Brantagruk - Into the Mountains

Even now, after hours of running and climbing up the mountain, smoke hung heavy in Brantagruk's lungs. He stopped finally, doubling over with heaving, painful coughs. If not for Kuragar he might have collapsed, but Brantagruk's young son quickly caught him and helped him down to a large stone nearby to sit for the first time in what felt like forever.

Were they still following us? He glanced back down the mountain to look for pursuers, but was stunned by what he saw.

Mahk Oran was burning. From his viewpoint, he had a clear view of the lakefront and the whole of the great stone city. How could a city of stone be burning?

They'd known this attack was coming for weeks. City scouts, hunters, and traders brought news of rising tensions in Stonefield and New Fathom. Fishermen retuned from Legacy bay shaken, with stories of a gathering naval force in Runa. When news arrived of a fighting force of Orleanean zealots mobilizing in the North, this "Burning Wake", Mahk Oran's council of matriarchs were unfazed. The city's stone walls and towers had come under attack before from bandits, even creatures from the lake wreaking havok in the harbour, but the city had never fell. The council claimed it was impenetrable, and the people believed them.

Yet now, the burning towers and homes of Makh Oran illuminated the night before Brantagruk. Smoke in his lungs, screams in his ears. The city was broken so swiftly, so effortlessly. This army had potent magics the likes of which the city had never seen. The city walls were perforated by powerful explosions that shook the very bedrock, and then the wave of warriors poured in through the holes. Their confidence in the city walls left them unprepared for a breach, so the city's fighters were too scattered and unorganized to put up a real fight. It was over in what felt like minutes.

"We should be down there. We should be there, fighting for our home, not slinking into the night like damned cowards."

The words roused Brantagruk from his stupor. He looked over to see that Kuragar was also looking down at the inferno that was their home. Full of young fury, the adolescent minotaur steamed beside him.

Brantagruk sighed heavily, turning to face him. "There is nothing we can do now. To turn back now would be only death." He brushed at the dirt and soot on his clothes in vain, attempting to collect himself. There was still blood crusting on his horns from the soldier he had killed in their escape.

"At least we'd die with honour," Kuragar snapped, "or have you forgotten the people still down there?"

An anger rose in Brantagruk that he stifled, with effort. He stood to face his son. "Honour means nothing to a dead people. Kuragar," Brantagruk said, "do you think the people down there are dying honourably? With respect and dignity?"

Kuragar scoffed. "Better than starving or freezing here on this godsforsaken mountain. What about the Lake Guardian? Maybe a show of bravery would inspire him to help us?"

To Brantagruk's suprise, he found a spark of hope in his son's words. It was difficult not to feel inspired by the vigour and determination of a young man's ambition. Surely with the help of the dragon, they could repel this attacking army depite their magic. He looked about to take stock of the other survivors, assess their numbers. Maybe with enough strength, we could at least find her.

He found none. The others that had fled with them were too young, too old, too injured, or otherwise too unexperienced to return to Mahk Oran with any force. His small hope left him as quickly as it arrived. He took his son by the shoulders to look him in the eye. Gods, he's as big as I am now.

"No, son," he said, his voice low and stern, "we are not strong enough as we are to do anything but run. These people need us to keep strong, to keep them focused on surviving this. For that, we need to remain focused ourselves."

"But the Lake Guardian," Kuragar began, with a petulance that betrayed his age.

"- will not help us," Brantagruk interjected, "that dragon is no real guardian. You know as well as I do that the old lizard only tolerates us because of our offerings. I doubt he cares much about who provides the offerings."

Tears welled in Kuragar's eyes as Brantagruk saw his words finally take purchase. His son crumpled into his arms, a boy again as his pride and anger fell away. "We left her down there," whispered Kuragar through shuddering breaths.

Oh, Raskia. Brantagruk remembered watching his wife charge into the city square with the other warriors to buy time for their son and him to escape as the wave of steel poured in from the breached walls. He forced down the rush of pain, breathing deeply.

"I know, son," he said, holding Kuragar tightly to his chest, "the best thing we can do now to honour her is to survive, to beat this mountain."

"She could have survived," Kuragar said, pulling away.

"Maybe," said Brantagruk, hiding his scepticism, "for now we should establish a camp. Get these people and ourselves some rest so we can continue in the morning."

Kuragar nodded. "Okay," he said, sighing. Brantagruk watched his son as he walked away. He smiled weakly as Kuragar reached down to help a child over the crest of the hill, so young he didn't have horns yet. It struck him again just how much his son had grown. I'll get him through this, my love, he thought as he turned once more to look at his burning home, we'll survive, and one day we'll return. I promise.