Chapter XXI: Of the Sick and Tired

Rykoshet’s boots stopped short in the dusty hills of Sauromugue Champaigne as he cast a warning arm out behind him, the others coming to a halt as well. Slowly, they all crouched down close to the ground, the cover from the rise of earth giving them some protection as they looked to the skies overhead, waiting as overhead, a demon on the wing soared by. They had traveled for two days to reach this point, the trek across the Meriphataud Mountains a taxing journey they had been scarce prepared for. Unable to use the main trails for fear of being discovered, they had been given no choice but to hike across the mountains themselves, and now, as they finally reached the lower ground of the Champaigne, the team of Those Guys dispatched to investigate the survivors of Jeuno had found that the winged fiends were still active in the area, probably searching for the same thing they were.

As demons actually saw better at night than during in sunlit hours, this meant the previous evening had been spent huddled against the ground, with no fire for warmth or movement allowed. When day broke they had traveled on cautiously, eyes constantly on the sky. Rykoshet had been unable to rest since they began, finding his dreams troubled and restless, and staved off sleep now as they cautiously trudged onwards. He kept hearing someone calling out to him, but could not see a face to match the voice, only a sense of urgency, and the dreadful lurking of some ominous presence in the background . . .

Liyah was by his side, and Danienne and Decay as well. Fated had gone on ahead to scout the area, and every few minutes the glint from his shield caught the sunlight, signaling that the coast was clear for them to advance. Thus they made their way across towards Garliage Citadel, the words of the dying Lieutenant Raidom the only guarantee they had that the trip would be worth it. Konstantine, the final member of their rescue group, was trailing behind, having difficulty keeping up with the rest of them. She had refused any assistance, however, and when necessary, had sprinted to keep up with the group. Rykoshet grew worried as he looked at them; if they pushed themselves too hard getting there, they might be unable to lend the aid they had promised they would. There was no turning back now, though. They had committed to this journey, and would see it through to the end.

“We’re getting close,” Fated informed them when they caught up to him. “I recognize this area from survival training back in the military. The entrance to the Citadel should be less than a mile from here.”

“Okay,” Rykoshet responded, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. He shook his head once, fighting off the advances of an exhausted state, and then cast his gaze towards the sky, wary of demons. “We don’t know what we’re going to be up against in there, so we should be prepared for anything.”

“Rykoshet,” Decay said, resting on one knee as he looked out over the horizon, “we need to rest. This is going to be impossible in this state.”

The Elvaan shook his head, though he could feel his body struggling to agree. “We’re too close, Decay,” he insisted, looking out towards the direction Fated had been leading them, “if we stop now we might lose the daylight resting. We’ll be able to take a breather inside the Citadel. If the demons knew the survivors were in there, they wouldn’t be scouring the Champaigne looking for them out here.”

“You’re going to kill yourself if you don’t sleep, Rykoshet.” Danienne said warningly, to which Liyah gave an affirming nod. “We all know what the Citadel has become. If you don’t let yourself take a break – “

Rykoshet vehemently shook his head, warding off her words with his armored hands. “I made it through Tiamat and Oztroja, I’m not letting a hike do me in. Let’s keep going.” Her warning had gotten through, though. He did know what was likely to be waiting for them in Garlaige Citadel.

Garlaige Citadel was a nest of the undead.

Those who had fallen in the attack launched by the Orcs decades before during the Crystal War had been doomed to walk forever amongst the ruins of the Citadel they had been attempting to construct. Amongst all the other terrible monsters which roamed free within the underground chambers, those fallen soldiers were the worst, never ceasing in ther lust to drag all living things down into the pit of despair with them. The undead were never a pleasant sight to begin with, but with the knowledge that in life they had been noble soldiers of the San d’Orian army, trying to bring about an end to a terrible war, it became that much more painful to raise sword against them. No matter what happened with the refugees, it was clear from the outset that this would not be a pleasant journey.

With only an hour or so of sunlight remaining to them, Rykoshet urged Fated onwards, and the rest sat in wait for him to give another all clear signal. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed when he felt Danienne roughly shoving him, and realized he had nodded off right there in the dirt, while sitting up. The sun was low, but there was a distinct glint on the horizon. With a start he jumped to his feet, momentarily confused, but managed to regain his bearings quickly. He had heard it again, even in the brief period he had dozed; a voice, and something like a cold wind blowing by, calling his name.

“I’m okay, I’m good,” he said, brushing off Danienne’s hand on his shoulder, “let’s get moving.”

Sure enough, the group continued onwards, and when they had crossed the last bit of intervening distance, up rocky hill and sand-strewn trail, the ruins of Garlaige Citadel stood around them. Broken towers and fragmented sections of once-massive stone walls decorated the area where once had been the massive Elvaan fortress, a steadfast monument to the power of the San d’Orian kingdom. As had much of the area around Jeuno, it had fallen in the Crystal War, and now lay abandoned to the elements. Not even the skinks which called the area home would venture too close to the entrance of the blighted black rock, it’s basalt halls home to a heavy curse which none would willingly enter into given the choice. The survivors of Jeuno had not been given one, but if they had sent Raidom out searching for help, they were still desperately seeking other options.

The entrance to Garlaige itself was little more now than a hollowed out tunnel in the face of the mountainous ruins around it. The pillars which had supported it stood now only because they had collapsed in upon themselves, creating an unintentional brace against the wall. Only the stone pathway suddenly appearing in the dirt gave any indication that the structure had not been a result of natural causes. It was a dark, brooding structure, and from within, echoes of beating wings could be heard, stirred up by the swarms of bats which called the structure home. Under darkened skies, the small band of Those Guys took their first steps into the blackrock fortress, and immediately, like an aura enveloping them, they felt the oppressive nature of the dark place into which they ventured.

“I don’t like it here at all,” Liyah said, clutching her robes tightly around herself as she surveyed the dank, cobweb-filled pathway down into the Citadel. It felt chilly inside, different from normal cold somehow. Even through his armor, Rykoshet could feel goosebumps crawling across his flesh, and suddenly he seemed very alert, as if just stepping through the threshold to this place had awoken his adrenal glands. One look around told him the others were similarly on edge; Danienne had drawn her scythe and gripped the shaft nervously, as Decay’s eyes darted back and forth across the walls, searching for hidden movement. Konstantine hung tightly behind them, peeking her head out from behind Danienne, her large eyes wide at whatever it was her magical senses were picking up around them. Rykoshet could feel it himself, if only slightly. Something lingered here, something dark, and angry. The sooner they could leave this place, the better.

“We should . . . let’s go down some, and . . . “

“Rykoshet.” Danienne said gently, but forcefully. “We’re here. Stop. Take a break. I’ll go in and scout the area, Liyah can come with me. Everyone else, your job is to make sure Rykoshet closes his eyes while I’m gone, is that clear?”

“Dani, I . . . “ Rykoshet trailed off before he could even finish his own sentence. He realized it was taking everything he had in him to keep his legs from buckling. The rush upon entering the Citadel had faded quickly, and left him even more painfully exhausted than before. Slowly slumping against the wall, he felt the darkness tugging at him, and let out a slow breath as he slid down into a sitting position. He was unconscious almost before he hit the ground.

Danienne smirked, shaking her head. “I’ll be gone for exactly one hour,” she told them, “if I’m not back by then, something has happened.”

Decay let out a discontented growl, folding his arms in front of himself as he propped his back up against the grimy stone walls of Garlaige. “I would really like to raise complaint about this entire thing,” he grumbled, “but honestly, what could be worse than the demons?”


“Nothing could be worse than these demons,” Tyrian spat, looking out at the shimmering field of energy encompassing Heaven’s Tower. Meowolf stood at his side, fists clenched as he stared at the demon hordes in the air, and the strange, stony-looking Yagudo on the ground. For weeks Windurst had withstood this siege, being able to spare only Titania to go out and gather aid, and her only being able to find their small crew. Sinti had gone off with the mages they had brought to help Yasuchika, to tell them everything she had tried to no avail in her efforts to wake the Tarutaru up. Klades was already down on the ground, holding the line whenever a breach appeared in the shield until the wizards could restore it. Meowolf and Tyrian had stayed in upper reaches of Heaven’s Tower at Titania’s request, as she went off to request audience with the Star Sibyl herself.

“Sickening.” Meowolf grunted, looking out from his perch across the battlefield. Night had fallen across Windurst, which meant the demons were out in full force. Thick, black swarms of them crashed into the barrier around Heaven’s Tower in the air as on the ground, assaulting the magical force of the combined wizards of Windurst as they resisted the attempt to raze their ancestral home to the ground. Every so often the demons would break through, and their attempts would be met by a swarm of arrows released by the Mithran Rangers stationed throughout the tree. However, as time had passed, the demons had shown no signs of relenting, and the constant rotations between the Windurstians in their struggle to survive was beginning to take a growing toll as rifts in the barrier appeared more and more frequently, and increasingly the arrows which flew were slower and slower to meet the demons which came in. The magic of Windurst was close to being at an end.

Tyrian nodded in response, drawing back his bow string. They had been in Windurst for approximately twelve hours; Tyrian had slept for seven of them, bathed while his clothes were being mended, and then hastened to the armory to restock his arrows. Titania’s weapon of choice was a crossbow, so she had traveled the entire expanse of Sarutabaruta essentially unarmed, and was visibly relieved at the chance to replenish her ammunition. They had both had their fill of demons and the sight of them, and Tyrian’s fingers had been itching for the chance to loose an arrow through the chests of his winged targets. The events of Attowha Chasm were still fresh in their minds, and neither would hesitate to do anything to avenge their fallen friends.

That included Yasuchika. The mage was something of a minor celebrity in Windurst, having been a popular researcher of the Manustary before his adventures in Horutoto Ruins and Toraimarai Canal eventually gave way to a life of widespread roaming with Those Guys. His sudden return had heralded great attention, and Captain Dieggo, the leader of Windurst’s 4th Knight Squadron, personally escorted him to the medical ward. If anyone could figure out what was wrong with Yasuchika, it would be them. For now though, he remained pale and increasingly weak, still having never once opened his eyes since the events at Attowha. In these times, every life counted.

Tyrian turned as the door behind them creaked open, and, wearing a new green cloak over her earth-toned doublet, Titania strode out to join them. Her feline features were traced with newly-found determination – she knew as well as anyone that she had not been expected to return from her mission alive. With her new allies in tow, she had surprised everyone, and perhaps now, hopes were just a little higher than they had been.

“The Star Sibyl needs some time to prepare,” Titania said without preamble, “but she wants to discuss things with you soon. Think you can keep yourselves busy for a day or so?”

Giving a grunt as he looked up towards the sky, Tyrian nodded. “I think we’ll find a way. Why, though? What’s going on?”

Titania shook her head. “I wasn’t told, only that she and the ministry are discussing options on how to end the siege, and they think you can help. They’re still talking over their strategy though.”

“Huh,” Meowolf said, hands gripping his sword as he watched the shield shimmer and surge against the demon hordes outside of it. “They might want to hurry.”

Titania nodded, then went on. “There’s more,” she said, causing them both to turn and regard her curiously. “I stopped by the medical ward on the way here. They think we know what’s wrong with Yasuchika.”

“What?” Tyrian exclaimed, taking a step forward. “What are you talking about?”

“He was struck by the demons before you pulled him out of that rock pile,” Titania explained, recounting the details as they had been given to the healers who had wanted to know everything that had happened, “and so they began investigating the wound. It had been healed over by Sinti, but they found residual traces of the magic still lingering.”

“What are you trying to say? The demons put something inside of Yasuchika?” Meowolf’s eyes blazed at the prospect, and his voice rose with each syllable as he felt fury welling up inside of him.

“Not in him,” Titania corrected, shaking her head, “around him. He’s been cursed, and without a powerful enough counter-curse, there’s no way to wake him up.”

“So?” Tyrian said, as if the rest of the sentence was obvious. “We’re in Windurst, there must be someone with enough magic here to dispel the curse and bring Yasuchika back to us.”

“It’s not that simple,” the Mithra replied. “With the barrier up, almost everyone is dedicated to maintaining it. To divert power for anything else, even this . . . we just can’t do it right now.”

“What?” Meowolf demanded, face curling in anger. “No one will help him, even when you know what’s wrong?! There’s not a single mage in all of Windurst powerful enough to do anything to help a friend? To help one of your own?”

“Meowolf, we – “ Titania started, but stopped short as a new sound entered the room.

“Ohhohohohohoho!”

The three of them turned, surprised, as laughter filled the air. Light and lilting, but with a twinge of arrogance laced in, it was also so loud that they were all taken aback to see the sound emitted from the person of one small, black-robed and bespectacled Tarutaru woman, who had moments before appeared in the doorway.

“Concern for you friend, now that’s an admirable trait, but this lack of faith gives me cause to berate. Saying anything is beyond my power, that’s just a sin. Sit back and watch, boys. The doctor is in.”