Chapter 34: The Coming Storm
Alistair stood frozen, the silent scream of the land echoing in his soul. This was different from the slow, creeping sickness of the crags. This was a sudden, violent wound in the world, a raw and angry power.
He turned and ran to the eastern watchtower, taking the ladder two rungs at a time. Kael was on duty, his eyes wide in the moonlight.
"Did you feel that?" Alistair asked, his voice tight.
Kael shook his head, confused. "Feel what, Earth-Shaker? The night is quiet."
Of course. The others couldn't feel it. The warning was for him alone. He was the Steward, and the world was crying out in pain only he could hear.
He stared into the darkness to the east. Nothing moved. But the feeling was getting stronger. A pressure was building, a storm of wrongness gathering just beyond the horizon.
He climbed down and moved through the sleeping settlement, his mind racing. He had to wake everyone. They had to prepare. But for what? He didn't know what was coming, only that it was coming fast.
He went to Thora's shelter first. He didn't need to shake her awake. She was already sitting up, her spear in her hand. Her hunter's instincts had felt the shift in the world, even if she didn't know the cause.
"Something is wrong," she said, her voice a low whisper.
"Something is coming," Alistair corrected. "From the east. Something... bad. Worse than the crags."
Her face hardened. She stood without another word and began to wake the other hunters.
Next, Alistair went to the hut where Grok and Borak slept when they visited. He pushed the hide curtain aside. Grok was already awake, his massive form silhouetted against the moonlit doorway.
"The air tastes of metal and blood," Grok rumbled. "What have you sensed, Earth-Shaker?"
Alistair told him. The psychic shockwave. The feeling of a raw, angry power. The direction.
Grok's expression turned to stone. "Varg," he said, the name a curse. "He has always been a fool. But a fool with a sharp axe can do great damage. What has he stirred up out there?"
Soon, the entire settlement was awake. Lights were lit. The forges were stoked. The resonance hammers, so recently a symbol of hope, were passed out to the strongest warriors. The air was thick with a fearful energy.
Alistair stood on the foundation stone, looking out at his people—Blue-Skin and Graxian alike. Their faces were pale and scared, but they stood ready. They trusted him.
He had no grand speech. He only had the terrible truth.
"The land is screaming," he told them, his voice carrying in the dead quiet of the night. "A new enemy comes from the east. We do not know its face. We only know its hate. It comes for us all."
He looked toward the dark tree line, the feeling of impending doom now a physical weight on his chest.
"Prepare for battle," he said.
But as he watched the horizon, a new, more terrifying thought occurred to him. This wasn't just an attack.
The scream from the east hadn't just been a cry of rage.
It had been a cry of triumph.