Bacorium Legacy (35 page)

She smiled.

“Hmm - perhaps I'll just let things play out and see what happens.”

She sat down behind a large rock, obscured from view, and watched the rest of the show.

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Dreevius swung his blade once again, and as with the previous times, it was easily knocked away by the boy in front of him.

The rage in him was building.

“Dammit, stop laughing!” he screamed. “I am Dreevius, acolyte of Zinoro, king of Acaria! I WILL NOT BE MOCKED!”

His opponent, still smiling, stepped back a few metres. “In that case, climb on out of the mud, acolyte, and show me why you should be taken seriously.”

Dreevius was so angry he was shaking. He climbed up onto solid ground and raised his free hand.

“Fry, you punk!”

Electricity sprang from Dreevius' fingertips. It never touched the boy. He countered by creating a shield of mana around himself. The lightning struck the shield, wrapping around it, crackling and even burning the ground. But it did not touch the boy.

It continued for some time, but once he realised he was wasting his mana, Dreevius ceased the magick.

“Is that all?” the boy asked. “You shouldn't have announced your attack like that. It gave me plenty of time to shield myself.”

The boy then raised his free hand, and mana surged. Dreevius went to summon his own shield, but he wasn't fast enough. A few dozen needles of white mana were thrown at him like arrows, striking him anywhere he wasn't wearing armour. They did not hurt greatly, but the flesh they struck immediately seized up and would not move. Not numb, just paralysed. This included his arms and legs, for the needles had hit him where the armour plates met.

His rigid body collapsed into the leaves, face down.

“I did not tell you I was about to attack. See the difference in outcome?”

“Shut your mouth! I will not be told how to fight by someone half my age!”

The boy approached him, stuck his sword in the ground, and turned him over. Unable to move, Dreevius could not stop him. His own sword had fallen beside him, but even if he were able to reach out and take it, it would mean nothing. Seeing his eyes on it, the boy kicked it beyond his reach.

Dreevius fought his paralysis with all his might. He began to regain some movement. The needles in him started to dissolve back into mana.

“You're a one-trick act, Dreevius, and I've already seen the trick,” the boy said, drawing close to him. “Your combat abilities are feeble even at your peak. Without dozens of men to command, you're no tougher than a common bandit.”

“Shut up!” Dreevius shouted, his hand finally breaking free of the paralysis. He reached and grabbed the boy's throat with all his might.

The boy didn't even react. With an emotionless face, he took Dreevius' hand in his own and removed it from his windpipe. He then held the hand in place, and took Dreevius' index finger in his other hand.

With a snapping sound, the boy broke the finger clean off.

Dreevius screamed. He tried to twist around, to get away from beneath this kid, but he could not move. His body was still stiff and unyielding.

The boy took the bleeding finger and placed it in a pocket in his shirt. He buttoned it closed. “Even your fingers have those tattoos on them. I'm sure when he gets it, there will be no mistaking who it came from.”

Even through the haze of pain clouding his mind, Dreevius could still understand his words. “What are you g-going to do...?”

“I am going to send your king a letter. This finger I took from you will go with it, so he knows the message is sincere.”

“Wh-what message?”

The boy smiled. “I'm so glad you asked. You see, when he gets this letter, he will know just how completely you failed him. Earlier, when you were in the form of my companion, I asked what my name was. You did not know the answer. You really should have. My name is Luca, son of Lodin, and I am going to kill your king.”

Dreevius' heart stopped.

He really had made a mistake. The biggest mistake he could have possibly made. This boy likely didn't even realise how completely Dreevius had indeed failed his king.

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The five acolytes were gathered in full for the first time. In a half-circle, on one side of the table, they stood. Counter-clockwise - Dreevius, Trunda, Gordon, Verra, and Serpos.

And on the other side of the table was their king, Zinoro.

“I have gathered you here to tell you of a great revelation,” Zinoro said to them. “This is the first time you have all been gathered before me. Fitting, in that what I have to tell you is something great. The seer in the dungeons has told me the conditions of my death. It is an Absolute Truth. There are only two in this world who may end my life. The first is one of my own blood. My family is wiped out, save for my mother. As we two are the only ones of my blood still in this world, this first condition is of no concern. The other is of the blood of the man who killed my father. But only his firstborn child. This means that there are only two alive who can kill me in any possible future.”

“The son of Lodin?” Serpos asked. “That would be the one he took with him when he fled into the wilderness.” A tall and powerful man, Serpos was the most cold and ruthless person Dreevius had ever met. Zinoro had chosen him for his skill in combat, and his military experience, of which he refused to speak of.

“Indeed,” Zinoro answered. “It is good that Lodin did not die in our first encounter. I would have spared the child back then. Now I know it would have been a mistake.”

“Lodin's other son is no threat, then?” Verra asked. The only woman among the acolytes, Verra was a healer who had turned against the craft. Healing magick could be inverted and used as a tool for killing, but it required the same precision as its proper use, so it was unwieldy in battle. Verra used inverted healing as a deadly technique of assassination.

“The other son is in Allma Temple, if I remember correctly,” Gordon said. He was the oldest of their number, a fighter who had risen to their ranks through sheer ability, without the unique skills the others had. Gordon had known Zinoro longer than any of others - and it was no secret among them that he was easily the weakest and most spineless person at the table.

“Yes, being trained by the man who trained his father,” Zinoro said. “Or so we have heard. But as I said, it is Lodin and his first son we must concern ourselves with. We cannot go forth with the plan until Lodin is dead, and this now includes his son. But finding them has been a challenge. Lodin received protection from an old friend before he left, and it still hides him from me to this day.”

“Send us, my king,” Trunda offered. “We will find them and put an end to their lives.” Where Serpos was a powerful and deadly warrior, Trunda was simply a brute. The man was massive, a living giant. Dreevius had seen him crush stone with his bare hands.

“No,” Zinoro said. “It must be my hand that ends Lodin's life, regardless of what threat his son may be to me. I swore an oath to end the life of the man who killed my father, and I will see it honoured. When I am through with him, I will kill the boy as well. It must be me who does this, or my victories will mean nothing. Until the son of Lodin is dead, I will not take my army to T'Saw.”

“My king,” Verra said, “are you certain this is wise?”

“I will destroy Sono when the time is right, and not a moment before,” Zinoro answered her. “Until then, finding Lodin is the highest priority. Dispatch men to every corner of the known world. Have them report back if they find where Lodin is living. You, my acolytes, have other tasks to carry out. Preparations that must be made...”

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He couldn't believe it. All this time...

He had forgotten his silent vow to kill the son of Lodin for his king. Other matters had come up in the years since then, and he had let what should have been his greatest achievement slip right through his fingers.

But he had killed the boy. Twice, in fact. He just would not die. Some magick was keeping the spiritual realm from retaking him.

That girl - she must be the answer after all. She had felt the same pain as the boy when he had stabbed him. If he had just ignored his captain, and killed her then and there, while he had the chance, the son of Lodin would likely be dead. The Allman survivors would still have come and annihilated them, but at least Zinoro would be safe. Perhaps Dreevius would even have been able to escape back to Acaria to tell him.

But instead, he had let that chance go, all because he had forgotten to remember what hair colour the boy was supposed to have. He should have known the moment he saw that white hair!

And now, the son of Lodin was standing over him, invulnerable to death, and desiring his king's blood.

And he could have prevented it all.

For the first time, Dreevius admitted to himself that he was, indeed, a fool.

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Luca slowly drove his sword into Dreevius' stomach, and the Acarian cried out in pain.

“It is not the oath I made to kill Zinoro that I am keeping here, though,” he told him. “I made an oath to myself that anyone who threatened to hurt Emila would die. And not only did you threaten to kill her, but you spilt her blood, molested her person, and made her feel the pain of being stabbed. But the worst of it is that you dared to take her form and try to pass as her. That is an insult I could never forgive, much less spare you for. So instead of a quick death, or even an honourable death in combat, I am going to kill you slowly.”

Luca drove the sword in a little bit deeper, and Dreevius let out a cacophonous shriek of agony. Then, he pulled the sword out, letting loose a free flow of blood.

“You aren't even worthy of what I am giving you,” Luca spat at him. He wasn't even sure if the man was still listening anymore, as his eyes were glazed over in pain. But it all needed to be said. “You killed Rael and Dori and the dragon. Countless good Allmans died on your orders. You even killed Allma himself - he was scum as well, but even he had some modicum of honour. You are less than the lowest of the low. The things that slither about in the mud are royalty next to you. And that's exactly where you deserve to die - in the mud.”

Luca grabbed Dreevius' foot and dragged him through the thick leaves, back to the river. His blood left a trail behind him. Once there, he threw him back into the mud. Dreevius no longer even had the strength to struggle.

“I have truly forsaken the Way of Uro,” Luca said, now talking to himself. “No warrior-philosopher would throw a dying man into the mud. I have abandoned the teachings I used to hold higher than life itself. But some people deserve nothing, not even a decent death.”

In the filth, Dreevius twitched feebly.

As Luca stared down at his work, he couldn't help but wonder if he was becoming a monster. But then he remembered everything Dreevius had done, and he told himself he deserved it.

Perhaps one had to become a monster to slay one.

Luca got on his knees and drove his sword through Dreevius' chest. The Acarian tried to scream again, but all that came out was a choked cry. Blood ran from his lips, flowing down his chin in a crimson waterfall. He had another spasm, and he coughed blood up, which hit his face.

Then he fell back into the mud, and disappeared into mana.

Without another word, or thought, Luca rose.

The smoke-filled orb remained within its pouch, hidden within Dreevius' blood-covered armour. It sank into the mud, forgotten.

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A bright smile graced Wiosna's lips.

Luca, the son of the legendary hero Lodin. A formidable swordsman with hair as white as snow. A handsome face with blue eyes. The one who had fought against the Acarians at the temple, and had not died when his heart was pierced.

And he was of her kind. An artist who painted in the most deepest red.

“He is perfect,” she said. “Perfect in every way. A beautiful angel of death. I must have him.”

She had made up her mind. Luca would be hers, in mind, body, and soul. The very thought of having him made her warm. It had been so long since she had been so happy. Not since...

Well, not since her parents had died.

“But not yet,” she said. “He can't see me here. He mustn't know I saw him. Not yet.”

Wiosna rose from behind her rock and ran back to the camp before Luca saw she was there.

Chapter XI

Strange Pleasures

Luca, carrying within his coat pocket the severed finger of Dreevius, made his way back to the Acarian camp. When he finally emerged from the dense forest, he saw the remnants of the camp. The fires were out and the Allman survivors who had saved them were busy looting what was left of the place for weapons and supplies. A large pile of bloody Acarian armour sat at the edge of the cluster of tents.

Quickly enough Luca spotted Emila, standing right where he had left her, by the edge of the camp with Selphie and Jared. He started to make his way over to them, when one of the Allmans approached and spoke to him.

“Are - are you the son of Lodin?” The dark-haired boy addressing him couldn't have been more than year apart from him in age, yet there was a sort of deference in the way he spoke to Luca - like he was speaking to an elder.

“I am,” he replied.

“The others say you cannot die,” the boy said to him. “They say that back in the temple you received a mortal wound, yet you did not disappear.”

He considered what to tell him. The truth? There could be consequences. Already someone had taken an interest in him because of his inability to die - and Emila had only survived the encounter through sheer luck.

But could he lie about this? What had happened at the temple was something he could not hide. Many people had witnessed it, and even though few had survived the attack, already rumours were spreading. He was the son of Lodin, which was something of note to those who knew of his father. As Ash had told him back at the cave, people expected things of him just from that.

He looked to where Emila was. She had not yet noticed his return.