Chapter 1- Winds Of The Unnamed Plains
The sky darkened, swollen with clouds rolling like waves on a stormy sea, erasing the last remnants of twilight. The cold air blew from afar, descending rapidly from the jagged peaks of the Slippery Mountains and rushing through the treetops of the Bitter Forest until it reached the plains below. The wind swept through the tall grass, flattening it, making it seem like an endless stretch of green. Dust began to rise and, transformed into a whip, it seemed to strike the backs of the herd of cattle they were driving. Three riders were herding the cattle across the vast expanse of the Unnamed Plains. The cattle, a mix of brown and black hides, moved restlessly as the wind howled, and the approaching storm cloaked the earth in an unnatural darkness.
Balen looked up at the sky, his sharp eyes narrowing against the wind. The storm was closing in quickly, faster than he had expected. He sat upright in the saddle, gripping the reins of his mare, who snorted and tossed her head, agitated by the change in the air. They had been herding the animals for nearly a week, and now they were less than half an hour from Gora, where they intended to sell the cattle.
"The weather’s about to change," Wern said from his right. His voice was rough, almost drowned out by the roar of the wind. His weather-beaten face wore a permanent frown, and the wide brim of his hat cast his sharp gaze into a shadow, giving him a mysterious air.
"We should’ve stopped when we first saw those clouds," he added, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. "The animals are already spooked. One crack of thunder, and they’ll scatter for sure."
"We can’t stop now," Balen replied firmly, though a trace of doubt had crept into his voice. His gaze measured the moving herd ahead of them, the animals growing more agitated with each gust of wind. "We’re too close. Gora is just over that ridge. If we keep going, even with the storm delay, we’ll reach the town in an hour, maybe two. We’ll sell everything and find a dry bed for the night."
The third rider, Jerek, moved his horse closer, leaning into the wind to make himself heard.
"How much do you think we’ll get for them?" he shouted, his voice almost swallowed by the gusts. Jerek was the youngest of the group, just over twenty years old, his face still untouched by the lines that marked the hard years of riding experienced by Balen and Wern. He wasn’t experienced, and the storm terrified him, but he was eager to master the trade, just like his grandfather, Balen.
Balen shrugged.95Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEG0zsxBDPC
"Whatever they pay, it’ll be better than going back empty-handed. Gora’s the biggest cattle market in the region. They’re always in need, especially with winter coming. If we get them there intact, we’ll be set for a few months."
"Winter? It feels like it’s already here," Wern scoffed, shaking his head. He pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders and cast a cautious glance at the sky. The first flicker of lightning flashed far off on the horizon, but close enough to send a ripple of unease through the herd.
"Behind me," Balen ordered, spurring his horse. "Stay sharp and don’t let them scatter."
They rode in silence for a few moments, the wind now a constant, furious roar that drowned out the low murmurs of the cattle. Balen focused on the animals, reading their movements, their restlessness. He was worried that the next thunderclap might be the one to break the formation and send the animals scattering. But more than the thought of rounding up the cattle, it was the fear that his inexperienced nephew might panic that scared him most. He knew better than anyone where fear could take you in such situations, and he hoped with all his heart that, if necessary, the boy would have the presence of mind not to do anything foolish that might cost him his life.
"You ever hear why they call this place the Unnamed Plains?" Jerek shouted through the gusts, drawing closer to Balen.
Balen gave him a sidelong glance.95Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQv4Fvxlwb9
"No! But I suppose even if I told you I didn’t care, you’d still tell me, wouldn’t you?"
"Come on, it’ll pass the time," Jerek laughed undeterred.
Wern let out a disapproving grunt from behind them.95Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqv51fl8jg5
"If you’ve got a story to tell, you’d best tell it fast, boy. Though you’d be better off saying a prayer. The sky looks like it’s about to crash down on us, and you’re thinking about fairy tales."
Jerek chuckled and pulled his hat down over his eyes as if trying to add a dramatic effect to pique the others’ interest.
"Alright, alright. So, the reason they call it the Unnamed Plains is because a cartographer came to map this region but never finished the job. He was in a rush, you see? Had no time to waste. So, when he got here, he just wrote ‘Unnamed,’ thinking he’d come back later to give it a proper name. But he never did. The map was published just like that, and now the whole area is stuck without a name."
Balen grunted, though inside he was surprised to hear the reason why the place he had always called home had such a strange name.95Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgZomV8uWZr
"Figures. No one ever cared enough about this place to give it a proper name. I’d be disappointed if you told me it came from some creative effort."
"Fits perfectly," Wern muttered. "An empty field deserves an empty name. Though, if you’ll allow me, I’ve got an addition to your story."
Balen and Jerek turned their heads and nodded curiously. It was quite unusual to hear the grumpy old man tell a story. Though they’d known him for a long time, the only stories they’d heard from Wern were about cattle and how the work was getting harder every day.
"If you look at the old maps," Wern continued, "down near the Canyon of Bendis, you’ll see four villages marked: Brawne, Canwne, Ludor, and Amurg. Turns out your cartographer friend made another mistake. None of them exist, and they never did. He knew there were 23 villages in the Unnamed Plains, but since the last four were too far for him to reach, he just put their names in the only space left on the map."
"So, you’re saying there are four mysterious villages that don’t really exist? And I’m the one telling fairy tales," Jerek laughed.
"Believe what you want," Wern grunted. "But I can tell you for sure, it’s no legend. I had to lead troops there when I was a captain in the Republican Army. Took us nine days to get there, only to discover we were still in the middle of nowhere. At first, we thought the villages had been destroyed in the war and that’s why we couldn’t find them. But we got lucky when a rider told us the real story."
Jerek opened his mouth to ask Wern about his time as a captain, but at that moment, the sky split open with a deafening clap of thunder. The cattle, already on the verge of panic, broke ranks. The herd let out a collective bellow, and in an instant, they were scattering in every direction, hooves pounding the earth, as they surged in a frantic, uncontrollable wave.
"Damn it!" Balen cursed, yanking on the reins. "Get them under control! Circle them!"
But his voice was lost in the deafening noise of thunder that now rolled with such speed it seemed unimaginable, driving the animals beyond all reason. The three riders spurred their horses, diving into the chaos, trying to cut off the leading edge of the herd and steer them back into formation. But fear drove the cattle harder than any whip or word.
Wern shouted something, but Balen couldn’t make out the words. He saw the older rider veer to the left, trying to block a group that was heading west. Balen rode hard to the right, his mare leaping through the herd, her nostrils flaring in the cold evening air.
Out of the corner of his eye, Balen saw Jerek raising his revolver, waving it threateningly.
"Don’t be stupid, boy!" Balen shouted, yanking the reins hard. "You’ll only make things worse! No!"
The young man couldn’t hear him. He struggled to maintain control, but a sudden burst of lightning startled him, and he pulled the trigger. His horse bucked wildly, throwing him from the saddle and sending him crashing to the ground. The horse bolted, disappearing into the mass of cattle. The boy tumbled and rolled several times before coming to a stop, motionless, with his legs twisted beneath him.
"Jerek!" Balen shouted, pulling the reins tight. The herd continued to scatter, but all Balen could think about was his nephew lying still. He tried to make his way through the frantic mass of hooves, which kicked up a massive cloud of dust.
Wern approached him quickly, breathing hard, his face pale.
"The herd’s gone, Balen. We’ve lost most of them."
Balen didn’t respond. He leapt from his saddle and ran to where Jerek lay.
"You’ll be alright, boy," Balen said, kneeling beside him. "We’ll get you out of here."
Wern dismounted, his expression grim.
"We can’t carry him on foot. Not in this storm. And we’ve lost two-thirds of the herd."
"I’m not abandoning my nephew." Balen’s voice was firm. His gaze dropped to Jerek’s leg. The bone pressed against the skin, though thankfully it hadn’t broken through. The young man was breathing in short, pained gasps, his eyes wide with shock.
"I’ll manage," Jerek said weakly, though his voice betrayed the intense pain he felt. "Just... help me get to my horse."
"Your horse is long gone. The gods know where," Wern muttered, glancing at the storm. The wind was growing colder now, and the first drops of rain began to fall.
As if summoned by his thoughts, the sound of wheels began to cut through the distance. Balen looked up and saw a caravan descending from the hill behind them. It was a large wagon, drawn by a pair of scrawny horses. Each side of the wagon bore a red triangle with a yellow horizontal line running through its center. A wagon like this was an unusual sight, even to Wern’s experienced eyes, who hadn’t seen such a symbol since his days in the army. The wagon rolled toward them, and the driver pulled on the reins, stopping his horses right next to them.
"Whoa, whoa there…" the driver shouted, then spat through his teeth with disdain. He was a grizzled man, with a long, scruffy beard, and one eye visibly larger than the other, with which he sized them up from head to toe.
"Got caught in the storm, huh? What can I say, if you’re foolish enough to be out in this weather? What about that one there, is he dead?" the driver asked, pointing to Jerek.
"He’s hurt," Balen said as he lifted Jerek off the ground. "His horse spooked and threw him. His leg’s broken."
"And we lost the herd," Wern added.
The driver glanced down, then pulled out a small, round piece of yellow substance and packed it into an ivory pipe shaped like a dragon. He puffed a few times, then asked:
"But where were you headed, good men?"
"We were going to Gora. Had 400 head of cattle to sell. But now we’re down to half, at best."
The driver shook his head, then spat again.95Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHpZ9NReaQk
"Gora? You guys living under a rock or something? Or maybe you’re just plain stupid, and if that’s the case, I’m outta here. Don’t like wasting my breath on fools."
Balen frowned and almost snapped back at the insult but held his tongue and asked:
"What do you mean?"
"The town’s sealed," the driver said, spitting into the dust. "Some kind of magic. Don’t know the details, but the whole place has been closed off for months. No one’s getting in, but you might get lucky with selling the cattle. The soldiers have set up camp outside, and from what I can tell, they’re running low on supplies. Captain Reiner’s in charge, and from what I hear, he pays well. You might be able to sell to them. Looks like they could use it."
Wern cursed under his breath.
"We need a doctor’s help. You, by the signs on the wagon, look like an alchemist. Don’t you have something that can help us? We’ll pay whatever it takes."
"Alchemist?" the old man grinned crudely. "I wish. I’ve been a driver all my life. I just haul goods from one place to another. This wagon and the horses belong to Babat Musur, the alchemist from Uruk. This is his cargo, and I’m just delivering it to the camp near Gora. I don’t even know what’s in those crates in the back. But maybe I can still help you. What’s wrong with the boy?"
"My leg... it’s broken," Jerek said in a grave tone.
The driver looked at the boy’s leg, then reached into his coat and pulled out a small round-bottomed glass vial filled with a glowing, faintly phosphorescent liquid. Wern had seen something like it before, though he couldn’t quite remember where.
"This’ll take the edge off the pain for now. It’s black mushroom tincture. Pour it directly on his leg," the driver said as he tossed the vial to Balen. "And don’t even think about drinking it. Makes you see things. The alchemist gave it to me when I told him my bones ached. Doesn’t heal you, just makes you feel nothing."
Balen caught the vial, turning it over in his hands.95Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoZir5F8g95
"Can you take him with you? Get him to Gora? Even if the town’s closed, the soldiers are sure to have a medical tent where he can be treated."
The driver shook his head again.
"No room in the wagon. And I’m not hanging around here long enough to talk to any soldier. You’re on your own."
Before Balen could protest, the driver flicked the reins, and the wagon rolled off into the storm, leaving the three men alone once more. Balen stared after the disappearing caravan, a bitter taste in his mouth.
Wern crouched beside Jerek, his expression grim. "What now, Balen? We’re stuck in the middle of the plains, the herd’s scattered, and the town’s sealed."
Balen uncorked the vial and carefully poured the glowing liquid over Jerek’s leg. The young man hissed as the liquid soaked into his skin, but after a few moments, his breathing steadied, and some of the pain left his body.
"It’ll numb the pain," Balen said quietly, though his mind was still racing.95Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrh5gvJ5nfW
"We wait. The storm will pass, and then we’ll figure out how to get him help."
They sat in silence as the storm finally broke overhead, the rain pouring down in sheets. The wind howled through the empty plains, and in the distance, lightning flickered like the teeth of some great, unseen beast.
And as night settled around them, Balen couldn’t help but wonder what was happening in Gora—and why the town had sealed itself off from the world.
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