago.

“Then this conversation is useless,” said another of the council members. She was new – a replacement for an upper-class representative who’d died in the most recent attack – so Benedict hadn’t had a chance to learn her name. She wore a thick coating of makeup and enough jewelry for three people. It did very little to conceal the rubbery patches of black skin creeping up her slim neck, though. “We must flee. There is no other choice.”

“You do not know what you are truly suggesting,” Zek stated, his hands balled into fists. He looked from one council member to the next, his glare withering. “I am the only one present who lived through the first exodus. You have all heard stories. Perhaps you have participated in a hunt or made brief forays into danger. But you have no concept of how the outside world will change you.”

He stood, then leaned forward, his hands resting on the table. “When I set out from Ithalon, I was pristine. A man of privilege, I’d never before tasted true corruption. Instead, I grew to adulthood within a cocoon designed to keep me safe. To keep me uncorrupted.”

He shook his head before continuing, “None of you knew my wife. She was so beautiful when we set out. We were all so full of hope. With righteousness. With the belief that we would find something better out here.

“When she died, she was unrecognizable. It took us years to reach this place. During that time, the corruption set in. It changed her. Mutated her. And in the end, it claimed her life,” he stated. Quietly, he added, “So many others fell to the same corruption.”

He paused, taking a few deep breaths. No one spoke. Few dared to breathe. Then, he continued, “For those so set on flight, I ask you a simple question. Are you prepared to watch your loved ones ravaged by the abyss? What will you do when they are ripped apart by some tainted horror? Can you stomach seeing them changed? Can your will survive once everyone you love has died? That is what awaits out there. That is what we will find if we flee this place.

“One in ten. That is the number that survived the last exodus. One in ten. Look around. Do you think you will be that one? Or will you be among the nine who will inevitably succumb?” he asked.

There were no answers.

Finally, he continued, “If this council deems it necessary, I will go. We will set off across the untamed abyss and search for a new home. I will lead you to your doom and beyond. But do not expect me to do so without complaint, without warning you all that your choices will get most of you killed.”

He sighed again, then started to speak. But before the words left his mouth, he just shook his head, turned away, and left the council chambers. For a few moments, no one else spoke.

Then, at last, Moza stated, “We don’t have a choice. They’re going to keep coming.”

“With more and more Emerald Guards, too,” added Ovanizar.

Benedict leaned back, barely listening to the discussion. He knew the situation as well as anyone. After that first attack by the Emerald Guard had been so easily repelled, they’d dared to hope that Dravkein would survive. And the settlement existed peacefully for months afterward.

But then, more soldiers came. This time, they were led by a more competent commander, the army populated by far more experienced soldiers. Even with surprise on their side, the defenders of Dravkein were only capable of fighting them to a draw.

That siege had gone on for almost a year before, at last, Zek led a group of hunters in an ambush that destroyed the army’s supplies. After that, it had only taken a few more months to break them. But even then, the Dravkein natives were incapable of finishing them off. More than half escaped, presumably to return to Ithalon to gather a larger force.

When Benedict had asked why Ithalon’s forces wouldn’t leave them alone, he’d gotten a brief history lesson that made it clear that the Synod would never tolerate anyone existing outside their power structure.

Later, Benedict would discover that the leaders of Ithalon were further motivated by Elijah’s actions. Though he’d taken every effort to conceal his trail, his path had led them to Dravkein. The implied association was more than enough to fuel their hatred of the independent settlement.

In the end, the council was right in their assertion that the forces of Ithalon would not soon stop. They had plenty of soldiers at their disposal, and they were more than motivated to see Dravkein wiped from the face of Gorveth.

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Flight was the natural response to that.

But there were too many people living in the settlement to evacuate them easily or quickly. And even if they managed it, there was a good chance that the Emerald Guard – or the Silent Hunters who worked as their scouts – would find their trail and follow it.

Escape seemed hopeless.

And so did survival.

After the meeting concluded – without any resolution – Benedict found himself back in the home he shared with Jasai’i. Over the years since he’d arrived in Dravkein, it had become a familiar place. Far more comforting than any other home he’d ever had. Most of that was due to Jasai’i herself, who’d filled the modest apartment with reminders of her personality.

A painting here. A tiny figurine there. A plant she’d managed to buy from a Farmer stood in an enchanted pot that provided it with vitality. By all rights, it was a tiny, pitiful thing. Barely alive. And for someone who’d grown upon Earth, where there was no impediment to growth, it was truly a sad sight.

But it had cost a relative fortune.

And against all odds, Benedict found its presence quite comforting. Like a little piece of home.

He didn’t frequently think of Earth. Most days came and went without even a stray thought brushing against his past. But for whatever reason, he found himself dwelling on the planet’s fate. He hadn’t left anyone he cared about behind. Not like Elijah. Still, the planet held a special place in his heart.

It was the source of most of his misery, and his time on Earth had come very close to breaking him. But it was still home, and in a way that Gorveth couldn’t compete.

When Jasai’i returned, she found him staring at the plant.

Without speaking, she sat next to him and leaned close. For a while, they remained there, silent but taking pleasure in one another’s company before she finally asked, “How was it?”

“The same as always,” Benedict sighed. “They’re locked in a stalemate. They don’t know what to do. Someone needs to take charge, or nothing is going to happen.”

“You could –”

“They won’t follow me, Jasai’i,” Benedict interrupted. He’d tried to lead before, and it had ended in immense tragedy. “Some of them still refer to me as an outsider.”

That was only the tip of the iceberg. Benedict had never been a particularly sociable person, and his personality combined with his origin to set him far apart from the natives. Only a few had accepted him. Most kept him at arm’s length, while a handful regarded him with open hostility.

It had gotten even worse once they realized that Elijah – the man who’d accompanied him to Dravkein – had led the Emerald Guard to the settlement. Thankfully, it hadn’t gone further than disdain. Otherwise, Benedict might’ve been forced to do something everyone would regret.

“After everything you’ve done…”

He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s not their fault. I get it.”

“But you’ve fought for Dravkein. You’ve saved so many lives.”

Shrugging, Benedict said, “That’s not always enough. Besides, the only person they’ll really listen to is Zek. And he fears the abyss.”

“Rightly so.”

“I don’t disagree. After what he’s been through, he has every right to be afraid. But we’re backed into a corner, Jasai’i. You know that. They all do,” he went on. “If we stay here, we’re all going to die. If we go out there, only most of us will. It should be an easy choice.”

From a purely logical standpoint, the assertion wasn’t inaccurate. Fleeing and trying to settle elsewhere would result in more survivors. And yet, the choice was difficult because pretty much everyone would lose those closest to them. Many others would find themselves among the dead.

And that wasn’t even considering the fact that they had no idea where they would settle. Wherever they could reasonably go, Ithalon’s forces could follow. Not easily. Certainly, not without plentiful hardship. But they would follow, one way or another.

Elijah’s actions guaranteed it.

“He killed one of the Synod. They won’t rest until they have vengeance,” Jasai’i stated.

“I know. I wish he wouldn’t have –”

“Do not say that. Every member of the Synod deserves much worse. We would all give our lives to make them pay for the wrongs they have inflicted upon all Gorvethian’s,” she stated.

Benedict just shook his head. He definitely didn’t agree with her, but he also knew how pointless an argument would be. They’d gone down that road often enough that he recognized the futility of arguing his point.

Besides, he simply didn’t possess the deep-seated hatred of the Synod so common amongst the people of Dravkein. Among the entire population, only Zek had been alive during the first exodus. And yet, the memories remained fresh in everyone’s mind. With that came revulsion.

“What do you think we should –”

Before Benedict could finish his question, he felt a pulse of ethera from the inner ring. He immediately sprang to his feet and darted toward the door. The pulse was an alarm meant to warn the people of Dravkein that an attack was imminent. Most of the time, it was just a monster that had wandered too close, but of late – and all too often – it signified another attack from Ithalon’s forces.

As a non-combatant, Jasai’i would not go to meet the attackers. Instead, her task was to gather other non-fighters and take them to specially prepared shelters. They wouldn’t stand up to a focused attack, but those bunkers would protect the people inside from collateral damage.

Meanwhile, Benedict raced out of the apartment and through the streets. However, when he reached the low wall separating the city from the farms, he was surprised to see a ragged group approaching their position.

Among them were a few black-clad hunters, but the majority were obviously non-combatants.

Standing nearby, Zek said, “I recognize them. Come with me to meet them, Benedict.”

Benedict didn’t argue with the man. Instead, he strode forward by the old hunter’s side, ready to unleash hell at the slightest provocation. He’d gained a few levels over the past couple of years, but he’d also spent an incredible amount of time working on his ritual-crafting. The practice had proved effective, and he could summon his demons far more quickly than ever before.

“Who leads you?” shouted Zek.

One of the black-clad hunters stepped forward. “I do.”

“I recognize that voice,” Zek intoned.

“I would be surprised if you didn’t, old friend.”

Then, the hunter removed his mask, revealing a face covered in rubbery black skin and a third eye blinking at his temple. Otherwise, he looked mostly normal.

“Why have you come?” Zek asked.

“Raids. Malkein has fallen. We have no choice but to beg sanctuary.”

“Of course. Your people are our people. You are welcome,” Zek said. “But know that we have not escaped Ithalon’s ire. They have attacked us as well.”

“Then we must stand together, friend.”

“That we must,” Zek agreed. Then, he stepped forward and hugged the other hunter. “It is good to see you, Elam.”

“It is, though I wish the terms were more favorable.”

“Always,” Zek agreed. Then, he added, “Come. Bring your people into the city. We will give them what we can spare.”

Elam nodded and took the invitation. Soon enough, the column of ragged people was working its way toward Dravekein.

“We must prepare for an attack,” said Zek. “They will come soon.”

“You think so?” Benedict asked.

“This is how they work. They destroyed Malkein and herded its people here. Soon, their presence will begin to drain our resources. That is when the attack will come. We must be ready.”

“We will be,” Benedict promised.