This one has two more done, a fourth in progress, and two more planned out. (and as expected, I've yet to do another Wandering Eastward piece).
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Refugee
What had been a trickle of
refugees - a few hundred, perhaps a thousand, each year - had become a torrent.
Each month more than ten thousand braved the journey across the desert,
hundreds dying in the process. It was, unfortunately, their only choice.
The small gap in the mountain
range that split the desert in half was the safest route almost all had to
escape their conquered homeland. Almost sixty years before, the Thrath - a
terrible, warlike people with no love for any but their own - had come from across
the sea and easily conquered all the lands of the peninsula - right up to the
mountains, and the desert.
They were cruel masters, and
even long after the initial invasion many left for the north. Tens of thousands
perished from starvation, overwork, or were killed for the amusement of the
Thrath. Despite the horror, many remained. Some areas were better treated, and
the people were not slaves.
This changed fifty-eight years
after the invasion. A policy of extermination began - all local leaders were replaced
by Thrath. Trades unrelated to war were marginalised, then barred. It seemed
that the Thrath, having ravaged the land, were preparing to move on - and
planning to leave nothing behind. Stories of their former home, over the sea,
confirmed this. A barren island, nothing left at all.
And so, the surviving people of
the southern peninsula fled north. Thrath patrols chased them, but rarely went
far into the desert. Many assumed that the Thrath would follow, but by boat -
around the mountains. Yet, there was a rumour that the Thrath had boats no
longer...
Tadyel sighed. Her life had been
horrible, and hard, in the south - farming grain for the Thrath, like the rest
of her family. It was a menial task, though at least until two years prior they
had eaten well. Since then... They had eaten well, but at great risk. Hiding
grain from the Thrath was enough to have them killed. Many had not been careful
enough, and many others had not been willing to take the risk.
One day, her family had gotten
caught. Her grandparents were put to the sword, and her parents hauled off to
work in a mine. Over time most of her siblings left, hoping to trek across the
desert. Tadyel stayed on. Her stash hadn't been found - and it never was.
Eventually the entire village -
the farmers and the bakers, all that remained - gave up. As one large group -
around two hundred strong - they left in the night and made for the desert,
grain and livestock alongside them. Somehow they made it without being caught
and then, along with stragglers they picked up along the way, they began their
journey.
The two week trip had not been
easy even though they were well supplied. But the had made it through the
uninhabitable parts, and were now in the 'lesser' desert again - inhabitable,
though barely. An oasis saw their water supplies replenished, and their
remaining animals fed. Soon, they would be in the southern most of the
countries above the peninsula - a loose collection of large towns, that had no
real name.
The leaders of the village felt
it would be unsafe to remain so close to the Thrath, as the towns would surely
be easily taken when the time came. They intended to head much further north,
to the safety of a 'real country'. It was an aim shared by most refugees,
although they had heard that the hospitality of the towns was quite welcoming -
with one exception.
That exception was something the
refugees had only heard rumours of. In the desert, likely somewhere in the part
they had now entered, was a hidden fortress. An order of mages and their army
were said to call it home. Their hatred for the Thrath was well-known; their
army had engaged (and destroyed utterly) many Thrath patrols that forayed too
far north.
The fortress would have been a
source of hope for the refugees if it were not for the nature of the army. The
army consisted of the reanimated dead - not the undead, which were (though
uncommon) occasionally encountered. No, the tales told of dead bodies
maintained and supported by strange machinery within armour, a marriage of some
terrible magic to the common sigils.
Terrifyingly, the source of the
bodies was often the refugees themselves. Though scarcely any compared to the
sheer number of refugees heading north, more than a dozen large groups of fifty
or so (and possibly countless smaller groups) had been captured and taken away
by the mages.
It had struck Tadyel as unusual
that everyone knew the fate of the captured refugees - but someone who kept
better track of rumours had told her something quite chilling: the source of
that particular piece of knowledge was one of the mages themselves. He had been
captured by some refugees while sneaking around, and had given his answer to
secure his release. Horrified by the answer they were given, the refugees had
killed him.
Tadyel hoped the rumours were
false, or exaggerated. Or, at the very least, that they wouldn't run into the
army of the mages. They were so close to safety! A life free of the Thrath...
And free of walking, for a while.
She winced as the pain in her
legs and feet jumped to the front of her mind. Tadyel was young, and strong,
compared to many in the village. As such, she had walked the entire journey.
The 'important' villagers rode the horses, and the old, sick or very young rode
in or on the carts. Bastards didn't even give us a couple of days at that
oasis to rest, she thought grumpily.
Despite her tiredness
grumpiness, Tadyel knew that they'd been very lucky. They had only lost three
people on the journey - two of them to an accident, and one to heat stress.
Even their animals had fared well. Compared to the trouble other groups had
faced, they had enjoyed an easy ride.
Her opinion on the matter
rapidly reversed itself when the attack horn sounded up ahead. Shit! Thrath
- no, not here - oh, fuck, she thought. Even before they unburied
themselves from the dunes, Tadyel knew what was coming. The army of the mages.
Dark shapes emerged from the
sand, quickly resolving into heavily armed warriors. Though shaped like humans,
each was fully encased in armour that resembled flat plates of dark stone.
Filling in the gaps between each plate was eerily bright green material. It
looked almost as if it had been placed to emphasise the 'cracks' between
plates, yet had to be what held the armour together. Every last warrior was
armed, most with axes and shields, though a few had swords or spears.
A loud voice came from up ahead,
saying, "WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED AND OUTNUMBERED. SURRENDER, OR FACE
SLAUGHTER."
Tadyel (and most of the other
refugees) crowded towards the front of the column. Tadyel arrived in time to
overhear one of the leaders of the village saying, "We surrender! We'll
follow you, but spare us!"
Cowards, thought Tadyel,
glaring at the leaders. Most were clustered behind the woman who had been
chosen to speak, though a couple of the 'most important' stood beside her. Admittedly
we can't fight, but... At least ask for the children to go free!
Further ahead stood a man with a
strange device, flanked by a dozen of the warriors. Tadyel's eyes caught a
smile appearing on the man's face after hearing the refugees' response. He
brought the device to his mouth, and said, "EXCELLENT. PLEASE FOLLOW MY
LEAD - WE WILL BE WALKING FOR ABOUT TEN HOURS!"
The mage turned and began
walking in a far more westerly direction than the refugees had been. With no
choice, the refugees followed, surrounded on all sides by the terrible
constructs. At least a hundred and fifty of the things walked alongside the
refugees. It was not enough to outnumber them, but far more than enough to stop
any escape.
Most of the refugees were scared
or angry. They had come so close to success, but now they were doomed. A few,
like Tadyel, were too tired to truly grasp what had happened - beyond an
(admittedly significant) feeling of dread, Tadyel's primary thought was simply ugh,
more walking.
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