“Apologies are in order. That was uncalled
for. Effective though it was, I’m afraid such attacks are not to my
taste. I’d never sought Epidime specifically as a mentor for that
precise reason. There’s no reason to be
cruel
. I only want
you dead. I don’t want to torture you.” The conflict left her face,
replaced with certainty. “But I
will
finish you if you give
me the chance. Another time, elemental, and this battle would be
yours. But not here, and not now. In this place of death and fear,
I
am the one who will be standing when the battle ends. Your
power will wane. Mine will continue to flow. Remain as stone and I
shall grind you to powder. Turn to flesh and I shall rip you to
shreds. Turn to anything else and I will drink away your power.
Leave this place and I will go about my task. I think the choice is
clear.”
Ether’s fury was bold upon her face, her eyes
locked upon Turiel’s. As wise as it might be to retreat, to
regroup, and to face this foe again with her allies to help her,
Ether knew that she could never allow such a thing. As she ran
through the ways she might regain the upper hand, and tried to push
away the sting of emotion that was even now sapping her focus
further, she realized that while many forms were in motion around
them, nearmen rising under the control of vengeful spirits, one of
them was unlike the others. It was a pale figure, moving slowly but
with purpose…
Turiel noticed the look in Ether’s eye and
turned to the approaching form, stepping aside to give the
shapeshifter a clearer view.
“Oh good gracious, Aneriana. I believe I was
clear when I said I was through with you. Back to your slumber with
you,” Turiel said.
Though the final words seemed a simple
statement, Ether felt a pulse of power behind them. Turiel was
trying to dispel the unnatural life that animated the much abused
being. Nevertheless, still she stalked. She had only one hand
remaining, the other having been taken to replace Turiel’s own. But
in her one hand was a gleaming sword.
Turiel placed her hand on her side and tipped
her head. “Well then… you aren’t acting alone, are you? Is that… so
it is. Really now, Lucia. I’m genuinely regretting giving you a
moment with your daughter. Evidence that no good deed goes
unpunished. And did Rassa give you
permission
to use his
sword?”
“You want to hurt my world. You want to hurt
my city,” said Aneriana, her voice entwined with that of Lucia
Celeste, who had for the moment taken refuge within her form just
as so many other spirits had slipped into the nearmen. “You want to
hurt my
daughter
.”
“All of those things are merely the
unavoidable consequence of my
true
aim. There’s nothing
personal in any of it. Now please. Be
gone!
”
This final command was accompanied by a swipe
of her staff, but Lucia responded in kind, whipping her arm with
unnatural speed and sending the sword hurtling in Turiel’s
direction. Turiel’s attack did its work, striking Aneriana’s body
and Lucia’s spirit as one. The body tumbled to the ground, and the
spirit was banished from within, but not before the blade met its
mark as well. It sank a third of its length into the shoulder of
her staff arm.
The sorceress stumbled backward, crying out
in agony. When she clutched the blade to pull it free, her cries
only increased as flickers and flares of golden light curled out
from the weapon wherever it touched her. She lurched in pain before
finally wrenching it free. The wound gaped for a moment, light
shining through but no blood flowing. Then the same threads that
accompanied all of her spells bridged the opening and began to pull
its ends shut, but the injury seemed reluctant to close.
“Quite the…” she gasped, stumbling back
against a pile of rubble, “remarkable sword…” She coughed, flecks
of black spattering her lips and chin. “It shouldn’t even have
reached me.”
Ether redoubled her efforts as she felt the
bands holding her weaken in response to the attack.
Turiel turned to her, gritting her teeth and
trying to maintain her hold, but it was clear that Ether would soon
break free.
“I suppose you think this is the tipping
point? That you’ve won now?” Turiel said. “The first lesson I
learned from the D’Karon, the very
reason
I was sent to open
the second keyhole, was that one should
never
have only one
plan in place. As we speak, my dear Mott is ending that dragon of
yours.”
The ceiling of the chamber shook, dust
pouring down and whole stones dislodging and clattering to the
ground.
“There? You see? That is probably the sweet
little darling coming home now to—”
A second rumble shook the chamber, and a
section of roof slumped inward under the weight from above. When
the dust cleared, the slightly brighter light of the now-visible
night sky revealed both Mott and Myn. The familiar looked badly
battered and was barely moving. Straddling the beast was Myn,
scored with slashes and dripping blood from a few wounds, but with
triumph in her eyes.
“Ah…” Turiel said. “Well then… I can only
imagine how well the rest of my precautions are faring.”
Ether tore one arm entirely free from its
bonds while Myn stalked toward Turiel.
“I… believe Kenvard has given me all the
strength it can spare,” she said. “Best to leave this place.”
She clacked her staff down, and six black
voids appeared, growing swiftly into portals arrayed around her.
With a flick of her wrist she sent the prone form of Aneriana
flying through one of them. The sword was sent through another, and
those bands still binding Ether began to drag her through a third.
She fought against them, unwilling to lose the time it would take
to return to this place from wherever she might be sent.
Myn stalked closer, attempting to reach
Turiel, but the portals were close around her. Though each was far
too small to allow her through, Myn was cautious not to venture too
near. She’d seen what could happen to anything that only passed
partway through such a thing before it closed.
“You seem a reasonable beast,” Turiel said,
slipping through one of them. “It would behoove you to leave this
place before any of these gateways close… beginning with
that
one.”
In response, one of the six portals began to
swiftly contract. Ether was almost free, her eyes set upon Turiel
as the dragon looked to her.
“Go, beast! I will see to her,” Ether
demanded.
Myn swiftly obeyed, leaping into the air and
whisking toward the rebuilt portion of the capital with the speed
of a creature that knew all too well how potent the forthcoming
eruption of magic might be. Ether finally fought free of the final
bond just a moment before she would have been dragged through one
of the portals and instead bounded through the one Turiel had used
to escape. It led to the windswept and icy stone surface of
Demont’s fort that had played host to their prior battle, but
Turiel did not seem to be present. Ether looked all around, the
portal behind her beginning to close, then finally took the gamble
of shifting to wind. It would leave her open to attack, certainly,
but it would also allow her to search the area in moments.
The instant she shifted to air, her awareness
becoming unfocused. Encompassing every breeze and current of air,
she became painfully aware of two things. The first was that Turiel
was not here, or at least, was not here any longer. The other was
that there existed a second portal…
She streaked toward it, hooking over the edge
of the seaside cliff and discovering that this escape portal was
located halfway down the cliff side. The bite taken out of the
cliff beside it suggested it was precisely where the first portal
had been, the one that brought Turiel to Kenvard. It too was
closing. She quickened her pace, rushing toward it, and managed to
slip through an instant before it closed entirely.
Ether realized as she whisked into the portal
what Turiel had done, and cursed the cleverness of it. Of the six
portals she had opened, not one but two of them had been to
Demont’s fort. She’d slipped through one and back into the other.
Ether caught only a brief glimpse of her, riding atop a badly
ailing but still very much alive Mott. After that, the first of the
portals closed, unleashing its torrent of energy with Ether
directly beside it.
#
Myranda and Ivy had their hands full with the
rush of possessed nearmen charging from the castle. Both of the
heroes had the misfortune of having been a part of many battles
before, but in nearly all of them their foes had been trying to
kill them. The armored, mindless things rushing through the ruined
streets of New Kenvard were barely aware of Myranda or Ivy, their
eerie eyes set to the south and their movements tireless and
unnaturally fast. Myranda attempted to dispel the spirits driving
them, but either Turiel had worked a spell to protect them, or the
years of torment had hardened their will. Only focusing on one at a
time could tear the souls from their hosts, and more often than not
they found their way back inside. The only way was to defeat the
nearmen and deprive the spirits of new vessels.
This, at least, was a task Ivy was grateful
to do. Chasing down and slicing up creatures that weren’t
technically alive and didn’t even fight back was a delightfully
uncomplicated way to indulge the predatory instincts she’d been
forced to suppress for so long. For once, she was putting weapons
to work not out of fear or anger, but out of duty and defense. She
sprinted through the streets, bounding over mounds of rubble and
flicking her blades through the air. Their spectacularly sharp
edges slipped effortlessly through armor and artificial flesh
alike, causing the sprinting soldiers to collapse into dust. Thrill
and exhilaration flowed through Ivy as she chased down those
nearest the walls, then slid to a stop to angle her ears toward the
pounding boots of her next target.
The wizard took to the task a bit more
grimly. She couldn’t move as quickly as her ally, and as crucial as
it was to strike down these soldiers, it burned at her to have
brought battle to her streets again. Nevertheless, there was a job
to do. She summoned flashes of flame to sear away some nearmen.
Others were buffeted with intense winds to gather them into
clusters before striking them with bolts of destructive magic. She
worked precisely, surgically. There must be
no
damage to the
rest of the city. Too much time and effort had been invested
rebuilding her home for it to be broken again.
For all their efforts, Myranda and Ivy
couldn’t stop every soldier. Some made it as far as the wall.
Celeste had gathered the guard and spread them among the choke
points, the streets and alleys between the buildings. Bows were
pulled taut; volleys of arrows launched at the fast-moving forms as
they emerged from the shadows. Some fell, others didn’t, passing
instead to the next line of defense. City guards with swords struck
and slashed, men with great shields formed mobile walls, pushing
the nearmen back and jabbing them with pikes. The scattering of
foes that made it through and survived to scale the wall or whisk
through the gates were targeted by a final row of archers stationed
on the wall itself. With the open field south of the city sprawling
out before them with no cover, the nearmen were easy targets.
The flood of haunted constructs had slowed to
a near stop when the thunderous bursts erupted from the ruined
castle. One by one the portals shut, releasing their miscast
overabundance of energy as raw destruction. Massive plumes of dust
and stone rose into the air. There was little structure still
standing in that part of the city. Most of the castle was little
more than gravel at this point. But even if it had still been the
grand symbol of her land that it had been in her youth, Myranda’s
concern for its destruction would have paled in comparison to the
other things threatened by the blasts. Ivy skidded into the main
street and locked Myranda in her gaze, the two heroes of one
mind.
“Did they all get out!? Is Myn okay? Is
Ether?” Ivy cried.
The malthrope turned and looked with
agonizing concern over the center of the city. Myranda swept
instead with her mind, but the burst of D’Karon magic hung like a
thick, toxic fog over the city. It blotted out everything else.
“There! There, I see Myn!” Ivy said, jumping
up and down and waving her blades in the air.
Myranda looked to the sky and could just
barely make out the silhouette of her friend wheeling down from the
cloud of dust and circling toward them.
Ivy hung her blades at her belt and ran to
the dragon as she touched down wearily. The malthrope dove at Myn,
wrapping her arms around the base of her neck and hugging
tight.
“Myn, did Ether get clear? Did she follow
Turiel?” Myranda asked.
The dragon turned and looked to the castle,
her expression anything but certain.
“No…” Ivy said, looking again to the
castle.
Through the concern, Myranda forced herself
to remain focused on the task.
“They were portals, weren’t they? Turiel
opened portals?”
Myn nodded. This much was certain.
“What about Mott? Was he still alive?”
Myn nodded again. Myranda brushed her fingers
across the dragon’s hide, looking anxiously at the assortment of
injuries great and small.
“You’re hurt…” Myranda said. “Let me—”
The dragon pulled away as Myranda readied her
staff to heal her and gave the wizard a defiant look. She was
evidently mindful of how near her limit Myranda was and how much of
their task remained.
“Don’t be stubborn, Myn, you need your
health. Just hold still so I can—”
Myn huffed her breath and stomped a foot, her
expression quite firm.