by Rob J. Hayes
I snapped the portal shut before I could change my mind, and before Hardt could change it for me. Tamura waited, not moving, eyes on me. "I couldn't send him far." I had never been a good Portamancer, my range and accuracy too limited. "Don't let him come for me. Stop him." I glanced at the birds. "Use the spare bird to help carry him away if need be. I won't need it."
Tamura stood then, stepped toward me and wrapped me up in a crushing embrace, strong despite his appearance. "Good luck," he whispered in my ear. I saw tears in his eyes as he pulled away, and I knew he understood. He alone understood.
Stop delaying.
I made my way into the ruins of Picarr alone save for my horror.
Chapter 33
I picked my way through the ruins of Picarr and ghosts swarmed around me. Hundreds of them all drawn by the fear Ssserakis fed upon and held inside. Ethereal blurs betraying my passage. The traps in the city took on a new meaning now. Before, I had believed them nothing more than the remnants of a magical battle, a by-product of so much power clashing in a confined space. Now, I thought them something else entirely. The Iron Legion had seeded the ruined city with traps to keep the people of Isha at bay. He wanted no intrepid explorers accidentally discovering his lair. It was the perfect hiding place. I moved past the traps with ease, my odd sense of magic warning me whenever I drew close to one.
Braggarts Tower, or at least the crumbling ruin of it frozen in time, passed by on my left. I glanced toward it to see the two men trapped inside the bubble of timelessness. A poor unfortunate Chronomancer, locked in the moment before his own death, and Prena's comrade. On his shield, I could still see an image of Ssserakis and I fighting against Vainfold. I could remember nothing of the time during which Vainfold held my body, used it to unleash his fire upon the city, but I could still remember the threat in his parting words. He would remember my name. I hoped he remembered it for all eternity.
Ghouls flanked me, watching from shadows, not daring to come too close. Weaklings. Too young to even know their own names. We could use them. Throw them at our enemy and strike in his distraction. It wouldn't work. Caught between myself and the Iron Legion, the Ghouls would likely fall upon each other rather than aid either of us. They are neither the smartest nor the most courageous of monsters. At least, not at that young age.
The Arcstorm still raged in front of the academy grounds, right where I had left it. Lightning sparked between rocks and rubble, and I could see the charred remains of the Ghouls that had died there. I did not bother to skirt the storm, but walked straight through the centre of it, letting it vent its fury upon me. A rush of energy filled me with every strike, making me stronger and more certain of my course. That storm had nearly killed me once. Now it was a part of me, and each bit of it I absorbed just felt like the power of the Arcmancy Source returning home. It belonged within me. It belonged to me.
The academy grounds were silent. The Arcstorm was outside, and the single tree no longer burned without Vainfold's crown to sustain it. The wreckage of crumbling buildings spread out all around me. The academy grounds were huge, where I stood was only the welcoming courtyard where I had first met the Iron Legion many years ago. I knew where I would find the entrance, over by the old archives building, or what was left of it, but I hadn't expected to find the entrance so welcoming. An archway forged out of the earth by way of Geomancy, precise steps leading down into the darkness below the surface.
He's expecting us. I only nodded by way of reply and took the first step towards the trap.
I didn't even notice the slight figure following along behind me at a distance, tracing my steps.
There was no light, but then, I didn't need any. I could have used fire, called upon my Pyromancy to create a flame that would light my way, but the Iron Legion already knew I was coming, and I had no desire to give him any more advantages. Instead, I let Ssserakis give me its darksight. The stairwell stretched downward, its wall and steps clear to me in shades of light and dark, no colour. It is difficult to see depth properly in that form of sight and the stairwell seemed to stretch on forever, no passageways left or right.
Sometimes it seems as though all the major events in my life have occurred underground. The Pit, the Red Cells, the Iron Legion's laboratory. I cannot complain, I felt oddly more at home in the dark confines with stone all around me. Though a part of me still looked favourably on the sky, I had spent my time among the clouds, and I had suffered for it.
My footsteps rang loud on the stone, echoing down empty passages. Even once I found the bottom of the stairs, all that greeted me was an empty, undecorated room with a corridor beyond it. But as I walked that first level, my memory put things into their place. I had been there before, long ago before the Iron Legion had changed me. Josef and I had explored this cellar, looking for doors that I had been told never to open. So, I followed my memory and it led me to where it had once before. A wooden door set into stone, faint yellow light spilling out beneath it, and noises beyond I couldn't quite place it.
"We may only get one chance at this."
I am ready. Are you?
"No."
I heard Ssserakis laugh. It was a nervous laugh.
The best traps are the ones people see coming. There is an artistry in a trap that the victim has no choice but to step into. The Iron Legion had built his trap well. I say I followed my memory, but the truth is, I had nowhere else to go. All paths led to that door; all other ways sealed off with Geomancy. One way in and no way out, and bait I could never refuse. A trap tailor made for me. My only hope was to surprise the Iron Legion, move slowly enough and silently enough that he didn't see me coming.
I edged open the door and slipped inside on rustling feet, leaving the door ajar behind me. The room beyond was large and open with a low roof, just two of me high. Flames danced on torches on either side of the room, and the walls were lined with bookshelves and cupboards. A small, round depression lay in the centre of the room, a pedestal its only occupant. To my left I saw closed doorways, to my right I saw chains and cages, stacked up close together and on top of each other. Dozens of bodies littered the cages, and from my position I could not see if they were moving, but they were still alive. One thing I had discovered recently was my ability to sense the nearby dead. It was a disconcerting feeling when it struck. There was no one else in the room.
What did you expect? In truth, I had half expected the Iron Legion to be sat waiting for me like an omnipotent villain from a bard's tale. The fucker always seemed to be a hundred steps ahead of me. This is to our advantage. Catch him while he sleeps and end him. I had never heard Ssserakis advocate for assassination before, always my horror had been adamant that we allow ourselves to be seen so our enemies, and all others, would know and fear us. I couldn't say I disagreed with the idea though. But there was something else that I needed to do, something even more important than my confrontation with Loran Orran.
I clung to what little shadows I could, letting Ssserakis blend us in against the walls, and crept closer to the rows of cages. The occupants were mostly terran, a few pahht but not many. Most looked malnourished and exhausted, some even showed signs of struggle. I passed each cage with a glance, searching for Josef. I could have freed them then, opened the cages and ushered them to the exit. Perhaps I should have, but a fleeing crowd makes noise, and I needed to find Josef before I gave away my presence. Some of the prisoners took notice as I passed, whispering for help and stretching out hands through their bars, as if grabbing hold of me would free them or ease their pain. I checked every cage, hundreds of prisoners. None of them were Josef.
He's already…
"Don't," I hissed the word. Useless, I could feel the sentiment even without my horror finishing it. Josef was already dead, and this was never anything but a trap. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. After everything we had both been through. Everything we had done and suffered. Everything we had survived, together and apart. How could it be over? I staggered, clutching hold of a nearby cage
, my knuckles white from the strength of my grip. I was caught in a howling tornado of grief and anger and sheer fucking hate!
A door on the other side of the room opened and from the recess strode the Iron Legion. He looked older than the last time I had seen him, ancient even. His flesh loose and liver spotted, hung from his bones. His hair was gone, leaving nothing but a bald pate wrinkled with too much skin. His nose and ears seemed too large, and his lips were pinched and cracked. But his eyes… his eyes were still as sharp and piercing as ever. Robes swished as he walked, but where before they seemed well fitted and regal, they now hung on his diminished form. He paced towards the pedestal in the centre of the room, eyes down on the book in his hands. I froze, like a wild animal caught in sudden light. Even Ssserakis was silent.
The Iron Legion stopped at the pedestal in the centre of the room, placing his little book upon it, then looked up straight toward me. "Helsene?"
Attack! There was panic in my horror's voice, but I needed no prompting. When an animal is surprised by a predator it has two options. It can either flee or fight. I was never one to flee.
I stretched out my hand and unleashed the fury of the storm.
Lightning ripped from my chest, raced along my arm, and crackled from my fingertips. Five brilliant blue-white bolts of searing energy arced outward, crossing the distance between us in a moment. They struck as one hammer blow. The pedestal shattered, blown apart by the force, and the Iron Legion's body was thrown backwards to crash against the far wall. A smoking, charred ruin.
Again, I froze, not believing my eyes. I had done it. It was over.
Shouts from the cages behind me brought me out of my frozen confusion. The prisoners had been watching, of course. They saw their captor dead and wanted their freedom. For once I could be a hero instead of a monster. I could save them all. I turned towards them, staring down at the locks and wondered how best to go about opening them without a key.
Your Necromancy, Eskara. You can sense the dead.
"How does that help me open cages?"
We fool ourselves with hope. We do it time and time again, no matter how wise we may become to its insidious whispers. No matter how cynical life teaches us to be, hope will always blind us just when we need to see clearly.
As I reached out for the door on the nearest cage, the bars warped, wrapping around my arm and setting back into place, holding me tight. An instant of panic gripped me, my heart racing, thundering in my ears. A glance over my shoulder confirmed that hope had blinded me once again. The Iron Legion stirred amid his smouldering robes. It seemed to take forever for him to regain his feet, his old bones struggling to move. I tried to free myself, tugging my arm and bringing only pain. Another of the bars warped, wrapping itself around my right leg.
The Iron Legion pushed himself to unsteady feet. A jagged line of blackened flesh oozed on his face, evidence that my lightning had struck true. Already, I could see his skin knitting itself back together, Biomancy at work at a speed I had only seen once before when Prena had run Josef through.
Shadow pooled beneath me, inky and black, and raced up along my arm and leg, then ballooned outward. I slipped free of the metal bars and erected a shield around me, drawing on Arcmancy and Kinemancy and mixing them inside to increase the power of both.
Attack. Don't let him recover. We will strike as one.
My wings blossomed from my back and I charged, forming a slender Sourceblade in my hand and flicking it through the air, releasing lighting and fire toward the Iron Legion with each slash. He batted the flames away, redirecting them to scorch the wall behind him. The lightning struck, rippling harmlessly along a shield of his own. The roof was too low to use my wings to speed my sprint, but they had other uses.
When we clashed, I put everything I had into my first strike, momentum lending it extra power. But even wracked with age, the Iron Legion was not weak. He had been trained by the same school I had, only better. I flicked my Sourceblade at him time and time again, and he knocked each strike aside with metal coated open hands. All the while, I could see his flesh healing the wounds I had given him. How could I have thought him dead? How could I hope to kill him? He was stronger than I, stronger than Ssserakis and I together, and even when I did land a blow, the damage healed within moments. Doubt crept inside. He knew my measure and matched my skill, bolstered by having two arms to my one, but my wings were something he did not expect.
We were cold fury, fuelled by fear. I pushed fire and lightning into my Sourceblade, and each strike unleashed the magic, battering down the Iron Legion's shield. My wings struck over my shoulders, darting in between sword strikes. Razor sharp talons pierced his shield, tearing shreds from his robes and scoring strikes across his skin. Under the torrent of attacks we levelled at him, the Iron Legion struggled to mount any offence of his own. He backed up, step after step after step, always on the defence, his face a grimacing mask of pain as his Biomancy struggled to keep up with the wounds we dealt him. What little magic he mustered on the attack brushed harmlessly off my shield. I could see him weakening even as I grew stronger. Doubt crushed as Ssserakis fed me power through the fear of the hundreds of prisoners behind us.
Even with one arm, I am a capable swords-woman. Even with one arm, I am one of the most powerful Sourcerers alive. What I have never been is a tactician. I have always relied too much on raw power, on battering my way through any situation. The Iron Legion realised this long before I did and manoeuvred me, giving ground again and again, turning in a feigned retreat and coaxing me on with openings I rushed to take.
A construct thrust its way out of the nearby wall, a creature of rock and the Iron Legion's will. The first one fell to shadowy wing, cutting it in half. I didn't see the second one coming until it barrelled into me from behind, carrying me down to the ground. Solid rock weighs a great deal, but my Kinetic shield held, and I scrambled back to my feet. The Iron Legion had retreated only a few paces, but it was all the distance he needed.
The metal coating the Iron Legion's left hand turned liquid, flowing from his fingers into the shape of a small metal disk hanging from his grip. A gong. He struck it quickly with his other hand and the room turned into a deafening cacophony of noise.
Vibromancy is a hateful school of magic with very little in the way of counters. Sound is a weapon unlike any other I have encountered, and a Vibromancer can use it to devastating effect. The ringing of that gong echoed off the walls and the Iron Legion amplified it, catching the noise and turning it back upon itself, forcing it to build and build and build. The pain in my head was too great to fight through, too great to do anything. But Ssserakis cared not for the noise. My horror could feel my pain, but the sound was an external pressure. My shadow snaked out, shooting across the ground beneath us, dark spikes forming along its sinuous length. And again, the Iron Legion was a step ahead.
The light in the room flared. It came from the torches and the cupboards and books my Pyromancy had set alight. It came from the Iron Legion himself, glowing bright like a hearth fire. I heard Ssserakis scream even over the noise of the Vibromancy as the light burned my shadow away.
I collapsed to my knees; hand pressed against my right ear to no use. Caught in the maelstrom of such madness, I could do nothing. Even had I the strength to resist it I could not think over the noise and the pain it caused. Distantly I felt a hand grab hold of my wrist and yank my arm away from my ear. I think I was screaming, but I can't be sure. It is odd, but when we are assaulted with such a level of noise, we can no longer tell where it is coming from or even if we are adding ourselves to it. Such thought was blasted away in the cacophony. Something cool flowed around my wrist and then went hard, locked tight against my skin, cutting into the flesh of my hand. And the noise and light both stopped.
As did my connection to the Sources I carried inside my stomach. I reached for them, and could feel their weight, but their power was locked from me. The Arcstorm was silent also, like a distant rumble and flash I couldn't see or h
ear. My wrist felt heavy and as the Iron Legion withdrew his hand, I looked down to see a large band of metal wrapped around it. It was sharp on the inside, cutting into my skin and drawing blood, and there was a depression on the top of it, deep enough to fit a marble inside.
"That's better." The Iron Legion sounded weary, his voice lethargic. He took a single step back from me and panted, trying to catch his breath. "But I have the measure of you now. And I see my old friend didn't perish after all. How long have you carried Ssserakis?"
I paused, waiting for Ssserakis to scream inside. To rage and strike out with my shadow, but there was nothing. Not even a whimper from my horror.
The Iron Legion waited for an answer, hands on his hips, breathing heavy. He thought he had me beat. Taken away my magic and my horror, and he thought I had nothing left. What a fucking fool. I launched myself at him and saw the surprise on his face, his hands coming up to protect him. But I was not some untrained brawler, I had studied with Hardt and Tamura, and I knew how to fight. I leapt to the side, pushing his hands away with my right hand and then swung at his face with my left. With his shield down, his overconfidence would be his downfall.
Muscle memory is what makes a great fighter. Instinct and the ability for the muscles to act upon that instinct without the mind getting too involved. I had fought with Hardt and Tamura, been put through some of the harshest of training. My body knew how to fight, how to move. But I had let that training go, and since losing my arm, I had only trained with a blade. My body forgot that I only had one arm, and all I swung at the Iron Legion was a stump of fused flesh and rock. It passed between us harmlessly and for just a moment, the Iron Legion and I stared at each other. It's hard to say which of us was the more surprised in that moment. But he recovered far faster than I.
