The final days of their journey were a descent into a new kind of hell. The red sands and hardy scrub of the outer wastes gave way to a landscape of black, volcanic rock and sharp, glassy obsidian that littered the ground like broken teeth. The sun beat down, but the air grew unnaturally cold, a deep, pervasive chill that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the land itself.
From her position at the head of the company, Commander Eva felt the wrongness of the place like a pressure against her skin. This was a land that had been wounded, a place where the normal laws of nature had been violated and left to fester. Crude, jagged sigils, the mark of the Covenanters, were now carved into the rock faces, ugly scars on the ancient stone, marking the path to their holy site.
"We are close," Praxus said, his voice a low, strained whisper. He, more than anyone, seemed affected by the oppressive atmosphere, as if the land's ancient sorrow was something he could hear.
On the evening of the seventh day of their march through the black wastes, Finnian, scouting ahead, returned to the group. "I've found a ridge," he reported, his face grim. "We can see it from there."
They moved with the quiet stealth of ghosts, leaving the mules with Malik and the sailors while the core team, Eva, Praxus, Finnian, Hanna, and Joric, crept to the edge of the high, rocky overlook. They lay flat on the cold stone, peering over the precipice.
Below them lay the oasis of Qar-Teth.
It was a sight of profound and terrifying contradiction. A slash of impossible life was carved into the dead, black desert. A deep, unnaturally dark pool of water formed the heart of the oasis, surrounded by a lush grove of skeletal palm trees and strange, pale desert flowers that seemed to bloom without sunlight.
The city itself was built in and around the ruins of a civilization that had no right to exist. Massive, seamless structures of the same black stone as the surrounding desert jutted from the sands at impossible angles. There were no visible doors or windows, only vast, smooth surfaces inscribed with faint, geometric patterns that seemed to make the eye ache. These were the Progenitor ruins Praxus had spoken of. This was the prison.
And crawling over this ancient, alien structure was the parasitic new life of the Covenanters. Hundreds of black tents were pitched in the shadows of the ruins. A crude wooden palisade had been erected, and black-robed figures armed with crude spears patrolled its length. In the center of the city, on a wide, flat promontory overlooking the dark pool, a new and horrifying structure had been built: a great, jagged altar of freshly hewn obsidian, its surface stained with what could only be blood.
The air rising from the oasis carried the faint sound of rhythmic chanting, a low, monotonous drone that was the antithesis of the vibrant, joyful songs of the Age of Grace. This was not a city. It was a temple-fortress, a hive of fanatics waiting for their prophet to deliver them to their god.
Eva and her team watched in silence for a long time, the sheer scale of the task ahead settling upon them like a shroud. They were nine. Down below were at least two thousand devout, militant fanatics.
They retreated back to a hidden alcove to form a plan.
"A direct assault is suicide," Joric stated the obvious, his face pale.
"We do not need to win a battle," Eva countered, her mind already working through the tactical impossibilities. "We need to complete a mission. Stop Ouen's ritual. Praxus," she turned to the scholar, "where will he be?"
Praxus, looking shaken by the sight of the Progenitor ruins, pointed a trembling finger. "That central structure, the one that rises directly from the water's edge. The scrolls call it the Nexus. It was the focal point of the original sealing. If a ritual is to be performed to undo that seal, it must happen there."
Finnian, who had been studying the terrain with a navigator's eye, spoke up. "There is a way in," he said quietly. "Perhaps. Look." He sketched in the sand. "The main gate is a death trap. But that pool… it's fed by an underground spring. I saw the signs of it a mile back. And the Progenitors… they built aqueducts. See that line of half-buried arches? It's an ancient, covered waterway. It might be collapsed, but if it's not… it might lead us right into the heart of the city, bypassing the walls entirely."
Eva looked from Finnian's drawing to Praxus, who nodded in confirmation. "The texts speak of channels to regulate the 'cooling waters'."
The desperate, insane plan formed in her mind. "A two-pronged infiltration," she declared. "We will strike after moonset, in the deepest dark. Team Alpha: Malik, your sailors, and two of my guards. You are the diversion. You will approach the eastern gate. You will not engage directly. You will create chaos. Fire, noise, anything to draw the bulk of their patrols away from the center of the city."
Malik gave a grim, toothy smile. "Causing chaos is a sailor's specialty, Commander."
"Team Beta," Eva continued, her gaze falling on the rest of them. "That's us. Praxus, Hanna, Finnian, Joric, and myself. We take the aqueduct. While the diversion has their attention, we move to the Nexus. We find Ouen. And we end this."
As true night fell, they made their final preparations in the cold silence of the desert. Hanna prepared a set of fast-acting poultices for wounds. Finnian and Malik whispered, confirming the path to the aqueduct's entrance. Praxus sat apart, his eyes closed, silently reciting the passages from the Lament as if they were both a map and a prayer.
Eva stood before her small, strange company, their faces illuminated by the faint, reflected light from the cursed city below. They were a scholar, a healer, a sailor, a captain, and a handful of soldiers. They were not an army. They were not even heroes. They were just all that was left.
She drew her sword, its honed edge gleaming faintly in the dark. "The mission is a simple one," she said, her voice a low, steady anchor in the sea of their fear. "We get in, we stop the prophet, and we get out. Look after each other. Fight for the person standing next to you. No one dies alone."
She looked towards the eastern gate, then back at Malik. The old captain gave her a single, sharp nod. The diversion team melted into the darkness.
Eva turned to her own team, her strike force, the scalpel aimed at the heart of the enemy. She looked at the dark, half-buried entrance to the ancient aqueduct, a black maw leading into the unknown.
"Let's go," she commanded.
---
The Chronicle of the Fallen
Time Period Covered: Approximately Days 166 through 190 of the Age of Fear
Victims of The Reaping: 8
Victims of the Covenant: 251 (The pilgrimage to Qar-Teth has led to a surge in "sacrifices for safe passage" among travelers in the treacherous deserts of Zahram)
Deaths from Civil Unrest: 15
Total Lives Lost: 274
Of Note Among the Fallen:
— A master diplomat from a southern city-state in Zahram, who advocated for an alliance with Aethel against the Covenanters, publicly executed by Covenanter sympathizers.
— The last historian in Verdane who kept the oral traditions of the Progenitor era, reaped.