Soul of Magic (Soul of Magic Book 1)

NINETEEN

Sigmund gulped down a large portion of the ale in his hand before taking up his post on the wall, which was where he would be until the moon reached its highest point at midnight and his watch ended. The Outpost, the wall was called. But in truth, it was nothing more than a very long, very gigantic heavy stone structure that separated the realm from the f*******n lands.

Nothing was known about the f*******n lands; which may have had a lot to do with the fact that no man who had ventured into it has ever returned to tell the tales. They were either swallowed up in death or disappeared without a trace. Myth had it that the f*******n lands was the border between life and the Void, inhabited by creatures that were neither here nor there. Another said that it was just a plain of nothingness, a vacuum that depicted the very end of the world.

But whatever it really was, the f*******n lands remained that: f*******n; prevented by the very great wall of the Outpost that spanned the entire length of the realm to the west.

The Outpost was actually the creation of Nicolas the Vanquisher, the great King of Cyrian and mightiest man in the whole of the realm. It was the realization of his suggestion to the other kings that they build a structure that would prevent whatever lurked within the f*******n lands from gaining entrance into the realm and also to deter future generations from ever trying to venture into the lands beyond. A group of people accused that Nicolas knew exactly what was in the f*******n lands, a knowledge imbibed by the possession of a secret that had been passed down his Cyriani kingship line since the inception of the great kingdom. They even added that the very map of the f*******n lands laid among other treasures locked up in the vaults of the great kingdom.

But the words never gained true popularity and it remained what many words did; lazy allegations. Thing is, no one could dare to speak ill of the great king within his hearing. They respected him too much for that; and they feared his might also. And without anyone to counter his vision, Nicolas built the Outpost and made it to serve its purpose of protection and deterrence.

Sigmund looked over the wall into the f*******n lands beyond, a thick fog enveloping everything to the horizon, as it had been since time immemorial. He had asked himself times without number why he had chosen to join the elite guards of the Outpost, an assemblage of great warriors from all over the realm who had undergone special training in order to be able to withstand whatever monstrosity the f*******n lands may throw at them. The answer he found was as quick and simple as the way he had always posed the question to himself; the pay was good.

Sigmund was the son of a simple farmer, his only dream being to become just like his father. But all that changed when recruitment came to his village and he enlisted. Now, he was as lethal as a poison with whatever weapon he wielded, he had saved up more money than he ever thought he could see in his lifetime; and although his wife complained whenever he left home, her eyes never failed to sparkle when he gave her baubles upon baubles.

The day was to be the same, he assured himself as he took another swig of the ale and settled into his post. He would keep watch until midnight and then pass the guard to another, signifying the end of his long three-month watch. Then, he would go down to the Commander and collect his pay, four bags of refined gold which was more valuable and rarer than common gold, after which he would go marching happily home to his wife beside whom he would lay for the next one month before returning back to do it all over again.

But just as he was about to do exactly that, Sigmund spotted something in the fog; a silhouette or something that looked like a silhouette. "Darnell," he called to the guard beside him. "I think I see something in the fog."

"There's nothing there," returned the other man immediately without even bothering to take a look. Thing is, Darnell had ever trusted Sigmund's assessments because of his habitual drinking which, although it was generally discouraged among the guards, extended to the watch. "I told you not to drink before coming up here but you never listen. Now, you're seeing..." Darnell trailed off as he finally looked up; he could see the silhouette too. The other men along the wall began to pipe up as they spotted the same silhouette. It was getting closer.

"Hey you!" Sigmund shouted at it. "Stop or you'll be shot down!"

"Like it's just going to listen to you," Darnell said to him with a snicker. "The ale must have made you foolish, not that you were wise to begin with."

That didn't sit at all well with Sigmund at all and he directed a well-deserved punch at Darnell's face. "And what do you suggest?" he shouted at him, readying another punch. "That we go down there and confront it?" Sigmund was soon to regret his words as that was exactly what the Commander did. He sent him, Darnell and two other men to go down and find out what was really going on. Armed with only a sword and a torch each, they all ventured towards the bizarreness.

The whole situation had sobered Sigmund up and he could now make use of his guts with a clear head, and it was screaming at him to make a run for it. The men had barely approached the fog when they sighted the silhouette, a very dark figure in the gray view.

"Hey!" Sigmund shouted at it again but it suddenly vanished. “What-.”

He never got to finish that statement as a black light suddenly came flying out of the fog and hit him. It flung him backwards and he landed on the ground; rolling a few feet before coming to bang his head against a rock. He heard screams erupt all around him, the alarm bell ringing as men charged out to face the enemy he didn't even have the opportunity to see. But try as he could, he couldn’t bring himself to stand up to join his comrade in facing the enemy that they had been training their whole life to fight. His head was spinning and body felt so heavy that it was as if it was buried under a ton of steel. He looked around in the unseeing fog before everything seemed to blur and the whole world descended into darkness before his eyes.

Sigmund didn’t know how long later but everything suddenly began to come back into focus; he had been knocked out cold when he fell.

"By the Creator," he groaned as he attempted to get back on his feet; a task made more daunting by the unmerciful aches in his body.

Eventually, he got up but immediately slipped and fell again. "Oh come on!" he shouted as he spat out blood. And that was when it hit him; the blood wasn't entirely his own.

He finally looked up and stopped short. Laying across the field were endless pools of blood and piles of body, bodies of his comrades. They had been battered to forms not worthy for the sight of men and Sigmund would have thrown up at that moment if not that he had a strong stomach.

Surprisingly though, the body of the enemy was not among them, which meant that whatever it was had survived. But it wasn’t until he looked up to see the Outpost that he knew that a greater surprise awaited him. Nothing remained of the great wall but a pile of rubble, shattered by a force that was undeniably unstoppable.

A great shudder coursed through Sigmund as he realised the meaning of what was before him. Whatever had destroyed his friends wasn't done yet. In fact, it was only just beginning.