by John Bierce
Sabae swore she could hear Talia laughing, even from this distance.
Not wanting to get accidentally hit by a stray spell, Sabae stepped back from the edge— in perfect time to avoid getting crushed beneath a massive flailing vine.
Rather than dodge back, Sabae lunged forwards, affixing her shield to the massive vine, then letting it hurl her up into the air.
“Well, well, well,” a voice said. “I thought I felt someone up here. Look who it is. Little miss…”
Sabae looked up from trying not to be thrown from the thrashing vine and spotted the vine whip-wielding Sacred Swordsman. She promptly ignored his obnoxious taunting, released her shield from the vine, and windjumped straight for him.
He instinctively lurched backward, tripping on one of his own vines, but he also sent quite a few others grasping up from the roof to block her path. Sabae detonated the wind armor around her right arm, sending her shooting away from a particularly thorny vine, then latched onto another with her shield for just a moment, long enough to change her direction.
She skidded to a halt on a tilted protruding tree trunk, then launched herself immediately up into the air to dodge another vine sweeping at her from the side.
Sabae needed to end this, and fast. Plant mages were definitely not a particularly good matchup for her, and she doubted she’d seen everything this particular Swordsman could do.
She detonated her wind armor again, but rather than looking for a more open path, she blasted straight towards the base of several vines. Based on the way they were moving, she suspected the mage had a lot more control of the tips of the vines than their bases.
They slammed together just inches behind her feet as she shot between them and tumbled across the ground. More were already rising between her and the enemy Swordsman, but rather than try to launch herself again, she set a windstrike towards the enemy mage.
It struck him full-on in the chest, sending him tumbling backwards.
Straight off the edge of the tower roof.
Sabae smiled grimly as most of the writhing vines either collapsed or flailed wildly, but her smile almost immediately vanished as the Swordsman rose above the edge of the roof again, borne aloft by two of his own vines.
“You really didn’t think that was going to work, did you?” the Swordsman asked. “Little flea, jumping around and thinking it can kill the dog on its own. You really have to—”
The Swordsman was interrupted by a mid-sized palace exploding behind him. The Havathi whirled to look at it, and Sabae immediately windjumped straight at him. He only had a moment to gape at the colossal figure of Artur with his battle-armor at full size before Sabae’s shield adhered to his back, and both of them went hurtling off into the air.
Sabae couldn’t help but think that Artur’s armor looked rather strange when constructed from pink and orange granite.
The man’s vine-whip flailed wildly at Sabae, dripping fluids that she was certain were caustic, but it couldn’t manage to break through her wind armor before the two of them slammed into the roof of a nearby palace.
Sabae’s wind armor absorbed most of the force of the impact for her, but the Havathi struck the stone face-first, with all her weight on top of him.
He didn’t so much crash as smear.
Sabae staggered to her feet in time to see the fifty-foot armored form of Artur slam his enormous hammer into the side of the living tower. It tore through vines and trees like a shark through minnows, and the whole tower began to creak and shake ominously.
He wasn’t known as Artur Wallbreaker for nothing, after all.
As Artur reared back for another strike, ignoring the bombardment of spells striking him, Sabae felt the wind begin to rise, and the first raindrops began to fall.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Perfect Storm
Growing ice thick enough for Hugh and Godrick to walk on was easy enough.
Growing ice thick enough and fast enough for them to run on it was rather more difficult.
Growing ice thick enough and fast enough for them to run on it while also being bombarded with spells from the living siege tower was, frankly, insane.
Hugh had run short on ways to describe escalating difficulty, if he was honest. The two of them only pulled it off working together.
They slid to a halt amidst the foundations of what looked like an Ithonian bank or something of the sort. Behind them, the ice bridge they’d crossed the canal on crumbled beneath the weight of a brand new tree, as well as what had looked like a lava bomb.
Hugh had no idea how the Havathi were still managing to target them while Artur was tearing apart their tower.
They’d expected this to be an easy way to work their way back towards the rest of their group, but the Havathi had been on them the whole time.
“That wasn’t a lava bomb,” Godrick said.
“It sure looked like one,” Hugh said, catching his breath. Not so much from the run— Alustin’s training easily had him in the best shape of his life— more from the stress of trying to hold so many spellforms in his mind’s eye at the same time.
“It was congealed volcanic ash from an andesitic volcano, ah think.”
Hugh gave him a blank look.
“Basically, there are two types a’ volcanoes,” Godrick said. “The kind that erupt liquid lava, and the kind that explodes. Abyla was a liquid magma mage, and if we’d been fightin’ on basalt, she would have been even more dangerous. Andesite is a kind a’ stone that yeh find in explodin’ volcanoes.”
“So more or less dangerous than Abyla?” Hugh asked.
“Differently dangerous,” Godrick said.
“Lovely.”
In the distance, there was another immense crash as Artur struck his hammer against the tower. This time, however, the tearing, ripping noises kept going.
“Hey, Hugh,” Godrick said. “The tower’s probably going ta’ make fer a lot a’ rubble when it falls, right?”
“Yes?” Hugh said.
“And a lot a’ it is going ta’ fall in the water, right?” Godrick asked.
“I guess so,” Hugh said.
“Probably making a rather large splash, and some rather large waves?” Godrick said.
Hugh looked hesitantly at Godrick.
“Ah think we should maybe get out a’ the water an up into the city now,” Godrick said.
In the distance, the tearing and crumbling noises grew even louder.
“I think you might be right,” Hugh agreed.
Talia had to admit, her celebration when Artur started tearing apart the tower was rather diminished when it started falling towards them. She even paused firing dreamwasps for a moment.
It wasn’t an abrupt, complete collapse— it was a slow, halting fall as the vines and trees tore and shattered.
It would still crush her just as flat, however.
Then, before she could react, she was flying up into the air, lifted up by one arm.
She was already a good twenty feet into the air, moving rapidly sideways out from the direction of the tower’s fall, when she thought to look back.
It was, of course, Alustin carrying her, his armor having sprouted great buzzing dragonfly wings, fashioned out of paper.
“Cover us!” Alustin shouted.
Talia smirked, then turned back to face the tower, in case any Havathi mages were escaping.
There were, unfortunately, quite a lot of them escaping, largely by air.
“Of course they have fliers,” she yelled, as she started haphazardly blasting dreamwasps their way. “Why didn’t they use them before?”
“It doesn’t make much sense,” Alustin agreed, as he landed them on a nearby roof. The wings and his armor looked like they were losing their integrity from flying in the light rain.
The tower impacted the city, crushing at least a dozen Ithonian buildings. Lake water and broken masonry were sent hurtling into the air.
Artur’s massive armored form lumbered towards the fallen tower and t
he escaping Havathi.
“I still don’t get how Artur’s not a great power,” Talia said.
“He’s probably powerful enough to fit into their lower ranks, he’s just never challenged another great power for recognition or territory,” Alustin said. “He doesn’t want the stress, though. You’ve got to be a little bit insane to want to be a great power.”
Alustin sounded distracted as he spoke, however, and Talia knew he was scrying.
“I believe I’ve figured out why the Havathi didn’t use their fliers until now,” Alustin said.
“Why’s that?” Talia asked.
“Because they were trying to delay us too. There’s a small wing of Havathi dragons on their way now, ferrying more mages this way,” Alustin said. “Also, there appears to be a strike force that hid outside the tower, and is currently cutting their ways through Hugh’s wards protecting the Exile Splinter.”
“Let’s go, then!” Talia said.
Alustin shook his head. “I won’t be able to fly there carrying you in this rain— I’ll barely be able to make it myself. Can I trust you not to get yourself killed, and to try and reunite with the others?”
Talia drew her enchanted daggers and smiled.
Alustin made it to the Emperor’s plaza just as the full force of the storm hit.
He barely landed next to the Exile Splinter in time to keep his wings from collapsing, and rapidly covered his paper armor in sheets of waxed paper to protect it from the rain. He didn’t worry about being attacked directly— he’d landed in the middle of Hugh’s wards.
He hated having to do that— waxed paper was a hassle and a half to control. Of all the paper he kept in his tattoo, it was easily his least favorite to use.
“Alustin Haber,” a voice said.
Alustin idly looked up at the Hand of Sacred Swordsmen facing him.
Unfortunately, he recognized them.
The average Swordsman only lasted a year or two in the line of duty. Any Swordsman was dangerous, but the veterans were by far the worst. The younger ones were often, well, idiots. Warlocks weren’t common enough that you could be overly choosy when constructing a force out of them, and most weren’t temperamentally suited for membership in an elite force of battle mages, simply because most people in general weren’t.
Those that were temperamentally suited, however, were usually the ones that survived more than a few years.
And, unfortunately, every member of the Hand currently facing him was a veteran. Worse, he suspected all their weapons were fully sapient.
Amberglow. The Marrowstaff. Olstes’s Hyphal. The Springcloak. Forgeheart.
The Havathi warlocks had names of their own, of course, but Alustin only ever bothered referring to most Swordsmen by the names of their weapons.
Amberglow and Forgeheart were the only two actual swords among them, and the back of his head insisted that the Swordsmen really needed to change their name to something that acknowledged their wide range of weapons.
“Springcloak,” Alustin acknowledged.
“This doesn’t look particularly good for you, Alustin,” Springcloak said.
“You know, one of you always says that to me. I think I might have some doubts in regards to the quality of Havathi judgment about that,” Alustin said.
Olstes’ Hyphal had already broken through four of Hugh’s primary wards around the Splinter, leaving only two between Alustin and the Swordsmen. The living fungal armor wasn’t the most effective direct combat tool, but it was terrifyingly effective for wardbreaking and siegecraft— the armor could sprout a fibrous mycelial network of astonishing size in short order, perfect for tearing apart just about anything, given a little time.
Unfortunately, magical fungal growths were also particularly effective against paper.
“It’s usually traditional for us to attempt to persuade our foes to join us or surrender peacefully,” Forgeheart said. “Even with all your crimes against Havath, I still feel compelled to offer you the opportunity. It would be a genuine shame to kill one of the only two remaining Helicotan sabre-wielders.”
A couple of the others gave Forgeheart irritable looks at his offer. Alustin was widely hated by many Swordsmen for the sheer number of their ranks he’d killed, and many hated the standing offer of amnesty the Havathi Duarchs had on offer for him if he would join them.
“You already know what my answer is,” Alustin said, drawing his own sword from his tattoo. “And while there may be two of us who still wield the Lord of Bells’ enchantments, only one of us still counts as Helicotan.”
Alustin could feel water dripping down the back of his neck from where it was leaking through the wax paper somewhere.
“Even in normal conditions, you’d be hard-pressed to escape a Hand of veterans,” Forgeheart said. “In a rainstorm where you need to defend a fixed position? You don’t stand a chance. Please, Alustin, don’t simply dismiss this offer. Valia holds out hope for you still, you know.”
There was a flash as the Hyphal’s burrowing mycelium broke through another of Hugh’s wards, leaving only one left.
“Very well,” Alustin said. “A moment, please.”
Amberglow snorted in disdain, while Marrowstaff laughed bitterly. Olstes’s Hyphal remained focused on her work.
Springcloak shook his head. “I’m sure this is just another of your tricks, but you have until we break through the last ward to consider.”
Well, this was going to be a problem.
Sabae windjumped off another balcony just as one of the pursuing Sacred Swordsman struck it with another spray of metal bits. They weren’t molten, but they ignited into flame the instant they came into contact with water, which meant the instant the Swordsman launched them, considering how hard it was raining.
She’d already been hit by a couple of chunks already, and had the burns to show for them on her arm.
Sabae landed on another balcony, and slid into the dark room connecting to it to hide.
Across the canal, the Swordsman slowly glided down to the balcony she’d just vacated, drawing the flaming bits of metal back into her staff, which was apparently made of the stuff, considering that it was burning too.
Gravity affinities plus just about anything else tended to be a nasty combination.
The Havathi spent a few moments looking for Sabae, but thankfully didn’t spot her. Eventually, she took off again, and Sabae sighed a breath of relief. This was the first time she’d evaded Havathi pursuit since she’d killed the vine whip wielder.
She took a moment to consider her options as she healed the burns on her arm. Part of her wanted just to huddle up here and rest, but her friends were out there fighting somewhere, and she couldn’t abandon them.
The only one whose location she knew at the moment was Artur’s, but then, it would be pretty difficult to lose track of Artur at the moment.
Approaching Artur when he was in full battle armor was definitely a bad idea, though. She doubted he’d be able to easily tell her apart from any of the Havathi fliers. Windjumping wasn’t too much different from a force mage’s leaps— only the most powerful force mages could truly fly, and she’d spotted several force mages leaping about among the Havathi.
No, making for the Exile Splinter made the most sense at the moment. The closer she got to it, the more of their pre-established defenses she’d cross, putting her on a better and better footing. She’d have to take the long way around to do it, though— Artur and the collapsed living tower, as well as the majority of the Havathi, lay between her and it.
And going the long way would take, well, entirely too long.
No, if she were going to do this, she needed to do it underwater.
Godrick and Hugh had just managed to climb up onto a balcony when three of the Havathi attacked them from a neighboring rooftop. All wore the pristine white uniforms of Havath with their bronze decorations, but only two of them wore the insignia of the Sacred Swordsmen. One of those seemed to be carrying an odd looking pair of plier
s and a shield filled with different sized holes, along with coils of wire hung all around his body, while the other had what looked like several iron plates floating in the air around him.
The regular battlemage only managed to hit Godrick with a single firebolt before Hugh responded with a starbolt. Godrick had been maintaining the anti-glare cantrip for just this purpose, but the starbolt still left afterimages.
One part of Godrick wanted to laugh hysterically about Hugh incinerating a fire mage, another part wanted to vomit, a third noted that the Havathi had just been a battlemage and not a Swordsman, while a fourth part somehow kept it together and tossed Hugh through the door leading inside from the balcony.
Godrick, the ice of his armor only partially melted from the firebolt, rolled to his feet in time to block a web of wire with Hailstrike. It sank a solid inch into the ice before stopping.
Then it started cutting down into Hailstrike again.
Hugh ducked back around the doorway long enough to fire another starbolt at the wire mage, but the third mage finally did… something. Hugh’s starbolt simply detonated in midair.
Godrick clenched down with his armor on Hailstrike, and the handle broke in two. He sent the hammerhead with the wires digging into it flying towards the Swordsman with the iron plates, while the lower part of the handle he sent spearing towards the Swordsman with the pliers.
Godrick tossed the fragments of ice he was still holding— one of them ring-shaped— into the water below the balcony as the second warlock blocked both attacks with his iron plates.
“Did yeh feel how he ripped apart yer starbolt?” Godrick yelled to Hugh, as he tore chunks of the stone railing loose and started bombarding the two Swordsmen. Bits of wire started pelting his armor, sinking into it. They weren’t burrowing fast enough for him to need to worry just yet, though.
He just needed to buy Hugh enough time to pull off his spell.
