Sorcerer from Another World

The land was now fairly open, strewn with decaying corpses of all ages across large open fields of what had once been farmland burned and farmhouses laid to ruin. 

At one particular devastated farmhouse lay the remains of a woman surrounded by the dead Redcaps. A pitchfork buried into the skull of one of the malicious dead. She for lack of blood had rest and moved no more. No other humans were found nearby. 

Throughout the long march, feasting on the dead were skull-faced crows the size of bees that emitted a quiet but constant piercing wail. The rotting stench turned my stomach, but the people of Yolin’s Hill seemed numbed to the odour and bore the lingering scents of putrid remeants with quiet dignity.   

Cù-Sìth tracked us, baying at our heels. Their yips and yaps to each other in the distance stalked our flight. We quickened our pace, in parallel to gaunt deer-like creatures with silvery antlers, crescent shaped eyes and fur dark as the night sky with luminescent spots. We were not alone in our desperation. 

We tried to stop for lunch, foolishly, but we got lucky and Iris’ robin swooped down with a warning of an incoming attack. I was able to swiftly repulse the probing of our defences without casualties. A few choice bolts of lightning sent them scattering back leaving a few smoky lupins left behind. 

Relying on hit and run tactics, the enemy kept us moving, sapping our stamina from their relentless chase. Tara rallied the warriors every time to counter their offence. Determined shields blocked fangs and arrows and, in turn, volleys sprung from bent bows striking the monsters back. I healed the warriors, stopping the blood price the enemy tried to inflict.

Adapting to our counters, the Redcaps tried to shepherd our group to who knows what death trap, but a few ferocious flushes of flame from Iris cleared our path forward. In her giant form, Iris or Morgana’s telekinetic magic removed any obstacles placed to slow or trap us. 

We came to a long stretch of tall trees and passed under their long shadows until we reached a road. It was not a road as I knew it with concrete. Nor was it the smooth straight, paved roads of ancient Rome I had seen in history textbooks. It was a dirt path cleared to be wide enough to allow the transport of wagons and chariots.

Eventually, close to sundown, we saw a hillfort in the distance. Thin wisps of smoke plumes rose from the settlement. Ferisdarm was walled technically but by wooden palisade barely thicker than two trees. 

I blinked and stared with screwed up eyes at the unexpectedly flimsy defences. 

I suppose against the Redcaps a wooden wall was helpful. But facing Orges and Cù-Sìth? It may as well be walls of butter.

Further, because the hill was remote it was cut off from most of the nearby farmland; the blackened crops were razed to the ground. Getting supplies was going to be a nightmare. Had we reached safety or trapped ourselves in a dead end?

The situation to be frank was bleak. Afraid, I kept my silence. 

On the bright side, the remote hill dominated the landscape. It was fortified by earthen ramparts as in huge banks forming mounds. Moreover, they were lined with a maze of ditches making the fort difficult to scale and reach the top. 

There was only one path through that would be easily defended by a few warriors. At the top was a small town, a tiny village by modern standards that could only house a few hundred folk.

“People!” A voice rang out from the fort cutting through the silence. “There’s people climbing the hill!” They shouted with joy.

We approached the gate. “Halt!” Another gruffer voice said coming from a head peeking out over the wooden wall. “Name yourself, Seelie or Unseelie.”

“Seelie. Tara who was under Marius, leader of the Warband sent by Galen the Good.” Tara called back.

“Tara, what happened?”

“Unseelie ambushes, Orges took the War Wizard and a Hag slew Marius. A Sorcerer by the name Damian of the Grey’s saved us. He was sent by the Seelie Court and he is joined by three companions. I bear Marius’s promise to vouch for them as my own.” She explained.

“You took down Orges and a Hag? You sure bloodied the Unseelie noses.” the first voice said loudly and sounded very pleased. 

“Alright. Chieftain Galen will want to speak to you himself. Come in.” The second gate guard replied. “Open the gates!”

I looked to Morgana who was observing the defences and the guards with narrowed eyes. She turned to me and subtly shook her head with a frown. It seemed she too had reservations. Good to know.

The interior of the fort was packed with bustling crowds filling the lanes. A warrior from the walls led us through the fort. We made our way down the winding paths between one storey buildings made of wood with thatched roofs and set close together. 

The stench of shit permeated the air, getting thicker as a gong farmer pushed a wagon past us.

“Delightful.” I muttered.

“City people. Unclean but hard working. Do not look down on them too much. Desperation has driven them to cluster like chickens in a cage.” Morgana elaborated in a whisper.

There were campfires dotted all over encircled by refugees dressed in red, blue and greens. They all looked tired with dark bags and dulled eyes. But fed, and hopeful. The men wore long sleeved tunics and baggy trousers woven from flax or wool. 

The women wore long dresses. All humans were draped in cloaks decorated in colourful plaid patterns, The men had thick moustaches and all people had white tips at the ends of their hairs. 

There were more of the smaller people mingling about the humans. A normal sight then. No elves, though. There was a small adult, but I deduced they were human rather than a fantasy dwarf.

Also, no slaves as far as I could tell, either. Ordinary folk in a world of where magic was real. That avoided a whole messy moral issue. No need to spend a paragraph trying to justify siding with slavers then a chapter moralising how it adds to my character arc as a decent person to buy a grateful, beautiful slave for myself.   

In the nearest campfire the refugees talked with a group of armoured warriors. Among them was a tall man with a thin moustache and thick beard. He was built like a Hollywood superhero and as handsome as one with hair the colour of charcoal, curly and long enough that it touched his shoulders. 

He was ornately dressed in warrior garb. He wore a red and gold plaid cloak with an ornate gold broach. Underneath the cloth, his torso was protected by a chain shirt. For weapons, he had a dagger and a long sword sheathed in a decorated scabbard at his waist. He carried under his arm, a cone shaped helmet with a long straight plate to protect the neck and wing like cheek guards. He had symbols of wealth and status as well, a gold bracelet with a spiral pattern on his wrist as well as a metal neck ring of similar design.  

I heard Morgana faintly stifle a gasp.

“I swear to each and every one of you by covenant and the oaths to rivers and mountains that you are under the protection of the bravest warriors in the land. I will not shrink from the enemy. Wilfred, you have seen me slay an Ogre with this sword. And you Emma, I personally escorted you and your village to this here fort.”

She clasped his arm with hers, “I can never thank you enough for saving us.”

The man spotted my companions and me.