Paragon of Destruction

"Can’t sleep either?"

Stoneheart’s voice was weary as he sat down next to Arran, and from the way he moved, it was obvious that his injuries were hindering him.

Arran shrugged. "We’ll be departing soon enough, anyway," he said. "How are your injuries?"

"Not too bad," Stoneheart replied, picking at one of his bandages. "That food of yours helped, too. How did you get so much food with Natural Essence, anyway?"

"Just a bit of luck," Arran said, unwilling to elaborate.

"You seem to have a lot of that." As Stoneheart spoke, Arran thought he could hear some bitterness in the tall novice’s voice.

"I’ve had my share of luck," Arran agreed, "both good and bad."

"I could do with some of the former," Stoneheart said dejectedly. "Ever since I crossed the border, it’s been one disaster after another. I never thought it would be like this."

Finally, Arran couldn’t take it anymore. When he first met Stoneheart, the novice had been annoyingly confident and boastful, speaking in grand terms about the part he expected to play in the struggle between the Sixth Valley’s factions.

Now, after a few disastrous months, it almost seemed like his spirit had been broken, and the boasts were long gone. Yet although Arran didn’t mind seeing the arrogance go, it now seemed to have been replaced with self-pity.

Between Arran’s worries about Snowcloud, their group’s dire situation, and the bloodlust he still felt simmering within himself, the tall novice’s complaints were something he could not bear.

"You think you haven’t been lucky?" he asked, keeping his voice calm.

"Look at me," Stoneheart replied flatly. "Look at what happened these past few months. Do you see any luck in that?"

Arran spoke softly, but even so, he wasn’t able to fully keep the anger from his voice. "You were trained in magic since childhood, given all the resources you ever needed to grow strong, and never wanted for mages to spar against." He gave Stoneheart a cold stare. "You think you’re unlucky?"

"Maybe I had a good start," Stoneheart said, raising his voice, "but my luck over the past months has more than made up for that."

Arran glanced at him, then shook his head. "You created your own bad luck."

"I couldn’t have known things would go this way," Stoneheart said, looking flustered.

"You could have." Arran no longer tried to spare the novice’s feelings. "You knew the region was chaotic, and you knew there was conflict between the factions. Yet you chose to cross the border with an entire army of commoners, believing you were strong enough to protect them."

Stoneheart listened to Arran wordlessly, his forehead creased in thought as he took in the words.

"With so many, you never had the chance to choose your battles," Arran continued. "Anyone who wanted to could easily find you, and for a fight on their terms. Amaya knew she couldn’t defeat you alone, but you made sure she wouldn’t have to, because you thought it wise to carry around the biggest damn target in the entire bloody region.

"How could it have gone any other way? Did you think your enemies would just sit around and wait for you to face them one by one? Did you think they would happily offer themselves up to further your glory? You could have known, and you should have known."

When Arran finished speaking, Stoneheart remained silent for a time, a troubled expression on his face.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice soft and unsteady. "You’re right," he said. "I was one of the strongest novices in the Valley — not a monster like Snowcloud, but far stronger than most. I thought real battles would be like the duels back in the Valley."

"You’d never been in a real fight before?" Arran asked, finally beginning to understand something he should have realized long ago.

Stoneheart shook his head. "Not one with death on the line. The closest I’d experienced were duels, and I’ve always been good at those. I thought my skill there would help me here." He laughed cheerlessly. "You can see how well that went."

Arran sighed, his anger at Stoneheart now gone.

For all his talk and bluster back in Hillfort, the tall novice had crossed the border with less experience than Arran had when he traveled to Fulai City. Small wonder all his plans had turned to disaster.

"The only way forward is to learn from your mistakes," Arran said. "I’ve made plenty myself, these past few years, but maybe I’m slightly less of an idiot now than I was when I left home."

The tension broken, Stoneheart chuckled, though without much conviction. "I suppose I have plenty of learning material, then."

"Don’t we all," Arran replied. "But maybe you’ll have a chance to learn yet."

Unless, of course, Snowcloud had been captured. Or the raiders caught up with them before she returned. But Arran didn’t say that out loud — there was no point in further bringing down Stoneheart’s confidence.

They broke camp when the first light of day appeared, setting off after a brief meal.

From the very first step, it was clear that this day’s march would be slower than the previous day’s. Even if none of them complained about the pace, the villagers were obviously weary and sore from the day before, and the recruits weren’t much better off.

The thickest part of the forest was now behind them, it seemed, with the undergrowth in the area less dense and the trees sparser. Yet while this made walking easier, it also meant there was less shade to be had, and with the sun bearing down on them, the group moved sluggishly.

Even the wind seemed to have turned against them. Early in the morning, a strong northeastern gale had appeared, and throughout the day, it blew against them as they walked, not letting up for even a moment.

Had it been a cool breeze, they might have welcomed it, but the wind was anything but refreshing. Hot and thick, like air being blown from a furnace, it only added to the heat from the sun. Arran himself had little trouble withstanding it, but his companions visibly suffered with every step.

Still, they had no choice but to continue, and they marched in silence through the day. Several times, they briefly paused to drink and rest, but even so, there were many in the group who struggled to keep up.

When they made camp late that evening, Arran could see the exhaustion in his companions’ every movement. Villagers and recruits alike, they all seemed at their limit. Although the children had the worst of it, the adults weren’t much better off.

Yet they would have to continue their journey the next day, and Arran already knew their pace would be slower still. With their pursuers being Body Refiners, that meant any lead they held would be short-lived.

As they prepared to rest, Stoneheart approached Arran, a worried look in his eyes. "Kara hasn’t returned," he said. "She left this morning, but she still hasn’t come back."

It took Arran a moment to recall the name, but then he remembered it was the young female recruit he and Snowcloud had encountered in the village. It seemed there was something between Stoneheart and her, though Arran did not know what exactly — he could hardly see the tall novice falling for the boyish recruit. Either way, it did not matter now.

"Maybe she’s fled," he said. "Figured her chances of escaping were better by herself."

Although he didn’t really believe it, it wasn’t impossible. Given their current situation, a lone scout would have a better chance of escape than the entire group. If she’d fled, he couldn’t blame her.

Stoneheart shook his head. "She wouldn’t. Not her."

Despite the certainty in his voice, Arran could see doubt in his eyes. But there was no point in discussing it — they would sleep for some hours, then set off again.

The next morning, Arran found himself disheartened at the state of their group. Tired as the others were, even after a night of rest, they would have trouble getting through the day ahead, much less what lay beyond.

Yet there was nothing for it but to walk, even if the sun shone more fiercely than the day before and the wind had only grown stronger. The further they went, the better their chances would be.

It was almost midday when one of the scouts returned, and Arran was surprised to see that it was Kara — the recruit Stoneheart was so worried about. It seemed she hadn’t abandoned them after all.

As she neared the group, Arran saw that there was a shallow wound on her shoulder, and her expression was both weary and fearful.

He quickly approached her, reaching her at the same time as Stoneheart.

"You’re okay!" Stoneheart began, relief and worry both clear on his face.

"No time for that," she said, breathing heavily. "I found them. There are two raiding parties about three hours behind us, each several hundred strong."

Arran cursed loudly at the news. Even if Snowcloud had succeeded in reaching Stoneheart’s uncle, it would be at least another day before help arrived. With two raiding parties only a few hours behind them, they wouldn’t get that.

"We need to delay them," he said.

If the raiding party was just hours behind them, a few hours’ delay might mean the raiding party wouldn’t catch up until the next day. Body Refiners or not, they wouldn’t be able to travel at night — not without half the party getting lost, at least.

"I’ll stay behind," Stoneheart said, his expression grave. "I can’t stop them, but I can hold them back for a time."

"You can’t—" Kara began.

"It won’t work," Arran cut in. "Even if you don’t get overwhelmed immediately, you’ll run out of Essence in less than a quarter hour. After that, you’ll be overrun. You might kill a hundred of them before falling, but you won’t buy us enough time to make a difference."

Stoneheart’s face fell, but he didn’t question Arran’s assessment, knowing full well that it was true. Any heroic last stand he wanted to make would be a futile gesture at best.

"I have an idea," Arran said. He turned to Kara. "Can you tell me exactly where you last saw them?"

As she began to speak, Arran could feel the bloodlust within him stirring.

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