Paragon of Destruction

Chapter 320 The Border

The group broke camp shortly after Arran had rescued the farmer's son. Although the boy's disappearance and retrieval had caused some consternation, there was no time to discuss the matter at length — not with the border of the Imperium fast approaching.

As the captain had made clear, the guards would accompany them for another day before turning back. And only after that would the group's members discover whether their decision to leave the borderlands had been the right one.

While nobody said it outright, Arran could tell that there had been a subtle change in his fellow travelers' mood. They weren't quite as eager to continue as they had been before, as if the boy's brief misadventure was suddenly causing them second thoughts.

From the captain's reaction, it was obvious that he had truly believed the boy's life was lost. And even if Arran had safely returned the boy, at least some of the travelers seemed to wonder just how dangerous and ruthless the Hunters were.

Even bandits would not kill a child for so small a matter. But it seemed the guard captain had no doubt about the Hunters' willingness to do so — a grim omen for the reception they would receive.

Yet while the others spoke in hushed whispers of their destination, Arran's attention was focused elsewhere.

As they followed the road through the densely forested wilderness, he Sensed that they were not alone. On either side of the road, barely two hundred paces into the forest, two small groups of people moved along with them.

Hunters, Arran knew. And while he had no reason to believe they meant harm, he could not help but feel uneasy at being surrounded in hostile lands. But then, the Hunters did not know that he was an enemy — nor would they find out, if all went well.

Despite the borderlanders' concerns and their unseen escorts, the morning passed quickly, with the group maintaining a steady pace as they traveled toward their destination.

By midday, they met another group of returning guards. Much like the previous day, the captains spoke briefly, though the exchange lasted slightly longer this time. And from the glance the other group's captain gave Arran, he knew the boy's tale had already begun to spread.

They departed again some minutes later, and after they set off once more, Arran spent some time pondering the constant stream of people traveling into the Imperium.

Every day, two hundred people left Esran to join the Imperium. While a sizable number, it wasn't so much that it would have a noticeable effect on the war to come.

But Esran wasn't the only city on the border.

Arran had studied Brightblade's map well, and he knew that there were at least several dozens of other towns and cities that bordered the Imperium. If each of these was allowed to send two hundred people each day, the total would run well into the thousands.

And that was only the number for a single day.

In a month, there could be well over a hundred thousand borderlanders who joined the Imperium. In a year, the number would swell to over a million. And even if they were only commoners, Arran could not help but think such numbers would have no small effect.

Suddenly, he found himself doubting the wisdom of the Ninth Valley's strategy. They intended to delay the war as long as possible, preparing their mages for the battle ahead as well as they could.

But with each passing day, the Imperium was adding to its numbers — building its strength while the Ninth Valley tried to do the same. Yet mages were slow in training, and if the Darians' methods were faster, then time might not be on the Valley's side.

The Shadowflame Society should be well aware of this, of course. Yet Arran knew that most mages had a blind spot for commoners, and he could easily see the Ninth Valley's leaders dismissing the borderlanders as unimportant.

He considered the matter for several hours, but eventually, he let out a deep sigh as he realized there was nothing he could do.

Years would pass before he returned to the Ninth Valley, and he could only hope that Brightblade wasn't as blind as he expected the Valley's other leaders to be.

Arran's own task was a different one — and one that would soon begin in earnest.

The group continued onward until early evening. Then, suddenly, the captain raised his hand.

"Halt!" he called out, causing the guards to stop in their tracks immediately.

The borderlanders followed their example a moment later, and as Arran looked ahead, he saw that there were two massive boulders on either side of the road. They were the size of small houses, far too large to have been placed there by normal means.

"We have reached the border of the Hunters' lands," the captain said in a loud voice. "We will camp here tonight. In the morning, my men and I will return to Esran, and you will travel onward to face your future."

There was a hint of grimness in his voice, as if he didn't have much hope for the borderlanders' prospects.

Yet most of the borderlanders had traveled here out of desperation, not choice. If they returned to Esran — assuming they still could — nothing would await them but a slow descent into wretchedness. Their coin would eventually run out, and when it did, they'd have to resort to stealing, begging, or worse.

None of them knew what they would find in the Imperium, but it offered something that Esran lacked: hope. Perhaps they would meet only disaster in the Imperium, but just the chance of replacing the homes they'd left behind was enough for them to accept the risk.

The group made camp quietly, with all but a few of the borderlanders occasionally casting nervous glances at the lands that lay behind the two large rocks.

Arran, for his part, ignored the sight. Rocks or not, it was no different from the wilderness behind them.

The true difference would not be in the landscape, but in the actions of the small group of Hunters who had followed them for the past day.

The Hunters had gathered in a small camp barely half a mile away, and Arran suspected that once the borderlanders entered the Imperium, it wouldn't be long before they emerged from the trees to welcome the outsiders.

The real question was whether the welcome would be a friendly or a hostile one. And for that, Arran still had some preparations to make — though not before night, when most of the others would be asleep.

Yet to Arran's surprise, as the sun began to set and the borderlanders wrapped themselves in their blankets on the cold ground, the guard captain came over to him.

The man had a serious look on his face as he approached Arran, and in a low voice, he said, "Come with me for a moment."

Arran frowned, but he did as the captain said, following him a few dozen paces back along the road — as far as the man dared to go, Arran guessed.

When they were just out of earshot, the captain faced Arran. "You shouldn't go," he said in a grave voice. "Return with us tomorrow. The city guard has plenty of room for a brave man like you."

Arran gave the man a puzzled look. "You want me to return to Esran?"

The captain nodded, and said, "It isn't safe to cross the border. I don't know what it is they do to the travelers, but it can't be good — no one's ever returned, not even to visit their family."

"I've heard as much," Arran replied. "But I figured it's just because they're wary of spies. With the conflict, I can't say I blame them for being cautious."

"That's another thing," the captain said. He cast a wary look at the two boulders in the distance, then continued at a whisper, "Even if they let you join them, nothing good will come of it. When they go to war against the mages, they're bound to lose."

"How do you figure that?" Arran asked, suppressing a smile at the man's unexpected faith in the Shadowflame Society. It certainly was more confidence than he himself felt.

"My father was a scholar," the captain replied. "Told me that the mages were here long before the Hunters came, and that they'd be here long after the Hunters disappeared."

It wasn't much of an argument, but the look of conviction in the man's face suggested that he considered it an indisputable fact.

"Perhaps you're right," Arran said. "But I'll take my chances with the Hunters. It'd be a waste to turn around after having come this far."

The captain shook his head, a disappointed expression on his face. "It's your choice to make. But when the mages defeat the Hunters, remember my words."

Arran chuckled. "If it comes to that, I'll remember your words. I'm sure I'll feel like a right fool when some mage sets me on fire."

When he returned to the camp, Arran quickly wrapped his blankets around himself, then pretended to sleep as twilight slowly turned to night.

He lay quietly for several hours, observing the surroundings with his Sense even while his eyes were closed. Then, when the sky was pitch black and most of the borderlanders and guards were asleep, he set to work on his final task before entering the Hunter's lands — hiding his weapon.

Once they crossed the border, Arran knew there was a good chance that the Hunters would not allow the outsiders to keep their weapons. Yet if he stored his sword in his void ring, he wouldn't be able to rely on its Sense.

The only way around that was to get his sword to change shape. And although he knew it could do so, it was something he had little experience with.

For well over an hour, he tried unsuccessfully to get his sword to do what he wanted. Yet although it seemed to understand his intent, it was like it was reluctant to follow the command — as if it disliked being anything other than a sword.

Just as Arran was starting to feel desperate, however, a feeling of acceptance suddenly came through the bond, almost like the sword had felt his desperation and decided to put a stop to it.

In an instant, it shrunk to a fraction of its previous size. Then, a slight blur went through the air around it, and a moment later it reformed itself into a simple steel ring.

Arran sighed in relief as he put the ring on his finger, not at all surprised to find it was a perfect fit. And although its shape was now wholly different, he found that its Sense had not diminished in the slightest. The only real difference was that a mild feeling of discontent now came through the bond.

But the sword would just have to endure. Because the next morning, Arran would finally enter the Imperium.