CHAPTER ONE
Koradan stared up at the wide expanse of the sky, feeling both relief and trepidation that the light was beginning to fade. After the sun went down, the desert would be cooler, scorching heat turning to a mere toasty warmth. Such was life in a world where the sun was steadily trying to cook every living thing that dared walk across the ground.
But after true darkness fell, the steady holding pattern that Koradan and his warriors had maintained all day would be broken, with no further excuse to avoid crossing the gate. And as much as he knew they needed to go, Koradan was more than a little worried about what they’d be forced to tackle on the other side.
But the sun hadn’t set yet.
“Rodgard, how are the deelees doing? Anyone else wanting to cross the gate this evening?”
Rodgard was Koradan’s second in command, nearly seven feet tall and an entirely capable and serious warrior who would have been on the way to commanding his own unit, had their world not been falling apart. The deelees, on the other hand, were small creatures with red skin and long black tails, and an entirely cantankerous nature.
“Not tonight,” Rodgard replied, from where he was soothing his vreki nearby. The huge, black, lizard-like beast was upset about the lingering heat, her wings stiff and uncomfortable after the long day in the desert sun. “They can’t make a decision about how many of them should cross the gate at once, and there are more willing contenders waiting. I’ve got two witches, two fenrigs and a fire-dog all ready and willing to go.”
Koradan nodded, casting his eyes over the motley crowd. Small clusters of people were huddling against the rocks near the swirling silver portal that was the Gate of Chalandros, the entrance into the human world. By Alfrix the Destroyer, how had they come to this? Over the last several decades, there had been a steady trickle of people trying to leave their dying world – a trickle that had more recently become a flood – but the journey was not without risk. On the far side of the gate, an army of human warriors stood waiting to slaughter any who tried to cross, indifferent to any pleas for mercy and terrifying in both their skill and determination.
“Let’s wait another half an hour,” Koradan suggested, eyeing the sky again. “It’ll be easier for them to slip away unnoticed if it’s a bit darker.” Dark enough for them to evade the guard, but not so dark as for them to get instantly lost in the forest surrounding the gate on the human side.
Rodgard nodded and went to relay the information to the waiting refugees.
Meanwhile, Koradan sharpened his sword and sent a prayer to Ventriki, the Goddess of War. One last battle with the humans before he and his men attempted to find a way past the army and seek safe haven elsewhere in the human world. Their chances of survival were slim.
Their chances of surviving another season in Chalandros were slimmer.
All too soon, Rodgard was calling his name. “Time for one last skirmish?” he asked, trying to sound more enthusiastic than he was.
“Let’s show this human scum who’s boss,” Koradan replied, matching Rodgard’s false enthusiasm. In truth, he had little stomach for fighting the humans and would have far preferred to find a way to negotiate with them. Food, jewels, fabrics, indentured service; he would have willingly traded any of it for a chance to make a life in the human world. But the warriors refused to engage in any conversation, refused to even pause before they attacked any trespassers with swords and spears and missiles of flaming oil. And so battle was the only path left to the Chalandrians.
“One last diversion,” Koradan ordered his men as they gathered around, though they well knew the drill by now. There were six of them, including him. Once, there had been seven, a standard company of salas warriors, but one of their number had been killed in a riot back in Iddishmeil, the failing city of the revered Stone King. “Make as much noise as possible, but keep your backs to the wall. Fall back if you’re getting overwhelmed. Keep an eye on each other, and remember – we’re not here to kill. Just to cut a big enough path for the refugees to escape, then retreat back through the gate. Are you with me?”
“Vol regur!” his men replied in unison.For the king!
Koradan swallowed a lump in his throat as he heard the pledge of loyalty, at the same time as he remembered that none of them actually served the Stone King anymore. The powerful monarch had released them from their duty barely four days ago, announcing that Koradan and his men had earned honour and praise for their years of service, but that with the entire world of Chalandros on the brink of collapse, it was finally time for them to leave.
“But what of the city? What of the people still trying to cross the desert?” Koradan had asked the king, dismayed at the callous dismissal.
“I have a legion of ragions and more than a hundred salases left,” the Stone King replied, his aging face wrinkling in poorly hidden despair. “This city is emptying by the day as our people head for the gate. I will stay to see them safely on their way. There’s no point in you going down with the ship as well.” Koradan himself was a salas, a race of people who had served the reigning monarch for hundreds of years and who had earned their reputation as the fiercest warriors in Chalandros a thousand times over.
“It’s been an honour, Your Majesty,” Koradan told him, issuing one final salute – a gesture his men quickly copied. “May Arix grant you long life and safe journey.”
“And you, too,” the Stone King replied. That had been the last time they’d spoken, and early the next morning, Koradan and his men had left for the gate, crossing the miles of hostile desert easily on the backs of the agile vreki.
Koradan rubbed his short beard, irritated by the prickly hair as he waited for the handful of refugees to be ready to cross the gate. He and his men had been waiting here for three days now, employing harry-and-retreat tactics to divert the human warriors while small groups of people attempted to skirt the edges of the battlefield and disappear into the forest surrounding the gate. At an optimistic estimate, less than half of them would have survived.
Koradan drew his sword, closing his eyes for a moment to ground himself. “Ready?” he asked his men. They nodded. “Ready?” he asked again, turning to the group of five refugees. One of the fenrigs looked like he was going to be sick, his purple skin turning almost blue in his terror. The witches both shrugged, willing to take their chances. And the fire-dog let out a growl, smoke rising from his mouth as he issued a challenge to the humans who waited on the other side.
“On my mark,” Koradan ordered. “Three, two, one… Go!” He charged through the gate, his five warriors close behind. They’d been back and forth a dozen times now, so he easily anticipated the rocky ground on the far side of the gate, along with the sudden blast of colder air. In reality, it was late spring, the air warm and humid on this side of the gate. But in contrast to the baking heat of Chalandros, it felt almost like winter, coming as a rude shock despite the number of times Koradan and his men had dropped into and out of this world.
The battlefield was wide and littered with bodies; some human, but mostly Chalandrian. A couple of hundred metres back from the gate, open field turned into dense forest, the sky in this foreign world turning pink and orange as their sun, too, began to set.
But Koradan had no more than a second or two to admire the view. The army of humans took note of their arrival immediately. A swarm of them surged forward, and Koradan rushed to meet them, greatsword held high. He cleaved the head off the first one he met in one fell swoop, then crossed blades with another man, almost as large and strong as Koradan himself.
Koradan toyed with him for a while, bellowing every now and then to draw more attention to himself, while at the same time keeping an eye on his men. They fought well, keeping to a tight huddle, taking no unnecessary risks. Out of the corner of his eye, Koradan saw the fire-dog rush off into the forest and a team of four human soldiers break away from the main army and go after him. But Koradan wasn’t too worried about the outcome. The fire-dog had been warned to keep running long after it seemed he’d cleared the grasp of the humans. There were a few fortunate travellers from Chalandros who had made it past the rows of warriors and survived to make a life in the human world, and whenever they could, they sent messages back through the gate. And one of the consistent warnings was to not stop running too soon. The humans were relentless in their pursuit of the so-called ‘demons’, as they viewed the peoples of Chalandros.
After five or ten minutes of making a show of fighting, Koradan bellowed a warning to his men. “Von chios!”Fall back!Doing so was no easy feat, with the human soldiers all too willing to press their advantage when they thought they were winning. But fortunately for Koradan, none of them were willing to get too close to the gate itself, so his men were able to coordinate a strategic retreat, backs to the solid rock wall that stretched out on either side of the gate. Once there was a break in the fighting, they disappeared through the portal.
On the Chalandrian side of the gate, Koradan took a moment to catch his breath. “All safe and accounted for?” he asked, as soon as he could form the words.
His men counted themselves off, one through five, and even now, weeks after Kideron had been killed, Koradan found himself waiting for the elusive number six that would never come.
