Somewhere, Tal Eserin shouted to Percival, but Taylin's attention was on Bashurra, who hadn't missed her and Percival leaping away from him. The demon turned, but that was as far as he got before the grenades went off with a series resounding thumps. The top right quarter of the demon's head simply disappeared into a cloud of debris that was tainted red and black with demonic ichor. Such was the force of the blast that Bashurra was forced back half a dozen steps.
A victorious cry went up from the mercenaries and everyone charged to finish the demon off.
But Bashurra the Crevasse didn't topple. Missing part of his head, with various holes blasted in his body, and practically bristling with arrows, he only swayed on his feet, his remaining eye glaring defiance. “It won't be that simple, little army.” He taunted.
“Cut me off from the Threefold Moon and you weaken me, yes. But what God of War would simply die from a loss of supply lines?” He brought one fist into the palm of the other hand, wincing at his dislocated thumb, and began to chant. Slowly, his bulk began to shrink and his wounds healed.
Instinctively, Taylin reached back for the Eastern Brand, but found nothing. The hazy memory of losing it when Bashurra grabbed her flitted through her head. Ru? How is he doing this? It looked like Brin had the seal up earlier...
She does, Miss Taylin. Replied Ru. However, there is still the matter of his personal reserve. He is using it to stave off succumbing to his injuries. He must be disrupted. Do you still have Novacula Kuponya?
Taylin checked the sheath at her hip. The so-called Razorblade of Remedy was still strapped there, as a non-lethal sword was no use in engaging a demon. She didn't have to tell him 'yes', he just plucked the answer from her mind. But this can't kill him, Ru. Why—
Draw out the sword, Miss Taylin. The Habaense I added to the blade can stun a cavalry unit and all its horses: it will do nicely in breaking this cur's regeneration spell.
In all honesty, there were many things Taylin wouldn't trust Ru on: human nature, morality, combat tactics; but she knew that he was a master with spellcraft and not to be doubted in that department. She drew Novacula Kuponya.
Now, pull back as if to strike and recite:
Ru put the words directly into her mind and Taylin found her mouth working all on its own through the spell. “Bright glow hidden deep within. The living soul of all things of this world. Lend of your essence and return it to its age-old form: the flower of being, formed of the fire of creation. Let my foes contemplate their last moments as it blooms anew.”
The blue gem set in the hilt dimmed, but it was replaced by glowing, white lines that traveled slowly up the blade, sometimes diverting off at angles, but always moving toward the tip.
Now, Miss Taylin: thrust while speaking the last word. Aim for Bashurra's center.
Taylin took a step forward and did just that. “Habaense!”
The white lines of light intensified until the sword's blade was lost in a white nimbus. Bursts began to erupt from that flare, trailing brightness of their own while homing in on Bashurra. Dozens of them peeled off in an ever-expanding cascade until the combined trails brought to mind the petals of some exotic flower.
Bashurra sped up his chant, but the barrage from the Habaense plowed into him, streaking through him as if he were nothing more than smoke and rumor. For each one that struck him, the demon convulsed and his body twisted. He stopped shrinking, and wounds that were once mended split open anew.
The attack went on for longer than a ten-count by Taylin's reckoning before finally subsiding. When the light finally faded, Bashura the Crevasse still stood, but even as the assembled watched, his healing failed him, his last breath lurching out of him in ragged gasps.
He fell to one knee with a fist planted to keep him upright. Starting at the site of every injury he'd taken, a change began to come over him, transforming his corrupt flesh into smoldering ash. His head crumbled off his neck and was dashed to nothing when it hit the grass at his feet. Then his arms came off at the shoulders, causing his entire body to crumble and collapse.
Bashurra the Crevasse, one of the eldest demons of the Threefold Moon, the deadly enemy to dozens of civilizations, was no more.
Taylin waited until the pile of ash was completely still to release her hold on her rage, letting it sink back into the depths of her mind. The scales and claws receded and her wings popped back into their normal place. Before long, she was back to herself.
Hands still white knuckled around Novacula Kuponya, she sank down into the grass and sat down. Behind her, she heard a commotion being made over Percival. Soon enough he'd be tended to—and then she would have to answer some difficult questions. Questions even she couldn't fully answer.
Chapter 9 – Brin's Truth
'A smith on one of the outlying islands was afflicted by a divinity spark five days ago. Unfortunately, the spark drove him mad, resulting in the deaths of twelve citizens of the Empire and over thirty ang'hailene before the local garrison could end his threat. Fortunately, he was slain using ash chalk instead of immolation, thus preserving his body for our inquiry. We finally have something more than theory to work from.'
~ excerpt from the journal of Lena Hiddakko.
***
The sanctum of Lord Crossius had originally been constructed as a laboratory for his predecessor whose experiments with fey creatures were still well-regarded across the archipelago. Due to the nature of that lord's favored subjects, the room was constructed in its own tower overlooking the sea, surrounded in a cage of cold iron. Layer upon layer of spellcraft had been placed in the walls, ceiling and floor to prevent teleportation into or out of the chamber as well as blocking incoming scrying. Mirrors of polished silver were placed on each of the pillars ringing the room to foul fey illusions, and not long ago, the floor had been painted with a pattern that scattered ambient akua, the favored magic of such beings.
Upon his return,Lord Crossius ordered a new floor installed: black marble shot through with white veins. Though no one but himself, Lady Milfune and his ward, Layaka were allowed into the sanctum, it wasn't a secret that he'd laid a spellwork of his own into the stone tiles of the new floor. What purpose it served, however, none could tell.
The only furniture in the sanctum were a granite throne banded in steel, its high back sweeping up more than eight feet and decorated with rough-cut gems dangling from silver basket settings; and a round of white chalk smuggled from all the way across the ocean in Illium. It was easily eight feet across and two feet thick. Lord Crossius had placed it in front of his throne and kept it covered at all times with an orange silk cloth with green embellishments and golden tassels.
This evening, he'd brought something extra in: a shallow bowl carved from a single crystal, two feet across and three precision-made tuning forks. The bowl sat atop the cloth-covered chalk slab with a tuning fork on either side. The third was in his hand as he sat his throne, fingers laced around it in contemplation.
Lady Milfune stood beside him, one hand gently massaging his shoulder. Layaka sat on the floor at his right hand, sharpening an endless supply of flechettes with a whetstone. All three were watching the air above the bowl.
The tuning forks on either side of it were trembling in sympathy with a mystic sensor thousands miles away, linked to it by currents of vox. They were in turn picked up by the bowl, which converted vox into vin that was then used to lens the ambient light of the chamber into images—images that matched what the distant sensor spell was seeing. The fork in Lord Crossius's hand used a similar process to deliver sounds from the same construct.
As they observed, a badly wounded Bashurra the Crevasse was pierced through by several dozen shafts of white light until the last of his healing ability failed him and his body began to disintegrate.
“And he wanted to be a God of War?” Layaka asked, testing a flechette with her thumb. “A shameful waste.”
Lord Crossius set his back flat again the throne, his imperious face betraying the barest hint of a
satisfied smile. “Not at all. Bashurra served his purpose. Solgrum is dead and the command structure of his army is in shambles. A war of succession will begin in Torm Dondaire; a war that will draw the opportunistic eye of the Threefold Moon away from me.”
He looked thoughtfully at the settling pile of ashes that were once a formidable demon. “He was very good at what he did. Unfortunately for him, a tactician is only as good as his intelligence. When I suggested the Idarian Homestead as an ideal place for an ambush, he thought that Solgrum's army would be weak without their magic and that he would only be facing the Rune Breaker.”
“You've still robbed yourself of a powerful ally.” said Layaka. “Not smart in the kind of gambit you're trying to play out.”
Lord Crossius slowly quirked an eyebrow, the expression formed as if through great effort. “Oh, you have no idea what kind of gambit I've got in mind, old soldier. Do you think it was an accident that I placed you in the path of that spirit docent? Do you believe that I contacted the traitor Zect honestly hoping for an alliance? No, I have set things in motion that your mind could never unravel.”
He gestured toward the image floating above the bowl. “And as for Bashurra: do you know what would happen if the Threefold Moon discovered what I am doing? He would set a demon against me whom he believed could destroy me. Bashurra is one of the few as old as I, and I will not shy away from admitting that he could, in fact, defeat me matching strength for strength in terms of both physical prowess and magic. I had my reservations that Bashurra had the will to deny his god if ordered to destroy me. Now he is dead and no longer a threat.”
Reaching up, he put his hand over Lady Milfune's. “There is ever only one other who I would share power with because I am certain of who her loyalty lies with. Even if Bashurra could have been trusted to choose wisely; me over Kayda; his sacrifice has purchased for us vital information about those who will soon be bringing battle to our door.” His eyes narrowed slightly and he focused on Layaka, “Didn't it?”
Layaka set her jaw and nodded. “It did. The halfling is a menace with that rifle. Bashurra survived her, but nothing mortal could have.” She set down the whetstone and folded her arms. “Non-magical weapons of that kind of range and accuracy are after my time. The best defense I can think of is a screen that distorts vision to throw off her aim over the windows and guard positions on the outer wall.
“Brin was a surprise tonight. In my time with her, I just took her as a good hand with a polearm with some good combat spells. But if she can cut off nekras...”
“She will be doing me a favor.” Lord Crossius interrupted. “There are dozens of devotees of the Threefold Moon on this island now, channeling and converting nekras for their spellcraft. Breaking their connection at a crucial moment can only afford me greater security. And in the meantime, I will mostly be concerned with vitae, psi and vox.”
Layaka gave him an odd look, but knew that what he said of his plans was the extent of what she would be hearing. “If that's your assessment, I can't challenge it. Now the ang'hailene—“
“Leave the girl to me. She requires special attention.” Lord Crossius cut her off again. “Tell me what you've ascertained about the Rune Breaker.”
She hunched her shoulders and bowed her head in thought for a moment. Head still lowered, with her hair falling into her eyes, she said, “Most people seeing what we just saw: him going up against and matching Bashurra in a place so barren of outside energy; they'd say 'we know he's the Rune Breaker now'. But I have to say that my eyes tell me I'm still not sure.”
“I am.” said Lord Crossius, “But say on.”
Layaka looked back at the image from the battle with a frown. “He conjured a simulacrum out of akua, the most convenient energy and used it to buy time; probably to chant that unstable spell. Then he mass-broke the mentalisms Bashurra used—but after that, it was all shapeshifting. Taken with how easily he was defeated in Daire City, and I have my doubts that he's the legendary weapon that lets its wielder take over nations.”
After carefully setting the tuning fork in his hands on the armrest of the throne, Lord Crossius leaned forward and interlaced his long, thin fingers. “Noted. And I already have a countermeasure in the works. But as a soldier, you of all people should know that the weapon is only as powerful as the will that guides it.”
Suddenly, the tones from the two tuning forks on either side of the bowl changed to something shrill and discordant. The image above the bowl distorted and disappeared as cracks began to run rampant across the bowl's surface. The noise reached its height just as the bowl flew apart in a glittering explosion of crystal shards.
They would have cut the three occupants of the room to ribbons if Lady Milfune had not stepped forward with inhuman celerity, producing a war fan from one voluminous sleeve, and snapped it open. With one sweep, she set a powerful gale against the flying crystal, sending the dangerous projectiles scattering to the other side of the room.
In the silence that followed, all three tuning forks began to smolder and deform until they were useless.
Lord Crossius picked up the one on his throne and tossed it casually aside. “But we must never underestimate the Rune Breaker. That would prove to be a fatal miscalculation.”
***
Immurai was monitoring the entire battle. Ru reported through the link.
Taylin heard the sound of something heavy moving through the grass; the drying stalks scrapping against scales. She looked up to find a great constrictor snake slithering in her direction. As she watched, it raised its head above the ground and its body folded unnaturally beneath it. Scales became cloth or softened to skin or hair until Ru Brakar hovered scant inches in the air before her.
“I have destroyed his means of doing so.” he continued aloud. Then he met her gaze, his yellow eyes betraying little emotion. “Care to explain what that was earlier? It barely felt like your mind in the link.”
Drawing her wings up tighter around her, she broke eye contact to look over to where Tal Eserin and a battlemage were tending to Percival's wounds. “I don't like being touched.”
“A mistake I doubt Bashurra will make again.” Ru said and sent a small working of vin to scatter the ashes further than the natural wind was doing.
They remained silent for several minutes. Taylin's mind clicked away in the link, working through her lingering adrenaline and anxiety over what had happened. Ru merely kept watch, not believing that the ignoble defeat of Bashurra the Crevasse was the extent of Immurai's attack.
Eventually, Tal Eserin left Percival in the care of the battlemage and came to them with a serious, but not grave expression on his face. Nodding to Ru, he focused on Taylin. “The General will live. Thanks to the scarcity of vitae here, he probably won't be walking on his own for a few days, and if we don't get him properly healed soon, he might not walk without a stick ever again. But he doesn't need that to lead.”
Refusing to meet his eyes, Taylin demurred and nodded. “Good. I'm glad.”
Tal Eserin scratched his scaled neck with his brutal looking claws and fixed his gaze out over the river. “I told you before that I wouldn't ask, and now that you have slain the king's killer and saved the life of the General, I have less right to ask than before...”
“But you're curious.” said Taylin. She heaved a sigh and fluffed out her feathers. “And so is Ru. Brin and Rai will be as well—to say nothing of Kaiel. And... and you all deserve to know who and what you're really dealing with.”
Brushing a few red curls out of her eyes, she slowly got to her feet. “The problem is: I don't know—not the whole of it anyway. But I will tell you what I do know. Just... I don't want to explain it twice. Can you please wait until our friends return from the homestead?”
“Of course. At your leisure.” said Tal Eserin. “General Cloudherd has put Jaks in command with me as his second until he is fit for duty, so I would like to invite all of you to join our camp and share our supplies tonight.”
A weak smil
e forced its way onto Taylin's face. “Thank you. I think we'll take you up on that. But first...” She returned Novacula Kuponya to its sheath and looked around. “Ru? Can you please help me find the Eastern Brand? I dropped it when... when it happened.”
“Yes, Miss Taylin.” the dark mage replied before transforming into a white owl and winging skyward to search.
***
Breathing was more difficult than Brin ever imagined it could be in the first moment after the spirit of Idarian Homestead vacated her body. She was left on her hands and knees, chest heaving while her breath came in shuddering gasps.
Around her, the ranks of ghosts were starting to thin. For some the cleansing was enough to free them of their last mortal bonds. For others, the feeling of vengeance delivered that came with Bashurra's death was what they needed. They disappeared to the Afterworld in brief flashes that quickly faded to nothingness.
Others remained, however, and crowded around her. They were those who were still addled by the violence of their deaths and exposure to the thick concentration of nekras. The two things combined to completely foul the natural instincts of the dead to move on. For them, a push in the right direction was needed, either through proper funeral rights, divine intervention, or exorcism.
Cold hands were reaching for her when Brin looked up; hands connected to pleading eyes and murmuring voices. Though still shaking from the unbearable amounts of discarnate energy she'd been a conduit for, she reached out to them in turn. It was a very small task to exorcise the willing.
Brin reached into the place where their hearts would be and channeled tiny sparks of discarnate power: beacons that showed them the way they had to travel to return to the Well of Souls. Each time she did this, the ghost flashed out of the mortal plane with a joyful noise.
After long minutes of work, Brin finally turned her attention to a middle-aged woman whose shade wore a bloody, tattered dress and wielded a shovel in both hands, only to have the ghost shy away from its salvation.
The Path of Destruction (Rune Breaker) Page 12
