3 The Camp

12.06.2021

An hour after the dome had been created the sky had turned pitch black, illuminated only by the everlasting striking of thunder. Not much later, the lords forsaken rain had started.

 

When night fell it wasn’t quiet. Though the bombardment had stopped, the sky was flashing above them, the rumbling almost constant, drifting in the back of their minds. The heavy lightning strikes were no longer life-threateningly impacting right in their lines as heavy makeshift lighting rods drew them away from causing further harm. Everything not vitally necessary had been repurposed, taken apart and reshaped to make up their now permanent base of operations – but they had never been equipped for long term deployment. They were lacking in everything from shelter to basic workshop equipment.

It was still raining. Like floodgates had opened in the sky, it just kept on raining. Everything was soaked and wet, small streams had formed between the tents and makeshift shelters. Many of them had to be moved to more rocky grounds in the last hours.

 

Now completely cut off from Mezchinhar and his other Part, the exhaustion of the day had settled in his mind and every bone. Zenozarax knew he wasn’t the only one feeling so. He didn’t pay the discomfort that came with his drenched clothes much attention, the tiredness, however, was harder to ignore. The only relief was the hope that the cultists held up in Funnix had pushed themselves to their limits as well. Now both sides were too exhausted to take advantage of their opponent’s weakness. The next day would show who would recover better. Given their current predicament, Zenozarax feared it wouldn’t be them.

 

Zenozarax eyes looked for the dome surrounding them. It had completely vanished in the darkness and layers of rain, only occasionally he saw it react to something, most likely the wildlife trapped like them within, entering its influence and sparkling in the night. The rain dripped from his beard. He ignored it. There had been a point where he simply couldn’t get any more soaking wet. Now it really didn’t matter anymore.

 

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said grimly, a fitting frown on his face.

The scale, the force, – the implications. It was staggering to think about. Chaos had just become a whole lot more threatening – as if this insane power had needed an upgrade to begin with.

The Soldier, standing just two steps behind him and watching him in silence, said,

“Wouldn’t it seem like a likely variation to the warding used to protect our own surface bases?”

“No,” Zenozarax said, not faulting the Soldier for being wrong. He couldn’t know. “It may serve a comparable function but this one is something else entirely.“ And by the lords, the crippling disruption caused by it was hard to even wrap his head around. “They can’t be doing this by hand. Not for this long. There has to be a structure, probably inside of the castle, powering the field.”

“A channelling device?”

“Yes. Drawing on the chaos all around, creating this barrier. If we destroy it we win.”

“Good plan.”

 

Zenozarax looked back, squinting suspiciously, blinking against the rain in his eyes. “Since when do they ship you guys with sarcasm? Really.” But the Soldier stayed quiet, no emotion in the calm face. And he knew it couldn’t be sarcasm even if he would like to read it into it, just a flat comment in lack of anything else to say, out of an obligation to answer him.

 

He looked back at the dreadful barrier separating them from any backup or support.

The recon squads had searched the rim of the dome on their side, reaching from the shore to the north through the plain fields behind them, though the light treeline westwards shielding them from a direct line of sight from Funnix. He had not dared to send them further east where they would cross the longitude of Funnix and enter into what now had become the enemy’s half of this hellish sphere.

Marcardsmoor was just a bit over 20 kilometres to the southeast and yet it could be in another universe and it would be as useful as it was now. It was unreachable with their ability to port nullified by the same interference that had cut their connection off from the outside world.

At no point had the recon team found a way that was passable. The dome was blocking not only their connections but also physically preventing them from passing through it. A soldier had paid with his life for that knowledge.

Zenozarax hadn’t seen it up close himself yet, but the reports told of a most unusual sight. Fortunately, at least one engineer had been accompanying the team who could explain what they saw with something approaching scientific clarity. He had described the sight as akin to the distortion around a heavy gravitational pull, like that of a black hole or neutron star. He had been sure that what they saw was not the other side, but a distorted version of the inside even though at no point had they seen anyone in this distorted view. Neither from inside nor outside, hinting at a possible dimensional shift as well.

Zenozarax couldn’t imagine Mezchinhar not having sent every available force right here to find out what was happening. They should have at least seen someone on the other side.

 

The domes around their surface bases like Obermoor and Marcardsmoor were protective and non-disruptive. Clear communication was possible and the view from inside would show the outside. This was because these domes were not exactly that, domes, not in the physical sense. It was a gentle push that moved the entire structure into the next dimension where it stayed undetectable and unreachable to the citizens of earth.

This thing was something else.

In an almost subconscious move, he wiped some of the rain from his face. A staggeringly pointless action as mere seconds later his face was as dripping wet as before.

He looked at the quiet Soldier again. For a moment the Soldiers’ eyes seemed lost in the dark before them, and Zenozarax couldn’t help but notice how he interpreted the calm look as sombre and thoughtful. In reality, he knew that neither would apply, the Soldier did not feel, nor would he be taken by existential musing. If he even thought anything at all at this moment.

And yet–

“You know what–” Zenozarax said and the Soldier’s eyes immediately met him with sharp attention. “We might get you a proper name after all. Since it would seem like we’re about to spend a bit more time together than I had anticipated.”

The Soldier nodded “As you wish. What name would you like to give me?”

Zenozarax crossed his arms, the wet uniform was sticky and heavy, but he barely noticed it anymore. He frowned slightly. He should have thought about that before making the suggestion. “I don’t know, actually. Do you have a preference?” Chances were good he was just asking to give himself a bit more time to think about it.

He expected a No, but the Soldier actually hesitated to answer, which struck Zenozarax as extremely odd.

“What is it?”

“The wizard overseeing my construction and development referred to me as Ravalor.”

“So you do have a name! Would you look at that, and a Wizard’s name at that.” Zenozarax raised his brows in surprise.

“No. Not officially.”

“Well, you do now, Ravalor. It’s as good a name as any – better than RACT, that’s for sure,” he said with a weak smirk on his face, crossing his arms and giving the stoic soldier an approving nod. Also, a staggeringly pointless action, just as giving him a proper name, as it hadn’t changed one bit of the cold fact and purpose oriented programming of this machine.

“Tell me Ravalor, who was the one you were created by?”

“The Soulturner Exavidar.”

“Huh. I actually don’t know of them.” Zenozarax admitted though it had been unlikely to begin with. Mezhestvo, the Circle of Existence, was massive, and even when he had still resigned and worked there he had hardly known every Soulturner there was. “Though I assumed it to have been a proper soulturner. I believe they must have made some adjustments to you already, right?” It was tempting to just have a look and see what was really behind those calm black eyes but he knew this was hardly the time to indulge in curiosity nor was it what he should focus his attention on.

“In what way, Sir?” Ravalor raised his brows in mild confusion.

Zenozarax just shook his head slightly, even smiling weakly, waving the question away with one hand as he already turned back towards the darkness in front of them. “Forget it. It might as well be only my tired brain wanting to see things.”

And Ravalor did not inquire further for him to clarify his statement, as Zenozarax had told him to drop the matter, it was exactly what the Soldier did. He didn’t actually forget about it, but his mere baseline curiosity was not strong enough to allow him to overstep the casual command of his commander.

 

*

 

The Soldier now named Ravalor was right behind him when they entered the command tent again. He was silent now and probably would be till they would leave the tend again. This was not his place to speak.

The ground was just marginally less muddy than outside and by now the sludge of dirt and grass had soiled everything below knee height. In the artificial blue light of a glowing globe at the tent’s peak, everyone inside looked like a haunted ghost. There was a shared expression in each and every wizard’s face now that was trapped under this dome, a nervous but lost sense of things just not being right. The feeling of being suddenly terribly alone. And his senior staff was no exception to that. Neither was he.

The lack of connection to his Wizard became more unsettling with every passing hour. It was worse than when a part of him would die. Because now he knew the other was still there.

Short separations were not unusual, in fact, it was an integral part in fighting chaos wizards because a simple overcharge of chaos straight into their neural network could effectively kill every part of them within a second. True death. So the warriors would separate themself once facing chaos wizards – but that was only for the duration of the battle. Now it was permanent. And how long “permanent” would be in this case, nobody could know.

There was at least the comfort of knowing that his Wizard was safe no matter what would happen here.

 

Zenozarax made it a point to dramatically wipe away the rain from his face again before he said, “What’s our status? Give me any good news, hell at this point I take an optimistic weather forecast as vital information.”

One needn’t be an empathic genius to read the mood in the tent as anything but depressingly gloomy. His chief field engineer, Demitalek, sat at the wide table, head leaned on one hand and now downright reluctant to even look at the Grandmaster.

“When it comes to the weather, I’m afraid we have yet to see the worst of it,” Demitalekt said grimly as he leaned back. “Temperature has not dropped yet even though it is night. And I fear it might soon start to rise. If tomorrow’s attack yields no further results in this matter, I would like to request to take another team to the perimeter edge myself.”

“Granted.” Zenozarax nodded. He trusted that wizard enough to not have to question his request in detail. If Demitalekt thought this would help with whatever this lords forsaken dome was, it was worth a shot. “Now, what about our forces?“

Fieldgeneral Redkevik put a small datatab on the table and stepped back for Zenozarax to take it. He immediately let his fingers connect to it, letting the onslaught of numbers, observations and what few facts there where, occupy a dedicated part of his mind while the rest listened to Demitalek answer.

“The major injuries are being treated as we speak, those injured will be ready for the fight come morning. We are however 30% down on wizards and soldiers, and 80% down on eagles. We will be able to get them in the air, but we will have to move quickly. The interference is not static and keeps shifting randomly, which makes it hard to adjust for. The longer that fight will last the worse our chances will get.”

“The unicorns?” Zenozarax didn’t like what he heard nor what the information on the datatab told him.

“Subject to the same interference, unfortunately. They are even worse off than the eagles given their semi-independent design. Their reliance on a connection to a wizard makes them even more susceptible to the interference.“

Zenozarax nodded. The failure of the eagles was one thing, but having the unicorns exhibit such a blatant weakness was a more bitter, and more personal pill to swallow. “Redkevig, Fajathena.” He waved his Fieldgeneral and Wingcommander closer to the table. Then he opened the map of the area on the table.

“The longer we stay in here, the worse off we will be, so we hit them with all we got. Fajathena you will take the shore side, Redgevik stays inland, I’ll be leading the centre charge. Spread out as far as possible till we’re close, to avoid giving them one single target. Once we reach the castle we concentrate our fire right here.” He tapped on the map at the outer walls facing inland of Funnix’s great castle.

“Since we can’t rely on the eagles they will act as a distraction as long as they can, hopefully drawing their fire for long enough that we can get inside and destroy whatever channelling device keeps the dome up. Kazra, the Dragon Fire is still an option, yes?” he glanced up at another warrior who had been quietly listening with his arms crossed from the side of the tent.

“Aye.”  

“If you blow the entire thing up, that’s fine with me too.” Zenozarax kept leaning onto the table, his Firecommander chuckled humorlessly, the smirk grim in a face that was halfway scorched, with the red hair and beard patchy and cut down after burning away earlier. One minor injury of the initial attack.

“Wish we’d brought that kind of firepower now, eh Grandmaster?” Kazra’s tone was filled with bitter scoff. For hundred times and a hundred more, Firecommander Kazra, a Pyromancer by trait, would have requested permission to take out the big guns, and a hundred times and a hundred more he had been denied because it usually – almost always – was unnecessary. And now this turned out the one time it wasn’t and there was no way of changing that now. Made worse by how much of their initial supplies and weaponry had been lost in the first moments under the dome.

“Surely,” Zenozarax mumbled. Right about now he found the idea of nuking those lords forsaken bastards into atoms by orbital bombardment very appealing. One was not quick to wish Leviathan’s Wrath to strike someone down, but this sure was the day. And if he could, he would – happily ignoring any irritation that would cause Grand Wizard Yoctotyr. Who probably wouldn’t be very fond of ‘his Earth’ getting nuked.

All wishful musings aside, it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t. Whoever this chaos wizard was, he had crippled them at their weakest point. A weak point they had been actually aware of to an extent, as high enough chaos interference was known to be able to slow their connection down – but it had never been like this. They hadn’t even considered they could be cut off completely. Resupplying, communication, backup – all relying on their ability to traverse space at their will. All now a major problem due to the dome. They weren’t outfitted to last long on their own – so he couldn’t allow those cultists to keep cooped up in that castle, just wearing his own forces down while dragging this out.

“As is, take everything you need, manpower and supplies. Take apart what is not necessarily needed if you have to. We need to get in there.”

“Understood, Sir.” Kazra nodded and unfolded his arms, revealing more of the damage he had taken earlier. “Anything else?”

Zenozarax gaze fell on the warrior’s left hand, or what was left of it. The fingers occasionally twitched, artificial flesh shredded and burned away, leaving skeletal remains of shod up magic. “We’ll all meet back here at 0330. Work fast,” he just said.

And Kazra just nodded once more, then he left the tent with a slight limp.

 

He was about to speak again as an amplified voice from outside cut distorted through the pattering of the rain, and he let it pass. Neither of them reacted to it, just the soldiers in the tent, Ravalor included, promptly left. No alarm, but the mandatory daily muster and sync-up. Usually, the signal was sent over the com – but this would have to make do. Right now the muster was probably the only thing that would make his Soldier leave his side at all.

 

“Fajathena.” Zenozarax directed his eyes to the Wingcommander who stood straight with a serious expression on his face – it barely hid the exhaustion. The young wizard had survived the crashing of the eagles by what had to have been the lords’ intervention, almost miraculously bare a few scratches unharmed. However, it didn’t change anything about the fact that the eagle force the young Wingcommander now commanded counted merely four eagles and no more dragons.

“I want you with the ground troops, as I said, you take the shoreside. Get the four best pilots into those eagles and make sure they understand that their sole purpose is to keep the bombardment aways from the ground forces as long as possible. If they are going down, make them go down on those bastards. Redkevik, you’ll be escorting Kazra and the weapons, make sure they get there.” He pointed out a line closer to the northern rim of the dome. “I want you to stay within the cover of the trees as long as possible. It’s imperative that you make it through.“

“Understood.” Redkevik nodded. For a moment he met the Fieldgeneral’s eyes, a quiet understanding between both of them, as Zenozarax waited for any objection Redkevik may raise. He relied on it, because they had been fighting alongside each other for a very long time already. It was Zenozarax’ job to figure things out quickly, it was Redkevik’s to tell him where he hadn’t thought things through clearly when his impulsive nature got the better of him. Even now the Fieldgeneral looked calm, collected, with no sign of the exhaustion he saw in each and every other face. It was that calm that balanced out his own anger. But this time Redkevik stayed quiet. And so Zenozarax eventually said,

“We charge at 0500.”

Both the Wingcommander and Fieldgeneral saluted and left the tent. Leaving only himself and the Chief Engineer inside.

 

In a moment of sombre silence, Zenozarax’ eyes met Demitalek’s, who seemed in thoughts.

“There is really nothing else we can do, is there? Just throw everything we got at them and hope for the best?” the engineer finally said. Words dangerously close to questioning his command, but they had known each other for too long as that Zenozarax would even consider them that way.

“We have to try everything we can to somehow get a message outside. Tell Mezchinhar of what happened and the effect of this damn spell.” Zenozarax’ voice got low, quieter. “This blasted wizard, Quadirymir, if this is his doing – it’s the greatest threat we’ve faced in a long time. If this knowledge spreads, it will change the face of war forever. And we need to be ready for it. We haven’t been now, but this here – we have to make sure it won’t happen again.” Subconsciously Zenozarax’ fingers were once more firmly wrapped around the grip of the knife that was still fixed to his belt. Despite his clear statement that their first priority now wasn’t to end that chaos wizard’s life, every spark of the gleaming embers of anger within him longed for it.

So did the knife in turn. If only he could get one strike, this battle would be won. Letting the curse within it take control over Quadirymir, maybe even using him and his chaos magic to destroy the dome, freeing them – it seemed so simple and easy. He just needed one single strike.

 

Demitalek nodded.

The engineer and a select few would stay back come morning, trying further to find a way through the chaos barrier. Zenozarax didn’t ask again for any status on his analysis of the dome, because Demitalek’s silence told him enough. Would the situation be another he would have urged him to find a way to get at least internal communication back and running first and foremost, but as it was, their own victory wasn’t as important as telling Mezchinhar as quickly as possible what was happening. Both options could lead to the other, but as neither was certain he rather not bet all he got on only one of them.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Zenozarax turned around and left the tent.

 

Ravalor had waited outside for him after the muster, their eyes briefly met, a silent acknowledgement, then the Soldier followed him again.

Inside the command tent the pattering of the rain and the still continuing thunder had faded into the background, but once he had stepped outside again he was quickly reminded of the storm surrounding them. Just that it wasn’t really a storm – there was no wind. The rain fell perfectly straight onto them in relentless strings clouding the world before them in obscurity.

 

“This cursed rain,” Zenozarax grumbled while they marched through the mud to his own tent. Around them wizards and soldiers hurried through the rain, some shielding their eyes with little success, others just stoically stared into the rain. There were by far not enough tents for all of them. Crates and tools were carted from the stashes to the makeshift workshops. Whenever they passed close enough the sound of mechanical work came distorted through the rain. Zenozarax halted for a moment as he heard a harrowing scream, wailing and begging from one of the tents. It was the single voice of a wizard in agonising pain. As he was not dead yet, death would not come naturally to relieve him from his misery. Most likely he had just awoken. But the damages he suffered in the attack were too severe, not to his body but his mind. Some horrible curse within one of the blasts that hadn’t been warded off had caused an error, something in his mind was corrupted now. He was broken. And there was nothing they could do to fix him here.

A bright flash illuminated the tent from inside for a mere second.

Then there was silence. Only the rain kept rushing on.

Zenozarax’ eyes lingered on the tent.

 

Then he continued on his path. His own tent appeared behind the curtains of rain.

 

“Come in. I don’t plan to sleep,” he said briskly as they reached his own tent and Ravalor was about to stay respectfully outside. “We don’t want you to catch a cold now, do we,” he mumbled more to himself, maybe to just say anything at all and keep his mind off the gloomy thoughts that crept up further and further in his consciousness.

“I don’t think we need to worry about that, Sir,” Ravalor said with that stoic calm voice of his, bordering once more very close to sarcasm.

“You say that–” Zenozarax took off his soaked and heavy cloak and hung it over a box of equipment before placing his hat on top. He didn’t expect any of his clothes to get dry ever again so that was the extent of him getting ready for the sleepless night. “But with this god damn thing over our heads, I feel like everything is possible.” Then he sat down at his desk. Well, it was a foldable table, complimented with an also foldable chair. Both standing less than firm on the weakened ground.

He spun up the holographic displays against the surface of the table – they flickered and he grunted lowly at them as if that would make them decide that the chaos interference wasn’t that bad after all. At the table’s edge lay a small notebook that he now grabbed. Its pages were rippled by rainwater.

While manipulating the hologram before him with his left hand, gently pressed against the tactile resistance of the hologram and shaping a valid plan of attack, his right hand wrote down one train of thoughts. In the meanwhile, he also went through the information about the forces Redkevik had given him earlier.

He did all of that at the same time, but even though it should be nothing noteworthy, right now he felt his mind being unfocused. Again and again, he thought back to his Wizard. He hated this separation. Because even with all these people around him, it made him feel alone.

Maybe that had been the reason too why he told the Soldier to stay with him now.

Not interrupting his planning nor taking his eyes from the panel he asked, “I’ve never asked this a Soldier before. It’s probably pointless, too. But do you happen to have any thoughts on death, Ravalor?“

“Mine or in general?“

“Either really,” Zenozarax said, for a moment concentrating was easier as he listened for the Soldier’s answer. It was an almost futile attempt to soothe the silence left by his Wizard, but it did help. A little.

“I’m to avoid death where possible, but not at the cost of a wizard’s life. I’ll not hesitate to kill if ordered to or if necessary to accomplish the mission.“

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Zenozarax smirked lopsidedly. “That’s all death is to you. A set of orders.” He gave a shallow laugh “Hell, look at me, acting as we’d be any better. Death shouldn’t mean anything to us – and yet here I am, pondering over it just the same.“

“You’re afraid.” the Soldier concluded, no judgement or shift in his tone whatsoever.

“Unsettled, more so.” Zenozarax lay the pen down and let the terminal rest. For a moment hesitant, weighing his desire to speak freely against the slim odds that this Soldier’s memories would be evaluated after the battle was over if they ever made it out of here. Did that really matter?

Deciding to ignore any further consequences he then said, “In all likelihood, we’re all going to die here. I’ve died before – but never like this. Never with this much time to think about it. And I can’t help but keep thinking – if I die here – I know I won’t be dead. My other Part is still out there, he will rebuild me and I’ll awaken in Mezchinhar after all this is over. But I won’t remember this. Any of it. To the one that comes after me, I died the moment that dome came down. I’ll never have felt this despicable sense of mortality.”

“Hm.“

 

Zenozarax looked finally back at the Soldier.

A creation by wizards’ hands not even too unlike himself. Simpler, but the idea was the same. Maybe a reminder of what they had been once. Before they had put worth on their own lives. Before the Lords had abandoned them.

This Soldier did not care if he lived or died. He simply couldn’t. At least not under the programming he was operating under.

Made disposable by design and the choices of others.

But Zenozarax knew, or at least he was very certain, that it was true for himself as well. Maybe not even only for the Part he was, the Warrior, made to be thrown into harm’s way and expected to die sooner rather than later, but maybe his Wizard too. And every other wizard outside the first circle.

There was a mere artificial distinction claiming his life was worth more than that of the Soldier, just because he could worry about it and the other could not. But in reality, they all were just tools. Machines designed for a given purpose. Sometimes weapons, sometimes cannon fodder.

They all just followed orders.

 

Be as it may, the lack of answer and the emotional distance to the Soldier now was only frustrating to him. He felt silly. Pouring his heart out to a machine that couldn’t even care.

“Are you tired?” Zenozarax eventually asked and the Soldier shook his head.

“Far from it.”

He had expected as much. Given their cognitive limitations, the soldiers required even less sleep than the wizards did, easily staying awake for days on end without affecting their combat effectiveness. This was vital in drawn–out fights, but nevertheless, Zenozarax said, “Take a nap anyways. You can use my bed. Rest will be in short supply for most of us, so the better you hold up, the better will be my chances.“

Ravalor nodded, seeing the logic behind the order. “You are tired. It would be favourable for you to take a short rest as well,” he noted nevertheless.

“Certainly. But not before this plan is foolproof. And I fear we’ll run out of time before that.“

The Soldier just nodded again, he had made an observation, he had been answered, and that was that. He wouldn’t try to convince Zenozarax to sleep. Instead, he sat down on the camp bed. One of the very few they even had, originally meant for the engineering team to patch up any wizard not badly enough injured to be ported out immediately.

“Oh, and Ravalor?“

“Yes, Grandmaster?“

“Make sure you mark our conversations here as confidential, I really don’t need the entire camp to know about me whining about life and death after you sync up the next time.“

Ravalor met his eyes, and Zenozarax could swear there was the slightest hint of amusement in the stoic face. But his voice was perfectly plain when he answered.

“Of course, Grandmaster.” And without another word, he lay down to get the sleep he was ordered to.

 

Zenozarax smiled grimly to himself. There was nothing humanlike about that, just laying flat down, the eyes closed, hands folded on his stomach – and probably already asleep – and still subconsciously ready to jump up at a moment’s notice.

He would have liked to talk more, but there wasn’t much to talk about with this machine nor had he the time for chit chat. So he returned to the hologram and the task at hand.

At least he wasn’t alone, even though it was poor quality of company. But it was better than the loneliness in his mind. Better than being alone the night before his death.

Because, yes, maybe they would all die here – but he would be damned if he didn’t try to take as many of those bloody cultists with him into the void as he could manage.

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