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The Skill Thief's Canvas - Chapter 75 (Book 3 Chapter 14)
🕑 Added 2025-04-22 23:14:19 +0000 UTCBeneath the flickering moonlight that filtered into his study through a single open window, Elder Lorival pressed his fingertips against his temples.
Adam of Penumbria...is trouble, he thought. And not for the first time.
He'd been well-aware that the human was going to raise hell for quite a while now. The suspicion had already been brewing in his mind since Lorival first heard of some 'bastard son' overtaking Penumbria and promising to improve things.
Bah.
Reckless youths dreaming of a better future only ever made things worse. I would know. Even the most conservative, restrained dreams were hard to juggle with the realities of ruling – let alone the delusional utopia that an inexperienced imbecile like Adam would envision.
I thought he'd be a problem...but not to this extent. The madman wasn't just seeking war with the Emperor of the World; he hoped to drag elvenkind into it as well.
Children thought of life as a contest to be won or lost. Elders knew it to be a neverending game. A game where your one winning move was to choose the least-painful sacrifice from a list of everything you held dear. A game that only stopped when the light faded from your eyes and your soul passed into the ether.
A game of survival at all costs.
Lorival was no child. He enjoyed the life that he'd managed to salvage for his people – albeit at a heavy cost. The village had ample food, one way or another, and he saw little benefit in pushing for a war against the Emperor of the World.
'There are elves still beyond our walls,' whispered a voice inside his head. It was a familiar sound to him, yet it had grown faint and near-purposeless these days. No longer did the plea instill guilt or regret within him.
His decision had been made a long time ago.
'I cannot save them all,' said another, much louder voice. 'I am no naive child who would succumb to greed and call the feeling righteous. Sacrificing the many I have saved for the few I did not...it is no better than a juvenile fantasy without merit.'
Lorival peered out of his window with a satisfied smile. His personal chambers stood high, so tall that he could see the distant autumn leaves changing colors.
It was a reminder that he'd chosen the correct path. Neither he nor his people could have basked in this glorious view if he hadn't been there to make certain decisions when necessary. What the elves needed was someone willing to accept tough sacrifices, and a leader bold enough to make them count.
Elder Lorival was both. He'd proven it back then – and he would prove it again now.
Nayt has the Tesouro Prateado. He'll use it to rise up against the Emperor. He truly thinks he can kill him. Maybe he can.
I doubt it.
Duels were not something to wager lives over, and Lorival was no gambler. He was a leader. And leaders...
Leaders had to make tough calls. Even when–
It was here that a man spawned inside the room.
There was no knock. No sound of a door opening. Not so much as a stir of the wind. Just a low, growling laugh – and a voice that sang with icy venom.
Ciro, the Emperor of the World, stood before him.
"My, my..." The Monster peered around with a carefree smirk, as though sightseeing at a foreign market. "What a wonderful little study you've built here."
He glanced out the window with a sneer. "And a beautiful little village as well."
Lorival fell to one knee. "M–my Emperor," he said in a hurry. "I have made every arrangement you required of me. Will..."
'Will you hold your end of the bargain?' was the question he wanted to ask, but dared not. The Emperor's sheer presence felt so overwhelming that Lorival knew he could be crushed with just a single word from the man.
"Oh, ye of little faith!" Ciro knelt before the elf and lifted up his chin with one finger. "You needn't trust me to trust the truth, dear Elder! We signed a Contract, and I have no intention of forfeiting my life to break it."
His eyes sparkled with cruelty. "As promised, neither me nor my men can harm you or your ruling council. In addition, we may harm no more than ten percent of your population during the impending attack, in exchange for being admitted into the village without issue."
Lorival felt himself tremble. "And I also granted you entry. There were no issues, I trust?"
That was the only thing that kept him up at night. Were there loopholes? Ways for the Monster to slaughter his people after gaining access to the village?
But when he glanced over at the shining parchment peeking out of Ciro's coat pocket, a surge of relief and ecstasy jolted through his veins. I did it! My people will be safe!
His joy must have been apparent, because Ciro's finger beckoned his throat closer. "What a curious little elf you are," said the Emperor, his voice nearly musical. "I had yet to find a way into your village – why accept my invitation?"
"Because..." Lorival hesitated. "Because it was the responsible thing to do. The decision that needed to be made."
"Ah, you needn't dance with me like this!" Ciro playfully tapped the side of Lorival's face. "Why bother pretending that you aren't trying to swindle me? I am not unaware of this game you're playing – if anything, I find it most invigorating."
He rose to his feet. "I swear that you will come to no harm, and that the terms of the Contract are sealed. Feel free to peruse it, if you wish."
"If, if Your Grace will allow me–"
"By all means. Satisfy your curiosity...and then satisfy mine by telling me what your plan is."
The Emperor told no lies. Lorival hurriedly checked over his own copy of the Contract. Its bright, sparkling ink confirmed what he already felt in his soul – he and his people were safe.
I might as well be forthcoming, then. Would be wise to keep strong relations.
"For too long, my people have lived in fear," he muttered. "Fear that you would one day discover us. Fear that the life we had built here was only temporary. With this Contract, you guarantee that our peace shall be everlasting. Any sacrifice is worth that much."
Ciro nodded. "So you waited until you had a decent hand to play. Something tempting enough that I would accept your kind's venomous existence in order to obtain it."
Lorival tightened his jaw. "Yes. Adam Arcanjo was the card we needed. Better to sacrifice him and his little rebellion than risk my people's lives."
"Of course, of course! But wouldn't it have been easier to maintain your illusions instead? To prevent me from ever finding this quaint village at all?"
The Elder shook his head with a grim expression. "I am no fool, your Grace. What is a Talent like mine compared to the Emperor of the World?" He laughed in disbelief. "You'd have found us eventually. Much more prudent to negotiate amnesty with the little leverage we had."
A smirk played at the edges of Ciro's lips. "One ought to feel sorry for the Pretender. He came to negotiate with you in good faith, and his life instead became a bargaining piece elsewhere."
"I do what I must."
"That you do. After all, you still hope for Nayt to take my head, do you not?"
Lorival swallowed and said nothing.
The Emperor went on, his tone unchanged. "What you describe is your fallback plan – mayhaps the most likely outcome, even. But it's not the only possible outcome. Nayt has always wished to betray me. He'll challenge me to a duel once my men start razing this village, correct?"
Lorival remained quiet, offering no response, his eyes cast downward.
"That is why you insisted in the Contract," Ciro continued, "that I must be present in person for my men to break through the village's illusion. Because you hate me and would use my cracked skull as a cup, yet you know that your elves haven't a prayer of beating the Empire's army."
His eyes glinted with cruelty. "But Nayt – the Elven Hangman! Why, surely there is a chance he could best me in a duel!"
The Emperor's Talent manifested itself. Lorival felt an immense pressure crushing him from above, a force beyond mere strength.
Can't...move...
His head met the concrete floor as if shoved down by an invisible hand. Lorival's forehead, palms, and knees all touched the ground. Their Contract prevented Ciro from harming him, yet this painful sensation didn't feel like a declaration of violence.
It felt like a god demanding servitude from his subjects.
"I welcome your attempt on my life," Ciro said. "In truth, I respect your cunning. Mayhaps this trickery will result in my death, at which point you can feign that you favored the Pretender all along. Yet even should Nayt fail, you will still secure your people's long-lasting safety after my Empire inevitably reigns victorious in this war."
"You promise their safety?" Lorival managed to ask through the overwhelming pressure. "We will have a place to live? Without being hunted?"
"A Contract signed cannot be broken," the Emperor confirmed. "I will force you and yours to live with the Puppets in their Mines – keep you all out of sight of my people. None in my lands shall complain of that. You and the Grandmaster will work together to receive the Empire's, ah, prisoners as well. This shall be your sole responsibility."
"Has...has the Grandmaster agreed to that?"
"We haven't yet had the pleasure of speaking," Ciro admitted. "But should he and his Puppets refuse, then you will rule the Mines by yourself." His grin turned wicked. "Mayhaps you ought to hope he does – more space for your elves if you don't have to share with the wretched Puppets, eh?"
Lorival didn't answer, but his thoughts were evident in his silence. Aye. I truly wish so.
"Our attack will begin in a few hours," Ciro declared, somewhat lazily. "Ensure that you are ready to evacuate your people soon."
The Elder nodded hesitantly. "It will be done. And as for the...last part of the deal..."
Ciro took a seat in Lorival's chair, as though the room belonged to him. Mayhaps it did. "Now how could I forget? You promised me information, did you not?"
His eyes sparkled with ambition and unbridled curiosity. "Elves know much of the Age of Dragons, of the secrets of this world, and you inherited that sacred knowledge. Tell me everything. Tell me..."
The Emperor of the World leaned forward.
"Tell me where I can find the First Painter."
--
Solara didn't mean to be dramatic.
"I have decided that I don't belong with my own people," she told her friends. "Or anywhere, really."
It just sort of happened to come out that way.
"And we have good odds of dying and never seeing each other again."
That one was intentional, admittedly.
"Whoa there, stop with that!" Adam shouted, rising to his feet and waving his arms frantically. "I don't even know where to start – wait, yes I do! Are you forgetting how we already sent the Empire running once before? We got through our last battle, and we'll get through this one too."
She felt a little bad over prompting such concern from him, but hearing Adam's objections helped silence the negativity cycling through her mind. Asking for him to say it would've made her feel guilty, but somehow, provoking him into an emotional outburst seemed more polite.
Something must be wrong with me to think that way. Solara smiled regardless. Though his reaction did cheer me up.
"I know," she said, with more confidence than she felt. "I...think we have much to discuss." While there's still time. "Both in terms of how we feel, and how we intend to survive the coming days. With that said..."
She gestured toward the nearest open window, the wind catching her sleeve. It was a warning. Not just about the draft – but about ears as sharp as hers. "I think we ought to skip that type of talk when privacy is not a given."
The room itself – the whole village – was conspiring against them. Windows refused to latch, swaying with every gust of wind, and the oversized door leading inside wouldn't close properly. This was a trap...and not a subtle one, either.
"So how about we pretend we have nothing to talk about, and everything will work out fine?" Solara ventured. The fact that it would let her dodge a difficult conversation was only a secondary concern. "Just, well, seems like a bad idea to discuss anything our enemies could use against us right now. Would be easy for someone to sneak in and attack us while we're busy, or simply overhear–"
Tenver's deep sigh cut her rant short. Without a word, he lifted up his Puppet Arm and fired three bolts in quick succession.
The first and largest struck the oversized door, piercing and pinning it to the wall, sealing the room shut. The second, smaller bolt, embedded itself between two frames, forcing itself into the role of a latch to close the nonfunctional windows.
The third, the smallest and slimmest of the bolts, ricocheted against one wall, then another, then went past Adam's shoulder before flying back toward and past Tenver – removing the cork on the bottle of rum he was holding. Finally, the bolt went spinning upward, floating with fading momentum before falling neatly back inside the Prince's mechanical arm.
"Our strategies for the war can burn. I'm confident we'll be able to manage with what we've discussed thus far." Tenver growled out the vow, rum clinging to every syllable. "But we will address the other matters first."
Solara and Adam exchanged blank stares for a moment, then both shifted their disbelieving eyes at the Puppet Prince. "Since when can you do that?" the elf asked.
Adam pointed wildly between the door, the window, the rum bottle, and Tenver himself. "I know we spent some Orbs improving your Talent, but you never said you'd become Tenver the goddamn boltslinger!"
The Knight raised the bottle, lips brushing glass with an indifference forged on darker, bloodstained nights. "Ah...the Boltslinger? The Boltslinger, yes! I do like the sound of that name, that I do."
He smiled at his drink, turning a satisfied expression to his friends. "You want to know my true answer?"
Elf and Painter both nodded at the same time.
"I actually wasn't sure I could do that," he admitted, his confident smirk never fading. "But I figured...worth a shot."
Adam raised a hand as if to request permission for a question – then proceeded to not wait for said permission before shouting, "HOW SURE WERE YOU THAT YOU WEREN'T GOING TO KILL SOMEONE?"
"My king, as if I'd behave so recklessly!" Tenver fired back. "I operated with good odds."
He shrugged his regular human shoulder and oversized Puppet shoulder, then turned his everlasting grin back to his drink. "It was over fifty percent. Mayhaps even sixty!"
"SIXT–"
Adam stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
I can see the effort it's taking him not to pursue this further, Solara noted. She would've been more outraged herself if Adam hadn't already taken that responsibility upon himself. Only one of them needed to lose their cool; being friends with Tenver made it more time-effective to take turns.
"Fine...fine." The Painter exhaled. "Let's pretend your Boltslinger show didn't just happen."
Wait, are you calling him a Boltslinger for real? Solara thought. Are we going to keep that up? I thought it was a joke.
The satisfied smirk on Tenver's face told her that the insane, ridiculous name was probably going to stick. She forced herself not to say anything. They hadn't thought of Arrowlord, a much better title, and that was their loss.
"Yes, so let us be direct about this," Tenver firmly stated. Rather than move his eyes, he lowered the bottle and raised his chin to shift the target of his gaze. "Solara, you understand that I am quite poor with words, correct?"
The Elf crossed her arms and shuffled uneasily. "What? Noooo..." Her tense laughter didn't make her sound more believable. "Why would I ever think that?"
Tenver sighed, seemingly pleased. "Thank you, my friend. That's very kind of–"
"Just because you got so nervous about how Adam would react to your Puppetry that you nearly got us all killed aboard Baltsar's ship to keep it a secret instead of just taking five minutes to warn him ahead of time?"
Solara's anxious giggle felt like a comma between outbursts. "There was also the time you kidnapped Adam and tried to kill him to protect him from the Emperor instead of just talking it out with him."
Adam nodded slowly, taking a sip from his drink. "Oh yeeeeah. Huh, forgot that happened." He smirked at Tenver. "Doesn't feel important."
"Ha...ha...thank you," the Puppet Prince said, as looked down in shame. When he lifted his head, however, his infuriatingly handsome smile had already returned to his face.
"In any case, yes, well, I am bad with words," Tenver repeated, albeit reluctantly. "Truthfully, this tongue of mine knows not what to whisper to soothe an uneasy heart. Mayhaps mine own still trembles too much to offer comfort to another."
He paused. "Whatever the reason...I don't know what to say regarding your situation, Solara. Your people's mistrust of you is terribly unfair, especially as they also treat you like an outsider in Gama. I hate that you've been made to feel that way."
Solara studied the man's features for a moment. She and Tenver had shared an uneasy relationship at the start, but even now that they'd grown closer, he was still a difficult man to understand. The Knight would often mask his true feelings behind a half-flirty smirk, wearing his mirth as a shield.
It was extremely rare that he would look at anyone like this – with a blank, earnest expression. He meant what he was saying.
And on some level, that was enough.
"That already helps," Solara said. "I don't...think I can rightfully complain about my situation. Others have it worse. But knowing that you feel frustration on my behalf is heartening. You needn't think of the perfect thing to say when your sympathies have already reached me."
Tenver's earnestness never left his eyes...which was precisely what made his next words so disconcerting. "But even if my tongue fails you, my hand will not."
She frowned and stared at him in silence. Is there a punchline, or...?
"Should anyone try to bring harm upon you, then their core matters not! Human, Elf, Puppet, even if it's the Dragons themselves–!" His voice dropped lower. "I will cut off their heads and hang them high so as to warn any others who might entertain such thoughts."
He rose from his chair and stalked toward her. Solara's breath caught as she stepped back out of instinct. Tenver placed his oversized arm against the wall behind her to keep her from escaping. "And if I must, this hand of mine will paint a place for you to belong with the blood of your enemies."
Solara desperately searched her mind for a quick comeback, something to disarm the intensity of the moment, but found nothing. Every time it seemed as though she neared a quip, her breath stopped without her permission. Her knees threatened to give – less out of an inability to stand than of her own personal desire, as if daring him to catch her.
Mother of the Forest...it's not often, but sometimes you do your reputation justice, she thought, angrily combating the flush in her cheeks.
"Tenv–" She shook her head and looked over at Adam. "Tell your knight that he's being a bit too intense!" Hopefully he would save her from this...attack, and relieve her of it.
Much to her disappointment, what Adam did instead was grin and say, "Oh, he's quite serious. He literally did that for me in Penumbria." He peered at Tenver. "Thanks for that, by the way."
"Not a problem," Tenver joyfully replied. "My pleasure, really. You deserve that." He turned again to face Solara. "You both do," he said, his voice lower.
Solara let out a peal of uneasy laugher. "Traitor!" she hissed at Adam. A frown touched her features as recognition dawned on her. "Wait, is this your petty revenge for how I made you uncomfortable at the baths weeks ago?"
"I can't believe you would accuse me of such a thing!" Adam protested. The frustration and hurt in his voice sounded so genuine that Solara would have believed him...
Were it not followed by stalking towards her and placing his arm on her other side. Solara was as tall as him, but her treacherous knees intentionally bent ever so slightly as to place both men standing just above her, each with one arm against the wall, and standing ever closer to her.
The Painter leaned toward her ears and whispered, "Now this?" he asked, his voice low and his hand nearing her hip. "This is revenge, Elf."
Solara froze. Adam must have taken this as displeasure on her part, because his hand started to move away before she gently pulled it back. She did, however, pretend that her limb was moving against her will as she swallowed nervously.
Tried as she might, the Elf could not fight the weak whimper that left her lips. One word from her would have stopped both of them, yet there was precious little in the world she wanted less than to say that.
Still...someone had to be responsible. "Gentlemen, we do have a war to fight in a few hours."
Both men backed away in an instant, seemingly unaffected. "Oh yeah," Adam mused.
"I had nearly forgotten," Tenver said, chin on his hand.
HOW? THAT WAS HALF THE POINT OF – forget it.
She was tempted to feel frustrated, but Solara knew that they were just putting on a show to distract her. While all three of them were concerned about what was to come, their time in the Village had affected her the most. If they'd been anywhere else right now, she would be the one cheering them up instead.
"Valeria is reasonably confident that the Emperor might attack soon," Solara reminded. "We need to be ready. What's our plan?"
She paused. "Also, I hate both of you," she added, pointing at them both angrily. "Don't pretend I was the coward here – Tenver, you barely tolerate women any more than Aspreay does!"
"You underestimate how much I'd put myself through to watch you panic," the Puppet Prince said, without missing a beat, yet not without endearment.
"And you!" Solara turned her accusatory finger to Adam. "You blushed when I suggested getting into the baths with you earlier! Do you expect me to believe you would actually do anything?"
Adam smirked arrogantly. "Oh, Solara. What of it? As long as I get you to back down first, then you're the coward."
"That's not how – that's not how anything–"
She shook her head. Focus. "A bluff, huh..." As her...friend had just proven, it could be an unusually effective strategy – even when both parties were aware it was happening. "Do you think the Emperor is bluffing about anything?"
"No," Adam frankly stated. "I think he really will attack at some point, just as Valeria deduced. Which does make obtaining the Elder's support...harder."
Tenver exhaled deeply. "Does it, though? Mayhaps there is opportunity in disaster. Saving them if – and when – the Emperor attacks could grant us some much-needed leverage. That might become necessary if Valeria's information regarding the First Painter turns out to be correct."
"It is correct," Adam affirmed. "She has control over the Grandmaster's crows. Still not sure how. But I saw her use the Bloody Truth to confirm it – she spotted Elder Lorival speaking with Ciro. The Emperor is right here, right now."
They'd learned of it two hours prior, and ever since, the three of them had been trying their best not to reveal what they knew. What else could they do? It wasn't as though a sneak attack was likely to kill the Emperor, or even inconvenience him. If they acted too early and too hastily, all it would accomplish was worsening the final death toll.
Instead, they had focused their attention on two particular points of interest.
First: preparing their troops ahead of time. When Ciro eventually attacked the village, the small number of Penumbrian soldiers that Adam had brought would immediately move to help evacuate the elves.
If it were possible, he would've had his soldiers start doing that already, but it wasn't like the elves would agree to be escorted out of their sanctuary. Not until they saw the attack for themselves and felt the sting of Imperial steel firsthand.
"I worry for Father," Solara confessed. "He...he made it sound as if he's ready to die in order to see the elves to safety. As if it would repent for all his sins."
"Gaspar sounded similar," Adam said. "I think he means to 'make up' for surviving his city's destruction by saving others tonight."
"Aspreay only seemed like he was looking forward to slaying the Emperor's men," Tenver added, in an even tone. "I'm not convinced he thinks he can die."
Solara laughed. "We might need to borrow a portion of his confidence. It's not just the Emperor who's attacking, is it?"
"Not according to Valeria's intel." Adam grimaced. "Ciro should have about sixty elite soldiers, each with high rank Talents...as well as Valente."
They stayed quiet for a moment. Silence was a common reaction after hearing that name on the side of your enemies.
The Dark Captain was more than a soldier – he was a phenomenon, a living incarnation of death. During the last battle of the war, he'd killed hundreds of men all by his lonesome, and with the ease of taking an afternoon stroll. Valente was a foggy blade of precision and ritualized murder, dressed in the title of Hangman.
And when paired with the Emperor of the World...well, the upcoming battle felt closer to an execution than a war.
It was for this reason that their second point of interest had been to formulate a plan on how to deal with Ciro and Valente. Even if taking on both of them at once seemed virtually impossible. Even if any plan they could envision trended away from survival and into the realm of delusion.
Good thing we're insane anyway, Solara thought, her stomach folding in and on itself. Maybe out of courage. Maybe out of fear-induced nausea. She chose to assume the former.
What the three of them hadn't accounted for, however, was the leftover time between their planning and the actual start of the invasion. Soldiers sometimes said that the wait before a battle was worse than the battle itself, and this was no different. They were practically marinating in a cauldron of pensive anxiety.
"So...anyone got any more tragic scars of the past they'd like to share?" Solara ventured. "Adam, come on – I know you have plenty."
"I mean, Eric is dead, so that's like half of my issues," he bluntly said.
"What's the other half?" She frowned. "Oh, right – Tenver, did you know that this imbecile thinks Aspreay has been acting like a good father?"
Tenver nearly spat out his rum. "Adam, what the fucking dragonfire are you talking about?" His voice rose to a high pitch as his eyebrows arched upward. "Aspreay demeans you, speaks of you cruelly, threatens violence, all while trying to fool others that he is your father!"
"And he's doing a pretty good job!" Adam protested. "No one is doubting that he's my father anymore, and he's..." The Painter's voice trailed off awkwardly. "He's been nice. Hasn't hit me...when we're not training, anyway. Even praises me once in a while. Do you remember back during our carriage ride over here, when he said I wasn't awful?"
Solara stared at him blankly. "Yes. It was hard to forget."
"That's not – okay, nevermind, as King of the Frontier I now declare that we're speaking of something else!"
Adam glared at Tenver. "So, how are you feeling about your mission to speak with the leader of the Western Hangmen? The one you used to know well?"
Tenver raised his cup and said cheerfully, "Quite awful. I'll have nightmares for days." He emptied his cup in one gulp, then spoke through a quiet chuckle. "Now, back to your issues–"
"No!" Adam protested, unable to suppress his own laughter. "Let's not!"
They shared their final few hours together like that. No emotional breakthrough. No gallant vow to see each other again.
Instead, they spent their time happily enjoying the peace they sought to protect. They told stories, laughed, cried. They spoke of places they'd like to see, things they wished to do, once the Emperor was dealt with.
It continued until sunrise – when the first glimmer of morning light was coupled with a war cry that echoed across the entire village.
"BEND THE KNEE OR PERISH!" thundered Ciro, the Emperor of the World.
--
Thanks for reading!
Comments
KamikazePotato
Fixed now, thanks!
Nathan Linder
"Solara's breath caught as stepped back out of instinct." Missing a "she"
