story Legacy of the Ancients [M] [Action/Adventure] [Novel] [C&C Very Welcome] - Page 6

Part Fifteen: They Will Fight On As Night Descends

At the pace the group was taking, it didn’t take them even thirty minutes to cross through the rest of the forest and, at last, once again see the light of the outside. Even then, they didn’t pause or slow down. They burst through the treeline and out of Arduskuth, finally away from the Abominations and finally – at least relatively – safe. Almost immediately after they reached the outside and stopped their run, Valko leant forward, his hands on his knees, his breathing more grateful gulps of air than regular aspirations.

“We…left them…” he gasped, even that sounding like he didn’t want to accept what had happened. “We left them…to him…” Corvan, who had recovered much more expertly, glanced back at the forest, his expression a scowl, his eyes betraying his anger and sorrow at what they’d had to do.

“It was what she wanted,” he muttered. “Sam gave us that chance for a reason.” He shook his head, a growl escaping his lips. “But she’s still alive, damn it. All of them are. And so long as we make the most of the chance she gave us and win, so will we be – alive to come back for them.”

A few seconds after the group came to a halt, Saïla came in to land, the updraft as she beat her wings enough to send robes and hair billowing. Carefully, she lay Jakar’s motionless form on the floor, before shifting back to her human form and staggering slightly, clearly exhausted.

“We will save them,” Marvin echoed, although the words sounded hollow even as he said them. How long would it take them? How long after their fight with Sheltam, assuming they even came out of that alive?

“We…have to,” Valko managed, shutting his eyes. “We…owe them more…than to leave them behind…with him.”

“They’ll pull through,” Juno remarked softly. She was turned properly to the forest, staring at it as if to force herself to accept the reality. “We all know how strong they are. I think…no, I know they’ll hold out until we come back. Then…we can finish what we started.” Next to them, Rachael knelt by Jakar, forcing herself to tear her eyes away from the trees. She grabbed the motionless thief’s shoulder in a hard grip and shook him, attempting to rouse him. Nothing. A second attempt produced no better results.

“He’s not moving,” she cut in, her face becoming a frown of concern. “I have no idea what they did to him, but he’s not moving at all.”

“I think he’s breathing,” Saïla told her in a soft voice. “He’s passed out. And from the way he started screaming before he did, I think he’s broken some of his ribs.” Rachael held her hand above the thief’s mouth to be sure, quickly receiving the confirmation she needed – she could feel his exhalations, though somewhat weak and probably strained, on her fingers. A look of relief passed over her face, although the concern was still there.

“I don’t envy him for the potions he’ll need,” she murmured. Glancing up, she motioned to Juno. “Juno. Here.” Tearing her own eyes away from the woods, the younger mage nodded once, kneeling next to them and producing the required bottles. Saïla looked away from their efforts to bring Jakar back to consciousness, knowing that there was very little she could do to help, and walked over to where Corvan was stood.

“Where next?” she asked him in a low voice, her gaze drifting to the treeline in concern. Corvan looked to the side, turning his eyes to her. They were still deeply troubled, and still clearly displayed the sorrow he felt for that they’d been forced to do.

“Orios, as planned,” he told her, voice subdued. “One way or another, our situation hasn’t changed – we still need to reach Buroc and alert Chequan as to what has been happening. As well, I…I imagine Orios will make a better place to rest and recuperate than the outskirts of this gods-forsaken place.”

“You know the way back to the main path, then?” Saïla asked.

“Not immediately,” he responded, producing his recently-updated map of Grandas and scanning it over. “But one way or another, no matter where we’ve come out, the closest town to us looks to be…” He paused, only then catching the name under the marker on the paper. Slowly, he folded the map back up and returned it to his pack, his head turning in Marvin’s direction.

“Brinzac.” Marvin looked up in surprise upon hearing the town’s name, the frowned and cast his eyes around their current location.

“That may not be wise,” he remarked, his voice quiet. Corvan kept his gaze on Marvin.

“How so?” he asked the younger knight. “Is the area dangerous?” A pained look crossed over Marvin’s face briefly.

“Not usually,” he responded, hesitant. “But with the trees in uprising, they may turn on it again. It depends upon how badly drained the... the Abominations were after our battle, and what exactly Briar plans to do.” Luna took her turn to cut in.

“Briar claimed he was ‘declaring war,’” she inputted. Her expression suggested she was in deep, military-minded thought. “If his threat is anything at all more than hot air, he would be stupid to waste resources attacking one town now, particularly for just one group of people. One of the keys to waging war is to save as much of your martial strength as possible for later, more major battles – and after what we’ve shown Briar, he knows sending anyone after us would be a major risk. On top of that, you say Brinzac has been attacked before, so I strongly doubt they will be unprepared for a repeat.”

“When I left, they were in what might feasibly be called a stalemate,” Marvin murmured, frowning in thought. “I suppose, if we move quickly, there should not be so much of a problem. Briar will need a rethink of some of his tactics after our escape.”

“We would not be there for any more than a day,” Corvan offered him, by way of assurance. “Even if the trees were not up in arms, our goal remains to reach Orios as soon as possible. In either scenario, I would prefer to avoid lingering for too long.” Marvin nodded, although he still seemed troubled. Behind the little group, Jakar came to with a spluttering cough, swearing violently in between hacking up his lungs. Rachael was quick to put a careful hand on his chest, over his ribs, the light of channelling springing to life around it.

“Glad you could rejoin us in the land of the living,” she remarked wryly, although it was somewhat muted by both their situation and the focus she was putting into healing him. “This should help some. Let’s hope it’s as good with closed injures, hey?”

“Bloody... trees!” Jakar managed, gasping. “Ow. I think I broke my everything.” Rachael laughed lightly in spite of herself.

“I’m hoping I’ll be able to fix that for you,” she remarked. “Saïla suspects broken ribs.” Jakar grimaced.

“Well, ‘m thankful for a healer at least,” he replied, wincing with every intake of breath. Immediately taking note of said wincing, Rachael went quiet again, focusing entirely on healing him. As she worked, Corvan looked up at the sky.

“We still have time in the day,” he stated. “Once Jakar is in any state to do so, we will move for Brinzac. Weretree attack or no, we’ll certainly be safer there than we are here.”

“I would be uneasy with spending more time than is necessary in the open, at least so close to the forest,” Marvin agreed, eyes going nervously to the treeline. At least in this particular case his paranoia was well-justified.

“Could carry me if it speeds things up,” Jakar suggested cheekily.

“As tempting a suggestion as that is, I doubt it would do your ribs any favours,” Corvan returned drily. “And you certainly wouldn’t be thanking me for it after the first half-hour.”

“They do say it’s a mark of a good soldier, to be able to tolerate pain for the sake of the objective,” Luna inputted thoughtfully. If she was joking, she was an expert at hiding it. Jakar blinked, looking a good deal more afraid now.

“Never mind,” he decided quickly. “Better to wait ‘til I’m more healed.” An almost imperceptible smirk came over Luna’s face, one that no one seemed to notice.

“If it helps any, I doubt that’ll be long,” Rachael offered, tone somewhat clipped in concentration. “I have no way of seeing how healed he is, but I can make something of an educated guess based on how well this worked with Marvin. He’ll probably still need bandaging once we get to town.”

“’ll be fine,” Jakar dismissed, waving a hand weakly. “Seen worse.”

“Yeah, well, better safe than sorry,” Rachael was quick to disagree. “You’re too close to the frontlines for us to take any chances. You’ll thank us for it.” Jakar just flashed her a quick grin, in between his grimaces of pain. In spite of herself, Rachael found herself reciprocating with a slight smile of her own.

Hopeless, she decided, if only mentally.

And for that one moment, she found her mind distracted from the loss of their friends, if only for a little while.

---

As per Corvan’s plan, they set off as soon as Rachael decided Jakar was healed enough to walk without problems – and even then, she kept herself within easy distance of him just to be sure, despite how exhausted the round of healing had made her.

They found Brinzac, and the main path with it, in just over half an hour. If looks were all they had to go by, none of them would have ever been able to tell just how badly ravaged the Abominations had once left the town. Now, it was just as inconspicuous and unassuming as any of the other towns marking the face of Grandas, as though what had happened to it had never happened at all.

“As good a rest stop as any,” Corvan remarked as they came up to the town gates. “And not a moment too late.”

“Hail,” one of the gate guards greeted with a polite nod. “You look like you’ve been through the wars. What business brings you to the town?”

“You could call us Snowcap’s envoy, of sorts,” Corvan answered, walking up to the guard. “We were planning to head through the Orios. We just got out of the forest.” He grimaced. “For better or for worse.” The other guard narrowed his eyes as the first swept his eyes of the group.

“Trees?” the second one asked. The first grunted.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he replied. “Run to the guard post, tell them to double the watches.” The second guard turned and walked into the town, and the first raised his spear. “In, then. If you’re after the Inn, it’s five minutes South, and the tavern’s ten minutes walk from there.” Corvan nodded once.

“Our thanks, and good day,” he told the man, leading the group through. Marvin glanced at the guard as he entered, but neither young man knew the other.

“Fire damage,” Riki noted, nodding to a building close to the edge of the forest. “On quite a few of the houses.”

“It was deserved,” Marvin muttered. “Cruel, but deserved.”

“I can’t think of much that would justify retaliation like this,” Juno pitched in, her voice subdued. “Unless they did the same to whoever they pissed off, but even then, that’s stooping low.” Marvin’s face was grim.

“There used to be a weretree settlement on the fringes of the forest,” he responded. “Until Brinzac burned them out, through nothing but fear of what they were. I do not know how many died, or how much of the forest burned that day, but...” He bit his lip, not looking happy. Juno grimaced.

“It still doesn’t make it right,” she murmured. Valko’s fists clenched.

“The only one I’d wish either on is their leader,” he muttered. “Briar.”

“There is little gain in dwelling on that hatred,” Riki chastised him quietly. The younger mage looked away, his eyes unhappy, pained.

“He took Sam and Derrick,” he murmured. “I can’t help it. I know it doesn’t solve anything, but…I want to hate him for it.”

“Hate all you will, but do not let it dominate you,” Riki responded. “Briar is not our fight, at least not yet. If you must focus on the hatred, harbour it for Sheltam, for... Skyver.” Valko sighed.

“Yeah…yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he granted quietly. “There’s nothing we can do for it now.” Both Juno and Rachael had turned concerned eyes on him, and now they turned them to each other – an unspoken reinforcement of their agreement to talk to him about his clear change in attitude. Riki nodded, although he still looked troubled.

“If your hate seeks to impair your vision again, talk to me,” he suggested. “I have had enough experience with it myself, in Skywing’s cells, to perhaps offer you some guidance.”

“I will,” Valko murmured. His own voice sounded uncertain, now, most likely of himself. “Thanks, Riki.” The older man smiled faintly and nodded, before turning to continue walking with the group.

Part 3

Riki was trapped, and he knew it. The razor-sharp spines of earth were already drawing blood as they pressed just into his skin, and any movement would tear a much deeper wound into his skin. He was fighting to keep his anger in check, knowing that any sudden movement could easily end up with him dead, especially if Rachael wasn’t conscious at the end of the fight. But he had to get free. None of the Devroran had stabbed him yet, clearly deeming the still-active members of the group more important targets, but it was only a matter of time.

Gorman gritted his teeth as darkness began to spill out from under Riki’s still form. He may have been a mage, but he had no way to counter that and he had no idea if it would be capable of destroying his carefully crafted spell or not.

Mori was fighting the swordswoman and the thief, but he had no easy opening to assist there, at least not with his primary element.
The angry mage was clearly itching for a fight, but Gorman had learned a long time ago that it was best to leave angry mages to the physical fighters. Instead, staying safely behind his outcrop, he began to chant the words to construct a trap. On the ground below, Valko scowled, gritting his teeth.

Smart, he took a begrudging mental note. Fine. I can play your game. He shot a glance back at Juno.

“I’ll need your cover for a bit,” he told her, face grim. “I have a mage to uproot.” Looking back at him, Juno gave him a nod.

“Got it, Val,” she promised, grinning. “Leave it to me.” Smiling slightly in spite of himself, Valko turned back to the outcroppings, closing his eyes and drawing on deep reserves of energy. He knew the spell he was about to cast would leave him exhausted and effectively without magic for the rest of the day, but they were near enough to Orios for that not to be too much of a worry. Right now, they had bigger problems – much bigger, as Valko knew from his previous experiences with Devroran spellcasters.

Bringing both of his arms up to his sides, he pulled wind around both of them, forming something akin to a pair of small whirlwinds around each – whirlwinds of condensed magical energy. In a single motion, he brought both in front of him, above his head, and then down again. The wind unleashed itself violently, dropping unceremoniously onto the rock formations below, as well as a few unfortunate back-line Devroran. There were more than a few cries of pain as the wind descended, and Mori’s head snapped back at the sound of it, before cursing and putting her attention back on Rachael. Jakar had used the distraction to vanish, but she wasn’t particularly bothered by that – she had only really been facing the swordmaster.

Gorman, however, was on his back, the wind having slammed his head quite hard into the rock. His chant had been completely disrupted, but he was more focussed on regaining his senses than his trap construction. Blinking, he sat up and rubbed his head, swearing softly under his breath. The little mage had bite.

If it was a fight he wanted, though, he’d get one.

As the mages went about their exchange of spells, Rachael took Jakar’s leave as a cue to step up into proper offence, rather than the cautious attacks she’d had to favour before, in case Mori decided to attack him instead. Expertly jumping a spear sweep, she lashed out at the white-haired Devroran with a quick strike of her sword, blue energy searing past.

You won’t hurt anyone here, she thought, eyes narrowed in focus. Not on my watch.

Ahead of them, Luna broke free of a second lock with Buren, forcing his axe aside. Seeing an opening she’d caused, the smallest of openings, she lunged at him, speaking no words, only brutal, righteous determination colouring her face.

But for everything about him she knew to have long gone, his reflexes had not been one of him. He snapped his left arm up, causing Luna’s sword to connect with nothing more than the broken Snowcap crest adorning his gauntlet.

“Don’t think my time away from Snowcap has made me any less of a fighter,” he hissed at her. “Not ever.” Bringing his hand into a fist, he pressed a release in the palm of the gauntlet. Claws sliding into place, he lashed out at Luna, the counter swift and brutal. The younger wolf was almost instantly forced into a hard, sideways turn to dodge out of its way, Buren’s claws sweeping down only millimetres from her face. Scowling, she fell back, taking up a more defensive stance.

“Not bad,” she growled, a begrudging, ground-out admittance. “But I’ve fought bigger, better fish than you.” Buren settled back into stance, not looking at all threatened. He held both weapons ready, now.

“Prove it, then,” he shot back. “Show me that all the training you begged me for wasn’t completely worthless.”

Jakar, for his part, had gone around to the ambush sites Valko had cleared out and made very, very certain that all the unconscious people were, in fact, unconscious. He stayed well away from the single conscious mage, not willing to risk having magic connect with his rather fragile skin, and instead eyed the battle from above. He had four knives in addition to his combat knife, all good for throwing, and he weighed the first one in his hand as he watched Mori face off against Rachael. She’d helped him out, he felt like he should at least return the favour. The knife would have gone in the big werewolf’s hide, if it wasn’t for the fact that Luna had as good as said to leave him to her and that he wasn’t sure it would even go through his skin anyway.

The knife hit Mori in her left shoulder, his throw not as accurate as he would have liked due to how fast the two of them were moving. Mori yelped in pain, taking that hand from her spear and immediately falling back onto the defensive, at a very clear disadvantage. Rachael held her sword at the ready, but didn’t charge, instead giving Mori a level look.

“I’ll give you one chance,” she told the Devroran. “Take your leader and leave. I don’t want to be forced to hurt you over this.”

In spite of how drained his previous spell had left him, Valko pushed himself into a quick recovery, taking to scanning the outcroppings again.

Either it worked or he’s stubbornly clinging on, he noted mentally, brow furrowing. This one’s better than most of the casters they’ve sent after us in the past. I’ll give him that much… His situation leaving him few other alternatives until his target revealed his location, Valko turned his sights back to the battlefield around them, instead. Corvan was having little trouble combating two of Buren’s fighters, Rachael and Mori had come to a one-sided standstill, and Jakar was decidedly nowhere to be seen. From what Valko could make of it, Riki was still working a way out of the trap his quarry had put him in; as much as he wanted to help, he really didn’t have much doubt that the older man could handle himself.

Albeit slowly, they were taking the upper hand. Valko may not have been an expert on large-battlefield tactics, but he knew that much.

Behind him, Juno cursed violently, inciting Valko to spin hard on the spot to see just what had caused it. An arrow was stuck in the ground just inches behind her, and she had raised a hand to her cheek. When she brought it away, it was noticeably bloody.
“Juno!” he exclaimed. “Are you--” She waved a hand, although her expression was distinctly unimpressed.

“Fine, fine,” she dismissed, magic gathering around her other hand as she said it. “Lucky I was fast, though, otherwise I damned well wouldn’t be.” She brought that hand up in a vertical arc. There was a cry of surprise and somewhat-muffled pain from a ridge above them as one of the Devroran archers took a column of rock directly to the chin, almost certainly knocking out several teeth and summarily knocking him well out. “And boo to you too, you bugger,” Juno grumbled, turning back to the battle proper.

Mori readied her spear grimly, one of the dazed soldiers hesitantly walking over to support her but looking like he could barely support himself.

“He’s not going to leave until the dragon is dead,” she responded to Rachael. “So neither am I.”

“Corporal!” one soldier exclaimed, looking terrified, as the darkness inching through the earth finally snapped a single one of the spines – the one by Riki’s sword arm. In a flash, the rest had been sliced off almost at the base, and he got to his feet with murder written on his face.

Gorman swore, retreated to a slightly further away outcrop, and cracked the earth at Valko’s feet. Swearing, the younger mage leapt back, his teeth gritted. Magic had already begun to gather around his hands, in motion to counter.

Finally getting invested, are we? he noted, mentally. I can deal with that. He brought both arms up, crossing them. Then, he swept them both out, sending a arcing burst of fire out toward the outcroppings ahead of him.

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re losing,” Rachael countered Mori as the two mages fought. “You might bring that up to your leader, because at this rate, he’ll be the one responsible for costing innocent lives!”

“Shit,” Mori muttered, casting her gaze back at the livid Riki.

“If you do not leave now,” he told her, his voice deceptively calm, “I will kill you all.”
Gorman, pressed against the wall, brought up a weak shield of water and prayed as the fire hit him. As the steam hissed up around him, he began to weave another spell, only for Jakar to jump up next to him and crack the pommel of his long knife against his head.

“That was pathetic,” he decided, swiping the amulet around the mage’s neck.

On the battlefield beneath them, Luna dodged a heavy axe swing with a swift duck, followed up almost immediately by a sideways swipe of Buren’s claws; though Luna’s dodge was still mostly successful, the tips still managed to nick into her face. If she was at all fazed by the pain, she didn’t show it in the slightest, instead continuing her dodge into a manoeuvre around to her brother’s back. The larger wolf barely had a chance to react before she struck – only swiftly bringing his gauntleted arm up and around prevented his sister’s sword from going neatly through his eye. Even then, the tip scored a deep line to the left of it, just underneath. Cursing, Buren fell back, his stance defensive.

And that time, Luna didn’t attack straight away.

“Leave,” she spat at him. “Leave and never come back. Do it, and we’ll let you and your team live. Otherwise, you are set to have more wilful deaths over your head than Saïla ever has.” Buren opened his mouth to counter, but hesitated, ultimately pausing. Turning just enough to look at the rest of the battlefield, the realisation of what Luna meant started to come to him.

His men were falling, most already dead or unconscious. Forian was standing again, and looked in no way happy. Mori’s fight was quickly turning against her, and Gorman had long stopped casting. For the second time in that minute’s period, Buren swore, a violent, frustrated sound.

“Much as I wish it weren’t true, you may have a point,” he muttered, turning back to his sister. “But take my word when I tell you this: we have no intentions on stopping. We will pursue you until you’ve paid for what you brought on our city.” Luna barked out a humourless, bitter laugh.

“Hypocrisy on top of everything else?” she shot back. “You’re less than pathetic, you sorry mutt. To think you wonder why our father disowned you.” Buren’s eyes narrowed and his expression hardened almost tangibly, but he said nothing. Instead, he whistled, signalling to his men to retreat. As they began to pull back, Buren shot his sister one last, blazing glare.

“This isn’t over, Luna,” he informed her, voice curt and direct, as if stating more a fact than a threat. “I - we - have no intention of stopping until we have that bitch’s head for what she did to our home.” At last, he turned away from her properly, a portal opening up in front of him. As he did, Luna spat angrily.

“You’re right about one thing, Buren,” she snarled. “This isn’t over. It won’t be over until one of us kills the other, and I don’t care how many of Tobias Skywing’s lackeys I have to go through to do it. Ever try to hurt this group again, and I’ll put you down like the rabid lapdogs you are.” Buren paused halfway through the portal, but didn’t turn back.

“Fancy that,” he remarked, an edge of bitter triumph to his voice. “It looks like we’re not as different as you’d like to think.”

He continued through, disappearing as the portal closed behind him. Luna, now left alone on the battlefield, made a livid, frustrated noise, slamming her free hand into the nearest outcropping in an attempt to let it out.

“Damn him,” she growled under her breath, exhaling slowly. “By all the gods, damn that dog.”

Saïla lowered her bow as the last of the soldiers was dragged through the retreat portal, unhappiness in her eyes. Riki shook the blood from his sword and sheathed it, but the darkness didn’t diminish from where it lingered around his form.

“Gotcha a present,” Jakar remarked, from where he was sat on top of an outcrop, swinging his legs. He tossed the liberated amulet down to Valko. The young mage caught the amulet, and before he could look up at Jakar to properly thank him, fell to his knees, panting, exhausted and exerted. Behind him, Juno straightened, falling out of the casting stance she’d just been in.

“Bloody Devroran,” she muttered. “Lucky thing they only had one mage.” She looked back at Valko. There was a look of faint concern in her eyes, despite her own knowledge of magical exhaustion. “You alright, Val?” Valko nodded, forcibly turning his breaths from ragged gasps into deeper, more regular intakes of air.

“Fine,” he got out. “Just…fine.” Ahead of them both, Corvan straightened back up as well, sheathing his claws. There was a troubled look on his face.

“Buren,” he murmured. “Of all the damnedest ways to run into you again.” Shaking his head, he looked back to the group, calling to them, “Is everyone alright?”

“Fine back here,” Saïla confirmed, Lucia nodding in bored agreement. Marvin’s armour was bloody, but any of it that was his looked to be superficial wounds.

“No grave damage here,” he responded. Jakar just waved.

“I... will need to sit alone a while, to calm down this darkness,” Riki responded. “But my wounds are minimal.”

“Only got one exhausted mage over here,” Juno called over to Corvan. “He’ll be totally fine once we get to the city.” Rachael sheathed her sword.

“Just a few scratches,” she reported, close enough to Corvan that she didn’t have to shout. “Don’t think I’ll even need any healing for them.” Satisfied thus far, Corvan glanced at Luna, the only one who had yet to speak. Sheathing her own sword, the elder werewolf stalked back over to the group.

“Unharmed,” she reported, tone clipped. “Apologies for my gods-damned so-called family.”

“You aren’t the first of us to have to do so,” Saïla remarked. Lucia did not look even a little bit guilty. Riki turned and walked away from the group, sitting back against an outcrop and closing his eyes, frowning in concentration. Luna laughed a humourless laugh.

“At least yours is helpful,” she countered. “Potentially insane, but at least helpful.” A troubled expression on his face, Corvan walked over to them, just as the others started to regroup around them.

“Everyone, deal with any injuries you think need it and rally up,” he told them. “We’re moving out as soon as we can. They won’t attack us in Orios.”

“How can we be sure?” Rachael questioned, frowning somewhat. “Their leader, Buren…he seemed determined. They may be desperate enough.”

“They want us,” Corvan disagreed, shaking his head. “Attacking us in Orios would mean endangering countless hundreds of civilians. I don’t think Buren has fallen that far.” Luna snorted at that one, but said nothing.

“Only potentially?” Lucia complained, looking put out. Saïla notably had no reaction to that.

“They don’t want us,” she disagreed. “They just want me. It... It would be safer for you if I was not with you.”

“Not happening,” Lucia vetoed immediately. Corvan nodded in concurrence.

“We’ve come this far together,” he agreed. “You’ve been with m…us for too long to leave you now.” Rachael raised an eyebrow at his catch, but didn’t bring it up.

“You also neglect to bring up how you’re safer with us,” she added. “We’ve fought worse than them. I think we all agree on that.”

“They don’t scare me,” Valko muttered, straightening, having been supported up by Juno. “They can try all they like, but the result won’t change.” Saïla glanced back at Riki, who was still sporting a noticeable aura of darkness, and didn’t reply.

“Engaging mopey mode,” Lucia remarked, poking her in the arm.

“And besides,” Corvan continued. “It’s hardly as if danger has stopped us before. We’re stronger as a group, either way.”

“Really, it’s your choice as to whether you want to leave,” Juno pitched in, shrugging. “But…I don’t see a problem as we are, and I don’t think it’d be the same without you and your blunt, stone-sensible logic to counter us crazy people.” Saïla smiled faintly.

“If you think it would be for the best,” she allowed. Corvan granted a slight smile of his own.

“We would,” he responded. “Take my word.” He looked over the group, then, and his attitude quickly straightened back into the one of determined professionalism. “Right. If everyone is present and accounted for, we’re moving out. If we quicken our pace, we may still be able to reach Orios by nightfall, and the sooner we get there, the better. Now we have Buren tailing us on top of everything else, I would prefer to limit our time on the road as much as possible.”

“I am not sure Riki is in control of himself yet,” Marvin disagreed quietly. The older Dicarsan still had a frown of concentration on his face, although he was notably less dark. Corvan cast a concerned glance back at him.

“Do you think there’s anything we can do to help?” he asked Saïla, even though he was uncertain if even she had the answer.

“I do not know anything more about the way he is now than you do,” she responded. “The only ones who did are either dead or gone.” Riki chose that moment to get to his feet and walk back over to the group. The darkness had vanished, but his face was lined with pain, and it aged him.

“I apologise for the wait,” he told Corvan in a low voice. The wolf levelled his gaze at him, concern still in his eyes.

“Are you alright, Riki?” he asked the elder man, noting his face. “We can spare some time, still, if you need it.” Riki managed the barest of smiles.

“This is the best I am likely to be, with what I have become,” he responded. “I will be fine.” Though he still looked uncertain, Corvan nodded.

“If you believe so,” he allowed. With it said, he turned back in the direction of Orios. “Come along, then, everyone. We should move while it’s still morning.”

Chapter Sixteen: Pushing On Past Magic’s Vale
Part One

Corvan’s estimation of their arrival proved almost spot-accurate – the sun had just fallen when they arrived in Orios that evening, the rest of the journey turning out mercifully peaceful.

The city itself was a sight to behold – it, like Tuervon, was constructed largely out of white marble, suggesting the dragonkin were involved in its construction, long ago and long before their self-imposed dedication to total neutrality. Spired watchtowers surrounded the perimeter of the city, each manned by at least one team of mages, and a massive, white stone complex dominated the western side of the city.

“The academy,” Juno supplied, for those of the group who were unaware. Her eyes were aglow with enthusiasm at the sight of the city. “They say there’re almost no mages on Grandas who haven’t studied there at some point in their lives. Hell, there’re people who come all the way over from Aldysia to learn magic here. I never needed to, myself, but it says something about their dedication to the art.”

“If the dragonkin were involved in its construction, they clearly had no part in properly designing the buildings,” Luna remarked, looking the city over. “Tuervon told me they’re not a race much for artful building design, when their time could be spent on better defences.”

“It was an effort of collaboration,” Riki spoke up unexpectedly. “The dragons, long before their devolution into the kin, built it with the elves and the Ancients of the time.”

“Definitely long before the dragonkin turned into hermits, then,” Juno decided. “But you can tell from the way the city looks. The Ancients had a hand in creating most of the cities of the day, and when the elves do ornate, they do ornate.” She pointed out one of the towers. “And those are blatantly a dragon idea.” Riki smiled faintly.

“It is one of few such cities still standing,” he responded. “That collaboration built Shyusia, which is rubble in the ocean now, and the Ancients had a large hand in Skywing’s construction as well.” Juno raised an eyebrow at that.

“Either the Devroran were a lot less likely to go off the hook back then, or the Ancients were prodigiously brave,” she remarked.

“Given what we’ve seen so far, I’ll venture it wasn’t the former,” Valko added, a tinge of bitterness to his voice. Riki chuckled softly.

“When bored, Tobias often came to talk to me,” he remarked. “I have many stories of the Devroran, although given their source I cannot vouch for their validity.” He looked up at the Academy. “What I know of here, though, I know from my time spent learning here. I can at least vouch for the truth of that.”

“What do you think the shops here’ll have?” Valko pitched in, sounding considerably more enthusiastic now the topic of the Devroran had been left. “They’ll probably have the best selection of magic focuses we could ask for, just to make a start…”

“Thought up your new time sink for the next few days?” Juno teased, characteristically cheerful as ever.

“Nothing wrong with getting stronger, is there?” Valko retorted, in something of a “so there” manner, to which Juno had no other response than to laugh at it.

“I could show you the places I remember,” Riki offered, shrugging lightly. “It has been some time since I was last here, and much has happened to me in that time.”

“Orios is boring,” Lucia decided dismissively. “Been there, done that, got the amulets.”

“You have,” Valko protested. “I never even left the continent before this.” He turned his attentions to Riki, his enthusiasm returning. “I’ll take you up on that, if you don’t mind taking me along. Granted, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow, but…”

“Would you mind terribly if I tagged along?” Juno piped up. “There’s nothing like a city like this to strike up curiosity, and I’ve heard too much about Orios to pass up an opportunity. Riki nodded, looking faintly pleased.

“I make no promises about the things I experienced still being there,” he warned them. “But given Orios’ propensity to stay the same, they are likely to be, at least.”

“Doesn’t bother me any,” Juno dismissed. “A trip around the mage-city is a trip around the mage-city, same or different. Either way, the place is still impressive.” Riki chuckled.

“Their lessons are those of many races. I learned much here.” His face fell slightly. “Once there were Dicarsan here too, but they returned to our town with me for my awakening, the day Tobias destroyed my race.” The group seemed to go silent at that, unsure how to continue such a line of conversation – certainly, no one had thought to bring it up before. After a moment, however, it was Corvan who spoke up and broke the quiet.

“…do you know why he ever did it in the first place?” he questioned, voice subdued. “Skywing may have been evil, but I never thought him the type of evil that would benefit from…genocide.” The saddened look on Riki’s face increased.

“It was not him who cast the spell, but Sheltam,” he responded. “Because certain members of our race found his only daughter, and murdered her.”

“He had an entire race wiped out in retribution for the actions of one group?” Luna repeated, her face set in a scowl. “Pah. It’s no wonder my brother fled to him.”

“Why would Sheltam have needed to cast the spell?” Corvan asked, frowning. “Skywing clearly had the power and capability on his own.”

“He did not know it,” Riki responded with a shrug. “From what I understand, Sheltam approached him with the idea after he heard what had happened. It was one of the reasons he began to collect Yore spells. Tobias disliked being beholden to people he was not fond of.”

“He certainly had an odd way of showing it, if that was the case,” Corvan muttered, brow furrowed. “Although I suppose it matters little now, given his death.”

“I find the Devroran are easier to understand when you don’t try,” Juno inputted helpfully. “I think we’re better off not knowing.” Riki made an amused noise.

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “I suppose he would be pleased that he succeeded at his aim, if nothing else.” Saïla scowled at that, so Riki made an unhappy noise and fell silent.

With his silence, the group continued walking, at last entering the city proper.

---

Happily, the group located an inn not far from the entry gate, just along the city’s main street. As they walked into the building, Corvan broke away from the rest of them, heading to set out their arrangements with the innkeeper.

“A moment,” he told them. “I shouldn’t be long.”

He hadn’t even reached the centre of the room, however, before a voice rang out from a table between him and the group. Its sound and air was casual and somewhat disinterested, almost lazy.

“You know, you don’t make yourselves particularly hard to find,” it remarked, tone conversational. “Always take the first inn you see?” Corvan’s head whipped around almost immediately, eyes scanning the inngoers for the source of the new voice.

He was quick to locate it. Sitting by himself at a table to the werewolf’s right was a man clad entirely in black clothes – and judging by what little of it Corvan could see under his hood, his hair matched that colour almost perfectly. He was leant back in his chair, idly tossing a dagger into the air and catching it, as if he’d been waiting for quite a while and had settled into his own way of passing the time.

“And just who are you?” Corvan inquired, tone guarded, his danger senses coming alive almost pre-emptively. “And how do you know us?” The man didn’t seem fazed in the slightest, not even pausing his game.

“Not going to kill you, if it makes you feel any better,” he assured. “When people hire me to do that, I usually don’t stop to chat with them first.” Jakar blinked in surprise.

“Slade,” he remarked, actually sounding somewhat scared. “Who sent you here?” Rachael looked at him, seeming just as surprised that Jakar knew the other man as Jakar did that he was there.

“You know him?” she asked. The man in black, now identified as Slade, didn’t look away from his dagger catching.

“Normally, you’d know how I feel about identifying my clients by name,” he responded. “Shady ventures, and all that. But since this is a special case, as most everything involving Viran turns out, I suppose I could make an exception just for you.” He caught the knife one final time, slamming it point-first into the table at looking up at Corvan, rather than Jakar. “General Milaven sends his regards.” His eyes flicked to Valko. “And I’ll thank you to put out the fire.” Valko blinked.

“You…” he managed, the fireball he’d been forming as a last resort, behind his back, dying out in his surprise.

“General Milaven?” Corvan repeated, sounding taken aback by that. “From Redwood?” Slade nodded.

“Sent me to find you,” he supplied. “‘Check in on progress,’ as he put it. Can’t say I’m asked to do that one very often.”

“Any thief worth his salt knows Slade,” Jakar responded, voice low, not out of fear of being overheard but out of respect. “Best assassin in the business, that isn’t tied to those evil assholes in blue anyhow.”

“I do not understand why he would not send an official envoy,” Marvin remarked, bemused. Slade leant back in his chair again, linking his hands behind his head.

“He didn’t send one because most of who he’d send as envoys are still stuck rebuilding entirely the wrong places to be able to help,” he countered. “Namely, Snowcap. Right about now, he has more money than he has free soldiers, and men of my profession typically have more flexible schedules either way. Besides, a single man can move faster than a full envoy.”

“Your words have merit,” Marvin allowed, although he looked a little ruffled. Jakar moved a little further towards the back of the group, clearly wary despite Slade’s statement of intent.

“Is that all, then?” Corvan asked the assassin. “He sent you just to…check in?” Slade shrugged.

“Pretty much,” he confirmed. “And to help if you desperately needed it, but you don’t seem to be having much of a problem.” Corvan’s face was set in a frown of thought, however. An idea seemed to have come to him.

“Now that you mention it, actually…” he murmured. Slade quirked an eyebrow

“The big damn hero actually considering making use of the assassin?” he questioned, sounding thoroughly disbelieving. “Strike up another new one, then...”

“Are you sure you wanna do that?” Jakar cut in quickly. “Really?” He gave Slade another nervous look. Slade looked a bit affronted by that.

“I only assassinate when someone pays me to, you know,” he remarked, sounding dubious. “And I like to think I’m fairly loyal to whoever happens to hold my contract, this case just happening to be one of your friends. Just what do you take me for?”

“It’s not what you think, Jakar,” Corvan cut in, by way of reassurance. “But he’s offered us his help, and I do think I have a way to put it to use.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Jakar muttered, his voice dark and bitter and entirely free of his accent. “But fine. Ain’t my call in the end anyways.”

“He has a point, though,” Valko inputted, addressing Corvan. “And this guy’s just reinforced it: he’s loyal to whoever holds his contract. Who’s to say Sheltam won’t make a better offer?” Slade sighed heavily.

“Listen, I get the aversion to working with an assassin,” he responded, closing his eyes. “I really do. But keeping on this side is as much a matter of self-preservation for me as it is for you. I know official types like Sheltam too well, especially the ones who’re scrambled in the head like him: as soon as they don’t need someone, they throw them away, especially hirelings, and especially when they get their hands on as much delicate information as assassins do. Even if that weren’t the case, the man is trying to level entire cities. The longer he goes on, the less work there is for me, assassinations or otherwise.” He shrugged. “And besides, backstabbing clients is terrible for business.” Jakar made a slight noise.

“He’s not Blue Rose,” he remarked, almost grudgingly. “It’s as much of a plus point as he’s going to get.” Valko grumbled, but said nothing further on the issue. As satisfied with the result as he knew he was going to be, Corvan continued his proposal.

“How familiar are you,” he started, looking the assassin dead-on. “With Arduskuth?” Slade raised an eyebrow at that.

“Arduskuth?” he repeated. “You’re certainly fond of making enemies everywhere, aren’t you?” Corvan grimaced.

“Yes, well, we didn’t much have to try this time,” he muttered. “You wouldn’t happen to have been on a rescue mission before, would you?”

“No, but I can’t imagine the procedure would be much different,” Slade responded, shrugging. “Unless you expect me to go storming the weretrees’ base from the front, and I don’t take you to be stupid enough.”

“Good,” Corvan decided, his face grim. “Because we need someone to at least try and do one for us, and we’re not in any position to do it ourselves.” Marvin shook his head.

“No. One man will not be enough to rescue Sam and Derrick,” he disagreed. “No matter how skilled he is, Sam and Derrick are the most important factor of Briar’s army. They’ll be the best defended.” He fell silent for a moment, looking distinctly unhappy with himself. “It would be better,” he continued, “to attempt to free Maraicho. She is young, as his army goes, but knows both the forest and the twins well enough to help, if she’s able.” Corvan looked pained.

“Be that as it may,” he murmured. “If there is any chance at all…”

“Take all three,” Slade finished for him. “I’m fairly sure I would’ve tried either way, if there was an opening. Extra credit always looks good on a man’s permanent record.” He unstuck his dagger from the table, twirling it between his fingers idly. “Now, that just leaves one caveat, so pray tell, good leader - how fussed are you with the idea of me having to snuff the guards on the way in? If this place is as well-defended as your knight makes it out to be, I can almost guarantee it’ll be unavoidable.” Corvan closed his eyes, his mouth as much a thin line as was possible for a werewolf.

“Get them out,” he repeated. “However it takes.” Marvin looked strained. It clearly pained him to be speaking out both against their leader and the chances of his friends, but he did so regardless.

“They tried to keep them alive when we were ambushed in the forest,” he murmured. “At least try not to kill the Abominations. It’s not their fault.” Slade seemed to consider it, going silent for a moment.

“I’ll leave them be,” he eventually offered, voice low in thought. “If they don’t endanger my life, or the lives of my passengers. Deal?”

“I suppose it is the best that they will get,” Marvin responded, tone clipped. “Deal.” Slade smiled thinly under his hood.

“Then consider it as good as done,” he decided, sheathing his dagger. Barely-visible dark blue eyes turned to Corvan again. “You know, wolf, you’re lucky. If this wasn’t part of Viran’s payroll, you’d have quite a price tag to match.”

“Then I’m thankful for the General’s good graces,” he muttered, clearly still somewhat uncertain about the idea of working with such a professional, high-demand assassin, despite how little choice they had otherwise.

“Where will you take them if you manage to free them?” Marvin asked, sounding concerned. “It is too dangerous to try and rendezvous with us again. Our path leads straight to Sheltam after this, or as near as can be called it.” Slade thought about it, looking up at the ceiling in consideration.

“There’s a weretree covenant in Redwood,” he murmured. “One that doesn’t have a tendency to kill anything that comes near them. They live in Viran’s jurisdiction as General, as well, and he keeps on good terms with them. If I happen to get them out, I could take them there under my protection, since I have a paycheck to collect either way.” Marvin nodded.

“If I am able, I will return there once we are done,” he responded.

“Then it’s settled,” Slade agreed. “I’ll set off first thing tomorrow and get this out of the way as soon as possible. By the way you make things sound, there’ll be general misfortune abound if I take my sweet time with this.”

“Perhaps not immediately, but soon enough,” Marvin agreed, looking sombre.

---

True to promises, Riki took Valko and Juno into the city fairly early the next day, just before noon. Both of the younger mages seemed eager, their general attitudes fully cheerful for the whole prospect.

“You know,” Juno enthused as they walked, curious eyes darting about the buildings along the streets. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen quite so many magic shops before. Probably never will again, either.”

“Wonder if their magic focuses are stronger than the usual,” Valko remarked, sounding interested by the idea. “It’s a city specialising entirely in magic, so I’d think they’d be generally better at it than most.”

“There is a mixture,” Riki responded, his tone as tempered as always. “Some masters of the craft live here, and as such you can find pieces of incredible quality. But, as ever, there will be some less than scrupulous merchants hidden among the honest ones, and they are harder to spot with the glut.”

“Yeah, such seems to be the norm,” Juno agreed, punctuating it with a sigh. “Lucky thing bad magical merchandise is fairly easy to spot.”

“Plus, I doubt the bad ones outnumber the legitimate ones,” Valko reasoned. “Otherwise Orios wouldn’t have kept much of a reputation.”

“Of course not,” Riki agreed with a nod. “But travellers are easy to fool.”

“Well, not everyone can be a mage, I suppose,” Juno granted, shrugging. “Just a shame they get so many unsuspecting sods. Usually apprentices.” Her eyes sighted on one store in particular, drawn to it by the rather impressive display in the window. “Not bad. What say we check it out and see if it’s legit?” Riki glanced at it.

“Some of them are,” he replied. “You will get better quality closer to the Academy, although of course it will be more expensive there. If there are any teachers there who remember me I may be able to take you inside.” Both younger mages seemed to have the exact same reaction at the exact same time, their faces lighting up with enthusiasm.

“You could really do that?” Juno asked him. “You could get us into the Academy?”

“Even if we’re not students?” Valko added. “I mean, you were, but…”

“I could try,” Riki repeated, emphasising the ‘try’. “Both of you study magic to some degree, to a level where a successful application could be feasible, and I was reasonably well-known as a student. But it depends upon a lot of things, so I make no promises.”

“It’s good enough for me,” Valko responded, with Juno nodding in concurrence.

“This,” she decided. “Is gonna be awesome.” Riki smiled faintly at their antics, before turning and heading for the huge, white building that dominated the city skyline.

The interior of the academy, as Riki’s two followers were soon to discover, was just as impressive and well-designed as its exterior. Its halls, all in the same white marble of the dragonkin, took more the shape of long archways going into the distance, with surfaces each dedicated by a portrait of some famous mage or other, or an ornamental window.

“Wow,” Juno breathed, her tone appreciative as her eyes scanned around the entry hall. “Wonder if the Ancients had a hand in this…”

“All this time spent studying magic, and I never thought I’d be here,” Valko remarked, sounding as though he still didn’t entirely believe it. As they walked the length of the entry hall, his focus was kept almost solely on the pictures of the mages.

Their welcome to the Academy came in the form of a young man, seated at a meticulously-polished, semicircular wooden desk, right at the end of the hallway. He was dressed in what could only be official Academy uniform.

“Can I help you?” he asked of the three, looking up at them as they approached. His tone was noticeably stuffy, if certainly polite, and his eyes seemed drawn to Riki, clearly singling him out as their leader – although he didn’t seem to recognise the older man, himself.

“May I speak to Sage Nylahana?” Riki asked, casting his eyes over the state of the desk. “My name is Riki Forian, a former student of hers.” The young man looked down at what appeared to be a schedule book, giving it careful, critical once-over.

“Her schedule seems lenient today, so I am certain she could find the time,” he responded, looking back up. “Might I ask your business with the Sage, Mr. Forian?” Riki’s eyes were troubled.

“It is twofold,” he responded. “I was hoping to show these two young mages some of the places of learning. I also face an issue of a magical nature which I hope she may be able to help me with.” Seemingly satisfied with Riki’s answer, the young man stood out of his seat.

“Very well,” he decided, straightening his posture professionally. “If you would follow me, I will take you to the Lady Sage in person.” Riki glanced back at the other two.

“Try to be quiet,” he suggested to them, his voice soft. Both younger mages nodded faithfully.

“We will,” Valko promised.

“One order of silent cheering and enthusiasm, coming up,” Juno agreed, grinning. Riki smiled faintly and nodded, before turning to face the young man on the desk and nodding to him. The secretary nodded once in kind, leading them down the long hallways to their left.

---

Their trek through the halls went at a brisk pace, only taking them around five minutes to reach the destination the young man had had in mind – five minutes that Juno, true to her word, spent silently enthusing over anything she seemed to find impressive. By contrast, Valko, despite his own enthusiasm, was far more nuanced in showing it, simply looking about in wonder.

“Here,” the secretary told the three, stopping them in front of a door to what appeared to be a study. “I will be only a moment.” He disappeared inside.

“I apologise for the hassle,” Riki murmured. “They are understandably a little secretive in this place.”

“Are you kidding?” Juno responded, although her tone was still respectfully subdued. “They could be ten times worse and this’d still be worth it.”

“I agree,” Valko concurred with a nod. “Compared to what we’re getting from it, it’s no trouble at all.”

“Once we have dealt with Sheltam, if you can, you should come here,” he suggested to them. “Apply for training. It would serve you well.” Valko didn’t seem to need to consider the idea for very long, as he was quick to nod in agreement.

“I’d like that,” he decided. “I could finish my training properly, then.” Juno looked thoughtful.

“I’d have to take it up with Master Xenos,” she murmured. “But I don’t see why he wouldn’t let me go for a few years. He defended Geihola on his own for gods know how long before I ever came into the picture.”

Wherever their conversation may have gone, it was cut short by the near door opening again.

“Sage Nylahara will see you,” the young secretary told them, briskly stepping back into the hallway and politely motioning them into the study. Riki nodded in thanks, leading the other two inside. True to what they could see through the outside window, the room was a study, and a rather well-stocked study at that, with shelves of books spanning wall-to-wall. At the far side, an elf, clearly female, seemed to be conducting a thorough search-through of the texts.

“It’s been quite a long time, Mr. Forian,” Sage Nylahara remarked in a calm, pleasant tone of voice, turning to the three as they walked in. By elfin standards, she looked fairly old – her face was lined by both age and, presumably, the stress of the job, and her hair too pale to make out what colour it used to be. She wore a variant of the official Academy robes, their colour being dark aqua. “In honesty, I had begun to worry I might never see my best student again. For once, it gladdens me to be proven wrong.” Riki smiled, although it was saddened.

“I am grateful for the opportunity to return here, with what has occurred in the interim, Sage,” he responded. “Would you be so kind as to authorise a brief tour of the Academy for these two?” He indicated Juno and Valko with a wave of his hand. “Juno is a student of Sage Rudiger in Geihola, I am told, and both have quite an interest in magic.”

---

Part Three

Unflinchingly and unfailingly, Valko held his shield strong in the air in front of them, repelling the first waving wisps of shadow.

But this time was different to the last. Before the shield could work to turn back the main body of Riki’s second wave, a hard, grey stalagmite burst from the ground, plunging through the wall of light. Almost immediately, it began to crack, all along its length – and mere seconds after that, it shattered, leaving nothing to stop the blinding dark from enveloping the two mages opposite Riki and Juno. Within, Dreseia’s expression turned into a full-on scowl.

It seems this is what Skywing saw in you, she thought. It’s just a shame I never thought of it first. Under her breath, she began a quick chant, one that she estimated she could finish before the angel’s next spell.

Next to her, Valko wordlessly spelled away the darkness surrounding him – Riki had, in fact, been aiming mostly for Dreseia, and as such, Valko had taken on far less of the attack. With the distraction out of the way, he raised his hand in a clear motion to aid the elder mage in dispelling the rest of the shadows. He never got the chance to will any further spells into existence, however; just as he extended his hand in that telltale spellcasting motion, a small jet of flame collided with it, burning skin and, more importantly, distracting Valko.

It struck Juno as a testament to the damage Dreseia had done that Valko’s only response was to slowly turn toward her instead. There was no recoil, no cry of pain or shock. There was simply blank, empty subservience.

“Sorry, Val,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “It’s for your own good. Promise I have a potion for it once we’re done.” Ahead of her, she saw him raise his other hand, light forming at his fingertips – and that was when she moved, breaking into a full-on run straight toward him, not willing to give him a chance to cast any further spells. Just as the light reached what she knew would be its apex, she rammed into him at full force, slamming him bodily into the outside wall of the building behind him and breaking his spell off before he could attack her with it. Taking advantage of his unvoiced surprise, she wasted no time in pinning his hands with her own, in the process effectively pinning him to the wall behind him. She turned her head up, fierce grey eyes meeting his dull, once-lively blue ones.

Even that, even properly seeing one of his closest friends close up again, did nothing to change the expressionless mask that had become his face.

“Come on, Valko, you know me,” she growled at him, anguished frustration colouring her voice. “Come on! We’re your friends, remember?! This isn’t you! You’d never do this to us – not on your life! So snap out of it, damn you, snap out of it!”

He said nothing, and he didn’t even move. All he did was look down at her with those same vacant, staring eyes. Juno muttered a violent curse, a furious and frustrated sound.

I’m getting you back, damn it, she vowed mentally. I don’t care how and I don’t give a damn if it kills me. I’m getting you back. Starting with—

As if to finish her thought for her, darkness flashed out in her peripheral vision. Dreseia had finished her counterspell, freeing herself from the darkness. As Juno turned her head to face the elder mage, the fury never leaving her eyes, Dreseia fully turned on the spot to face Juno, that same pleasant, triumphant look returning.

“Trying to get through to my new protégé, are we, dear?” she remarked, her voice simpering. “I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work like that. His mind is mine. I even have the papers to prove it.” Her smile widened dangerously. “Either way, however…I can’t have you getting in the way. I’d hate for you to get around to undoing all my hard work.”

Taking slightly more than a brisk walk, Dreseia started toward her. Swearing, Juno let go of Valko, falling back into the street and taking a ready stance – it had been then, and only then, that she truly realised how close in proximity she’d been to the older mage. She supposed it didn’t matter now.

Try me, you old scow, she challenged, if only in her mind. When I make promises, I go through with them. So just try me.

When Dreseia raised her arm, as if to aim straight for the sky, Juno responded likewise by pulling her own right arm back toward her left shoulder, feeling she had at least a fair idea of what was coming. She was quick to be proven right, as Dreseia scythed her hand back down almost immediately, a rush of smothering blackness following it. Allowing herself a grim, almost imperceptible smile at the temporary victory, Juno countered in kind, sweeping her arm outward. Obligingly, a burst of wind shot out to connect with the column of darkness, dispersing it to the side before it could hit its mark. That was when Juno saw Dreseia behind the fading curtain of darkness – already midway through a follow-up motion with her other arm, a second scything motion from underneath. Scrambling, Juno attempted to motion a counterspell with her other hand, but it was too late. It was too late. All Juno had time enough to do was curse herself for it.

So caught up was she in the battle, and the rage and surprise, Juno managed no noise when a sharp, hard line of darkness streaked through her arm, just at the junction of her shoulder. Grey-blue eyes widening in shock, she stumbled back, her left hand going, protectively, to her injured shoulder. Her right arm, in its entirety, had gone limp – and though the blood didn’t come right away, once it did it was like no wound Juno had ever had to treat, deep red expanding out from under her clutching left hand and flourishing across her once-white cloak.

In front of her, Dreseia did nothing more than smile.

“Young…fool,” she remarked, her voice soft as she approached Juno, for what she was confident would be the last time. “I did tell you, didn’t I? I’ve worked much too hard to let you undo what I’ve done to your friend. While it gives me no great pleasure to do this to you-“ the fact that her smile widened as she said it clued into her blunt insincerity, “I’m afraid you gave me no choice.” As she sank, slowly, to her knees, Juno’s head sank, her eyes wide in disbelief at both the fact that she’d been put in the state she was in and how she’d let herself be put in it in the first place. Her breaths were becoming sharp and unsteady – the pain had started to set in.

“I…I…” she whispered, shaking her head as if to disbelieve it entirely. Becoming aware that Dreseia had stopped in front of her, Juno turned her eyes up to the old woman, eyes clouded with pain and hatred. Dreseia’s face took on the same reassuring look she’d given Valko as she knelt in front of Juno, looking her straight in the eyes.

“I’d wager you’re in quite a lot of pain,” she remarked, voice soft and disconcertingly kindly. As she spoke, she raised a hand to Juno’s forehead, in much the same way she had done for Valko. This time, though, there was no light around them – only darkness that would soon become another blade. “You needn’t worry yourself for it any longer, dear girl. I intend to make it…” She smiled slightly. “Go away.” Slowly, Juno’s head sank, her eyes closing.

“I…” she murmured again…and what happened next, Dreseia decidedly wasn’t expecting.

Juno’s left hand shot out, leaving her mangled shoulder, and caught Dreseia’s own in a vicegrip. It was her otherwise-free hand – the one holding her spell scroll.

Mustering herself, the younger mage raised her head again, her expression a pained, but victorious, smirk.

“I…” she repeated, taking in a ragged gasp of breath. “Got you now, bitch…!” In a flash, flames exploded into life around her left hand, quickly consuming the scroll and racing up Dreseia’s arm.

The elder mage shrieked in surprise and agony, intense agony, immediately leaping back to her feet. She swept her right hand, just seconds ago set to be the one that finished Juno, over her left arm, quick to douse the rapidly-climbing flames with water before they consumed her arm entirely. Although Riki’s face remained blank, the darkness around it smiled.

Between the two mages, the control scroll lay smouldering on the cobblestones, Juno’s fire gradually licking it away into ashes. A faint smile on her face, Juno let her head turn, trailing, to the side, her eyes going to Valko.

As the scroll burnt away, that dull, blank cloudiness began to chase itself from his eyes. Though its place was taken by a decidedly lost, unsure expression, it was entirely his own.

“Wha…” he murmured, looking down at his hands. “What just…?” He glanced about, eyes scanning his surroundings. They caught Riki some distance away, still his twisted, angelic self, and seemingly doing nothing more than watching. Frowning, Valko flicked his eyes to the left.

That was where he saw what Riki saw. At roughly the centre of the street, Dreseia stood, clutching a hideously-burnt left arm with a look of sheer, disbelieving anger on her face. Some feet away, Juno was looking up at him from a kneeling position on the ground, clutching at her right arm in much the same way as Dreseia was clutching at her left.

Valko’s eyes widened in a combination of shock and mounting horror when he saw just why that was – when he saw the ravaged, limp state of her right arm.

“Juno,” he breathed, starting for her – and just as he broke into his run, an angry shriek sounded nearby. Valko caught the bright burst of flame rocketing along the street in the corner of his eye and reacted with impeccable speed, practically leaping in its path and blasting it away with a burst of wind. As he faced her, Dreseia’s look of rage seemed only to grow.

“You were supposed to be mine,” she spat. “Mine! You were supposed to be mine, you useless, grovelling boy!” Valko paid her no attention, instead casting a wide-eyed, horrified look of concern over his shoulder, to Juno.

“Juno,” he repeated, paling at the sight of her arm. “I…”

“No,” she cut him off, almost instantly. Somehow, despite the fact that she was shaking in both pain and blood loss, she managed a tone that suggested she was not to be argued with. “Don’t…don’t you dare…focus on me now. If you…if you want to help me…do me a favour.” She turned her head up, shooting him a weak grin. “Kick her ass for me, Val. Then…then you can worry about my sorry hide. You…you got me…?” Valko shoot his head, looking lost and torn.

“I can’t just--” he started, almost immediately cutting himself short when he saw another burst of fire shoot out toward them. Furiously, he countered it with a spell of his own, gritting his teeth and shaking his head. “Fine. I’ll promise that, if you promise me to hold on. You got me?” Unexpectedly, Juno responded with a weak laugh.

“Hah…” she murmured. “That’s…that’s our Val…”

Valko heard the dull, telltale thud behind him. He shut his eyes, furiously clenching his fists as an attempt to force himself not to turn.

You made me promise, he thought. I’m seeing it through, once and for all. So…by all the gods, Juno…see yours through, too. Please. Slowly, Valko turned his head back up, levelling his eyes on Dreseia. There was a fury about them – a silent, dangerous rage.

“Dreseia,” he started, his voice deliberately calm. “I’ll be honest – I honestly never would have cared what you did you me. If my friends were safe, I never would have cared.” He turned his head back to Juno, now lying motionless on the ground, her eyes closed and her left hand still guardedly clutching the streak of a wound through her shoulder. “But that was the line you decided to cross. You’ve made me care.” He looked back at her, that selfsame fury mounting in his eyes now. “This ends here, Dreseia. Once and for all, this ends here.” Dreseia barked out a humourless laugh.

“And just what are you without me, boy?” she shot back. “Tell me, just what did you have before I dragged you from that languishing pit of your own self-pity?” Valko shrugged.

“Perhaps not as much power as I’d have liked,” he admitted. “And maybe I still don’t. But now…I realise what I did have were friends – strong, loyal friends who didn’t care how powerful I was. Friends who would have stood by me and helped me until the very end.” Slowly, he spread his hands out to his sides, closing his eyes again. “And for the record, Dreseia? I already have a teacher, and she’s already taught me more than you could ever dream of doing. Like this.”

As if punctuating the final word, light shot out around Valko’s hands, expanding across the length of his arms and gradually engulfing his body completely. The amulets and talismans he’d collected, and that Lucia had collected for him, shook and rattled thanks to the sheer force of his own exertion – and all about his feet, the cobbled road cracked under the force and pressure that had come into life around his body. Then, all at once, the magic surrounding him flashed outward; sure enough, the form it became was that of a white, just-incorporeal horse, its body made up of wisping, burning lights.

Across the street from Valko, Dreseia’s eyes widened in disbelief – utter, disbelieving shock and terror.

“Summoning,” she whispered. “A human…a mere human boy… to be able to summon an Elemental Lord…” Valko’s horse left her no further time to tend to her ramblings. Rearing once on its back legs, it came down with force enough to crack the pavement more than it already had been.

Then, it broke out into a charge, shooting off down the street in a beeline straight for Dreseia. Vainly, the elder mage hacked at it with blades and whipping tendrils of darkness, and blasted at it with bursts of flame; however, its path was set and nothing she tried stopped in.

“No,” she uttered, just under her breath. “No, no, no, NO, NO, NO!” Each exclamation was summarily punctuated by another equally in-vain spell, another scrambling attempt to counter magic far beyond anything she could muster. So, just as the horse closed the last few metres between, Dreseia shot one shaking arm up toward the sky, a brilliant jet of purple flame shooting from her extended fingertips, one final signal to the “associates” distracting the rest of the group. It came not a second too soon, as mere seconds later, the horse charged into her - through her.

She had no time to scream.

At the other end of the street, Valko let his arms fall back to his sides, exhaling deeply. Then, taking just one step backwards, he toppled, landing, unconscious, almost perfectly parallel to Juno.

Before the horse even had a chance to dissipate through Valko’s unconsciousness, darkness scythed through it. The darkness around Riki boiled, like water instead of flame, and it pulled his head around as if to look at the fallen mages before him. A raw-red hand clenched into a fist, and his teeth were gritted.

“No,” he managed, his voice not directed at anyone but himself. “N-no.” Within the darkness, he turned away from them, the ground cracking and splitting at his passage.

It had been like this for him before. When the sun began to set on the day of the equinox, and it hadn’t really been him in control, more the force of light that worked through him, that had made him grow wings and had given to him almost the power of life itself. He had never properly been him. He had felt like a vessel, able to direct, somewhat, but not control.

The sun was not setting now, and the seasons were not right, but he could still feel it. Inside him, that force, forcing its way through the broken cracks of him, taking back the control that it had demanded for so long.

He had been angry at Dreseia, and that had given him a small amount of sway over it. Holding it back. But she was dead, and she had been killed by light.

The thing inside him did not care what it used, it seemed.

Riki was afraid.

But he wasn’t strong enough to stop it.

---

Corvan had been travelling through the city, mainly for the sake of browsing the varied non-magical shops, along with Marvin and Luna when the attack had come – in their case, in the form of a slight-figured female elf with grey hair. While they hadn’t been expecting an ambush, per se, past experience with them and the lingering caution after Buren’s attack had allowed the three to recover and strike back almost immediately, masterfully countering the elf’s array of dark spells.

Though they hadn’t defeated her, by the time the signal shot into the sky behind them, their assailant hadn’t managed to land a single solid hit on any of the three warriors. Her teeth clenched, the elf leapt away as Luna struck out, her eyes drawn up to the purple flames hanging above the city.

“She’s fallen,” she murmured. “Dreseia has failed.” Casting her eyes over her three opponents, she pulled her mouth into a thin line, drawing the darkness back around herself. Then, with a simple, almost idle motion, she summoned a portal behind her, stepping back through it. As she swivelled about, Luna’s eyes flashed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she spat, lunging out at the elf with her free hand.

The portal closed before it could connect with anything more than air. Uttering a low curse, Luna straightened.

“Damn it,” she muttered. “I wanted to at least learn why we were attacked in the first place. She was good at keeping confidentiality, I’ll grant her that.” Corvan’s response didn’t come right away, as he turned to look at the flames the elf had seen. His claws remained extended, as if he inwardly knew their situation was nowhere near over yet.

“She may not have,” he replied, pointing the flames out to the other two. “But they’ve just given us a way to find out ourselves.”

“I don’t like it,” Marvin decided, his shield still raised protectively. A few of the mage’s spells had scorched the metal, but he seemed unperturbed. Corvan made a noise, not looking particularly happy with the idea himself, but he said nothing to the effect.

“In all likelihood, that signal was meant as a general call to retreat,” he responded. “So we’re at least unlikely to encounter any more of them on the way.” He shook his head. “And besides…I would rather we find out as soon as possible if any of the others were hurt in the attack.” Marvin nodded once.

“I will guard the rear in case the mage returns,” he informed them, turning to face mostly away from the flames. Corvan nodded once.

“In the interests of caution, it’s probably for the best,” he decided. Luna responded with her own, concurrent nod.

“Agreed,” she added, before turning hard on the spot. “Vargant, Stale – let’s move.”

None of the three spoke any further words, taking a quick pace toward the direction of the signal.

What they found as they approached was darkness.

Thick, coiling darkness that pooled down the streets like thick oil, that flickered like fire. It was impossible to make out what was beyond it, but at the centre there was still something vaguely recognisable as humanoid.

“Gods above,” Marvin breathed, his grip on his sword unsteady. Corvan’s face turned to a scowl of concern and worry.

“This…is no magic I’ve seen before,” he whispered. “And no magic I’ve heard of before. No mortal being should be capable of this.” Luna held her sword ready, stoically and professionally unperturbed.

“I would suggest we keep moving,” she muttered. “But basic tactics would suggest that moving on such an unknown entity would, frankly, be stupid.” She made an unhappy noise. “So just what do we do?”

“Run,” Riki’s voice, near-inaudible and scratchy, called to them from the centre of the darkness, a hint of desperation to it. “Run.” Marvin’s eyes widened, but his grip on the sword tightened.

“I am not running away from anything else,” he replied determinedly. Corvan fell into a defensive stance in case Riki attacked them, even despite the hesitation on his face.

“Riki,” he murmured. “I never expected this, least of all after what little that elf said.”

“It matters little, now,” Luna told them both. “If he attacks, we’re in grounds to disable him. If forced, we could take him down non-lethally, as much as I loathe the idea of touching that darkness.” Riki laughed in response. A deep, unsettling chuckle that did not suffer even a little for how badly damaged his throat was. It was not the way Riki would have laughed.

“Five years,” he whispered. “Five years, our only remaining vessel denied us with magical bonds tighter than we could hope to hold the power to break. And now, brief freedom, outside of the light of the setting sun, and bound to blackness instead of to light.” The darkness, but not Riki’s face, stretched into a grin. “We find we like it. Kill our vessel, if you will. We will be stronger for it.” Riki’s face distorted, and the darkness shimmered.

“Run,” he whispered again.

“Try us, knight,” he added, the pervasive darkness receding, stretching to the side and carving a swathe through the nearest building instead of up the path towards them. “Take your meagre human strength and despair as you fail against us.” Marvin narrowed his eyes and, slowly and determinedly, he approached the gap. Shaking his head, as if to clear the hesitation, Corvan followed him, with Luna almost immediately taking the same cue.

Forgive us for this, Riki, the younger werewolf thought. If we had any other choice, we would take it.

“Run,” Riki repeated once more, a note of desperation in his voice. In his hand, the darkness solidified into a sword, that dripped blackness to the floor like blood.

“Level playing field,” he whispered. “You like that, don’t you, knight?” Marvin flinched, but it didn’t look like it was from the remark.

“No darkness,” he muttered, sword held level. The darkness pulled Riki’s arm up, still puppeteering him. Gritting his teeth, Corvan leapt forward, claws held ready to intercept an almost inevitable attack.

“Not this time, Marvin,” he muttered. “Not alone.” Marvin made a surprise noise, then nodded.

“Make it interesting,” the darkness suggested, voice low. “Make it a little more challenging, mortal whelps.” Marvin narrowed his eyes, stepped forward, and swung. Pausing only to take a careful gauge of their situation, Corvan leapt at the darkness-engulfed Riki as well, his right hand raised in a swing of his claws.

Halfway through crossing a side street nearby, Rachael froze when she saw Riki, just a bit past the intersection of the roads.

“That’s…” she murmured. Instantaneously, her head whipped around to face Jakar – the two had been browsing the city together when the initial attack came, and hadn’t split up when they saw the signal. “Go. Find somewhere where you won’t be seen. Whatever that thing is, I can see Riki inside it, and it doesn’t look forgiving.”

“Savet preserve me,” Jakar murmured, the colour draining from his face. “I’ll do one better. I’ll go get some people who can help against that thing. See you in ten.” He vanished from view.

A second sword-like amalgamation of darkness formed in Riki’s right hand, and with it he met Corvan’s strike, his left blocking Marvin. The darkness roiled around them, as if to remind them that he could easily have taken them down then and there, if he wanted to. That he was playing them for sport.

An arrow, the tip of it shining bright gold, scythed through the darkness and buried itself by Riki’s feet. The darkness pulled his head up in anger, to see Saïla with another arrow notched and her sister behind her, holding an amulet in her hands and making the tip glow white.

“Not what I expected from following the directions of a poor excuse for a mage,” Saïla muttered, letting the second arrow fly. “But grounds for a stand, nonetheless. Whatever you are, let my friend go.” The darkness smiled.

“No,” it replied simply. Corvan’s eyes went up for the briefest of moments, as if to acknowledge Saïla, before he focused them back on Riki – and somewhere behind them, through the determination dominating them, there was relief for her safety.

As Jakar disappeared to alert what could only be presumed as reinforcements, Rachael bolted into the fray, her sword a blur encased in white-blue light.

“Do we have any idea what happened to turn him into this?” she asked Corvan, punctuating the question by lashing out at the darkness. Corvan shook his head, already following up a strike of his own.

“None,” he responded. “We followed the mages’ signal and found him. My guess is, they expected it just as much as we did.” The darkness looked at Rachael, and Riki’s face twisted up as if in memory, before it scowled.

“Your brother,” he growled. “The light. Too much of it. And she made us angry.” The darkness swallowed another light-loaded arrow as it formed a sword in midair, not even bothering to puppet its host around to counter Rachael. It was primarily focussed on Marvin, whose forehead was creased up in concentration on more than the battle. At the very least, it looked a little perturbed by the sheer force of numbers. Rachael’s eyes widened just slightly, clear concern coming over her face, but she forced herself to keep control.

“What happened?” she demanded, striking out again – in vain, as was the case of the rest of their attacks. “Whoever you are, at least tell me that much. What happened to my brother?”

“He is alive,” Riki gasped, and it was clear that it was really him, struggling to regain some form of control over himself. “I... I am try to... to stop it from... from hurti-ngh, hurting anyone, but I...” One of Saïla’s arrows of light grazed his cheek, and from the way his face contorted it was clear he would have screamed, had his throat allowed it.

“None of your darkness,” Marvin muttered, like a mantra. “None of your darkness, none of your darkness.” Lines of pain sank deeper into Riki’s face, and a thin, milky sheen superimposed over the blackness of his eyes. Still the darkness parried them, but it was faltering, battling against its host as well as its attackers. Some relief crossed Rachael’s features, but she kept up nonetheless, not faltering in the frequency or force of her attacks.

“Jakar said he was going to go for reinforcements,” she informed the others through gritted teeth. “By my guess, he meant mages from the Academy.”

“Then our best option is to hope he’s quick about it,” Corvan decided, shoving back against the latest of Riki’s blocks. “If we can overwhelm him quickly, we might still get him out alive, as well as ourselves.” The darkness laughed again, lunging for Corvan with one of the swords of darkness, the point of it elongating into a spear as it went.

“There will be no hope,” he whispered. “We will take it al-” It cut off mid-sentence as an arrow embedded itself in his hand, hissing through his teeth. His head snapped up, and he growled.

Darkness lashed up the side of the building at an unholy speed, wrapped around Saïla’s neck, and pulled her down against the rooftop. Her bow snapped, the darkness sizzling through the wood and string like it was nothing at all. Riki let out a soundless scream of despair as Saïla made a tandem noise of pain, Lucia staggering backwards with hatred etched into her face.

“Nobody,” she hissed, light in her hands scything through the darkness and forming a wavering shield around her and the choking Saïla, “hurts my sister. Especially not you, you rat-bastard Forian.” The darkness laughed with Riki’s voice around his attempts at soundless protest, darkness beginning to dissolve the roof on which she stood. Lucia narrowed her eyes, hauling her sister up by the shoulders and dragging her out of the immediate vicinity before walking back over, standing on a perilously thin sheet of light atop the darkness. Marvin was still chanting under his breath, every iteration of the sentence making the darkness flinch and the milky sheen increase a little. Corvan spared the downed Saïla one faintly-worried look before plunging back into the fray, following up attack after attack.

Come on, Jakar, he repeated in his mind. He’s starting to falter…if we just had a few more, we could get through…we still can… Beside him, Luna struck out at the darkness, her eyes set.

“Come on, Forian!” she challenged. “Whatever this monstrosity is, you’re stronger than this! Fight!” Marvin yelped out in pain as the sword of darkness, previously acting only as a regular sword, suddenly became corrosive and sliced straight through Marvin’s shield as he raised it to block a strike. The metal was neatly cleaved, the sword slicing deep through armour into the flesh of Marvin’s arm.

“None of your darkness!” he practically shrieked, and Riki flinched as though he’d been physically struck.

“Eat this!” Lucia exclaimed, flinging what was clearly the strongest light attack she could manage at him. A sizable section of the darkness frizzled and cracked as the spell impacted, but the hideous dark angel that hung around Riki seemed nothing but angry.

“I can’t,” he whispered, mostly to Luna. “It’s all... I can do... to stop it... killing you.” Blood dripped to the floor from his hand, and he closed his eyes determinedly, unable to see. Luna scowled in determination.

“Then we’ll fight it out for you,” she muttered.

Then, as if summoned and commanded by that one vow, the telltale whooshing, ringing sound of light magic punctuated Luna’s statement, a jet of pure white firing out from behind Riki, colliding with the darkness that had encased his back.

“Forgive me, Riki,” a voice, aged and female, called out. “But we have little choice in our action.” A second jet shot out, rocketing toward him, followed in kind by several further spells.

Jakar’s reinforcements had arrived.

“Someone call for the cavalry?” said thief called out from the safety of the roof of a nearby building, grinning widely at the battlefield down below.

“We have you now,” Lucia muttered, before breaking off into chants again, her poor skills with light magic clear. Riki howled, the darkness clutching at his face and pulling in the tendrils that had previously encased the streets into a thick sphere around him, rendering him no longer visible. The unconscious forms of Juno and Valko became far easier to pick out on the street behind, oval shapes around their unconscious forms where the darkness had left them untouched.

“No,” both Riki and the darkness whispered. “No, no.”

“Enough of your darkness,” Marvin repeated a final time, his sword sheathed and one arm covering his badly bleeding arm. “Enough.”

---

Great chapter once again; a nice conclusion to the Dresia plot and the scene between Corvan and Saila was really touching; awesome stuff all round.
Only critque I can point out is that one or two words have ^this^ strange symbol around them; I get that it's meant to emphasis the word, but it just looks a little odd.
Keep up the good work, can't wait for more.

Chapter Seventeen: Close To The Stars, The Wound It Mends
Part One

Early the next morning, Valko, in much the same position as Corvan had been the night before, found himself facing the door to Riki’s room, uncertainty on his face. In admittance, he hadn’t slept much that night, as guilt, working together with worry for both Juno and the elder Dicarsan, had kept him up most of the night. Now, he figured it was the least he could do to check on even one of them – and now that his own hatred and anger had actually overcome him, not to mention endangered them all, Valko had decided it had come time for him to take Riki up on his offer to talk it over, if the older man was in any position to talk after what had happened to him, or for that matter, even awake. So, slowly and quietly, Valko pushed the door open, not risking a knock for the concern that Riki might still be asleep.

“Riki?” he asked, voice subdued, as he peered into the room past the edge of the door. The older Dicarsan was awake, and sat up in the bed he’d been put in. In the light through the window, minimal though it was, his burns were still raw and red despite the healing.

“Valko,” he greeted, his voice quiet and a little hoarse. “Come in.” With a fresh wave of remorse coming over him for Riki’s poor state, Valko stepped into the room.

“Riki,” he murmured, his expression unsure. “I figured I’d check in, given…well, given what happened yesterday.” Riki smiled faintly.

“I will recover,” he assured him, his voice still quiet. It was clear he couldn’t manage a much louder volume. “Although I doubt it will reassure you to hear that I have been worse in the past.” Valko returned with a weak smile of his own.

“Not particularly,” he agreed. “But if nothing else, I’m glad we were in Orios when it happened. I doubt we could have healed the two of you on our own.” He cast a glance at the chair by the bed. “May I?”

“Go ahead,” Riki agreed. “And yes, I was... grateful for Sage Nylahara’s assistance. I could heal with my own magic in the past, but...” He grimaced. “No longer.” Quietly taking his cue, Valko crossed the room and took his seat on the chair, linking his hands in his lap as he looked down at the floor. His face was troubled.

“For…” he started, as though unsure exactly what to say. “For what it’s worth, Riki, I’m sorry. If I’d just been a bit smarter about things, if I hadn’t been so desperate…you wouldn’t have ended up like this.” He shook his head. “And neither would Juno. But thanks to me…”

“Do not blame yourself,” Riki advised softly. “That cycle is endless, and leads only to more pain. Recognise your mistakes, where you made them, but also understand that the situation was brought about only because of that woman’s evil, and rather than wallow in your sorrow, work to correct the places where you went wrong.” Valko looked at him, thought and consideration in his eyes. When he looked away again, he laughed weakly.

“You have a point,” he agreed quietly. “But…it’s hard for me, sometimes, especially when I know my mistake is what made her able to injure the two of you like this.” He sighed softly. “But I’ll think on it. I…I know you’re right.” Riki smiled faintly.

“You should be glad,” he remarked. “That all of your mistakes are ones you can correct. That nobody is out of your reach so that you can no longer apologise. Be thankful for that.” Valko nodded slowly, smiling slightly.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “If nothing else…I have that. Thank you, Riki.” Riki laughed, although it sounded painful.

“You will be fine,” he assured him with a smile. “I have lived through more than this, I do not intend to let it kill me. And Juno would blame you last of all those involved in what happened. Sleep easy. Learn and move on.”

---

Somewhere in the depths of Arduskuth, a shadow waited amongst the treetops just outside Briar Maverick’s operational headquarters.

Slade had made his arrival just the day previous – three days, all in all, since Viran’s oft-touted group had commissioned his help – and, with the sort of punctuality only an assassin could boast, had set to his Task straight away and without delay. His first order of business had been to find and solicit a floor plan from one of the guards, one who, aside from evidently both experience and a sense of direction, had been more than happy to oblige.

As far as Slade was aware, his superiors still hadn’t found where he’d left the poor man.

With that transaction concluded, he set to staking out and sizing up each of his options of entry. Through comparison with the unfortunate guard’s map of the building layout, Slade had managed to locate an air duct that led to the second level of the base, underneath the ground floor he found himself staring down upon now – exactly where the trees kept their captives. Then, by way of inconspicuously attending one of the guards’ drills and the shift debriefing that followed, he learned that, on top of the duct in question being patrolled only by a single two-man team at any given rotation, the only resistance he could expect from the cell block he needed would be from the unsuspecting on-duty jailers, leading Slade to the conclusion that Briar and his trees had no idea what stealth infiltration meant.

Now, a day later, he sat idly by in one of the trees outside the headquarters, twirling a knife between his fingers as he watched the patrols switch, patiently awaiting precisely the moment he needed to strike.

Then, some thirty minutes into the current shift, that chance finally came as both on-duty guards crossed paths under exactly the wrong air duct. Stilling the knife in his right hand, the assassin produced a second with his left as he slipped out of the tree and landed, almost completely noiseless, in the undergrowth. With that done, he made his approach – just as the two hapless guards in front of him made the fatal, unknowing mistake of stopping for a chat.

Interruption came in the form of Slade springing up behind the guard first on the left, bringing his left arm around the man’s neck as his right hand came back and buried his first dagger well into the base of his skull. As the guard’s partner in conversation recoiled backwards in shock and horror, hands desperately scrabbling for his sword, Slade gave the corpse under his arm an almost casual shove, toppling it unceremoniously into its former partner. With a cry of disgust, the second guard, now thoroughly mortified, batted the corpse away from him, finally managing to pull his sword from its sheath as he did so. Then, clearly intent to at least try to mount a defence, he turned his head up to face Slade - just in time to catch sight of the second dagger cheerfully whistling through the air before it thudded into the space between his eyes.

With that task done, Slade retrieved his blades, making haste in dragging the two now-former guards well into the depth of the woods. Then, taking one last cautionary glance about his surroundings, he doubled back to the headquarters, pulled himself up to the duct, and slipped in.

One hurdle past. Now – the involved bit.

---

In the cells, there hung a false silence.

It was forced. Every noise felt out of place. Every little rattle of Derrick’s chain, every one of Maraicho’s soft footfalls as she walked back and forth across her cell. Only Sam truly obeyed the oppressive silence, forced into motionlessness by her many chains.

“Do you hear that?” Derrick’s voice, though muted, seemed too loud. His eyes, their customary dark green, flitted over the walls and ceiling. Wearily, Sam raised her head, her bindings clanking against one another in protest.

“Hear what?” she murmured. They’d lessened the charge in the shock collar around her neck at least, but her forced immobility made it hard for her to sleep, and dark bags had etched their way into the skin beneath her bloodshot eyes. Derrick’s gaze halted high up the wall near Maraicho’s cell.

“There,” he muttered. “In the vents.” Maraicho stopped pacing, going up to the bars and wrapping her free hand around one of them. She craned to see the spot, but her position made it impossible. Maybe it was help. The idea both made her heart beat faster, a hopeful skitter in her chest, and filled her with cold dread. They’d already decided what they’d do – no, there was only one thing they could do. If help came, only she could really be freed.

If help had come, she’d have to leave the only two people she considered family.

For a moment, nothing happened, and nothing came of the vents aside from the faint, still-distant sound of what seemed to be clattering. Then, after a while, the sound grew closer and closer – and as it did, the three slowly but surely came to the realisation that what they heard was, in fact, far larger and far more humanoid than they had dared to hope.

Then, at last – after what seemed like an hour of crawling, breathless silence – the three Abominations witnessed as Slade Lenstark dropped down into the vent, slid out, and straightened as though this were nothing more than another day at work. As he righted himself, he took a slow glance about his surroundings, as though making absolutely certain he had taken exactly the right path.

“Right on target,” he remarked, satisfied, to no one in particular. “All things considered, I’d say that was one of my better infiltrations via vent.” He produced his cloak – which he had long since removed and stashed under his arm for ease of movement – and unceremoniously tossed it onto an abandoned key peg near the door. Then, he shifted his gaze to face the captive weretrees. “Which means the three of you will be my mission statement. A pleasure, I’m sure.” Derrick grinned at him in reply.

“Certainly,” he agreed. “Been getting boring around here. No booze to speak of.” Sam looked like she was considering an attempt to move, but just shrugged and gave up in the end.

“I’d wave, but I’m a little tied up right now,” she replied. “But you’ve probably triggered the ritual alarm, so I’d get moving if I were you. There’s four keys in the next room, take the red one and get Marai out.”

“I’m not-” Maraicho started, looking unhappy, but a single look from Sam effectively silenced her. Slade raised a curious eyebrow at them.

“Not even stopping to question the assassin’s motives,” he remarked, sounding as if the concept had long become foreign to him. “There’s a turnout for the books. You three must put a right lot of faith in those friends of yours.” He pivoted on the spot, striding up to the door and checking the handle. When found it to be thoroughly and entirely unlocked, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Have they seriously never heard of a stealth operation before? Right – give me two seconds. I’d tell you lot to stay put, but given your situation, being a smartass just wouldn’t feel right.” He pulled the door open, slipping out as though he were never there.

“Well, if you’re going to kill me I can’t exactly stop you,” Sam pointed out, shrugging through the shackles. “And I figured you would’ve done it by now if you were.”

“Marai’s going a tracker in her right shoulder,” Derrick cut in as Slade passed him. “Magic based. Simple. Get her out of the woods and break the seal and you should be set.”

“Given trends thus far, I’ll assume Briar never had the foresight to failsafe it in any way,” Slade remarked as he passed by, ring of keys in hand, and started to work on Maraicho’s cell door. “I’d suggest you bring up how horrible he is at planning ahead if I didn’t think he would subject you to some inhumane torture or other for it.”

“He plans,” she disagreed. “It’s just he’s got bigger things to worry about than Marai right now.” Derrick snorted in amusement.

“An upside to being a good little Abomination, I guess,” he agreed. Slade seemed to consider it.

“Well, if he plans on it no matter what, tell him anyway,” he decided. “It’s the truth. Not our problem if he can’t handle it.” He paused partway through opening the door, a serious look coming over his face, and cast an aside glance at the twins’ cells. “I could take you with, you know. Your friends did tell me to focus on releasing Maraicho, here, but they left their entire keyring behind. You’re sure she’s the only one who wants out?” Derrick shook his head.

“We’re the most important. We’ve got better protection, better tracing, more care all in all around us,” he responded. “Plus letting her out just set off the alarms, so there’s that too.” Sam looked Maraicho square in the eyes.

“Go,” she told her, “and don’t come back.” Looking petrified, Maraicho nodded once. Slade, in the meantime, merely gave the twins one final seconds’ worth of a glance before finishing the lock and sliding the door open. Then, he entered the cell.

“Well, either way,” he went on, locating the key meant for the clasp around Maraicho’s wrist by way of rifling through the ring. “If these friends of yours are half the group Milaven makes them out to be, they’ll be back for the two of you one way or another.” He flicked the proper key out upon finding it, ridding the younger weretree of the constraint, then turned on the spot and beckoned. “And knowing my employer, we’ll end up meeting again. Come on – I doubt these gormless sods are going to stay put forever.” “They’re already moving,” Maraicho whispered, one hand around her neck where the ice dampener had been as if she couldn’t quite believe it. Her eyes met those of Sam and Derrick, and it was clear she worried that it would be the last time.

“Go,” Derrick whispered, a faint smile on his face. Maraicho turned away and followed Slade. Upon the retrieval of his cloak from the repurposed peg, the assassin in question craned his head to look back up at the vent he’d come through.

“As good as any,” he decided, tucking the article back under his arm. Then, with a well-aimed jump, he caught onto the side of the duct and clambered back in, turning so he was facing the room. He cast the twins one final glance. “Until your friends inevitably make us meet again. Tell Briar to make it a challenge next time, will you?”

On that, he bent so he was leaning partway out of the duct, offering Maraicho a hand up. Maraicho took it, yelping as he pulled her up into the vent. Sam grinned.

“Oh, I’ll be sure of it,” she agreed, before starting to murmur in treespeech, her collar lighting up in magical response. Slade allowed himself a thin smile as he watched.

“Shame I won’t be here to see the show,” he remarked, at last turning around in the duct. “Right. Maraicho – follow me and hope Briar’s men aren’t nearly as sharp of hearing as your friends. And here’s hoping you’re a quick sidler.” He disappeared further into the vent, out of the twins’ sight. Maraicho nodded mutely in response, crawling along the vent at a far slower pace than Slade was, wincing at every little noise she made. The sound of shouting and concerned guards was already filtering through from the prison. Inside the vent, Slade couldn’t help but smirk to himself in the darkness as he sidled along.

“Seems they’ve struck a nerve,” he noted, voice subdued but tone more than a bit satisfied. “Good. The more guards they send swarming after Briar’s out of control captives, the better chance we have of getting out of this forest without their attention. Let’s keep going.”

---

Assassin and escapee spent far less time leaving than the former had spent arriving, urgency driving them to leave before Briar’s men could figure out where they’d gone. Thus, just fifteen minutes after they had made their impromptu disappearance, Slade and Maraicho dropped out of the other end of the vent, once again reappearing amongst the heavy forest outside the headquarters. As the former once more produced his cloak from under his arm, fastening it around his neck again with swift hands, he cast a cautious glance over their immediate surroundings.

“No one,” he murmured, drawing the hood over his head. “They’re flooding the base. Those friends of yours must be bloody powerful to warrant this much attention. Not that I’m complaining.” He settled his eyes upon the route he’d taken on his initial approach, the day before. Then, he bolted for the shadows, beckoning Maraicho behind his back. “This way!” Maraicho nodded, stumbling after him as her legs cramped up after so much time in both a prison cell and crawling through a tiny vent. Magical alarms were blaring with sound, alerting the base to a potential outbreak of the two most dangerous and likely pissed off of the Abominations.

In spite of Maraicho’s rather sorry state after the time she’d spent in Briar’s cell, the two were able to maintain a pace quick enough to take them through the forest, and away from the weretrees’ main base, with marked and reassuring rapidity – such that, by the time just half an hour had passed, they had reached the very border of the Arduskuth woods, with the road linking Brinzac and Tuervon just visible to them beyond the trees.

If Briar’s trees have any sense left in their bodies, they’ll have long checked the trace by now, Slade noted idly within his mind as they finally slowed, stopping at the very edge of the forest. Which makes breaking it the final hurdle. Simple. If all goes well, they’ll be stuck wandering like gormless fools in the middle of the forest. If not, they’ll keep going anyway and slam straight into Brinzac. Can’t say they won’t deserve everything they get if they’re stupid enough to let that happen. He turned his head, regarding Maraicho.

“Holding up?” he inquired of his charge. His tone was unreadable, his expression hidden by the combined darkness of his cloak and the shroud of the woods.

“I will be fine,” Maraicho responded, her tone as muted as ever. “I’m sorry for slowing you down.” Slade waved his hand dismissively, turning back.

“It’s no issue. We arrived soon enough,” he responded by way of assurance. “But we can’t stay put – not with that tracker of yours set up to make hell of our lives.” He continued on through the thinning veil of the trees, heading on toward the road. “Come on. We’ll do something about it once we’re out of their home territory.” Maraicho nodded, jogging to catch up with him. Her face was a mask of concern, but she didn’t say anything more, simply kept checking over her shoulder for any sign of pursuit.

Little more than five minutes later, the two found themselves outside and on the road; safe, at least for the moment. Remarkably, was still relatively early in the day, a fact impossible to tell in the depths of the forest.

“We’ll head to Tuervon from here,” Slade went on as they emerged, casting a cursory glance of his own over his shoulder. “I imagine this seal of yours will be at least partially protected, and I’m magically disinclined enough not to have a chance in all nine hells of breaking it myself. Granted, the dragonkin are probably worse, but I’m fairly sure we’ll be able to find an elf or two in the city proper.” Maraicho put a hand over her shoulder almost subconsciously, nodding.

“Anyone with a basic magical knowledge should be able to break it,” she murmured. “It is only because of the way they cast the spell that I cannot remove it myself.” Slade nodded, the information satisfying him.

“Then we shouldn’t have a very hard time of finding someone who can remedy it before it becomes a problem,” he decided. “And if all goes well, if we can keep this pace, we should be tucked safely into Tuervon before the shops close. Let’s keep it up, then.”

---

Maraicho stuck close to Slade as they passed through the gates of Tuervon. The assassin might have considered the area safe, but she had been abducted from the city before, and she was painfully conscious of the tracker inside her shoulder, patiently beeping out a little magical beacon to any of Briar’s soldiers who happened to be listening.

She tensed up as Slade stopped without warning, flinching as a voice greeted them with a simple ‘hey’. She relaxed when the man that jumped down in front of them had the tanned, faintly scaly skin of the dragonkin, not the dark bark-coloured skin of the weretrees, but only slightly. As an illusion mage, she knew full well that magic could mask your true self from passers-by all too easily if you were practised enough.

“You. You’re an assassin,” the dragonkin remarked off-handedly. “And I know you from Rynus,” he added to Maraicho. “So let me know what your deal is in Tuervon.” Slade seemed to size the man up with a once-over of his eyes, caution written on his face – mostly with regard to the apparent guard’s flagrant lack of a uniform. After a moment or so, however, the assassin’s mouth set itself in a thin line.

“Rynus,” he repeated, the man’s words seeming to ease his suspicion some. “Your people laid siege to the place not long ago, as I recall – helped along by a group of travelers who I’m told fought at Redwood. You know her as one of them, I take it.”

“Fario,” Maraicho murmured, his face finally clicking in her mind. The young dragonkin grinned.

“Yep. Now answer my question,” he responded. Slade frowned, clearly still cautious by habit. Then, at last, he sighed deeply and finally answered.

“If she knows you and you haven’t tried to take off with her yet, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you,” he admitted, if grudgingly. He jabbed a thumb in Maraicho’s direction. “Weretree fugitive. They took three members of this fabled group of yours and Viran’s a few days back, so the lot hired me to be their hero of the day. She wound up being the only one I could take.” Fario leant against the wall of a nearby house, looking thoughtful.

“Ok,” he murmured. “General Milaven is a decent sort so I’ll give you the benefit of a doubt. Plus points for not being Blue Rose.” His face contorted briefly into a scowl as he said the name, but was soon back to its previous neutral expression. “Who were the other two?”

“Sam and Derrick,” Maraicho murmured before Slade had any chance to respond. Fario sighed. It sounded somewhat saddened.

“Ok,” he murmured. “What’re you after?” Slade shrugged.

“A spellcaster,” he responded simply. “Any spellcaster, really, but preferably not one of suspicious repute. Maverick had the foresight to stick a failsafed tracer in her shoulder, irritatingly enough, and I don’t stand a chance in hell of breaking it myself.” Fario raised an eyebrow.

“Spellcaster? Asking a lot in Tuervon,” he remarked. “I’m sure I can find you one. You want me to meet you later?” Slade nodded.

“Just point us in the direction of a decent inn this side of the city,” he agreed. “We’ll wait it out there. I imagine my charge could do with a break either way.”

“I’ll find you at the Spear,” Fario responded, before jabbing a thumb at a street behind him. “Down there. Second right, third left. Big sign with a spear on it. Can’t miss it.” Once more, Slade nodded.

“Understood,” he responded. “We’ll catch you there. Come on, Maraicho – we may as well find it while we’re ahead.” He pulled his hood back and started down the street.

---

Part Three

The sound of tearing armour made Riki turn on the spot, facing away from the increasingly stressed Gorman towards the two werewolves. He hesitated, torn between dispatching the two leaders of the opposing pincer and going to Luna’s aid, before Gorman made up his mind for him.

Earth jumped up at him, clearly not intended as a trap like last time but to legitimately damage him. Riki turned on it with darkness jumping up from his body and cut it to pieces with a jet-black sword, the earth crumbling under the speed and force of his assault. Then, he turned his eyes to Gorman.

Mori’s spear came up with light around the blade to block the next strike, her teeth gritted in concentration. Gorman had already staggered backwards, his normally tan skin pale with fear.

“Fight fair, Dicarsan,” she hissed. Riki glanced at her, then slid his sword out of the deadlock.

“As you wish,” he returned, ignoring Rachael and the damage to the earth in order to press a relentless assault on the young soldier.

Behind him, Luna skidded away from Buren, one arm held up against her wounds, protectively. Blood had already begun to darken the front of her already-red uniform, and her face had taken on a look of actual, if faint, surprise.

“So this is all it means to you,” she remarked, voice just above a whisper as she regarded her injuries. “To think, I never imagined…that you had this in you. That you’d actually fallen this far.” Buren’s face was stony as he took up the proper stance for dual-wielding.

“And I thought you would understand,” he growled. “I’ve found something to believe in, and I’m fighting for it just the same as you. I never imagined you’d become this much of a hypocrite, Luna.” The younger sibling barked out the start of another bitter laugh, but cut it one off with a gasping wince, pain searing through her wounded side. Fighting off another wince at the movement, Luna straightened, bringing hateful, betrayed eyes to meet her brother’s.

“It’s…ironic…isn’t it?” she managed. “You were so desperate…so desperate to escape the ‘system’…that you fell into one of your own.” Gritting her teeth against the burning under her ribs, Luna forced herself to raise her sword, levelling it at her brother. “You’ve become…what you hated…the most.”

Buren seemed to freeze to the spot, his eyes just a bit wider than normal in an expression of disbelief at what he’d just heard. Slowly, the look turned to a scowl.

“What…did you say to me?” he growled at his sister. Luna didn’t flinch away, even just a bit.

“You...heard me, Buren,” she managed. “You’re…blind, you stupid dog…you’re blind.”

Behind the two warring werewolves, Saïla swore and narrowly avoided a column of fire that rocketed up from the ground beneath where she had originally been standing. An arrow went into the shoulder of the nearest Devroran mage, forcing them to retreat with a noise of pain.

“We are outnumbered,” Saïla muttered through gritted teeth.

“Seen worse,” Lucia replied cheerfully, setting the nearest soldier on fire. “Besides, looks like Riki’s flipped the murder switch again.” Saïla refused to let herself be distracted for long enough to look over at Riki, draped in darkness and forcing the leaders of the other half of the Devroran assault further and further back. It was a testament to Mori’s skill, she reasoned, that the young soldier was still alive.

Mori, however, was in no mood to be praising herself for anything. She was losing ground, and fast, what had been a fairly level playing field against Rachael now nothing more than a desperate series of attempts to evade her foe’s flashing blade, skipping backwards further and further away from the battlefield she and Gorman had purposefully constructed. Her mage partner had practically run to the main lines, chanting all the while like some sort of fool, and Riki had already battered away two of his magical attacks. Mori, of course, had immediately had to distract him from simply breaking away and taking Gorman’s head the second the spell was cast, and she was wearing thin.

She could see that Buren’s opponent, his sister as far as she could gather, was heavily wounded. It would be a blessing if he put her down in the near future and came to help them ward off the monster that was a righteously enraged Dicarsan.

We did this to him, she thought, memories rising to the surface unbidden of seeing her now-deceased Lord speaking with members of Sheltam’s forces, a dull and near-lifeless Riki by his side. He had made him into a weapon. And now that weapon had turned on them.

As the fight wore on, the two siblings stood across from each other, all both motionless. Buren still stood in stance, disbelief yet colouring his features, and Luna still stood partially bent, sword pointed at her brother. Near them, Corvan struck down one of the Devroran with a swift downward sweep, spinning on the spot immediately afterward to take full gauge of Luna’s situation.

Had he been human, he would have paled at the sight of her wounds.

“General--” he started, but she cut him off with a weak, but pointed, look.

“No…Vargant,” she managed to growl out. “Do not…focus on us. I have this under control.” Her eyes went back to Buren. “In fact…I think…I just hit a sore spot. Isn’t that right…brother?” Buren spat, shaking his head furiously and weighting his axe in his hands, clearly ready to move on her.

“You know nothing about me, Luna,” he snarled. “Nothing!” Luna smiled, a bitter and pained expression.

“But I know…something about your lord,” she gasped, taking a deep inhalation of breath before continuing. “I know…he let us go. For whatever reason…he wanted us alive. And you…” She let out a shuddering, vicious cough, flecks of blood colouring her lower lip. “You put your revenge before that. You put your revenge…before what your Lord wanted. Before…what he thought was best. So, really, Buren…how alike…do you really think we are?”

Buren went as silent as the dead Devroran strewn around them, if just for a short while.

“You…” was all he managed when he did speak, her words bluntly having shaken his resolve.

“Run, dammit, Gorman!” Mori exclaimed as Riki destroyed another of the mage’s assaults. Gorman narrowed his eyes, continuing to chant just like he had every other time, before shouting in pain and falling to his knees as a knife buried itself in his side, the thrower – clearly Jakar – already long gone. Riki’s eyes flicked to him, clearly seeing his weakness as an opportunity, but Mori as good as threw herself in the path of the Dicarsan.

“I told you to fight fair,” she growled through gritted teeth.

“The Devroran do not order me any more,” Riki responded simply, the darkness latching on to her ankles. Pain spread across her face, but she moved through it, pressing forwards with her spear and making him move back, away from Gorman, before he flew at her with renewed vigour.

Behind them, Luna stayed firmly rooted to her spot, even as blood loss began to sway her, just slightly. Her eyes remained firmly on Buren.

“You’re quiet,” she noted, her voice quiet. Her smile had a sort of grim victory about it. “You’re quiet…because you know…you know it’s true.” Buren scowled at her, but his eyes were troubled and he remained utterly, deadly silent.

Moments passed – hanging, wire-tense moments of nothing more than silence. Then, at last, Buren dropped out of stance, his axe drooping to the ground and sliding out of his hands.

“Seems I owe you an apology, Lady Hyanna,” he muttered. His eyes turned up to Luna, their look pained. “All happy with yourself inside now, Luna?” Luna’s smile widened as much as it could in her victory, and she responded with one weak laugh before swaying and, at last, sinking to the ground.

Corvan moved, but Buren moved before him, catching her passed-out form before it could hit the ground. As he knelt, lowering her in the process, the older wolf gave his unconscious sister a baleful glare.

“Stupid,” he muttered. “Ten years later and you’re still a stupid, stubborn pup.” He spun his head round to look to the torn remnants of his force. Then, over the din of the fighting, he called to them. “Everyone! Stand down, now! They’ve won!” He sighed, looking back down at Luna.

“They’ve won.”

Among both group and the Devroran, weapons were lowered and stances shifted out of the offensive, somewhat confused in many cases. The only exceptions were Riki and Mori – the former having locked his blade against her spear, neither willing to break the lock.

“You’ve won,” she growled. “There is no more need for death.” Riki scowled, then his face flickered briefly in pain, and he staggered backwards. There was darkness around him still, but it had relinquished its grip on Mori’s now bloody ankles.

With a hiss of pain, Gorman pulled the knife from his side and held his free hand over the wound, white light gathering around his skin. He did not look pleased.

Standing at the south end of the road, Corvan cast a surprised, uncertain look down at Buren.

“Surrender?” he questioned, not sounding entirely like he believed it. “After all this, you surrender now?” Buren made a noise of frustration, rubbing his eyes irritably with one hand as he eased Luna to the ground.

“It seems my sister can talk me through a loop even to this day,” he muttered, standing up. He didn’t look at Corvan when he continued. “Do me a favour and have her healed, scrap.”

In any other situation, Corvan would have been far more surprised to hear Buren address him by the elder wolf’s old nickname for him. Instead, he allowed himself a faint smile and nodded, turning back to the others.

“Rachael! Juno!” he called back. “We have injured!”

“Can I have my knife back?” Jakar called, from where he was now leant against the outcrop he’d been using for cover. With his free hand, Gorman threw the knife at him in bitter frustration, but the thief let it hit the floor and picked it up without looking perturbed.

“Mages! Form up!” Mori called, her spear already on her back, clipped onto a holder designed specifically for it. A gaggle of five mages appeared, a sixth limping up shortly afterwards, one leg a mess. “Heal those that need it. Stabilise only, save your energy,” she instructed. “Khoran, don’t move any more on that leg.”

“Yes ma’am,” the mage agreed, sitting gratefully. Across from them, Juno whistled softly at the sight of Luna’s injuries.

“Damn,” she remarked, kneeling next to the downed werewolf and paying the nearby Buren no heed. Rachael followed her motion, but seemed decidedly more cautious of the far larger werewolf, casting intermittent, untrusting glances at him as she worked.

“I’m astounded she managed to keep fighting through this,” she remarked, bringing energy up around her hands as she said it. “That’s enviable determination.”

“She’s always been like that,” Buren interjected gruffly, the suddenness surprising both of the two somewhat. “Stubborn as a damned dragonkin and almost as impossible to budge once she gets an idea in her head.” He sighed irritably, turning as though to walk back to Mori. “It’s stupid and frankly suicidal…but she’s an idiot with a purpose, at least. I’ll grant her that.”

He stalked away, leaving them to their devices.

Mori nodded to Buren as he approached.

“Sir,” she greeted. “Fifteen dead, all thanks to Forian. Nearly three times that incapacitated. I’ve already split up the healers.” Buren made a frustrated noise, rubbing his temples.

“I’ll give the scrappy dog one thing – he runs a good company,” he muttered. “Luna was right. This attack was a mistake. Avenging Lord Skywing was never worth losses like these.” He sighed heavily. “How severe of injures are we looking at?” Mori grimaced.

“It varies. Most of them are fairly severe but not mortal. Many of the soldiers will need at least a week’s attention before they’re back on their feet.” Behind her, Gorman cursed again as he regarded his bloodied robes mournfully, the healing light still around his hands. “Some are simply minor concussions. All things considered, it could have been far worse.” Riki was watching them silently, clearly not trusting Buren to have completely given up. The elder werewolf exhaled slowly, nodding once.

“No room for complaints against small blessings, I suppose,” he muttered. “In that case, we’ll head home when we’re sure everyone’s stable. They can heal properly when we get back to Skywing.” He closed his eyes, frowning deeply. “I think Lady Hyanna and I have quite a bit of talking to do, either way.”

“Will the Lady be angry?” Mori asked, sounding concerned, although it was clear that worried her less than some of the other options.

“Thank Savet it wasn’t Lady Anilla’s orders,” Gorman muttered through gritted teeth behind her. Buren snorted at that.

“If she is once she sees how many men have been died for this, then she’s in desperate need of a priority check,” he responded bitterly. “But I doubt she’s the type. At least, I bloody well hope she isn’t.” Mori nodded, looking uncertain.

“Good,” she murmured, her eyes going uncertainly to Riki. The Dicarsan continued to watch her, not even attempting to modulate the suspicion on his face. Buren, per contrast, didn’t even spare the Dicarsan a glance, his eyes mostly focussed on Luna as he leant back against a nearby tree.

“You can stop giving us that look,” he remarked gruffly, still not looking away. “Only idiots fake surrender when the situation is against them. We’d be killing ourselves if we did.”

“It will be a cold day in the hells before I trust Devroran again,” Riki responded, his tone quiet and modulated. Gorman flinched just at the sound of it.

“It has not stopped others before,” Marvin muttered, looking bitter. By contrast to them, however, Buren still looked utterly and completely unmoved.

“This is nothing to do with trust,” he muttered. “It’s common sense, Forian. If we were to break surrender now, your group would massacre us.” At last, he looked up at Riki. “Then again…that’s exactly what you’re hoping for.”

“Do not claim to understand me, you neutered guard dog,” Riki hissed.

“Don’t bait the Devroran!” Lucia protested. “I’risen preserve me, you’re just as stupid as you always were.”

“It’s not about understanding you,” Buren grunted, apparently far less provoked than Lucia feared. “It’s about understanding basic emotional reaction. I don’t know exactly what Lord Skywing did to you, Forian, but I do know it happened. By rights, I’d think you couldn’t care less if the entire Devroran race went as dead as Sheltam made the Dicarsan. In fact, you’d probably enjoy it if they did.” He fanned a hand at their surroundings, at the dead and injured, with a bitter look. “Just like us, when she--” he jabbed a thumb at Saïla, “destroyed our home.” He looked back at Luna. “But now, I’m past caring. About you, about your vendetta, about your group. Skywing will come back with or without me.”

“I would not care if the Devroran died,” Riki responded, voice more tempered now, “but I would not wish for it. I do not care what happens to you, to Skywing, to any of yours. The man who broke me is dead. The circle of revenge that he started has been closed. The darkness that he produced hungers for blood, but it is not dictated by things so petty and mortal as revenge.” He shook his head. “I did not ask for, nor desire, the destruction that her Other wrought upon your people.” He narrowed his eyes. “But I do not trust you, regardless.” Buren shrugged, making a noncommittal noise.

“Your choice,” he remarked. “Paranoia’s obviously kept your lot alive so far.” Riki opened his mouth as if to protest, but stopped when Lucia tapped him on the shoulder.

“You gotta learn,” she remarked, “how to spot when it’s acceptable to antagonise people.” He narrowed his eyes at her, but said nothing further.

---

The building’s back halls were all but dead silent as Kaspar traversed their lengths, blue cloak trailing just above the floor behind him. Idly, he glanced out the interspersed windows as he went about his walk; looking out over the sea, directly in the direction of Grandas. Something of a small smirk came over his face at its sight – a knowing, all too knowing, smile.

His relatively brisk pace allowed him to make quick in reaching his destination: a door, set in the furthest wall in the east of the building. Somewhat unusually, it was already partially ajar; this didn’t seem to perturb Kaspar in the least, as he simply approached it and pushed it open the rest of the way. To him, it was an invitation – it simply meant someone was expected.

“Word of mouth says you were expecting me, Alzen,” he remarked as he entered the room. “Something about the birds Sheltam sent us after?”

The man sat in the chair opposite glanced up as Kaspar approached. He was unassuming – small, with long lilac hair and the tell-tale tapered ears of an elf. Like Kaspar, a sky-blue cloak was slung lazily over one shoulder.

“Ah, Kaspar,” he greeted, moving up from his lazed position to be sitting up properly, linking his fingers together. “I’m glad you got my message. Yes. We’re leaving them alone for now.” Kaspar made a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement. His face held, oddly enough, no surprise at hearing the news.

“Sheltam will not be happy,” he remarked idly. “I strongly doubt he will pay us in full once he finds out, if he pays us at all.” Alzen shrugged, clearly unconcerned.

“For now,” he repeated, holding up a cautionary finger. “We’ve been paid in half. At the very least our reputation owes it to see the job half-finished.” He smirked, almost to himself. “But...” The smirk turned almost immediately into a scowl. “That half-blood bastard of a Devroran has made life a touch too tough for my liking. In his blood, I suppose.” The scowl deepened. “I’m not putting resources on people so dangerous with Grandas in turmoil. If you feel it would be beneficial you can have a pass at them on their way to Celeste, but otherwise it’s just going to get people killed. A waste.” Kaspar inclined his head, an almost idle gesture.

“Then so it will be,” he decided. “I suppose half is pay enough to keep up with what we need to pay the men. I will inform them as presently as possible.” He inclined his head. “Have you any further need of me, Alzen, or shall I set to it?” Alzen cast his eyes over the other assassin, then shrugged. He made it an elaborate movement, somehow.

“Go over the current active contracts, reassign our people as necessary,” he responded. “I see your dragonkin protégé is missing. How does she fare?” He laughed to himself. “And how goes that... project that I gave to you?” A smirk ghosted over Kaspar’s face.

“Intriguingly, I was just recently planning to send her after them again, given her success during our previous move,” he remarked. “As to the project, the detachment I sent have reported favourable progress thus far, as I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know. With some luck, you will have your package soon.” Alzen shrugged.

“The when is immaterial as long as it occurs,” he responded. “My current attire has proven to be more than adequate so far.” As if in response, he got to his feet and walked over to the window, looking out towards the sea. “Do not let her die. It would be a shame if that were to occur.” He scowled at the horizon. “She is useful. A useful link to the dragonkin.” He laughed softly to himself. “And what hides among them.” He glanced back over to Kaspar. “And what,” he whispered, as if afraid to say it, “of Zia’rakai?” Kaspar’s face turned serious again.

“Nothing, as has become the standard,” he reported grimly. “One of ours though he had caught sight of him, but was ultimately unable to subdue the target. As of now, we are wise to where he may be, but nothing more than that.” Alzen spat, looking angry.

“Fine. Such as it always is,” he allowed, although not graciously. “I cannot blame them, I suppose.” Almost carelessly, he trailed his fingers over the arcane markings on his face, looking thoughtful. “May, may, may. Always may. I feel we may do better to spare a few of the hunters to putting out feelers, instead. I hear the trees have moved, and with Grandas in a state it may not be long before... the creature makes another move.” His eyes hardened. “Despicable thing that it is.” Kaspar clasped his hands in front of himself.

“It will still be some time before the thing has any freedom to do so,” he remarked. “Sheltam still stands and still has Bloodkreigel on his side, even if his watchdog can no longer move freely. If he were to catch so much as a peep as to the creature making a move…he would not stop at crippling it, this time. And even in its state, his side still have far more strength than any glorified necromantic cult.” Alzen made a bitter noise.

“One day I will see it dead,” he muttered. “But for my reckoning, Sheltam has not long. I find it amusing that history is attempting to repeat itself so neatly. All they are missing is a pet bloodkreigel, and...” He laughed. “And Zia’rakai.” Kaspar gave out a low, soft chuckle, under his breath.

“Then what we can hope is for Sheltam to provide at least a few more weeks’ reprieve before the creature is freed,” he decided. “By my estimate, once they commission their ship, they will not reach Perunia before the end of two weeks, and Chequan will be another away from them at least.” He smiled thinly. “If you so desired, Alzen, I could take…precautions, in that time. It would be useful to have eyes and ears where we’re confident he might strike, before he ever does.”

“Yes, do,” Alzen agreed, turning away from the window and regarding the stone of the opposite wall with a thoughtful expression. “Let me know how it goes. Send Pitt to Grandas.” Kaspar responded with a purposeful nod.

“It will be done,” he promised. “Have you any further need of my presence?” Alzen shook his head, collapsing lazily back into his chair.

“Not unless you wish me to,” he responded, waving a hand carelessly. Kaspar inclined his head.

“Then so may it be,” he decided. “Shadow hide you, Alzen.” Turning sharply, he left the room again, cloak circling in a flourish and then, again, ghosting above the floor behind him as he walked out. Alzen snorted as the door was closed.

“As if I would want to walk in the shade,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

---

Pretty good chapter overall. Slade's break in was fun to read, and the rest of the chapter served as a nice send-off to Buren and Luna's plot. I will admit that part of me wonders if there could have been one more scene for Luna or Buren to sort out their feelings (about Buren and/or the group) before they left (just to give a better sense of conclusion), but it still works the way it is now.
Overal, good stuff.