The king's road stretched before Alór like a pale scar on the dark earth.
The horse tired with each passing hour. Its hooves dragged on the dirt path, raising dust that clung to the armour and the sweaty flanks. Alór did not tighten the reins. There was no hurry. The war was coming, yes, but it would wait another day. Or two. Or three.
The sky was grey, low, heavy with clouds that did not rain. The wind blew cold, carrying the smell of pine and moss from the forests lining the road.
To his right, resting on a tangle of blankets and ropes, the egg.
It was huge – the size of a man's head. The shell gleamed with shades of purple and red, an inner glow pulsing slowly, like a sleeping heart. Alór did not know what it was. He had found it in an abandoned cave, in the far reaches of Lunos, guarded by nothing but silence and darkness. He could not resist. He took it. He brought it with him. Now the egg trembled from time to time – a light, almost imperceptible shudder, as if something inside were dreaming.
"One day," Alór murmured to the egg, "you will explain what you are."
The egg did not answer.
---
The landscape changed slowly.
The blue pines gave way to low shrubs, the shrubs to burnt fields, the fields to deserted villages. Alór passed a hamlet where the doors were broken and the windows empty. The smell of smoke still hung in the air – old smoke, days old, not fresh. Contraranures, he thought. Or bandits. Or famine. Or all together.
He did not stop. There was nothing to see. Nothing to save.
The egg trembled again.
"I know," said Alór. "I don't like it either."
---
On the third day, he spotted the knights of Ban.
They were coming from the opposite direction, on foot, their horses gone. Their leather armour was torn, stained with dried blood. Torvin, the eldest, dragged his left leg. Kael, the youngest, had his right arm in a makeshift sling. Hedrik, the silent one, held what remained of his sword – half a blade, the rest lost somewhere on the road.
Alór stopped his horse.
"Torvin."
The man raised his head. His eyes were sunken, red, tired.
"Alór van Decatry." His voice was hoarse, as if he had shouted too much. "I thought you were in Lunos."
"I was. Now I'm heading south. What happened to you?"
Torvin spat on the ground. The spit was dark.
"Trussum."
"Where?"
"Everywhere. He came out of the portal. He has followers. He corrupted men, beasts, maybe children." He sat down on the ground, exhausted. "We found them north of Eladir. There were only a few, we thought. We were wrong."
Kael sat down beside him, his face pale, his lips cracked.
"We killed some. Others fled. But they…"
"They don't stop," Hedrik finished, the first time Alór had heard him speak. "They run, they scream, they throw themselves at swords. They feel no pain. They feel no fear."
"Corrupted," said Alór. "Trussum transforms them."
"We knew." Torvin closed his eyes. "But knowing and seeing are different things."
The egg trembled. Alór placed his hand on the warm shell.
"You need water. And food."
"We need a week of sleep," Kael replied with a yellow smile. "But water will do."
Alór dismounted. He took a leather waterskin from his saddlebag, hard bread, dry cheese. Torvin ate slowly, his teeth chewing with effort. Kael drank in quick, shaky gulps. Hedrik shared the bread with his companions, looking at no one.
The egg pulsed in the silence.
---
"Does the duke know?" asked Torvin, after eating.
"My father?" Alór shrugged. "Father knows what the spies tell him. And spies only know what they see with their own eyes. Did they see Trussum? Did they see the corrupted?"
"They did. But too late."
"Too late for what?"
"To stop him from getting close to the academy."
The egg trembled harder. Alór held it with both hands.
"Is he on the peninsula?"
"He was." Torvin looked at the horizon, where clouds were gathering, black. "When we left, he was. Now… I don't know. The corrupted say he is looking for Ierály."
"Ierály? The leader of the Contraranures?"
"The same." Torvin wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "With the two of them together, the academy won't hold."
Alór fell silent.
The egg stopped trembling.
"I have to go," he said finally.
"On horseback? You'll arrive after everything is over."
"I'll arrive when I arrive." He mounted. Adjusted the reins. "You should move too. The academy is the safest place."
"It's the most targeted," said Hedrik.
"It's the same."
Alór squeezed his legs against the horse. The animal whinnied and moved forward.
Torvin stood up, leaning on Kael.
"Tell the duke…" he began, but did not finish.
"I'll tell him myself," Alór replied without looking back.
The horse trotted away. The egg swayed side to side, its purple and red colours shining against the grey sky.
---
The king's road continued.
Alór travelled another day. Then another. The egg trembled at irregular intervals – sometimes every hour, other times silent for half a day. Alór spoke to it. He told it stories he had heard as a child. Stories of heroes, of battles, of defeated monsters. The egg did not answer. But it seemed to listen.
"My father killed a demon lord," Alór said at dusk on the fifth day. "Triti, the gluttonous. They say it was a single blow. The sword went in through his open mouth. He never ate again."
The egg trembled.
"Do you think I can kill a lord?" Alór asked. "I'm not chosen. I have no divine power. I only have a sword and an egg that won't hatch."
The egg did not answer.
"Right," Alór muttered. "I don't think so either."
He lit a fire. Ate dry bread. Drank water from his flask. The egg lay beside him, its shell glowing faintly in the darkness.
The stars above seemed closer than the night before. Or farther. Alór no longer knew.
He thought of his father. Of his sisters. Of the war.
'Will I still be in time?', he wondered.
'Or will I arrive when everything has already burned?'
Sleep came slowly. The last image before he closed his eyes was the egg, pulsing in the dark.