The Forsaken Hero

Chapter 1123: Behind Enemy Lines

Roann was a sprawling metropolis, taking up mile after mile of flat, fertile land. It rivaled the size of Blacksand’s greatest cities, serving as the crown jewel of the Kingdom of Radia. It had several layers of walls, aged more the closer they got to the city center, where countless manors, palaces, and other noble edifices adorned the skyline.

Borealis flew high over the city. It was quiet in the early morning eyes, before dawn had brushed the sky with gentle gray. The stars glittered overhead, cold and morose, and a chill winter breeze swept through his glittering feathers, biting through my wards and dress. I shivered, drawing closer to Korra, who wrapped an arm around me.

Our team was small, just me, Fyren, and the heroes. And Gayron, but at this point, I saw him more as a hero than an apostle. Grace had shown some of her power by wrapping Borealis’s enormous form in a cloak of wind and cloud, combining with Silent Stars to obscure us from prying eyes. I held my aura as close as possible, but we moved too quickly for more than traces of it to gather.

"There," Korra said, pointing as they passed over the heart of the city.

Borealis dipped, causing my stomach to rise into my throat. We broke through a few thinly clumped clouds, catching small, crystalline snow flurries in our wake. The city here was sparse, with small farms cut into plots by narrow roads. The only sign it was inhabited was the little smoke trails that rose from every chimney. On the darkened horizon, the gleaming spires of the Divine Throne rose just a few miles distant. Bobbing lights moved across the landscape between us, marking patrols of soldiers, and a gentle hum reached my ears from skyships hovering somewhere nearby.

Borealis’s talons touched down in a fallow field, cushioned by a wave of his mana. Korra lifted me to my feet, and then higher, ignoring my protests as she leaped off his back, leading the others to the ground. Her boots crunched in the frost-ridden earth, and I stumbled as she put me down, my boots sinking an inch into the ground.

The fate demon condensed, shrinking to the size of an eagle before flying to me. I caught him on my arm, whispering thanks as I stroked his wing. He preened, rubbing his head against my cheek.

Despite the months I spent on the Divine Throne, this was my first time setting foot in Roann. The closest I’d gotten was at the colosseum, a few miles to the south, on the edge of the mountains that hemmed the eastern fringes and hung as dark curtains behind the Divine Throne. It was in those mountains that the World Shard waited for us.

The first thing I did upon gathering my bearings was open a gate to Haven. The Star Guard were the first through, accompanied by an elite team of sixth-level Fatesworn. The latter moved out, securing the nearby farms. There were a few screams, but they were silenced quickly, and in less than a minute, their inhabitants were gathered into a single farmstead and placed under guard. My heart ached at the sight of barefooted children being dragged across the crusted earth.

Commander Bethiv and his strategists and officers set up a command position where Borealis had first landed, using the grooves of his talons as the initial framework for a series of trenches and banks to fortify it.

"Why this place?" I asked as more and more Fatesworn emerged, spreading out in tight, organized formations.

It was Commander Bethiv who answered, leaving his men to brief us. "Our scouts located this place a few hours ago. It’s outside of the major population centers, and only a quarter mile from both of the main throughways connecting the Divine Throne to inner Roann. Any reinforcements will have to move through here."

"What do you need us to do?" Korra asked.

He gestured vaguely toward the shining towers. "When the bastards come, kill them. Or at the very least, stop them from engaging. We’re not expecting much support; according to the Lord of Ash, the heroes will undoubtedly attempt to engage. There is no real danger to them, with the Divine Throne providing guaranteed safety if things get hairy, so they’ll undoubtedly try to trim as much of our forces as possible."

"Are we certain they’re there?" R’lissea asked.

"Yes. The intelligence we gathered from the War Hero before he fell unconscious made it clear that the church doesn’t allow them the opportunity to stay anywhere else. It’s another one of those politics. Don’t want their loyalty wavering."

"That’s true enough," Grace said, folding her arms with a scowl. "I didn’t have the presence of mind to ask any questions while under the Heart Crest, but even with that, the only time I was allowed to leave was on a mission against a demon gate or horde, and even then, there was strict supervision to make sure I didn’t get sidetracked."

"So we dig in, and hope they don’t just fly over us?" Korra asked.

"No, we’ve prepared measures against the skyships, too. Every Fatesworn fifth level and above has learned a flying art or spell with at least basic mastery," Fyren said, looking at Bethiv, who nodded. "The fortifications are to give us a place to shelter from their mana cannons, and to weather the shockwaves of the battle. If the battle gets heated, and seventh and eighth-level arts and spells start being thrown around, we’d suffer significant casualties from proximity alone."

"I didn’t think you cared about casualties," Gayron said, glancing at the fire demon.

Fyren snorted. "War is a numbers game. Most hordes have near infinite fodder that can be discarded with ease, but even the weakest of the Fatesworn are no fodder. It would be foolish to throw their lives away for nothing."

"A principle I second," Bethiv agreed.

Korra shrugged. "Whatever works. How do we know if we’ve won? There’s no real objective except defending the hordes’ flank, right?"

"Once Roann falls, the horde will turn its attention to the Divine Throne, and we’d best get out of the way," Fyren answered. "Unless the Apostle has unusual discipline over his horde, there’s no telling what they can do when so close to their prey."

Bethiv gave a few more directives to the others, but I drew back, my gaze moving again to the Divine Throne. I wasn’t supposed to participate in the battle, and especially not draw any attention to myself. There were too many unknown variables, and with everyone else distracted, I was too vulnerable to expose myself.

A soldier’s frantic voice caught my attention, and I turned, seeing a young elvish mage approaching. The Star Guard gave him a once-over before allowing him close enough to report.

"My Lady, you need to see this," he said, panting lightly. Fourth level. Young, but capable, and with a promising future, if his soul was anything to go by.

I nodded at Luxxa, and we followed toward the farmstead where the nearby Radians were imprisoned. A mage’s squad had been set as the guards, and it was immediately clear to me why they’d sent him. The others were sixth-level at the weakest, with two evolved fire demons. Neither were humanoid, with one resembling a fifteen-foot-tall badger with four arms, and a shimmering spirit without a corporeal body.

"What is it?" I asked as they saluted, leading me inside. "Did something....oh."

There were twenty humans within the house, sheltered together under the watchful gaze of the guards. A few children cried in their mother’s arms, while the men stared at us in hatred and distrust. A single man stood, leaning against the wall, glowering at me specifically. His soul was only first level, which in itself was strange, as the demons’ auras alone should have had him trembling. But much more worrying was the thick chain of curses woven around his soul. A heart crest.

"We sent for you as soon as we detected it," the oldest of the soldiers said, a grizzled man who I actually recognized, by face if not by name. He’d been with me since the beginning.

"Liberation," I breathed, waving my hand.

Golden light entwined around the man, and he stiffened, shivering as the curse burned away. When the last vestiges were gone, he collapsed to his knees, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Bring him here," I said softly.

The soldiers separated him from the others and dragged him before me before pushing him to his knees. The treatment made me wince, but Luxxa laid a hand on my shoulder, shaking her head when I thought to protest.

"What happened to you? Why were you cursed?" I asked, a lump in my throat. They didn’t need to be so rough.

The man looked up, meeting my gaze. The blood drained from his face, and when his lips parted, nothing came out but a low whine. A few errant stars drifted around him, and he shivered as if they burned.

"Answer her," a soldier said roughly, yanking on his arm.

"Y-You’re...?" His voice cracked. "The filthblood! The betrayer! But how are you here?"

The expressions of the Fatesworn darkened, but I raised my hand, offering a gentle smile. "Yes, that’s true. Please, how did you come to bear a heart crest?’

The man’s hand made it to his chest, curling against his torn shirt. "I...They gave it to all of us. That is, everyone who wouldn’t accept the church’s rule, and the crowning of King Vorinth Nesturo."