James Wyatt - Oath of Vigilance

“What in the Nine Hells was I thinking?” he muttered to Tempest.

“Hush,” she said. “These people need leadership, and they know a hero when they see one.”

“That certainly explains the welcome we received on the bridge.”

“You promised them what they need. Now give it to them.”

He glanced down at Uldane and saw the halfling beaming up at him, the anger of the last hour and the bitterness of his final exchange with Shara apparently forgotten in the excitement of the moment. “You raised an army, Roghar!” Uldane said. “Well, it’s more people than we had when we fought the demons on the bluffs, anyway.”

Somebody set a wooden crate on the cobblestones in front of him and he stepped onto it, looking out over his little army. A line of vermilion across the eastern horizon marked the approach of dawn, though a few stars still burned brightly overhead, shining through chinks in the cloud and smoke that draped the sky. He drew his sword to more cheers, and lifted it high over his head.

“People of Fallcrest!” he said.

Slowly the cheering diminished as the soldiers quieted to listen to him. He let his eyes range over the crowd-he counted fourteen this time-and tried to size them up. A couple were professional soldiers, judging by the quality of their arms and armor, but most were militia, ordinary folks who had risen to the defense of their homes. That was perhaps the only advantage he could claim in the battle ahead. His soldiers would be dedicated to protecting their town. That would have to suffice.

“We face a foe unlike any you have faced before,” he said when the cheers had quieted. “These are not orcs from the Stonemarch, come to sack and burn the way they did ninety years ago. These are not bandits united under some warlord, come to plunder and pillage. You’ve seen them. These are demons, spawned in the dark pit of the Abyss with just one purpose-to destroy everything we know and love. The farms of our neighbors are burning, the Nentir Inn is aflame. Lowtown has become their haunt, and the forests across the river are silent.”

Roghar looked at each soldier gathered there-now he had eighteen-and saw fear in every eye. Good, he thought. They should be afraid.

“But they can be fought,” he went on. “You saw that tonight. Some of them are creatures of living fire, others are nightmare made manifest. But they’re all still flesh and bone that sword and spear can pierce and break. Their greatest weapon is fear. Ours is hope-hope that casts out fear, hope that strengthens our arms to protect our homes, hope that shines light into the darkness!” He lifted his sword again and it began to glow, growing stronger until it was a blazing sun, a beacon of divine light shining across the square.

The little army erupted in cheers again, and at that moment the sun broke over the horizon, sending beams of light into the clouds.

“For Fallcrest!” Roghar shouted over the cheers. “For Bahamut, and for glory!”

Twenty-four soldiers stood before him now, cheering and rattling their weapons. His army had doubled in strength in the time he had taken to speak to them. He wondered how much larger it might grow if he spoke longer, but he shook off the thought. His soldiers were ready to fight, and there would be no better time to strike.

“To the bluffs!” he called. “First we take the Market Green!”

Roghar stepped down off the crate. All around him, soldiers clapped him on the shoulder or slapped their swords against his shield. Tempest and Uldane found their way through the soldiers to his side, and together the three of them led the way down Market Street toward the bluffs.

“Well done,” Tempest whispered to him as they walked.

“Thank you.”

“Your timing was amazing,” Uldane said. “Did you know that the sun was going to rise at that exact moment?”

Roghar laughed. “I had my eye on it, but I basically got lucky. Or else Bahamut put in a good word for me with Pelor.”

“I’m not sure it works that way,” Tempest said.

“Lucky, then.”

“Let’s hope our luck holds,” Uldane said.

Roghar glanced over his shoulder at the soldiers following them-following him, really. He was almost certain their numbers had swelled still further.

“More of them keep coming,” he said to Tempest.

“Of course they do.”

“I hope the Lord Warden doesn’t take offense at me for presuming to lead his troops.”

Tempest smiled. “Well, I can think of two likely outcomes. Either you lead them to victory, in which case he can’t really complain. Or you lead them to annihilation and he gets furious, but you’re not around to get punished.”

“I like the first option,” Uldane said.

Roghar nodded. “I agree. Let’s aim for that.”

“Do you have a plan?” Tempest asked.

“When have I ever had a plan?”

“You sound like Shara,” Uldane said with a grin that quickly dissolved into a scowl.

Roghar walked a few paces in silence, confident that if the halfling wanted to talk about whatever was bothering him, he would. Uldane could generally be counted on to speak up in any circumstance, even on the way to a battle that might be his last.

“It’s like she just doesn’t care any more,” Uldane said at last. “I mean, she always enjoyed fighting, but after Jarren died she just got reckless. And you know nothing scares me, but I don’t like the feeling that my friend doesn’t care if I live or die-doesn’t even care if she dies. Jarren cared. Jarren cared for us both.”

Roghar put a hand on Uldane’s shoulder as the halfling rubbed at his eye. “And the drow?”

“He doesn’t give a damn. He doesn’t care about anything but himself. It’s like being with him is just another way for Shara to put herself in danger.”

“You think she’s in real danger?”

“Yes! I don’t think he’d pause a minute before turning on her if he thought he could save himself.”

Roghar scratched his chin. “Shara told the soldiers on the bridge that he had saved her life, more than once.”

“He helped us fight the demons, it’s true. But he’s just looking out for himself.”

“Hm. I think that’s a little different than saying he himself is a danger to her.”

Uldane shrugged. “I don’t see how.”

“Well, Uldane, Shara’s heart was broken. And I think she blames herself for Vestapalk’s return when we all thought he was dead.”

“So she’s punishing herself?”

“I think so, yes.”

“That’s stupid. It’s like … like making a wound larger because it doesn’t hurt enough.”

“People who are hurting sometimes do things that don’t make much sense.”

“All you tall folk do things that don’t make sense, all the time. I guess it’s nothing new.”

Roghar stopped walking. The straight and level road had come to an end, and ahead was the winding track leading down the bluffs to Lowtown and the Market Green. “Like leading a ragtag gang of militia into battle against a horde of demons?” he said.

Uldane stepped to the very edge of the bluff and leaned over so far that Roghar felt a rush of vertigo on his behalf. “Exactly like that,” the halfling said. “Look, you can see some of the burning ones moving around down there.”

“Do you see any on the trail down the bluff?” Roghar asked.

“No sign of fire. But it was the nightmare ones that attacked us over on the west side. They’re not so easy to spot in this light.”

“Right. They’re hard enough to spot right before they attack. Eyes and ears wide open as we head down, then. We’ve got to spot them before they attack the soldiers behind us.”

Uldane and Tempest both nodded, their attention focused over the edge of the cliff.