The Returned Warriors

Roland stared into the face of his dead uncle.

"Haf?"

"You've done well, Roland. Thank you for caring for our people." The former Commodore replied, then looked to Caspian. "Son. I love you."

A single, trembling breath escaped the younger man's mouth before he clasped a hand over it in disbelief.

"If you're here," Roland puzzled, and then looked at the woman to Haf's right. She glanced at him with a smile.

"Hello, Roland. I've missed you so."

"Aunt Betty!" Tears of shock and joy and grief welled in the king's eyes. "I.. how?"

"Liberty." Duncan stood and strode towards the third mysterious warrior. She turned, and with eyes that were a mirror image of Roland's, smiled at the former king of Rhone.

"My love." She answered, but her eyes slid past him to Roland. "You found our son. I am glad."

"He's so much like you," Duncan answered, reaching out to touch her, but she shook her head.

"There is no time now," She frowned. "The enemy is not yet defeated."

Roland's mind was reeling. This was his mother? Liberty?

She had died shortly after he was born, or so he'd always been told. And his aunt… he had seen her death himself. Haf's body had been taken through Klain. He'd attended the burial. All these people were dead.

How…?

In unison, the three warriors in white looked to the sky. The Dragon roared, and flapped its mighty wings, apparently forgetting about the humans on the ground it had been so intent on killing only moments before.

Out of the sky, out of a glowing light that seemed to tear the heavens apart, the Sorcerer, a figure of pure light, was coming in like a windstorm.

The Dragon was knocked to the ground, its flight arrested. The light flooded through the city, illuminating the streets and causing goblins to cry out in terror, but the forces of evil were not finished.

Beast shook his terrible heads, opening his mouths to scream in a chorus that made Roland cover his ears. The ground began to split, opening chasms that seemed to reach down into the depths of the world.

Out of these dark places swarmed all manner of vermin. Rats with glowing red eyes, scarab beetles with a cacophony of clicking little feet, and gnats that tried by sheer force of the the density of their swarm to block the light's influence.

The Dragon rallied and took to the sky once more, facing the Sorcerer head on with a blast of obsidian fire.

The Sorcerer's light punched forward, meeting the Darkness with the force of a hurricane. Not even Awarnach kept his footing as the impact was felt across the world. Everything seemed to crack.

Had the worlds joined together only to be shattered to pieces in this last, horrifying battle?

Not a building was left standing in the once mighty Klain. The ruins stretched as far as Roland could see, and grief filled him for the city of his youth. He had no home, and neither did any human who had ever dwelled here.

Even if they survived, could they rebuild? Would there be enough of a remnant left to make even a glimmer of humanity's greatness?

He swallowed as his eyes continued to survey the landscape. There was so much death. And so many enemies, more every second. He'd thought the tide would turn, and perhaps it had, but not in the right direction.

The Sorcerer had shown Roland his Will, but had the king misunderstood? Was his role in all of this to make it through the battle, only to die of starvation, or thirst, or some other terrible want?

So many were dead. He didn't even want to know just how many, but the blood flowing freely through the streets was horrific in its volume and content.

The lifeblood of humanity and its allies.

Judah's blood. Lysander's. His own, he belatedly realized as he glanced at his leg. Bone was jutting through the skin. He should be in shock right now, but he'd been a state of some shock since the battle began.

Was Finn all right? His children? He couldn't see them now. Did the Sorcerer have the power to keep his promises? To bring his will about?

There was nothing Roland could do now, and yet, a wave of vermin was rapidly approaching. Duncan handed the king a discarded sword he took from a dead man. Roland's last borrowed weapon had been buried in the Dragon's throat, for all the good that had done.

Now he was useless, lying broken on the cobblestones as cracks in the earth continued to burst open and spew evil. At least the goblins were staying out of sight now that the Sorcerer's light had made the atmosphere somewhat less hospitable to their kind.

"Can one of you help me set the bone while the rest of you hold them off?" Roland asked through gritted teeth. His grip on logic and consciousness was waning, and the sooner the injury was treated, the better.

Of course, the pain of setting it would likely knock him unconscious entirely, but at least his bone wouldn't be jutting out, inviting infection and disease while he lay there.

The trio of dead siblings nodded, and Duncan knelt beside Roland as Caspian took a defensive stance. "What do I do? Quickly."

"Pour some of this water across the wound to wash it," The king handed his father the water skin, and sucked in a breath as the water hit his skin. He suddenly felt ice cold all over, but couldn't tell if it was the aftereffects of the dragon's frigid attack or shock settling over his body.

With stilted words, he rapidly delivered the rest of the instructions to his father in case he should lose his ability to do so.

"Wrap it in the cleanest cloth you have when you're done," He concluded, and braced himself for the hardest part. His father wasn't a trained surgeon, but they couldn't wait for a medic, if there was one even still alive somewhere in the broken city.

But, what was alive and dead right now? Three dead battled around him with the grace of trained warriors, clashing with the monsters that raced towards the fresh royal blood spilling on the ground. 

If he died, would he stand like them, clad in white and restored to his fullest health? Or would he perish entirely?

There had been some talk of the world of the dead, had it merged with this one? If so, was death no more? What was the use of a war? What would killing the evil creatures accomplish?

With his thoughts distracted and scattered, he couldn't hold in the scream that escaped his mouth when his father pulled his broken limb into place. His vision went dark for a moment, or was it the sky?

Things were too difficult to discern right now. He concentrated all his energy on remaining conscious.

"Help me," He wasn't sure if he whispered or screamed the words. He opened his eyes again, the world spinning as a mighty warrior of light did battle with the black dragon in the heavens.

Stars fell, streaking light and fire and destruction down upon the earth.

The ground shook and cracked, vomiting molten rock and more creatures of darkness into the fray.

Roland's head yanked to one side as he struggled to withstand the pain of having his leg splinted and bound. It was nearly unendurable.

With blurred vision, he watched his mother, aunt, and uncle, all long dead, defend him from evil. His aunt was thrown back by some titanic horned creature, and Haf rushed into the gap, slicing off two of its many legs with one heavy stroke.

In the background, fire continued to stream trails of eerie red scars through the sky towards the ground. The angry orange and purple explosions of impacts boiled up into the Darkness. Were the sounds muted due to the Void's influence, or the blood draining from Roland's weary mind?

Roland tried to concentrate, to find Riley's white flying horse amidst the chaos, to determine whether the inky liquid sluicing from the Dragon's jaws was life's blood or acidic venom falling upon the few humans left alive in Klain.

"The children. Protect my children," He put his strength into the words, but wasn't sure anyone heard him.

"I think I've done it," Duncan said from somewhere beside him. Roland did not have the strength to turn his head to look. "That was a lot of blood, Son. Are you ok?"

Roland blinked slowly in lieu of nodding. He was so tired, so drained, in so much pain… all he wanted was to close his eyes and release himself to the bliss of oblivion… but he knew Finn would never forgive him if he did.

If she was still alive. He hated himself for the thought.

"Children," He pushed out the word.

"Yes, I'll find them," Duncan took his son's hand. "After the battle, I'll find them for you, and Serafina, too." 

It wasn't what Roland wanted, but he was out of energy. Out of words. Out of time.

He closed his eyes. The world faded away.