Amber Mills was too tired to cry anymore.
The survivors of the destruction of Neverwinter had run as far as they could. They had made impossible choices. They had sent half their soldiers as a diversion to lead their pursuers away to Helm’s Hold. They had left behind the elderly, the sick and the injured, anyone who slowed them down more than a child would. Then everyone able to fight had tried desperately to open an escape south through Leilon, to no avail. With Valindra’s undead horde closing in, and with nowhere else to go and no energy left to run, they had sheltered in Wave Echo Cave.
And here they were, late at night, not having slept for 3 days. Waiting for their end.
Amber held her last sending stone in her fingers, barely refraining from letting it tumble to the ground. She felt there was little point in making one last message, but she took her duties seriously, and fought away her despair.
“My name…no one cares what my name is. There’s no one listening. That’s clear now. Valindra’s about to kill us all. The slavery of her undeath is all that awaits. We would end our own lives if we thought it would do any good, but it won’t. And we owe it to the children to continue as far as we can…But this. This is as far as we can go. If anyone ever finds this, just know we…we tried. We tried our very best to save them. But it wasn’t enough.
We had friends once. Angels. Heroes from a world beyond. They were called ‘Little Warriors’. But here, at the end, there’s no sign of them. I don’t know why. All I know is we’re alone now, and we’re beaten.”
The stone glowed green, flickered one final time to tell her the message had been stored and sent…where? To some uncaring god. It didn’t matter. She let the stone fall.
Thump. It hit the soft soil and stayed there.
The wind blew with a dread chill. Out there to the north, Amber could see an army assembling, the dull green and blue of its necromantic weapons spreading out into a long front to cut off any escape to the east or west. Maybe if she called out, she might tell them not to bother. Her people couldn’t go anywhere. They were pinned against the Sword Mountains. And even if they were to somehow cross them, what then? There had been no word from Waterdeep either, or anyone on the Sword Coast. She imagined the other cities facing much the same. Would they have any more hope of survival than Neverwinter did?
Thump. What? Had she dropped something else, or…
She was not alone. A man stood nearby. Her blood ran cold as his presence pulled at her attention, locking her gaze on his form. She could not look away. The man had shoulder-length white hair that almost glowed in the darkness. He wore plain black clothes and a black cloak, all with silvered trim. He held a black rod in his hand. Amber recognized it from legends of her city. The Dread Rail of Command.
So this was how damnation would find them. Part of her tried to steal herself to face the end bravely. Another part tried to scream and run, anywhere but here. But that sense of presence held her in place. She could not move. She could not look away.
“An act of great evil,” the man said, looking casually at the rod he held. “That’s how Breac described it. Even if used in the cause of good. Like the very act of binding someone beyond death against their will this way – that was in and of itself an unforgivable act. An unacceptable outcome. But Breac is a priest. He was trained to think in absolutes. Black and white.
What if the Rail was used against someone already bound? To someone else? I’d just be trading the set of shackles they currently wear for another. And what if I used it when I myself was already damned? Beyond anything the gods might call ‘grace’ or ‘salvation’. Normally I would say one could never justify piling additional evil upon evil…but if used under such conditions, for an undeniably necessary action?”
“Wha..what do you want?” Amber finally managed to stammer. “Why are you doing this?”
The man turned slowly to face her. His eyes were a brilliant blue, and she felt her muscles, her mind, stiffen even further as those eyes pinned her in place. “Amber Mills,” he said almost breathlessly. “Of course, you would be here. You misunderstand. I am here to save you.”
“She said the same thing.”
“Valindra? Yes. She is a twisted thing. Much like I was recently.” The man walked towards her. He was not even six foot tall, but Amber shrank back away from him, staring up at him as if he were a giant. “My name is Whisper. I am a Little Warrior. My guildmates, my…my friends…”
He choked on those words, and Amber realized with a start he was holding back tears. His face was hard and angular. Had it ever actually cried? But it was right on the cusp of breaking now.
“Breac and Ruby,” he continued. “They’ve assembled a new group of heroes. They would be here, if they could, but they’ve been held back by circumstance beyond their control. But I am here in their stead. And that means, for now at least, you and your people are safe.”
Safe. Amber wasn’t even sure what that meant anymore.
“How?” she asked. “Are you going to destroy an entire army…”
“Don’t worry about that,” Whisper assured her. “You just think of your people. I won’t be able to stay long. In the Guild’s absence, there is much I need to do on my own. To buy my friends time, you understand. So I will take care of Valindra. And her army – I’ll take some of that as my own. I will need their help. And then your people will need you. They will not be out of danger. Bandits, famine, disease – all of it will come for you as before, and your people will look to you to lead them through it, and I cannot stay to help with that. You understand this, yes?”
“Y…Yes.” She didn’t understand any of it, but it seemed the right thing to say at the time.
Whisper smiled wryly. “No one understands much when they start, my lady. You will learn.”
He turned and walked away to the north, towards the blue-green glow of the approaching army. He took five steps, then turned into a crow with a stark white crest, and flew away.
Several minutes passed. Then there was a series of dull flashes in the distance, and Amber winced. She had been dreading this moment, when the horde’s weapons would open fire, and its ranks would advance. But the globules of unholy fire did not fly towards the air towards her. They flew east and west. Across their own ranks.
For the rest of the night, Valindra’s army fought a desperate battle for survival against itself. By mid-morning, it had lost.
