“Stay near me and you’ll be just fine,” Lileth said to Cole as he fumbled with a spell to put a cushion of air under his feet. “Goran is of course welcome to join, but if you accrue any more prisoners I’m afraid you’ll have to carry them yourself.” She gave him a quick smile.
“So you heard?” he asked, stepping up onto Lileth’s disc of magically hardened sand.
“Eliza told us all about your encounter.” She nodded, stepping off to follow the rest of the group, who had all adopted a similar spell to navigate the soft sands. “I would have killed her myself. She is quite the burden.”
“Yeah well I’m trying this new thing where I don’t kill people just because it’s easier.” He looked back to Milette, who gave him a look of pure venom.
“I can hear you both you know.” She spat, following Goran up onto Lileth’s magical platform. “That oaf said this is to be a full day’s march! I don’t know who you people are or what you’re made of, but I can’t march across the planet with no food or sleep. If we go another mile you will have to kill me or I’ll throw myself into the sands and be done with you all. So Master, what will it be? I am in your charge after all.”
Cole was at a loss for words. If he had to he could use his Wisdom to float her along as he did before, but he couldn’t keep that up forever. He had no answer, but Goran did. The brindle beast turned and snorted in Milette’s face before scooping her up and throwing her on his back. Ignoring her protests, he ambled up to Cole and set his eyes for the horizon.
“Disgusting animal! The smell! What is this thing supposed to be anyway, some sort of cat or ape? Or is it some horrible bastard mix breed that you came up with to satisfy your- oh!” Milette lunged forward as Goran snorted and nearly unseated her. Her stubby wrists gripped his neck to little effect as she eyed the far drop off his flank.
Cole silently thanked Goran through their link before turning to Lileth. “You’re right. She is a burden for sure.”
They trudged on towards Oberon, Cole chatting with Lileth all the while. She was most interested in discussing his recent mastery of Rage, though Cole was reluctant to delve into the subject. He was ashamed of the Rage, ashamed of how it stripped him of all reason and compassion. He glossed over the details of his encounter with Milette and her partner, making it seem as if he just caught them unawares and overpowered them. Cole sensed Milette about to chime in to fill in the gaps of his tale, but Goran silenced her with another bucking grunt. Lileth would probably never speak to him again if she knew he had almost fed on a soul fly. Eventually the wind picked up, and they were too busy trying to keep the sand out of their faces to talk. After an hour of fiddling with his Wisdom, Cole worked a magical net over his face as well as Lileth’s and Goran’s, blocking the sand and wind while allowing them to breathe and see. He left Milette to shield her face in Goran’s fur, which served a dual purpose as an effective muzzle.
“Stop.” Roth’s voice cracked like thunder over the whining wind. He held a clawed hand back, halting the rest of the unit. “Spread out and wait here.”
They all stopped and took up the best defensive positions they could, though they couldn’t make much of a formation in such an open area. Munisica glinted in the moonlight as they readied themselves for anything. Valen summoned his ethereal green wings from under his arms and took flight, circling over the rest of them.
Roth jogged ahead of them until his hulking form was barely visible in the dust. He halted, scanning the ground at his feet before diving headfirst and disappearing beneath the surface. A few minutes passed with no sight of him, just the steady moaning of the wind.
The sand in between them exploded in a cloud of dust. Thankfully Milette’s scream was so loud nobody could hear Cole’s. The wind carried the cloud away, leaving Roth standing in their center. They closed in around their Master. Valen landed roughly beside him, munisica drawn. Cole admired Valen’s flexibility with the different magics.
“Something big is headed our way,” Roth addressed the group, a look of savage pleasure in his eyes. “Just stay put and still your munisica until I say so. If we’re lucky it’s a rock wurm. If we’re really lucky it’ll be a whole herd.”
“There is definitely more than one,” Eliza said, her face set in grim terror as her eyes darted about the ground at their feet. “They are upon us.”
Cole stepped back, swallowing his heart before it could leap out up his throat. His foot met the edge of Lileth’s platform, vanishing beneath the surface of the powder. How was he supposed to fight anything in this state? It was all he could do to maintain a few simple spells to shield their faces. He could summon what was left of his Rage, but what good would that do if he fell over into the loose powder? Cole looked around, desperately searching for something more substantial than a thin layer of magically hardened sand. He was exhausted and supremely vulnerable, as if he were an insect bobbing helplessly at the surface of a pond, just waiting for something from the deep to take him.
By unspoken consent the unit converged on Roth. Valen took flight once more, this time joined by Eliza and Sitra. They waited, listening over the wind and peering through the dust for anything at all.
“There!” Milette cried, pointing with one of her stumps. “Something rises!”
A stone’s throw away from their tight circle, something dark slid from the surface. A long pole rose up, trailed quickly by a flapping flag and what could only be a crow’s nest. A velvety black sail soon followed, then two masts, one on either side of the first. A ship, long and sharp with triangular black sails appeared before them, rising fully from the sands in a splash of white powder. The vessel circled around them, coming closer as yet another rose up behind it, then another. They all stood in windy silence as the muffled rustling of the black sails came ever closer.
“I don’t want a word out of any of you, or I’ll personally take it out of your hides,” Roth said in a harsh tone, keeping his eyes on the largest ship, which had just halted right next to them.
Cole clenched his fists to steady himself, realizing they had transformed into his deadly claws and the shroud had crawled most of the way up his arms. He exhaled slowly and steadily, releasing the Rage. He instead focused on the nearest ship, which was in such a state of disrepair that it must have relied entirely on magic to stay afloat. A clear membrane covered the upper deck, under which stood a dozen hazy figures. Someone ran to the bow of the vessel and pulled a lever. The clear sheet snapped to the stern of the boat, revealing a crew of well-armed and not-so-well-tempered men.
They were all dressed in rust colored leathers that hugged tightly to thick arms and legs. What appeared to be amber colored glass adorned their clothing, giving a striking beauty to the ugly garments. Judging by the variety of glass weaponry on display, these plates were likely some type of armor. Hiding their faces were shiny tinted masks that gleamed out from under taut hoods.
Just as Cole began to wonder if these hooded sailors meant them harm, doors clanged open all down the hull of the ship, revealing an array of triple-barreled tubes pointed directly at their small group. The tubes appeared to be made of the same amber material as the crew’s weapons. Cole was no expert on Aenerian weaponry, but he was positive that they had an arsenal of large-caliber guns pointed at them.
A sailor smaller than the rest stepped to the handrail, looking down at them with his blank mask. Judging by the way he carried himself, Cole guessed him to be some sort of leader. “The three in the sky, call them down now.” His voice was distorted and metallic.
Roth raised his chin, his voice calm but booming: “I don’t think I will come down. They only just got up there and I don’t want to be rude.”
“Then their deaths will be on your head,” the sailor called down in his strange voice. He motioned towards the bow of the ship as a figure sitting in a turret nodded, cranking wheels and bringing the barrels of yet another gun to the sky.
Cole winced as a resounding explosion hammered his ears. He looked to the sky expect
ing to see falling bodies. To his relief he found three apparently unharmed sets of emerald wings circling above them. Cole’s eyes flashed back to the gunner, who looked utterly disheveled as he pulled another lever to reload. Sand poured out the breech of his weapon, filling his lap. The gunner looked back to the smallest sailor, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head.
Their leader signaled to another deck gunner, who had already trained his barrels to the sky. With another concussing thud, the second gunner cried out in frustration as he too was buried in sand. An awkward silence fell over the crew on the ship, broken by Roth’s ferocious laughter.
“That fancy weaponry must have cost a fortune,” Roth cried out. “You ought to invest in a little maintenance.”
The smallest figure looked to Roth. Even under the tinted mask his fury was visible. “Let’s see how clever you are after we give you another hole to yapp out of. One of the subdeck guns is bound to work.” He leaned over the side of the ship, pounding his fist on the hull and shouting to the crew below. “Let them have it!”
Cole felt the guy with the weird voice had a good point. It would only take one of those huge barrels to tear through the lot of them. He ducked, noticing that Roth’s munisica had a dull emerald glow to them. Cole held his breath as countless explosions punched him in the chest. He opened his eyes, waiting for the pain, but there was none. The ringing in his ears subsided, giving over to Roth’s booming laughter, which was almost as loud as the guns.
“I never much cared for technology,” Roth called out. “All those tricky gadgets are too unreliable. Why don’t you invite us up so we can have a little talk?”
The leader turned back to his crew, saying something that Cole couldn’t make out over the wind. The guns on each ship withdrew, swiftly replaced by spouts that released a clear liquid into the sands. The concoction spread over the rippling powder, making a light crackling sound as the dancing surface froze. The leader of the sailors reached out as a tall glass staff with a bladed tip was placed into his hand. He set a hand on the rail of the ship and hopped over, landing on the now solid surface. His crew fell in behind him, as did the crews from the other ships. They closed in, forming a tight wall of glass blades.
“Not a word,” Roth whispered in a voice barely louder than the wind. His shrouded armor and munisica receded until he was bare skinned and blond-haired. He took a single step towards the leader of the sailors. Roth raised his voice so that all could hear: “You Morthainians follow the path of Rage, do you not?”
With a quick wave from the hooded leader, the advancing sailors halted. He walked ahead, brandishing the glass staff and bringing its blade up to Roth’s throat. “And what would an outsider know about the path of Rage?” the leader asked, wagging the blade of his staff in front of Roth’s face. Cole could make out tiny munisica poking out from his fingerless leather gloves.
Roth ignored the blade, which now slapped him playfully in the cheek. The entire unit, including Goran, backed away. Roth had maimed each of them for far less. Roth’s voice was calm however, with only a trace of his usual threatening menace. “I know enough that you must accept my Trial of Honor, which I invoke. Right now.”
There was a smattering of laughter amongst the sailors as their weapons clinked together. The leader cocked his masked head, appraising Roth’s nearly naked body. “That’s a mighty ambitious request, outsider.”
“True words, Rage runner,” Roth said. “But you are bound to oblige me, unless you’ve forsaken the old ways while hiding like frightened rats in your holes.”
The laughter ceased immediately, replaced by disciplined silence. The leader turned and whipped his staff behind him. The weapon twanged as it stuck into the side of his ship. He tore off his leather, throwing glass plates and leather straps to the ground. Without command, others followed suit.
“NO!” The leader’s metallic voice clanged over the wind. “My Rage will suffice. I alone will kill this giant fool.”
“But captain…” said another figure, reaching out towards his leader, “We are all honor-bound to face him. Let at least one of us join you.” He then added in an undertone not quite soft enough to go unheard by Cole’s magically amplified ears, “He is quite large.”
The captain removed his mask as a long rope of white hair fell from the hood. He was not a he at all, but an aged woman with a face so marked by scars and wrinkles that she almost looked like a giant Underkin. She tossed her mask to the man at her side. “Should I find myself outmatched by a single man and his troupe of crusty bitches then perhaps it’s finally my time to fall. Stand down Quicken, and don’t you question me again unless you want my job.”
“Yes, Captain,” Quicken replied with a little bow.
She gave Quicken a curt nod and he fell back in with the rest of the sailors. Without another word she darted for Roth. As she charged, her munisica stretched, twinkling in Oberon’s periwinkle light as her hands grew into black swords longer than Cole’s legs. The shroud crept up her wrist and ankles, reaching past her elbows and knees as her sweeping braid dimmed to an ebony rope. Just before she would have collided with Roth, she dug in her clawed feet and leapt high above him. Apparently her black snake of hair was also a weapon. Cole barely noticed Roth’s head twitching to the side as the lock of bladed hair swished past his cheek.
The captain wasted no time, landing behind Roth and lunging, bringing her sword-hands together as though determined to dive right through him. This time Cole didn’t see the movement, only a horrible screeching clang as she stumbled away from Roth, who had apparently parried the blow with a single bladed finger. The captain gave a curt nod, then set at Roth with a series of elegant swipes and jabs which looked more like an exotic dance. Cole struggled to follow the two fighters. The sheer ferocity of the woman’s attacks was more than their entire unit could muster during their training matches against him. While it appeared Roth was pushed to his limits, he only had one finger shrouded and didn’t return any of her attacks. It was as if he were testing her as one of his students. He merely blocked and danced along as her swords, hair, and clawed feet whistled through the dusty air. His level of control was impossible. Even Valen’s jaw hung loose at the spectacle. Cole wondered just how much Roth had held back on the two occasions that the two of them had locked munisica.
The captain changed her fighting style, a risky maneuver that none of their unit had yet to master. All four munisica worked independently of one another; one sword jabbing like a stork, the other cutting wide arches, one clawed foot planted firmly while the other probed for weakness.
Roth leaped back, his mouth half frowning while his eyes fell with disappointment. He gave the captain a look that could have been sadness, or perhaps encouragement. She returned the look with a bewildered snarl that twisted into agony as she fell to one knee. Her mouth opened and closed as if she were drowning. Her munisica and shroud receded as she clutched her chest and throat. The other sailors looked on through their dark-tinted masks, trepidation apparent in their hushed whispers.
Roth approached her crouched form, his eyes blazing with emerald Wisdom. The back of her pale neck glistened with sweat. Roth lowered his munisica to the top of her spine and pricked it with a spark of green light. Her chest emitted two muffled pops as she hacked and coughed, taking in as much air as her lungs would allow.
Roth waited for her breathing to slow before bending down and speaking into her ear. “Give up, or I won’t release it next time.”
“But how? How in the rusty hell did you …” Her voice trailed off in a fit of hacking.
Roth stood tall, throwing his chest out and drawing the full measure of his munisica and shroud, bringing him head and shoulders above the tallest man. His voice thundered loud enough for all to hear: “Your Rage is admirable, but you wield it like a crutch. There are others who would twist it against you until there was nothing left of your own soul. This-” Roth rubbed his bladed thumb and first finger together, the claws producing a screeching sound as
a fountain of electric green sparks fell to the sand, “-is Wisdom, a magic which you have shunned for countless cycles. You cast it aside as though it were some trifle not worthy of your time, yet the simplest of spells has brought your captain to my feet and disabled your weapons.”
The captain shuffled onto her knees as her shroud faded. She spread her naked arms. “May the sands swallow you, outsider. I cannot best you. Take my life.” She shut her eyes and exposed her throat.
“Get up,” Roth growled.
The captain’s eyes popped open as she cocked her head in confusion. “You know the rules. This ends with my head on the ground.”
“Keep your head. Consider it my first gift as leader of your tribe.” Roth stepped away from her, waving to the others in the sky.
The captain jumped to her feet, shaking her head as she ran after Roth. “You rule no one except me, outsider. I’ve not the rank to grant you more than that. I may have been defeated, but every Morthainian before you falls under my second, Lieutenant Quicken. Invoke the Trial of Honor again if you feel you can take the crews of all three of our corsairs.”
The crew on the ground took a collective step back. Lieutenant Quicken on the other hand walked up to Roth, taking off his mask and revealing a young, handsome face with hard eyes. “We will accept your challenge, though we all know what the outcome will be. We will fight you to the man.” Quicken tightened the grip on his staff as Eliza, Valen, and Lileth landed behind Roth. “What is your name, outsider?”
Roth measured them with a heavy stare. “You haven’t earned my name, or a death by my hand. None of you have. You misunderstood my challenge. I invoked the Trial of Honor not on you or your crew, but on Morthain.”
Quicken’s face drooped with the weight of his shock. “The entire city! You are either very foolish or very powerful. Either way you are but one man! What you propose is impossible!”
Saving The Dark Side Book 2: The Harbingers Page 6
