The Tears of Kas̆dael

"Kruvas̆!" As the ground finally stopped shaking, S̆ams̆ādur picked himself up gingerly, grunting with pain as his left leg refused to support his weight, having borne the brunt of a sharp rock during the earthquake.

He reached for his bag and cursed again as he realized the strap had snapped sometime during the quaking, and the bag had fallen into one of the newly formed rifts in the road. Thankfully, it hadn't fallen too far, having gotten snagged on an exposed root about fifteen feet down, but reaching it with a broken leg would not be easy.

Grumbling to himself, S̆ams̆ādur hopped over to the edge of the rift and stared down, trying to figure out how he was going to lower himself into it, when Erin cursed behind him.

"What the hell is that?"

The durgu turned to look, swaying dangerously on the edge of the chasm, as his leg hampered him, but he froze as he took in the abomination in the sky above them.

They had ridden hard the last two days, determined to reinforce the castle before the Bloodspiller struck. But it appeared they were too late.

Dūr-Sūqerbettû loomed a few miles ahead of them - or more accurately, its ruins did. The twin keeps he'd seen earlier this morning were no more, one so completely annihilated that there was no sign it had ever existed, and the other, a broken shell with half its side missing. The walls had been reduced to rubble, the moat drained into the dozens of chasms formed by the ravaged earth, and yet none of that even seemed important as his eyes fixed on the massive bloody arch that stood where the keep had vanished.

As he watched, a thin stream of black figures poured out of the arch, winged monstrosities that seemed an odd chimera of man and beast. "S̆ams̆a's light - how are we supposed to defeat that?" he muttered.

"There's still a chance." The durgu grunted in pain as Ardul's horse bumped into him from behind, but he accepted the potion the general tossed at him with a grateful nod.

He drank the potion before speaking, reveling in the relief that washed over him as his leg snapped back into place. "You plan to close the portal, then?"

"Aye, we have to try. The mage will be at his most vulnerable now," the Moon-kissed replied. "A rite this big, even if it was mostly done through stolen power, takes its toll on a mage. If we can find him quickly, he should be a shell of his usual strength."

"And that will close the portal?"

"No. For the portal to remain open, there must be something powering it on the other side; find that, and we'll shut it down. Gather your men; heal those you can, but don't waste time searching for the missing," Ardûl ordered.

"You want me to abandon my men?" Samsadur angrily spat out, but he regretted it as the Djinn finally tore his eyes away from the pulsating portal in the distance to glare down at him.

"What I want isn't relevant," he snapped. "If we don't get there soon, anyone left alive in that castle will likely be dead, and we will no doubt follow soon after. Our only hope now is to join forces and end this before the situation gets out of hand. Now, give the order," he repeated himself.

AIn the shock of the destruction, the prince had forgotten that Jasper and the others were in the castle. Could any of them have survived that? It seemed unlikely and, yet, if there was any hope… "Aye," S̆ams̆ādur agreed begrudgingly, and raced off into the shattered field, bellowing for his men to gather.

(a little earlier)

The cold wind nipped at her raw, bleeding hands as Nissilât strained to hoist herself over the ledge, moving slowly so as not to jostle off the two children clinging to her back. Perhaps, if she had a little more time, she could have come up with a plan to take out the stoneflesh guarding the path to Toril's keep, but time was not on their side.

"You alright?" The children's grip around her throat only tightened as Nissilât stood up on the narrow ledge and looked up. "We're almost there - you just need to be brave a little bit longer."

A snuffle was her only response, followed by the sensation of a wet, snotty face buried against her shoulder that made her want to squirm. And this is why I didn't have kids.

But as Nissilât stared up at the last stretch of rocky bluff between them and the base of the castle walls, she started to regret her decision to climb them. It wasn't that far - thirty, maybe forty feet at the most - but for this final stretch, the bluff's steep slope turned into a true cliff, with only a few craggy outcroppings to provide footholds. It would be a difficult climb in the best of conditions, but with the rocks still wet from the night's rain and a pair of children clinging to her back, the prospect was downright devilish. But where else am I supposed to go?

She'd already given hope of holding the castle; the ease with which the walls had been overrun was downright shocking, and there was no reason to believe the keep's walls would fare any better. It was only a matter of time before Dur-Suqerbettu fell, a length of time that depended nearly wholly on whether or not the mage would get directly involved or continue to mess around like he had been thus far.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

No, the only hope, if there was any at all, was to reach the tunnels, where a few soldiers could make a final stand while the villagers fled.

"Hold on," she warned the kids, and bracing her foot against the wall, she flung herself upward, toward the narrow ledge a few feet out of her reach. Wet rock, gravel, and mud greeted her as her hands hit the ledge. She clamped down immediately, kicking out with her feet as she tried to establish a foothold, but she lost her grip.

Childish screams of terror filled her ear as her right hand slipped off the slick stone. The gravel and sharp edge dug into her other hand cruelly as she dangled off the cliff, drawing blood, but she didn't dare let go. Ignoring the pain, she scraped her legs against the cliff face again, and this time her foot found purchase, catching on a protrusion too small to even be called a ledge. It was large enough, though, to ease the weight on her left hand and let her once again reach with her right.

With trembling arms, she pulled herself up on the ledge and searched for the next one. Time passed in a blur as she climbed, a blur of bloodied hands, freezing rocks, and frightened whimpers from the children clinging to her back but, somehow, she made it to the top.

"Shh, it's alright." Prying the crying tot's fingers from around her throat, she set the boy beside his sister and offered them a small sip of a healing potion. "We've just got to go a little farther, okay?"

She knew it was likely a lie, but it did the trick. With solemn nods, the children followed after her, holding tight to her hands as she edged along the narrow ledge from which the castle walls rose. Her time studying Toril's map had not been in vain; a few hundred feet ahead, the ledge widened slightly as a small mountain stream poured through a narrow grate in the wall.

Nissilât sent the two children through the iron gates, watching as their small forms squeezed between the iron bars across the entrance, before beginning her own climb up the castle walls. She was tired and weary, her hands cold and bloodied, but it was a far easier climb now that she didn't have two children cutting off her windpipe and she made it up safely.

There was no one on the walls to greet her as she pulled herself over the parapet, with the frightened villagers huddled in the courtyard and what remained of Toril's men grouped around the gate as they struggled to erect hurried barricades.

She slid down the wall unseen and hurried over to the grate, relaxing as she spotted the two very wet children huddled against the wall, their lips turning blue as they chattered in the cold, mountain wind. "Here." Grabbing a blanket out of her bag, she wrapped it around them before scooping them up in her arms and running toward the villagers.

"Tōrîl? Has anyone seen Commander Tōrîl?"

The villagers stared at her mutely as she approached, too in shock to formulate a response. With a sigh of exasperation, she paused, searching the walls and gates for any sign of the commander, but she didn't see him. He must be inside, she decided, and turned back to the villagers. "Get up, and follow me inside - it isn't safe out here."

Less than a third turned to follow her toward the keep, many lost in a world of their own as they stared blankly at the ground, or wept in huddled masses. She tried again, bellowing at the top of her lungs, and gathered a few more around her - and then she noticed a familiar red haze begin to manifest on the wall above the gate. "Hurry!" Throwing the children over her shoulder, she turned and ran toward the keep, not pausing to see if any were following her.

She burst through the donjon's doors a few seconds later, nearly tripping as she bowled into the impromptu barricades the guards were still assembling in front of them.

"Nissilât?!" a familiar voice yelled at her. "I thought you died in the village-"

She spoke over him. "The mage is here, Tōrîl; he's inside the gates."

"Kruvas̆." His hand lashed out, punching the stone wall next to him with an audible crack, although it was the rock rather than his fist that gave way. Then his shoulders slumped, the anger seeming to drain out of him as quickly as it had erupted. "I had a feeling that would happen," he admitted. His eyes were laced with grim determination as he looked up. "Damqa's waiting near the tunnel entrance; take her and whoever else you can, and get out of here."

"And what about you?" she asked. "You know you can't defeat him."

"I know," he agreed, but paused as bloodcurdling howls echoed from the courtyard outside. "Kruvas̆, he's already started," he swore, unsheathing his sword. "Keep her safe, Nissilât," he begged before running toward the door.

She hesitated for a moment, tempted to run after him, until she felt the children shift in her arms. I have to keep them safe. "If you want to live, follow me," she yelled at the handful of villagers who followed her into the keep.

More joined her wake as she ran through the halls - maids and servants and even a few soldiers who had likely abandoned their post, and when she reached the entrance to the tunnel, she found Damqa waiting where he'd had said.

"Tōrîl?" The hope in the girl's face dimmed as Nissilât rounded the corner, accompanied by her small group of refugees. "Where's Tōrîl?"

Ignoring the girl's question, she grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down the steep stairs after her, determined not to let the man's sacrifice go to waste. They had just reached the fork in the tunnel when the shaking began. Streams of dirt and small rocks poured from the ceiling as the earth buckled and began to break, and Nissilât realized, with a flesh of horror, that she might have led them from one doom to another.

I- She froze at the fork in the road, unsure where to go, but, surprisingly, it was Damqa who snapped her out of her shock.

"Come on, the sanctum's our only chance."

They ran, they fell, they scrambled through the rapidly collapsing tunnel as the world around them shook. Some fell, screaming, into sudden fissures that opened in the floor, while others were trapped behind them as the ceiling caved in, but there was nothing she could do but keep running.

And then she spotted a dim light ahead, the dull blue glow of the enchanted orbs that illuminated the entrance to the unfinished sanctum. She sprinted faster, dodging falling boulders, leaping over piles of rubble as she threw herself through the door. The ground continued to quake as she passed through the other side, but unlike the tunnels, the sanctum had been built to withstand even the Fey, and the great hall within remained unharmed. They were safe, at least as long as one ignored the fact that they'd likely just been buried in. One problem at a time.