The Forsaken Hero

I shrank back, tail curling around Luke’s leg. Fyren meant no ill will by his question; I could feel as much in the bond, but it stung like the harshest accusation.

”I did, but...I didn’t know what I was seeing. What I couldn’t see.” I took a breath, looking up. ”But R’lissea can see life force, and I can see mana. It wasn’t until we put them together that we realized what was happening.”

”I knew it was too easy,” Luke cursed, anger creeping into his voice. ”Damn that sneaky bastard of a hero. This was the last one before we struck at the capital. And here we thought we were boxing him in, taking his armies from him one by one. If only we’d realized sooner, we wouldn’t have played right into his hands.”

”His plan was never to face us with his armies, then,” Fyren said darkly. ”He must understand the qualitative difference between our fodder and his. Even the weakest scion can handle several shambling Risen, much less the evolved demons.”

”He’s been saving his Liches, too. Perhaps that’s where all this power is going. There’s no way he, a mortal, could take it all himself. Not so much, so quickly. Not even I can, as we’ve seen from the shard,” Luke said.

”Does the elvish king know?” Fyren asked.

”R’lissea went to speak with him. Would you please inform Incinderus, Zephyriss, and Bethiv?”

”Already done. The demon lords, at least. Incincderus is with the Commander now, overseeing the battle as we speak. He’ll know shortly.”

”Let’s get back to the ship,” Luke said, picking me up. ”I have a feeling the king’s going to be revising plans for tomorrow’s assault.”

This time, as we ascended to the ship, I barely felt the altitude. Fable would never drop me, but there was a difference between clinging and being clung to. I trusted Luke’s arms far more than I trusted my own strength.

Just ten minutes later, a war council convened beneath the deck of the Seraph. Aerion, His generals, and Selena stood on one side of the cargo-bay currently serving as the strategy room, while Bethiv, Fyren, Incinderus, and my friends were on the other. R’lissea stood in the middle, explaining all that we’d discovered and the implications they held for our assault.

”So, to be clear, every Risen we’ve killed has only made the undead hero stronger?” Esvitt asked, his green and blue eyes narrowed.

R’lissea looked at him, her face softening a touch. ”We don’t know exactly how it’s going to manifest, but yet. Xiv thinks most of the power will be distributed amongst the Liches.”

”The liches being the Risen who have no corporeal form,” Aerion said, glancing around at his advisors. Many of them hadn’t yet personally faced the Risen, being involved in matters of the capital. They shared nods, expressions grim.

”The dragon’s still the biggest problem. The Oracle only held it barely, and that’s before it’s fed more black mist,” General Whitemarsh said. ”Is it possible it might reach the ninth-level?”

”Given its original form’s strength, that’s entirely possible,” Fyren said. ”But I think not.”

”Why is that?”

Fyren looked around the council, his lip curling. ”Because we would all be dead now. None of you can comprehend the power of a ninth-level monster, not even you, archmage,” he said, nodding at Selena. ”If the dragon really had broken through, the undead hero would have come against us himself already.”

”Speculation, but still some relief,” Bethiv muttered.

”So what can we expect?” Aerion asked.

There were a few mutterings, but no one put forward any concrete answers. Slowly, one by one, eyes turned to me.

”I think it’s time you told us what you’ve seen, Xiv,” R’lissea said, giving me an encouraging smile.

I squeezed Luke’s hand before letting go, joining her in the middle. ”Please, nothing I’ve seen can be relied on perfectly. But I do know that Connor created six liches, not including the dragon. Two of them are elves, created from mages I don’t know the names of, but were lost in the initial defense of the border. The others are human, taken from among the strongest beings of the eastern kingdoms.”

”That’s seven, plus the undead hero himself,” Aerion said.

”Well, six, technically. Fyren killed one of them at Brackencliff,” I said.

”I was under the impression they could not be killed,” Commander Whitemarsh said.

”You can’t,” Fyren rumbled, staring imperiously at the aged elf.

The elf returned his stare, wearing a deep frown. Before the tension could thicken more, I broke in, tail twitching lightly.

”They can’t be killed in battle, not like the other Risen. They will be at least eighth-level, and able to take any form, or use any ability they had in life. But each one is tied to an artifact of sorts.”

I waved my hand, casting a sixth-level spell I’d learned from Emlica. My mana filled the air around my knees, forming an illusory three-dimensional map of the capital of Ornth. It was constructed from my memories and visions, with dramatic inconsistencies in details from region to region, depending on my familiarity with it. The palace, for instance, was crystal clear, down to each individual brick, while others were vague swathes of city that carried the mere suggestion of buildings.

”Connor’s hidden the artifacts around the city, positioned here, here, and here.” I walked through the map, gesturing at some of the more clearly defined places on the map. Each was a tower, garrison, or keep, with strong fortifications. The map dispersed around my feet as I moved, and formed up again once I’d passed. ”They will be heavily defended, but if you break through and destroy the artifact, the lich will perish.”

”And what of when they’re defeated? What happens to their power?” Aerion asked.

R’lissea answered. ”There’s no reason to believe it won’t act like any other Risen, returning to Connor.”

”So every one we kill makes the rest all the stronger,” Bethiv mused.

”Then we should strike them all at once. That means six teams of our strongest warriors, while the rest of our forces engage the entirety of the Risen horde, keeping them at bay,” Aerion said.

”We can insert the strike teams with skyships, using the mana cannons for cover as they penetrate the fortifications. And the rest can serve as a distraction with the rest of the army, drawing away the liches before we strike,” Commander Whitemarsh said. He turned to me, ”Can you extend this map at all? I would like to see the surrounding terrain.”

I hesitated, then nodded, waving my hand. The illusion scaled down, growing on the fringes. My memories of the surrounding terrain were even sketchier than that of the city, but it was enough to get an idea.

”These plains, here,” General Whitemarsh said. ”We can begin the approach here. The skyships can hide behind these peaks and advance once we’ve made contact.”

I stepped out of the map, returning to Luke’s side as the planning began in earnest. It was fascinating, watching them talk, and comparing them to the leaders of the Divine Armies I’d seen in my visions. There was no competition or bickering amongst them, as was common to the fathers and generals at the Divine Throne. It wasn’t that they disagreed, but whenever there was a conflict, they explained their reasoning, putting it to the others to decide the best course.

Even more surprising was that Incinderus elected to participate, brusquely criticizing several of their decisions. Not just about the Devoted, but their tactics in general, and where he foresaw weak points. I couldn’t make heads or tails as to whether his points were valid, or why exactly the elves’ plans were wrong, but the generals listened intently, nodding along to some points, and shaking their heads at others.

”I believe we’ve been neglecting the most important point,” Aerion said as the council quieted. ”We can lay every plan to destroy the Risen and their liches, but unless we can kill the undead hero and his dragon, our fight will be in vain.”

”I wish I knew a ninth-level combat spell,” Selena muttered. ”I could wipe this entire city off the map, hero and liches be damned.”

”I’ll handle Connor,” R’lissea said, looking at the central palace with a firm gaze. ”I won’t let him keep hurting people like this.”

”Can you do that?” I asked, collapsing my hands as she looked at me. ”I mean, well, last time...”

”We’ll go, too,” Korra said, holding Gayron’s hand. She shot R’lissea a smile. ”Just in case.”

Gayron nodded. ”We’re all eighth-level. Even if the Black Mist strengthens him, we should be able to handle a single hero.”

”And the dragon?” Aerion asked.

I glanced at Luke, who looked back at me. Something passed between us, and I nodded, turning to Aerion.

”I’ll handle it.”

”Is that wise? You’ll be expending much of your mana projecting the Effulgent Dawn throughout the battle,” Bethiv said, frowning. ”We can’t risk losing it should you be cornered.”

”She meant we will handle it,” Luke said, folding his arms.

I nodded. ”Fable will help. And Borealis. We can do it.”