Bacorium Legacy (94 page)

Luca warped out of the way just in time to keep from being annihilated. He appeared many metres away, and even from that safe distance, he was still thrown back by the force of the blast. Knocked off his feet, Luca fell and hit the stone ground a few metres from where he had meant to land.

As the dust settled, Luca took in the sight of Zinoro's destruction. Everything on that side of the street was wiped away, only scorched black skeletons of the buildings remaining.

Luca climbed back to his feet, short of breath. He spotted Zinoro, still in the same spot, bent over and panting with exhaustion. For half a moment, Luca saw the image of a being standing behind Zinoro, a hand placed on his shoulder - a solid black shadow, with glowing red eyes full of undying hatred. It looked to Luca, and seemed to sneer at him.

He blinked, and the shadow was gone.

Zinoro drew himself back up, and spotted Luca. He held his sword high once more, and the manaflame burst back. The intense surge of mana began anew.

“No, not again!” Luca said. He conjured his own manaflame.

He then took off at a run, and warped over to Zinoro in mid-step. Using the carried momentum, Luca brought down his own sword and the blade struck Zinoro's.

For a long moment, they were both stuck fast, the powerful mana of each sword seeming to lock them in place. And then the recoil hit, sending them both flying back, hundreds of metres into the air.

It took Luca a few seconds to realise what had happened. And then he understood he was falling, just a dozen or so seconds short of hitting the hard, stone streets of T'Saw. He spotted the first thing he could - the top of the city's bordering wall, and warped.

His feet found the solid ground, but it took him a moment to gain balance. Nearly falling backwards off the wall, he pushed himself forth, and grabbed onto the outer ramparts of the wall.

Luca gasped, the adrenaline of the fall making him dizzy. Looking behind him, he saw the distance to fall to the streets. A fall high enough to kill a man, for sure. On the other side of the wall, the fall down to the Markira Fields was even farther.

He searched the streets for Zinoro, trying to spot him in the winding streets - having no idea where he could have fallen. He then spotted an unmistakable flash of black - not in the streets, but clinging to the edge of the opposite side of the wall. Zinoro's sword was buried in the wall just shy of the edge, and Zinoro himself clung to it, and was trying to climb up onto the wall.

Luca focused on the other side, ready to warp over and face Zinoro, but as he drew mana from himself he felt another wave of dizziness. The first sign of mana exhaustion, he reminded himself. He was running out of mana, and out of strength.

On the other side of the wall, Zinoro pulled himself up, and stood there on one knee, just as exhausted as Luca was.

Luca grit his teeth and gathered the mana anyway, forcing himself to keep going. He focused on the walkway just beside Zinoro, and warped.

Zinoro looked up as Luca materialised right beside him, and had barely a second to lift his sword up to block the attack. The blades clashed, and Zinoro scrambled away, trying to climb back to his feet.

In spite of the dizziness, Luca pressed on, swinging his sword at Zinoro again and again. The Acarian king was purely on the defencive now. He seemed to have lost all strength to force the fight. The powerful mana blasts had seemed to drain his reserves. This time there was no mistaking it - sweat dropped down from his brow.

Though Luca was just as tired. He felt his chest burn with every breath, and his arms and legs ached with each swing of the sword he forced them to carry out.

Luca continued to attack Zinoro, driving him back down the narrow walkway atop the wall. Even as tired as he was, Zinoro managed to counter every attack, and gave Luca no chance for a fatal blow. Neither of them had the mana left to use manaflame, so they fought only with naked steel.

And then, Luca saw Zinoro's first true mistake. He stepped too close to the inner edge of the walkway, and his foot slipped over. He stumbled, caught completely off-guard.

Luca moved in, driving his sword forth, aiming to penetrate Zinoro's breastplate. Unable to dodge, Zinoro twisted his body away from the inner ledge, all but falling onto the outer edge. Luca's blade cut through the very edge of his armour, drawing red blood.

Zinoro's expression twisted in pain.

Luca pulled back, bringing his sword with him. He swung again, and this time Zinoro parried the strike, grimacing. The blades clashed, and Zinoro forced them to the outer edge of the wall.

And then, Zinoro did something truly unexpected. Letting go of his sword, he lunged forward and suddenly his hands were around Luca's throat.

Luca fell back, the strong steel gauntlets Zinoro wore tightening around his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, Luca saw both of their swords tip over the edge and fall.

Zinoro's eyes were full of a blind hatred - the glowing red eye, and the glass magick orb. Over his shoulder, Luca thought he saw the shadowy figure once more. But he blinked, and there was nothing there.

The pressure was beginning to make him dizzy, and his vision was growing dark. With no other ideas coming to him, Luca did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed onto Zinoro's breastplate with both hands, and pushed backwards with his feet. Everything spun for a moment, and then Luca felt the strange feeling one felt when they were falling.

The anger vanished from Zinoro's face. A look of shock replaced it.

The wind rushed around them as they fell. Luca spotted the ground - he couldn't say what the actual distance was down to the Markira Fields, but it was far too long a drop for anyone to survive. He looked around, trying to find some place to teleport to. But there was nothing - only the top of the wall, which he could not see well enough from the angle they fell from.

And his mana reserves were too low. He didn't have enough left to warp. There was no way out this time.

His mind worked as quickly as it could. His hands were still on Zinoro, who was staring in fear at the rapidly-nearing ground below them.

Luca got an idea. He pulled Zinoro closer to himself, and held onto his enemy tightly. He pulled hard, and they shifted in mid-air. Luca was then on top, and Zinoro was beneath him.

“You're mad!” Zinoro shouted at him over the strong winds.

A few more seconds passed, and then they hit the ground. The impact hit Luca hard, and he groaned as painful shock waves shot through his body. Beneath him, however, it was Zinoro who took the brunt of the impact. The Acarian king cried out, spitting out a mouthful of blood. His heavy steel armour shattered from the force, and pieces of it flew into the air, landing some distance away.

Luca gasped for air, having had the wind knocked out of him, only moments after being strangled. He all but crawled off of Zinoro, and moved a metre or so away before he collapsed onto the ground.

Several long minutes passed. Luca breathed, in and out, until he had regained enough strength to climb up to a sitting position. As he did, he saw Zinoro beside him. Somehow, he was still alive. Perhaps his unnatural strength had saved him. Either way, he was finished. He had not moved since hitting the ground. His magick eye was gone - it must have popped out when he hit the ground.

Zinoro's sword was stuck in the ground, the blade half-buried in the dirt, several metres away. After a quick search, Luca spotted his own blade. He stood up, his aching muscles protesting the basic effort. He was done fighting. He just didn't have enough strength left. Still, he went over and picked up his sword, then went to Zinoro's side.

He pointed the tip of the blade at Zinoro's exposed neck.

“Do it,” Zinoro said to him, his voice weak and strained. “I'm finished. You've won. Now make an end of it.”

Luca considered. This was it, he realised. This was what he had been fighting for, ever since that day when his father had been killed. All these long months, his sole driving force had been this revenge. And now it was his. Zinoro was defeated.

All he had to do was finish it.

“Kill me,” Zinoro pleaded. “What are you waiting for? I killed your father, boy! I killed so many of your friends, and countless innocent people! Why are you hesitating? Just do it! Do what your father was too weak to do!”

And he could. It would be so easy. All he needed to do was push the sword a few millimetres forward. The sharp blade would cut into Zinoro's flesh so easily. It would be so cathartic. It would be justice.

Justice? Or revenge? What made him any different from the man in front of him? Had their positions been reversed, would he have done any different? Would revenge had become his sole driving force - his sole obsession, until he could think of nothing else? If he had never met Emila, or if he had left her behind earlier, would he have had nothing in his life to fight for beside some twisted code of honour?

Luca looked at Zinoro, and saw far too much of himself in him.

“Kill me, you coward!”

He was pleading with him. Zinoro hated himself, and he hated what he had become. He had given Luca so many chances to beat him, because he had wanted to be beaten. He had hoped that someone would have been able to stop him, because he was so lost in his mindless hatred that he couldn't save himself. He wanted to die.

Luca took the sword away, and returned it to its sheath. Zinoro's sole eye narrowed in rage.

“What are you doing, boy?! Does honour mean nothing to you?! After all that talk, after all those promises you made, are you just going to let me live?!”

“I am,” Luca told him. “You're going to live, and spend the rest of your life in a cold prison cell. Every day, for the rest of your life, you're going to have to live with the guilt of what you've done.”

“You shame your father's legacy!”

“That's where you're wrong. My father would be proud of me sheathing my blade. It is easy to kill. He understood that. He made his mistakes, just as I did. Why do you think my father didn't kill you, when doing so would have solved so many problems for him? It wasn't that he couldn't - he had a Rixeor Fragment, and he was a better swordsman than either of us. So why do you think he didn't?”

Zinoro looked away. He did not answer.

Luca glanced over at Zinoro's sword, stuck fast in the ground. It would remain there, possibly forever.

“You'll have a long time to think about it.”

<> <> <>

King Zaow emerged from the Ivory Palace, with his two children behind him. Everyone in the palace followed him out into the streets, which had grown strangely quiet in the aftermath of the battle.

Signs of destruction were everywhere. Doors kicked in, windows shattered, buildings burned down, and the armour and clothing of the slain everywhere.

But the battle was over, and the people of T'Saw were just now beginning to emerge from their homes. Many of them were wounded, and the city's healers were going around and treating everyone they could. Here and there, someone was crying over the loss of someone.

It was the bloody aftermath of war. And it was something King Zaow was far too familiar with.

He made it to the bottom of the steps, and then he stopped. He was too weary to go any farther. Too old, too tired, and too full of guilt.

“They really are all gone,” Selphie muttered.

“So it would seem,” said Trist.

Selphie frowned, looking over the street. There was bloodied Acarian armour everywhere. “But how?”

Before they could ponder that further, someone shouted, “Look!”

In the distance, a small crowd of people were approaching the palace. It was a crowd of civilians, less than a hundred or so.

Selphie went to Zaow's side. “Father, could it be a mob? They could be angry about the attack. They might be after us, to seek justice for their dead.”

Zaow frowned. “No - it is no angry mob. It is something else...”

As the crowd drew near the steps, they began to part in the middle. And there, in the centre of the group, stood a man with hair as white as snow.

“Luca!” Selphie whispered.

He approached them, and as he got closer, they realised there was someone slung over his shoulder. Luca reached the steps, and threw the unconscious form of Zinoro on the ground at Zaow's feet.

“It is over,” Luca said. “We've won.”

And then, they all heard a loud cry of Luca's name from the doors of the palace. They all turned, to see a black-haired girl in a bloodied white dress running down the steps.

Zaow stepped out of the way. With tears in her eyes, Emila ran past him, and into Luca's arms.

The old Sonoian king smiled, and the crowd erupted into applause.

Chapter XXX

The First Snow of Winter

The sunlight that drifted in from the window was warm. It was odd - yesterday he had woken from what he had been sure had been death, and there had been a bright light in his eyes then, too. But today, the light was different. The warmth was comforting in a way he had not known in such a long time.

Ah, but it wasn't just the sunlight that warmed him.

At Luca's side was his dark-haired, green-eyed companion, who was still asleep. He had woken still just a few minutes ago, and for now he was content to let Emila sleep, so that he could enjoy her warmth and softness, and the sound of her breathing. He'd come to enjoy listening to her gentle breathing.

They were in a small, humble room, somewhere in the Ivory Palace. Luca's memories of the aftermath of the battle were fuzzy - all he could really recall was being very tired and wanted to go sleep. He remembered Emila at his arm practically the whole time - leaving only for a bit to say something to her little sister. And before all that, Zaow making some kind of dramatic speech before the crowd of people who had followed Luca through the city.

What kind of speech had that been? Luca really couldn't remember - he just knew he'd wanted it to be over so he could go take a nap. Mana exhaustion wore one out like nothing else.

He returned his attention to Emila, and gently brushed a strand of black hair out of her face.