Prologue: The Captain of the Expedition

Ninety-three ants remained out of the one hundred and twenty Fyodir took upriver four weeks ago. During the first week of the expedition, their small river fleet crashed into some rocks during a freak rainstorm. Ten were killed, and the rest of the expedition was forced to continue on foot. During the second week, a lizard wandered into their camp, and feasted on twelve more ants until it was finally brought down. A handful of other ants came down with climb disease during the third week, and had to be killed immediately.

 Fyodir gazed at a wasteland of dead trees across the water while the expedition took a short rest. The woods had grown scarcer by the day ever since the river forked into the south-flowing Feldspar River, and easterly Mud River. Few ants had ever been down the Mud River, but strange tales have been told from those who have been lucky enough to return.

There was something off about the Mud River, and everything around it. Even the dead trees seemed peculiar, but Fyodir wasn’t able to figure out what it was. They were trees, and they were dead, but they seemed too…perfect. They were perfect dead trees. Fyodir couldn’t explain it. The world seemed strangely unnatural beyond the frontier. Earlier, he had seen two jays and a heron flying in what seemed to be an organized formation. Instead of flying in a circular pattern to observe the ground below, they made quick, linear, flybys. It was almost as if they were being controlled.

Just then, a heavy bronze gauntlet landed on Fyodir’s shoulder. Startled, Fyodir jumped back, grabbed his spear with two of his hands, and his heavy bronze shield with his other two hands.

The owner of the gauntlet let out a bellowing chuckle. “Calm down, little captain. I’m no lizard,” she said. It was Relina, the biggest, toughest soldier in Fyodir’s expedition. Fyodir had known her for months. She had been assigned to the Muscovite Frontier, a long way from her home. Relina’s smile didn’t last long though, as she looked downward at her captain. “There are only four packmice left,” she said.

“Four? Only a short time ago there were five,” said Fyodir.

“Yes, sir. But one fell over when we stopped to rest. It didn’t get back up. Its feet are rotten, we discovered, and it’s been losing blood for who knows how long.”

Fyodir cursed his true god under his breath. “Which mouse was it?”

“The white one with red eyes. The one Councilant Zidney donated to us.” Relina lowered her head so it was closer to Fyodir. “Captain, we can’t keep abandoning supplies. This expedition has gone on long enough. If we turn back now, we can still-“

“We’re not turning back until we find what we’re looking for,” Fyodir interrupted sharply. “The Queen of Queens sent us on this mission, and if we all die, then so be it.”

“But if we all die, who’s going to-“

“Then so be it,” Fyodir said coldly. Fyodir liked a lot of things about Relina, but he hated her lack of loyalty. She was an ant from the Lower Empire. Her home was the coastal city of Halite, and she was a follower of the Sodden Pontiff, who had selfishly taught ants to value their own lives more than their Queens’.

Fyodir and Relina stood in silence for a moment until they noticed Vladmere floating past them, enjoying a bath. “What are you two brooding over?” he asked jokingly. When Fyodir and Relina didn’t respond, Vladmere became more serious. He stood up and waded over to the shore.

“We’re down to four packmice,” said Fyodir.

“Four?” said Vladmere. “That’s almost a mouse a day this week.”

“Indeed it is, Vladmere,” said Fyodir.

“And we’re still going to press on, I suppose?”

“Indeed we are Vladmere.”

“Well, maybe some lunch will help our spirits,” said Vladmere, trying to ease the mood. “If anything, it’ll lighten our load, huh ha! I’ll grab some lizard jerky.”

            Fyodir watched as Vladmere went over toward the remainder of the supplies. He was still dripping wet from the river, leaving a trail of water behind him. Fyodir thought for a moment, and then his eyes widened. “Relina,” he said hastily. “How long was Zidney’s mouse bleeding for?”

            “Quite some time, I’d say, but no way to tell. We should’ve caught it earlier, but the mouse was lagging behind the entire expedition. Nobody bothered to look back,” she said. “Could barely hop over a small rock before he keeled over, poor thing.”

            Fyodir quickly swung his shield around his back. “We need to go,” he said. “Now.” Fyodir hurriedly rallied the expedition back to their feet. “Pack what you can! We’re leaving now!” he shouted. As the ants tiredly stood up and gabbed their things, Fyodir saw the two jays and the heron from earlier. They were descending quickly. Fyodir cursed again. The trail of mouse blood, the strange birds, he wondered why his true god would send them so many dangers at once.

            “Look out!” cried Vladmere. One jay swooped low over the expedition, grabbed a couple ants with its feet, and carried them off. Then the heron swooped over them and picked up Fyodir and Relina with ease. Fyodir could hardly breathe in the heron’s grip. He felt like he would be crushed if not for the sturdy shield on his back. The Heron flew higher and higher as the second jay picked up two more ants. Fyodir saw Relina wrapped tightly within the heron’s other foot. She was screaming, trying to fight its powerful grip. He then looked down. The last thing he saw was a great fireball, which came down on his expedition. He could hear faint screams of agony, and then he closed his eyes.