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“What you want, puny bird-thing?” Graardor grunted. “We busy here, much smashing!"
Feeling the eyes of trolls, ogres, orks, and goblins all on him – eyeing him up perhaps a bit too hungrily for Ta'vi's comfort – Ta'vi straightened himself.
“Kree'arra has sent me to-”
Graardor burst out in uproarious laughter, along with the rest of his makeshift encampment.
“So Kree'arra send messenger pidgeon! Too scared to come meet Graardor himself!” Graardor guffawed, slapping his belly. He leaned in towards Ta'vi, his face alarmingly close to Ta'vi's beak. “Tell me, puny bird-thing,” he nearly whispered. “What Kree'arra want?”
“Yeah! What do stupid big bird god lackey want now?” a hammerstaff-wielding goblin mage cackled.
“You be quiet, Steelwill! I do talking to stupid pigeon!” Graardor shouted, bolting back upright. “Who is General here? Not Steelwill! Now shut up!”
I'd love to get this over with, if they'd just let me finish, Ta'vi thought.
“The Godsword is in grave danger,” Ta'vi said coldly. “We're holed up in an abandoned temple, north of Troll Country. We need all the help we can get to clear a path.”
“Ha ha ha! Puny God-Steel-Poker going to be lost? Bandos not need stupid God-Steel-Poker! Bandos crush stupid Zamorak skull!” Graardor guffawed. “Graardor's orders clear. Graardor smash puny Zamorakians here, in Forinthry.”
I need to think of something else to convince these buffoons, Ta'vi thought.
“I do not question the strength of you or your Big High War God, O great General Graardor,” Ta'vi said, trying his best to sound humble. They're too stupid to pick up on sarcasm. I hope, he thought. “That is why I came to you first. There is even more glory to be won for your Big High War God at the temple. You and your troops will surely be fighting even stronger Zamorakians. They're at the temple, not here. Let the Saradominists deal with the simpering weaklings of Zamorak here; K'ril Tsutsaroth and his most formidable warriors will be at the temple.”
“Stupid bird-thing flatter Graardor. But stupid bird-thing also right. More glory for the Big High War God in temple!” Graardor roared. The encampment erupted with more war-bellows and booming drums sounded. “FOR THE GLORY OF THE BIG HIGH WAR GOD!”
“For the glory of the Big High War God!” Steelwill echoed.
“For the glory of the Big High War God!” cried out the rest of the encampment.
“LET US SMASH THEIR SKULLS AT THE TEMPLE!” Graardor roared, beating his chest.
“YAAAAAAAR!” the rest of the encampment roared.
“I shall be taking my leave, then,” Ta'vi said, bowing and opening his wings. That was painful...now for the Saradominists.
Graardor and the others didn't hear him over their bellows.
Ta'vi took off into the night, headed for his next destination.
~ L A T E R ~
A seemingly endless plain, dotted with the lights of the occasional settlement or war-camp, crawled by as Ta'vi made his way above them, undetected in the dead of the night. The relative monotony of outer Forinthry gave way to a glow on the horizon: the main Saradominist war-camp, where Ta'vi would find their leadership.
Two flickering lights, which Ta'vi could tell were torch-bearing Icyene escorting another Icyene, rose up from the camp, making a beeline for him. He flexed his wings, and ceased the flow of wind magic that had been propelling him in the hours since he had left Graardor's camp. Below, he could see Centaurs, with bows in hand, ready to knock and shoot arrows.
The Icyenes nevertheless approached. Their leader wore a simple but elegant suit of lightweight, sleeveless blue leather armor. Her messy hair resembled a raven's feathers, deep black with a subtle hint of a turquiose sheen. She carried a simple lance, holding the shaft with both hands, and on each hip, Ta'vi could see a set of throwing knives.
Her guards wore simple steel helmets adorned with the symbol of Saradomin. Each wore dark blue tunics over steel chainmail. They each carried torches, but also had swords at their hips and round wooden shields on their non-torchbearing arms. Ta'vi legitimately could not tell one from the other, as the shadows obscured their faces.
“Halt!” the lead Icyene called out as she rose to his level. “Who goes there, and what is your purpose?” Though she was too far to stab him, she pointed her lance at him menacingly.
“I am Wingman Ta'vi of the Second Battalion, and that's all I am at liberty to say. I need to speak with Zilyana regarding a most urgent—and classified—matter,” Ta'vi replied in an equally curt fashion. Sensing that this wasn't a satisfactory answer as the Icyene's gaze hardened even more, Ta'vi added, “It's about the Ghorrock Salamander. She'll understand what that means.”
Ta'vi and the lead Icyene circled each other for a moment, with her guards hovering on opposite sides. He subtly prepared to take up his shortstaff. After a few more tense seconds in which the two evaluated each other, the Icyene nodded to her silent companions. Below, Ta'vi could see that the Centuars relaxed their bows and were already making their way back to the camp.
“You are to follow me to the ground,” the Icyene commanded sternly, nevertheless lowering her lance. “See to it you don't give us a reason to pluck you out of the sky.”
Silently, Ta'vi followed her, and her two guards flanked him.
Warm welcome, Ta'vi thought to himself sardonically.
The odd group glided down to a clearing, over which a large and imposing four-sided blue-and-white tent, adorned with yellow Saradomin stars, stood. Two more Icyene, each with a formidable pike in hand, stood at the entrance flap, their pikes crossed in the universal “do not pass” stance.
“You will wait here,” the lead Icyene commanded.
Her guards stood on opposite ends, each with a stoic glare. Their hands grasped the hilts of their swords. The trio stood there for far longer than Ta'vi liked, nevertheless giving him time to observe the encampment.
Centaurs and knights ambled around among the tents on the other side of the small clearing, and Ta'vi could hear the din of men talking and laughing. Past a few tents, he could see several footsoldiers gathered around the fire, fighting the early winter cold with the flame, flagons of beer, and camaraderie. Above, Icyenes circled the tent city, their eyes ever on the horizon.
From elsewhere, Ta'vi could make out the din of metal clashing with metal, and he looked to see a formidably large human sparring with an Icyene. The footsoldiers who had gathered around that torchlit seclusion failed to block his view. With a flourish, the human managed to disarm the Icyene, to the cheers of several footsoldiers.
Ta'vi once again turned to face the command tent as the Icyene who intercepted him earlier emerged.
“At ease, soldiers,” she commanded. The two statuesque Icyenes guarding Ta'vi widened their stance and took their hands off their swords, but still maintained their stoic glare.
“I must apologize, Ta'vi, for I have not given you the best welcome. You must understand that we are at war. We cannot afford a single lapse in security,” the Icyene said. “I am Elysha, and it is my honor to welcome you to the heart of the Saradominist war effort.”
“Well met, Elysha. I'm used to it by now,” Ta'vi said. “Unlike the Bandosians, at least I can be assured that your guards won't want to eat me.”
Elysha smirked, and added, “I am not sure there's anything a troll won't eat.”
“Only if they can catch me. Which they can't,” Ta'vi said.
“No, I can tell you are quite the quick one. In any case, Zilyana is ready to see you now,” Elysha said, her face and tone once again serious. “But be quick about it. We still have much work ahead of us,” she added. “This way.”
Ta'vi followed her to the tent. Two Icyene guards crossed their pikes in front of the entrance, and Elysha approached them and whispered something to the left guard. He nodded, then lifted his pike, allowing Ta'vi in.
Inside the tent, a war planning table sat, with several human and Icyene officers huddled around it, murmuring among themselves. Zilyana stood in the center of the tent, left hand on her hip, right hand casually holding her sword. Elysha followed, and stood behind Ta'vi as Zilyana approached.
“Greetings, Commander Zilyana,” Ta'vi said with a slight bow.
“I don't have much time,” Zilyana snapped. “As you can see, we have a war to plan and win here. The Zamorakians still hold too much of Forinthry, and we're still yet trying to reclaim the Hallowed Lands. I don't have time for idle chit-chat, and neither do Elysha nor my other generals. Who are you, and what do you want?”
“I am Ta'vi, and I carry an urgent message from Kree'arra,” Tavi said.
“Oh? And what does your general need so urgently? Surely, such a powerful and graceful being does not need the aid of us mere peons of Saradomin?” Zilyana asked sarcastically.
“You know of the mission to deliver the Godsword. We got ambushed by K'ril and his forces, and are currently trapped in a temple north of Troll Country,” Ta'vi said flatly. “We humbly request aid, so that we may complete our mission. Please, we are surrounded.”
“Ah, this must be the Temple of the Lost Ancients,” Zilyana remarked softly. “Kree'arra, what have you gotten yourself into?”
“He has three powerful guards and a legion of troops with him,” Ta'vi added. “Graardor is on the way as well, but...”
“You know how those Bandosians are. I'd surely not trust that brute with the Godsword any more than I'd trust K'ril or even Zamorak himself with it,” Zilyana said, further softening her tone. “That said, I shall see what I can spare. I can't promise much, but I'll come, and bring as many troops as I can.”
“Thank you,” Ta'vi said.
“Hah! Don't thank me,” Zilyana laughed. “If you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself. I'm sure you've got more errands to run. Now leave us.”
Ta'vi gave a short bow and left the tent, taking off once more into the night.
“Attention!” Zilyana shouted as he left. “There has been a change of plans!”
~ L A T E R ~
The wind whistled through the beams of the Empyrean Citadel as the moon looked on forlornly.
“Welcome to the Empyrean Citadel, Wingman Ta'vi,” one of the guards at the landing platform said. “What word do you bring from the front lines?”
“Not good,” Ta'vi said. “The Godsword mission is in danger.”
The guard nodded.
“I see. Very well then. Che'vyra is in the war room at the minute, with the other Wingleaders,” the guard said. “Wait here, I will let them know you are coming.”
That war room was once the Study. What dark times, that this place must be used for war, Ta'vi thought to himself glumly as the guard lifted off. Then again, when in my lifetime was this place not a place of war?
The Citadel was eerily quiet, in deep contrast to the raucous warcamp of the Bandosians or the bustling tent city of the Saradominists. It's too quiet, Ta'vi thought with a shiver.
“This way, Ta'vi,” the guard said.
. . .
Che'vyra resembled a ghost in the dimly moonlit room, pacing the war table, her white feathers a stark contrast to the other Wingleaders, who all had a variant of brown or black plumage. They stood silently at ease as Che'vyra contemplated the situation aloud.
“This is most definitely a major setback. Do you know why this place is so quiet, Ta'vi?” Che'vyra asked. “It's the calm before the storm. That Godsword was meant to arrive in secret to our forward base on the front lines, right where Armadyl is. Then, we were to lead an all-out assault on the Zamorakian strongholds in Forinthry, wiping them out with overwhelming force. Your failure has made this nearly impossible.”
“Head Warmage,” Ta'vi said wearily. “We were ambushed. We can't break through. There's just too many Zamorakians. We can't let the Godsword fall into their hands.”
“General Kree'arra has made either a grave mistake, or given us our last hope, indeed,” Che'vyra said solemnly. “We can afford to send some reinforcements, if for nothing else other than to keep the Bandosians at bay, should they get too rowdy, or should the Saradominists get funny ideas about how they're the rightful slayers of Zamorak. Very well.”
“So you'll send help?” Ta'vi asked.
“I don't see much of a choice,” Che'vyra clucked. “We should still have enough forces to wipe Forinthry clean. I don't like that we have to divert any forces. You never fight a war on two fronts. But if Zamorak can get away with fighting one on ten fronts, then perhaps we can also have a chance here.”
Che'vyra paused, then paced the length of the war table.
“We'll be sending the Third and Fourth Strike Squadrons to the Temple of the Lost Ancients immediately. Wake your troops,” Che'vyra ordered. “The Seventh will position themselves between Forinthry and Troll Country. Your job is to guard our back lines, and, if necessary, back up the squadrons in the Temple. Everyone else, we're going forward as planned.”
“Yes, sir!” the various leaders, who had stood silently around the table in rapt attention, shouted with a salute.
“Dismissed,” Che'vyra said curtly.
~ The Next Day ~
Ta'vi never imagined that the underground of the Temple would be this spacious, but it was nevertheless fortunate. Though it didn't give him or the Aviansies much room to maneuver, it was spacious enough for fighting.
Plenty of that to go around, Ta'vi thought to himself grimly.
A shriek shook him out of his reverie. Yet another feral vampyre hissed and was running straight for him. With a mighty flap of his wings and a burst of wind magic, Ta'vi knocked the beast into a ruined column, then dashed for it, thrusting a wooden stake into its heart. The vampyre gasped, then wheezed, then crumbled to ashes. Ta'vi resumed his post on top of another damaged wall and dusted himself off, surveying the area.
Fighting's died down a little bit, at least, Ta'vi reflected. It's just another calm, before another storm. I guess we should be glad that Zamorak didn't think to send actual Vyres here. They're nigh-immortal, and I've heard tell that Lord Drakan himself could easily go toe to toe with K'ril. That's the last thing we need right now...
He looked on as a small detachment of werewolves and red-garbed mages and archers wended their way through the ruins to the northeast. They didn't see him; nevertheless, Ta'vi crouched and observed through his pocket scope.
Clinking of armor to the east signaled the unmistakable movement of Saradominist knights. The lead werewolf halted, and sniffed the air. He dropped to all fours and sniffed at the floor a few times, giving hand signals to his men and fellow werewolves. They crept eastward, as the Saradominist patrol turned northwards. They took positions around walls and columns, staves in hand, arrows knocked, and werewolves on all fours, haunches raised.
I can't just let them go like this, Ta'vi thought. Dammit...
He silently took off, gliding low over the ruins. The knights jerked with a start as Ta'vi glided over them and landed in their midst.
“Careful,” Ta'vi said, ignoring their exclamatory murmurs and raised weapons. “Ambush ahead.”
With a snarl, the lead werewolf pounced from behind cover.
“Attack!” cried one of the Zamorakian war-mages.
Ta'vi took off, and unleashed a torrent of wind blasts at the ruins. Rocks flew about as the spells exploded, knocking some werewolves off their feet and disrupting some of the enemy spells. He then flung a javelin, using his wind magic to propel it directly at the heart of the closest war-mage and looked on in horror as two of the Saradominist knights' shields burst into flames.
An arrow grazed Ta'vi's right wing as he flung another javelin at another war-mage, which pierced her abdomen. Dodging and weaving, Ta'vi danced around as three more arrows whished by. He spun in the air, flung another javelin, and landed on the ground. With a whoosh, he then jumped back up as angry crimson flames sprung forth from the ground. Werewolves yelped and whined as Saradominist pikemen stabbed at them, pushing them back. With a mightly flap of his wings, Ta'vi blew a powerful gust at a trio of mages, disrupting their fire spells, which erupted randomly but harmlessly. They in turn became pincushions for a flight of arrows.
That's all the mages down, Ta'vi thought.
“Ta'vi! Behind you!” a familiar voice screeched.
Before Ta'vi could turn around, he felt a great weight on his back and a sharp, hot pain in his right shoulder. He leaned back and let himself fall, hearing a whimper right in his ear as they hit the floor. The pressure released, but Ta'vi's head hit the stone floor, dazing him. He tucked in his wings and rolled over, putting his hands to the floor and spitting out a small pellet.
When the ringing in his ears lessened, he heard a howl, and an awful gurgling noise. He could make out a black-and-white blur standing over a grey-and-red blur.
“You bfrood...ool, eerily frmfrm...” Ta'vi heard the black-and-white figure say, his head still spinning.
“Argh,” he moaned, blinking slowly. His head was pounding, and he could see that his rusty-orange feathers were now decorated with a smattering of blood.
“...outta here. Dammit, Ta'vi!” the voice shouted.
Ta'vi staggered to his feet and took in his surroundings as his vision came somewhat into focus. Several heaps of crisped armor lay scattered about the ruins, and blood was pooling everywhere. The grey-and-red blur manifested itself as a werewolf, its face frozen in a howling expression, eyes bulging, with a bolt in its throat.
“We've finished them off, thanks to you, Armadylean,” a White Knight woman with her helmet tucked in her arm said, concern written on her face. “I'd suggest that you get back to your camp. We can take it from here. Thank you, you've saved our lives. Saradomin bless you.”
“It warth nuffin,” Ta'vi slurred. “Now, if you'll eckthkuthe me...I left some fishies on the...the...sthtofe...”
“Let's get you back to camp. Oro'ki is going to kill me for this...” said Tai'po, worry marring his black-and-white feathered face.
. . .
Ta'vi blinked in and out of consciousness, awkwardly supported in his erratic flight to the Armadylean encampment, southwest of the central ruins. He perched on an overturned, broken column, and faded in and out of consciousness again. Several splashes of cold water startled him, but he was in too much pain to move. More splashes doused him, and he shook violently. Firm talons grasped him, and applied a cloth to the wound on his shoulder. Even though the headache, Ta'vi could feel a burning, stinging pain on his shoulder.
“Easy now,” Oro'ki said gently, her round, sooty-feathered face coming into focus. “I'll get you fixed up, but you need to hold still. This wound won't clean itself.”
A warm sensation quickly became hot pinpricks of pain as Oro'ki held the orb of her staff over Ta'vi's wound, muttering something as she went. Wincing at the pain, Ta'vi sought distraction in a conversation he could just make out nearby.
“Report,” Kree'arra said curtly.
“As you know, Ta'vi took some injuries on the field today, but he'll live. Oro'ki says it'll be a few days before he's combat-ready again. He stepped in to stop a Zamorakian ambush of some Saradominists. They were most grateful, and sent us on our way. Graardor's forces continue to harass the Zamorakians up north, but they're not really making much headway,” Tai'po said.
“It's wise to maintain good will with the Saradominists. Still, Ta'vi took too great a risk. We can't afford to overextend ourselves,” Skree remarked. “Permission to send out pairs for watches, General?”
“Indeed. Granted. And in Forinthry?” Kree'arra questioned.
“We're starting to turn the tide there,” Che'vyra said. “It's slow, and it's ugly, but our plan is working. We're squeezing them hard, but the harder we squeeze, the more ferociously they fight. Elysha's forces nearly broke, but we managed to help them cut off the Zamorakian supply lines from the south. They re-routed to the northeast. We would have smashed them, but the Bandosians are still too busy in the north, and too many of Elysha's forces took heavy casualties. The Second Battalion is helping them hold it together. We estimate that Saradominist reinforcements will arrive within about four days.”
“I can't imagine Zilyana will be too happy about that,” Kree'arra remarked. “And the Seventh Battalion?”
“Holding position. They're picking off a few Zamorakian convoys headed here, but they can't hit them all, and each time they do, they lose a few Aviansies,” Che'vyra said. “I'm ordering them to pull back closer to Troll Country. We'll bring a small handful from the Second Battalion to back them up; one squadron should be sufficient. That should still leave Elysha with enough troops to hold the line.”
“Indeed. Any orders for us?” Kree'arra asked.
“Conserve your forces. Once we clear Forinthry a bit more, we'll be able to carve a path straight out of Troll Country for you. The Caelomancers have shifted the Citadels to the west, to provide us more support. We'll be able to keep you supplied for the time being, but you are still to ration strictly,” Che'vyra said. “It's all we can do for you for now. And now, I must take my leave.”
“Very well. May Armadyl be with you,” Kree'arra said with a slight bow, which Che'vyra reciprocated.
“There, all patched up,” Oro'ki whispered. “Here,” she said, producing a vial of browninsh-pink liquid. “This'll help with the headache. Drink.”
Ta'vi obliged, and the pain dulled.
“Thank you,” Ta'vi wheezed.
“Tai'po,” Oro'ki said.
“May I?” Tai'po asked.
“He needs his rest. But I'll allow you a few moments with him,” Oro'ki said sternly.
“Hey,” Ta'vi said, as Oro'ki took her leave to attend others.
“Feeling better?” Tai'po asked.
“I'll live,” Ta'vi said. “About what happened...”
“You did the right thing,” Tai'po said. “Those Zamorakians probably would have come after you next, had they slaughtered those Saradominists. What you did was brave, but also reckless. Watch your back next time, hmm?”
“Heh,” Ta'vi snorted. “I'll keep that in mind.”
“Now get your rest. It's looking like we'll be here for a little while longer, and we still need you,” Tai'po said.
With a nod, Ta'vi balanced himself on the toppled column, and shut his eyes. The exhaustion caught him instantly, and he slept.
F MINUS 100 DAYS