TurtleMe
patreon
Chapter 484: Hell of a Time
🕑 Added 2024-08-09 17:00:14 +0000 UTCALARIC MAER
Leaning forward, I let my forehead knock against the rough surface of the table with a dull thunk. “I’ll go myself,” I grumbled, the words half smothered by the wood. “We’re pissing in the dark, here.”
“That’s a horrible idea,” Darrin answered matter of factly. The others quickly echoed the sentiment. “We don’t know how close to Taegrin Caelum your people managed to get before disappearing.”
I knocked my aching skull against the table a second time. “We should know more shortly, then I’ll go. Without contact from Dicathen, seeing inside Taegrin Caelum might be our only way to know for sure.” I sat up straight, and the world wobbled drunkenly, which was incredibly ironic considering that I myself was stone-cold sober.
Looking around, I took in the fifteen or so people gathered in the second-floor study of a stately townhouse that overlooked Cargidan’s main thoroughfare. Some were keeping up a pretense of staying busy and not outwardly paying attention to my conversation with Darrin, but all their ears were conveniently turned in our direction. Most didn’t bother to hide their attentiveness, waiting with nervous eagerness to be involved, one way or another.
Not one of them looked particularly enthused by the idea of me limping off into the Basilisk Fang Mountains to see why our people kept disappearing around the fortress of Taegrin Caelum without so much as a bloody trail of offal to follow.
“What? You don’t think I’m up to it?” I growled, meeting eyes two by two, then smirking in grim satisfaction as they fell or turned away. All except Darrin. I waved him off, reached for the flask on my belt, stopped short, and then rapped my knuckles against the wood before me. “Bah. Go home, Darrin. There’s nothing for you to do here, and your peck of orphans will be missing you.”
Darrin’s face fell, and I felt a flush of guilt and regret rise up my neck.
Most of those in Darrin’s care were the children of mages who had either been in Dicathen already or were sent to Dicathen in the most recent attack. To hunt down Arthur Leywin. With no communication from Dicathen—and few enough soldiers returning—we had no way to know how many of their bloods survived.
“Too many ascenders have been swallowed up into the belly of this war,” Darrin said softly, looking at the floor. “Between those who went with Seris, those conscripted to launch this failed attack, and those still suffering the aftereffects of the shockwave, all of Alacrya has ground to a halt. Those who are left need help.”
A movement in the shadows behind the others drew my attention. The specter of my former commander stood with her arms crossed, her face hidden by shadow and the golden hair that fell half across her face. I swallowed heavily, took a stuttering breath, and then stood suddenly, nearly knocking my chair over. Turning my back on the specter—and everyone else in the room—I moved to a window overlooking the street.
The usually busy road was empty. Highblood Kaenig had declared martial law in Cargidan in the hours after the shockwave, cutting off all unofficial travel, shutting down the Ascenders Association and Central Academy, and consigning residents to their homes except for essential workers. There had been rumblings of a minor rebellion, but the appearance of Scythe Dragoth and a retinue of soldiers, mages, and Instillers silenced any willingness among the population—mostly weak mages or unadorned—to challenge the highbloods. Dragoth and his retinue had taken over Central Academy and had so far been very aggressive about allowing anyone else within a fireball’s throw of the campus.
But they’ll get in. I’m sure of it.
As if the thought conjured him, a reedy little stick of a man, drowning in unkempt robes, appeared at the end of the street, sprinting up the street like there was a pair of shadow panthers on his heels.
He was alone.
I cursed.
One of our enforcers, a rugged bruiser named Akron, rushed to the window and looked out. He cursed as well. “Everyone wrap it up! There’s a decent chance this location is blown.”
“Saelii, start clearing the building,” I barked, already hurrying toward the stairs down to the first floor. “Akron, Vaalish, your teams with me.” Catching Darrin’s eye from the corner of my own, I added, “And you, get the abyss out of this dominion. Go home, Darrin. I mean it.”
If he answered, I didn’t hear it over the stomping of many sets of feet on the stairs and the hammering in my head. I was across the house and crashing out the front door and into the street in moments.
Still halfway down the block, Edmon of Blood Scriven—a shady little man who had acted as my backdoor into the academic circles—screamed when he saw me appear. A couple hundred feet behind him, four Highblood Kaenig soldiers gave chase. Even as he turned to glance desperately back at his pursuers, one of them raised hand, and mana flared.
The shadows in the street were growing long as the sun moved into the west overhead, and suddenly those shadows flared with green light. Radiant ooze splashed across the paving stones, sizzling and popping as they ate into the road and the mana shield that had enveloped Edmon at the last second. The Shield beside me had sweat running down her face as she fought to hold off the potent attack.
“Sir?” Vaalish asked, his voice lisping through his scarred lips. I met his one good eye and nodded.
A sharp pop sounded amidst the pursuing mages, and they all hit the ground, shouting in pain and covering bleeding ears with their hands. The air around them distorted as Akron’s crest activated, pressing heavily down on their chests with a combination of dense air and enhanced gravity. Conjured shields caged them in, blocking their last few futile spells until, one by one, their eyes rolled back in their heads and they passed out from lack of oxygen.
Edmon stumbled to a stop in front of me, his hands on his hips and his head thrown back as he sucked desperately at the air. “Th-thanks,” he choked out after a moment.
I glowered at him. “Where’s the Severin boy? Tristan?”
He blanched, taking a half step back. “They caught us, Alaric. We ran for it. I just barely made it over the wall, but the boy…” He trailed off, refusing to meet my eyes.
I glanced at the surrounding buildings. A few faces were already pressed against windows to watch the commotion. Turning to Akron and Vaalish, I said, “You know where you need to be. Go.” Darrin was standing in the doorway to the townhouse we’d just evacuated. “I said go home. You’ve a bunch of potential orphans who need you. I’ll be in touch.”
Grabbing Edmon by the collar of his shirt, I hurriedly marched him to the closest alley and shoved him into it. “If they’re not already on the way, reinforcements from Highblood Kaenig will be soon. Or worse. Was there any sign of the Scythe? His retainer? Nevermind. Let’s get moving. We can talk when it’s safer.” As I finished speaking, I heard footsteps following and turned back.
Darrin pulled a hood up to cover his features as he ducked into the alley after us. “I still have a couple things to do in Cargidan before I head home.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek and fingered the flask at my belt. “No. I won’t be responsible for telling that foster kid of yours that you got yourself caught or killed being obstinate.”
Darrin’s brows raised, and he gave me a tight-lipped smile. “You’d know all about being obstinate, Al. Why are you still carrying that flask around if you don’t want to drink from it?”
“I need to be myself,” I said under my breath. Carefully not to look at the shadow of the woman standing beside Darrin, a small squirming bundle in her arms, I added, “I need to be more than the drunken ascender I've been for these last decades…”
Darrin’s mouth opened to reply, he didn’t have the words.
Sighing and flexing my shaking hands, I considered how best to get rid of Darrin, but I had to be careful. I checked the windows and corners to ensure we weren’t being followed by anyone else, then turned and went down another alley. After a couple more hurried turns, I knew that any looky-loos who might have watched us leave the fight wouldn’t be able to see us anymore, even if they’d hurried through one of the buildings on this side of the street to try and keep track of us—and win some favor from Highlord Kaenig or Scythe Dragoth for their efforts.
Fumbling with one of the buttons affixed to my leather wristguards, I activated it and called on an item within the attached dimensional space. A fancy silver necklace appeared in my hand. It was feminine and far too dainty to look natural on anyone but a highblood lady, but I hadn’t exactly been able to choose the design. I pressed the necklace into Edmon’s hands. “Put this on. Now,” I growled when he started to question me.
“What good is hiding my features now?” he complained. “I never should have agreed to…” He trailed off, and the apple of his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard before fumbling to get the dainty jewelry around his scrawny neck.
“Oh, hurry up!” I snapped, looking around again. Mana was pumping into my ears, enhancing my hearing as much as I was capable. I thought I could hear armored feet pounding down the street quite a distance away.
“Here, let me,” Darrin said, giving me a look and helping Edmon fasten the necklace.
Once it clipped around his neck, there was an immediate pulse from the mana contained inside it, and the features of Edmon’s face seemed to go kind of blurry and indistinct. Depending on the angle I looked at him from, he could have looked like a dozen different people. At a glance, no one would be able to recognize him or properly describe him afterwards.
Taking a heavy cloak from my dimension artifact, I pressed it into him hard enough to knock him back into the wall. “Wrap yourself up, be quiet, and follow me.” I turned, set my jaw, I looked hard into Darrin’s eyes. “We need to split up. You go that way, we’ll go this way.” I gestured with my thumb.
Darrin shook his head, his arms crossed over his chest. “Stop trying to be so damned self-sacrificing, Al. If we get tangled up with a patrol, you’ll need someone who can actually fight.” He carefully avoided looking at the blurry Edmon beside me.
“Damn it, boy, you’ll only draw extra attention to us!” I snapped, panic building in my guts. “Go that way. Circle back around and head to the library. It’s shuttered, but a couple of the guards on duty respond well to bribes. Keep trying to follow us, and I swear I’ll knock you on your ass.”
Darrin’s jaw fell slack, his eyes as wide as if he’d just seen a woggart playing Sovereign’s Quarrel. I turned my back on him and marched quickly away. Edmon hesitated only a moment, then began to follow. We kept mostly to the alleys, at least in the beginning, but we were soon forced onto the larger roads. While the empty streets meant a lot fewer eyes to avoid, it also meant there was no crowd to blend into. Even if passing guards couldn’t identify Edmon, they’d surely recognize that something was wrong, or clock us just for being outside.
“So? What’s happening at the Academy?” I asked under my breath when I thought it was safe to talk.
Edmon, his blurred face barely visible beneath the deep hood, cast about nervously before replying. “All of the Instillers and staff that have been trickling into the city from Taegrin Caelum are holed up there, as you thought. I would go so far as to say they’re imprisoned, really. Dragoth is working hard to ensure that word of what’s happening doesn’t leak out into the populace.”
“And were you able to find out anything about what’s happening?” I asked.
“Apparently, part of the fortress collapsed when the shockwave happened. After that, the fortress itself seemed to…turn against its inhabitants. Friend or foe alike. Many, many dead.”
“And the High Sovereign?”
There was a long pause. I grabbed the sleeve of Edmon’s shirt and pulled him closer. “Were you able to learn anything about Agrona?”
Edmon cleared his throat nervously. “It’s only a rumor…”
“By the High Sovereign’s inflamed arse, Edmon—” My words cut off as I saw the lithe silhouette of my commander’s specter half hidden in a nearby doorway, face in shadow as it was framed by her hair. Distracted, I thought about exactly how long it had been, wondering if her hair had actually sat that way on her face, or if I had simply made it up as my tired, sober, brittle old mind manifested the dead woman as if she were really there.
Edmon failed to notice the direction of my gaze. “Apparently a few of the mechanical recording artifacts around Dicathen are still operational.” He hesitated again, his expression muddled by the disguising artifact. “One of them was collected by a Wraith, who returned it to Alacrya. Only a few saw its contents.”
I waited, growing increasingly irritated with Edmon’s beating around the bush.
Perhaps he noticed, because he hurried onward. “Almost everyone who saw the recording was killed.”
“Then how does anyone know what was on it?”
“Because one of the Instillers responsible for reviewing it fled before Dragoth caught wind of this all,” Edmon said. His brows rose, and he gave me a meaningful look.
“Do these rumors suggest what’s on this recording?”
Edmon’s answering smile was strange on his nebulous mug. “Only that it proves that the High Sovereign is gone for good.”
My mind was racing as I redrew my plans on the fly. This gambit had already been reckless, but if Taegrin Caelum really was inaccessible, even to a Scythe, and there was proof that Agrona was dead or captured…
It has to be worth it.
I led Edmon off the street and around the back of a closed-up accolades shop. As I channeled into the mana lock, the door opened from the inside. I had only a moment to take in a man in black and crimson plate armor. One short onyx horn stuck up from unkempt hair above a bright red eye, while no horn was visible on the other side, where the eye was a murky brown.
Suddenly his fist was wrapped in the front of my shirt, and I was flying forward. I had just enough time to protect myself with mana before I smashed through the shop’s front window and went sprawling across the street.
With a moan, I lifted my head from the paving stones and brushed glass out of my beard. A little bell rang, and the front door of the shop opened. The Vritra-blooded man dragged Edmon through it. He stopped in front of me, staring down a beaklike nose.
I trembled with pain and rage. One scarlet eye, one brown eye…
I spit blood at his feet. “Wolfrum of Highblood Redwater.” Traitor and double-agent. I’d heard of his treachery, how he had nearly captured Lady Caera, but I hadn’t seen him in this form, only as the bent-backed little weasel that had been his cover, and I hadn’t immediately recognized him.
The ghostly vision of my once-commander, now leaning against the wall behind him, gave me a sad look and an apologetic shake of her head, almost as if she regretted not being flesh and blood so she could help me.
The sun was behind me, only just peeking over the distant rooftops. Conditions weren’t ideal for any of my magic, but I couldn’t let him take me in without a fight.
In Wolfrum’s grip, Edmon began to shake and wheeze. “P-please, he made me, I didn’t have a ch-choice! I can tell you whatever you want to know, just don’t hurt—hrk!”
The silver necklace constricted rapidly, choking off Edmon’s words before sawing into his neck. Blood ran hot and thick down his chest as his face came clearly into view. He stared at me, horrified and confused, his white lips moving wordlessly.
Sorry Ed, I thought, retracting my mana from the artifact, which assured anonymity in more ways than just hiding one’s face. As Wolfrum regarded the dying man with surprise and irritation, I took advantage of the distraction to begin channeling my emblem, Sun Flare.
The Vritra-born dropped Edmon unceremoniously on the street. “And the commoners think we’re black-hearted,” he said, turning back to me with one brow raised.
Mana rushed into Sun Flare, and the glare of the sun blazed across the street, turning the entire sky white. Wolfrum hissed and raised a hand over his closed eyes.
Activating Myopic Decay, I focused it on my own eyes instead of my enemy’s, dimming my vision against the glare as I scrambled to my feet and made a run for it. Something hit me from behind, lifted and spun me in the air, and slammed me down again. I was vaguely aware of bouncing a couple of times before I came to blessed rest, unmoving. I knew that, this time, I hadn’t escaped unscathed, but as long as I didn’t move, I wouldn’t feel all of the pain quite yet.
“Hell of a time to quit drinking,” the shade of my commander commented, leaning down beside me.
“Hell of a time to be dead,” I shot back breathlessly.
Both my spells had faded, and I expected Wolfrum would be satisfied with my attempt to run. Instead of approaching me, though, he gave a grunt of effort, and there was a dull rush of air.
I jerked over onto my side, my entire body raw and bruised, but I barely felt it past the roiling of my insides and the clenching of my heart.
Darrin flew up the street from behind Wolfrum, blasting the Vritra-born with a rapidfire series of wind-lengthened punches and kicks.
Filled with desperation, I sent out a sharp pulse with Aural Disruption, focused on Wolfrum. He flinched, just missing with a jet of black flames—soulfire—aimed at Darrin’s chest.
“Damn you, boy,” I grunted, heaving myself to my feet. Every joint from my neck down complained, and I could feel a broken rib stabbing at the soft tissue of my insides. Forcing the pain down, I reached for the third level of Myopic Decay.
My body became a series of shadowy blurs. I stumbled forward, no longer able to run or even pretend to. My entire plan had fallen apart between one breath and the next. “Go, fool! I’ve got this…under control.”
Darrin gave no indication he’d heard me as he danced around a series of soulfire bolts carried on black lines of void wind.
From my dimension artifact, I withdrew a handful of paper-wrapped capsules. Tossing them into the air, I released a quick blast of Aural Disruption, destroying them. Thick smoke began to pour into the street. Very fine, sparkling dust was suspended in the smoke, and I again poured mana into Sun Flare. The dust shone like ten thousand stars, burning through the smoke and making it impossible to see through.
Bending low, I ran toward where I could still feel the bursts of mana and hear the hiss and pop of spells slamming together. Darrin was falling back into the obscuring cloud, but gusts of void wind were wiping away the cover as quickly as it could form. A black blade appeared in my hand, and I imbued the charwood with as much mana as I could spare to focus on.
With a sudden burst of Aural Disruption, followed by a lesser casting of Myopic Decay targeted at Wolfrum, I flew past Darrin as he deflected a series of whirling skulls of fire and threw myself at his attacker. Wolfrum’s mismatched eyes narrowed in intense concentration, and a shield of black wind wrapped around him. My blade dragged across the surface of the shield, and our mana sparked and crackled as it fought against each other.
His proved the stronger, and my weapon failed to pierce his shield.
I pulled the shortsword to my side and fell forward into a roll, barely avoiding a scything blade of void wind that cut the air behind me.
“Alaric of Blood Maer.” The Vritra-blood’s voice was like ice water in my face. “You’ve been quite the irritant over these last months. You should have quit while you were ahead. Sticking that bulbous red wart you call a nose into Scythe Dragoth’s affairs will be the end of you.”
I was back on my feet, my blade held out in front of me. Behind Wolfrum, the cloud was slowly starting to disperse, but I couldn’t see Darrin. A grateful breath escaped me. He’d escaped.
“Tell you what, boy,” I said, releasing the mana channeling into Sun Flare as the stone dust settled, no longer providing a surface to enhance the light of. A hard box appeared in my left hand, which I kept hidden behind my back. “The war’s over. Your High Sovereign is probably dead, your boss the Scythe was mutilated and embarrassed. My boss, much as she never really was that, is missing and hasn’t made contact with Alacrya since the shockwave. Why don’t we just agree to go our separate ways, aye?” I raised a brow meaningfully. “This continent is hurting. How many mages haven’t recovered yet? Entire cities like this one have shut down. All we’re trying to do is get people back on their feet.”
Wolfrum’s face had settled into a sneer as I spoke. “The High Sovereign will return, and when he does, we will gift him a mountain of skulls, which is all that will remain of your traitorous faction.”
I took a step back, my eyes darting around as if searching for an escape route.
Wolfrum smiled. In his confidence, he relaxed. “Pathetic. I expected more of a man trained as one of Alacrya’s finest spies.” His countenance darkened. “Yes, we know who you are, now. It’s impressive you managed to survive this long. Like any old, sick dog, though, there comes a time when you need to be put down.”
His hand curled into a fist, and dark fire and wind began condensing around him.
In the flames to either side of Wolfrum, the shadowy figures appeared again. My old commander, the woman who had helped me escape my service to the High Sovereign, stood to Wolfrum’s right, the shape of her flickering and dancing. To his left, the other woman. The one with the dark bundle in her arms. My wife. My family.
“It’s your funeral,” I grumbled, although I knew the words were only that.
A burning skull large enough to swallow me whole coalesced around Wolfrum before plunging forward, its gaping maw open wide. I tossed down the mana cage I’d been clutching. The transparent mana sprang upwards and folded out into a flat, transparent wall between me and him. The skull struck it, and the barrier trembled.
With a burst of Aural Disruption and as much mana as I could manage into the third level of my crest, I turned and sprang away.
The street in front of me exploded as a wall of black void wind ripped up through the stones. I slammed hard on my back, the breath crushed out of me by the blow.
Aching and breathless, I couldn’t move, only watch, as Darrin appeared from the high balcony of a nearby home, his body wrapped in wind-attribute mana. In the half second it took him to fall, a hail of blows struck Wolfrum from behind and above, staggering him. Darrin struck the Vritra-blood with a knee between the shoulder blades, driving Wolfrum to the ground. Fists wrapped in cutting wind fell faster than my wavering, red-stained vision could follow.
The giant skull of soulfire and void wind erupted. Darrin was lifted off Wolfrum’s back by a blaze of black fire, and the mana barrier shattered with a sound like cracking stone. As if everything moved in slow motion, I saw clearly how the black fire was drawn into Darrin’s open mouth and eyes, even into his pores. I felt the soulfire take root inside his core, the spectral heat of it burning within him.
He struck the ground like a bag of sand, his body limp, his eyes rolled back into his head.
With a rush of adrenaline, I threw myself back to my feet and stumbled past Wolfrum, who was himself standing slowly, as if unconcerned for our ongoing battle.
I barely noticed the screaming of my knees as I fell onto them beside Darrin, gripping his limp hand in my own. “I told you to go,” I moaned, all my strength leaving me.
The shadow of my old commander knelt across from him. Her fingers brushed across his cheek, not smudging the dirt and blood that stained him.
“Forgive me, boy,” I choked out as the soulfire was burning away everything that made Darrin himself. I sensed Wolfrum moving behind me, but the danger he posed no longer mattered.
At the sound of my voice, some life returned to Darrin. He gripped my hand, and his eyes found mine. They were full of dancing soulfire. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a pained groan. His teeth clenched, and his back spasmed. His hand was wrenched from mine.
The ghost of my commander shifted, suddenly in front of me. Her hands cupped my face, and her piercing brown eyes burrowed into mine. “This isn’t your fault, Alaric. None if it has been your fault.”
I let my head hang. “We both know that’s not true, Cynthia.”
Strong fingers took me by the hair and dragged me to my feet. “Pick up your friend. So long as you don’t resist further, I’ll withhold my fire. Test me, and he dies in an instant. In case you think that you might end his suffering that way, trust me that dying by soulfire is not a fate you would wish on any you care for, and in the end would only increase your own suffering many times over.”
I spat blood on the ground at my captor’s feet, but I bent down to lift Darrin as he commanded. “You don’t know shit about suffering, boy. Nothing you can do to me now can be worse than what you inbred Vritra dogs have already done.”
< PREVIOUS | NEXT >
Comments
Andrew
Shit I didn’t put two and two together till I read your comment.
Sam
Damn Alaric believed Cynthia died, well she is dead now. But I assume she has been dead to him for much longer, she probably faked her death before heading for Dicathen.
Camo7
Cynthia Goodsky, principle of Xyrus academy and Tessia's Teacher. She died I believe at the beginning of book 6.
Yoursinta
Wait who is Cynthia
