by Andrew Rowe
Asphodel retrieved her own discarded sword, while Susan grabbed another bolt from the quiver on her hip, gritting her teeth.
The Delaren approached deliberately, swiping her sword across the crossbow bolt and shattering the attached glass vial across the assassin’s body. The liquid shimmered blue in the faint light scattered between the trees.
“Surrender. Now.”
Susan dropped the fragment of her remaining bolt, grinning manically, and raised her hands. “Suppose I must.”
Asphodel kept her blade near Susan’s throat, kneeling down and grabbing the remaining bolts in the quiver at her side and casting them into the forest.
“Any other weapons?”
Susan rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah, but getting rid of them all is going to take a while.”
“You may begin.”
Susan sighed, shaking her right sleeve and displacing a knife, which clattered to the forest floor. Asphodel picked up the dagger and tossed it aside.
Her crystalline hair was beginning to feel warm against her skin, implying a dangerous level of overuse, but she dared not break the flow of essence – she had no doubt that Susan would still be a threat, and her normal connection with the dominions had not yet returned.
“Going to have to take off my boots. And my pants. And my shirt.”
Asphodel glowered at the assassin. “We’ll start with the boots.”
“Actually, before that, there’s something you should know.” Susan grinned again, shifting her hands behind her head and leaning back against the nearby tree.
Asphodel bristled, sensing danger in Susan’s tone. “Talk.”
“That last vial you broke? Not void essence.”
If the Delaren had not been using her essence, she could not have hoped to react quickly enough to the blade that was arcing toward her neck from behind.
Her spin brought her blade in a perfect half-circle, deflecting Sterling’s attempt at decapitation and bringing a sour expression to his face.
Asphodel frowned – she had not heard the swordsman approach, and she had last seen him half-dead on the floor of the cavern.
Another traitor, apparently.
She raised her blade into a high stance. Her hair continued to warm, burning the flesh in her scalp and ruining her concentration.
I need to end this engagement quickly.
She asked no questions – she simply stepped forward and brought her blade toward Sterling in a heavy diagonal cut, speed and strength fueled by her flagging essence. The cut was too fast for an ordinary swordsman to avoid – but Sterling made no effort to block or dodge.
He simply vanished.
Teleportation.
She spun again, finding Sterling next to Susan, his hand on her forehead.
“Susan, dearest, you really need to not warn our enemies that they’re being flanked.” He sighed, running fingers into her hair – and then grabbing a tuft of them in a painful-looking grip. He glanced up at Asphodel, showing no sign of concern as she raised her blade for another strike. “No time for you right now, I’m afraid. We’re on a schedule. But I’ll commend your reaction, and hope to see you again.”
He tipped his head downward, smirking, and vanished again – taking Susan with him.
Asphodel slammed her blade into the tree where they had been moments before, not wanting to risk the possibility that they had merely gone invisible. The strike cleaved deep into the bark, but met no other resistance.
Failure.
Asphodel scanned the nearby trees, finding no sign of enemies or allies.
Shivering, she dropped her blade and reached up to her head, feeling the burning of her hair against her skin. Only now was the pain beginning to overwhelm the pleasure from the essence flow – and she focused on that pain as she slowed, and then ceased, the tide of essence pumping into her body.
Her vision blurred and she found herself falling, barely catching herself against the tree where she had embedded her blade. She slowly allowed herself to sink to the forest floor, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
For a time, she could not force herself to move.
The sounds of future conversation came to her first – a ragged whisper at first, difficult to discern, but its return brought tears to her bloodshot eyes.
She was still nearly immobile when Landen appeared in the distance, deftly avoiding Susan’s traps on the forest floor, blades held in either hand.
“Over here,” she called weakly, the fragment of a smile breaking across her face. “I’m over here.”
The swordsman danced around the final patch of grass that Asphodel had suspected to hide a pit. “Any hostiles still nearby?”
“No.”
He arrived at her side and knelt down. “Been looking all over for you.”
“Why?”
The swordsman quirked an eyebrow. “Because we’ve been worried about you? Things got rough back at the cave – looks like they got rough here, too.”
Worried about me?
Landen offered her a hand. “Can you stand?”
She grasped his arm, clinging to it more tightly than she needed to. “I think so.”
With strong arms, he lifted her to her feet. “Good. Because we’re about the only ones left who can.”
***
“We need to leave the bodies here for now. We’ll return with a larger force.”
Velas was the one speaking – she would deliver these orders a few minutes in the future.
At the moment, Asphodel knelt at the side of her deceased commanding officer, wrapping the wound that had already ended his life. She knew it was largely a pointless measure, but she hoped that it might slow the deterioration of his body. It was a pitiful hope, one with no substance, but it was the only thing she could do to mitigate the failure in her mind.
Nearby, Taelien had stripped off his armor and was tending to an unconscious Major Hastings. Asphodel had only met the sorceress during her initial application process, but she had sensed a kinship in another entity tied to dominions that emphasized the gathering of information.
Taelien looked pale and exhausted, but his injuries were not the most severe. Velas leaned heavily upon her quarterstaff nearby, her armor similarly abandoned and her lower chest bound with bandages. Her breathing was ragged, but her expression spoke of grim determination.
Only the strangest among them, the copper skinned man with a bloody rent across his forehead, appeared unaffected by the carnage. He silently watched their prisoner – Eridus – who had been stripped and bound with climbing rope.
When she had arrived, Landen gave her a simple explanation for the stranger’s presence. “That’s the Wandering War without his outfit. Taelien said something about freeing him from Sterling’s control.”
Taelien had smiled and said, “I broke his chains.”
He had seemed pleased by this, and Asphodel had thus felt pleased for him. A small victory, at least, among their tragedies.
There was little talk amongst the survivors until Velas spoke her orders. After that, it was simply a matter of delegating labor. Not trusting the Wandering War with their wounded, Landen insisted on carrying Lydia in spite of his own exhaustion. Asphodel assisted Taelien with walking, while Velas leaned heavily on her quarterstaff.
This left the Wandering War to continue to watch Eridus as they marched him toward the paladin camp – but though many suspicious eyes fell upon the pair, neither made any attempt to flee or assault the group again.
It was long past nightfall when they arrived at the base camp and the relative safety of a paladin escort.
From there, the wounded were left behind – and Asphodel began the long journey back to Velthryn, accompanied only by prisoners and strangers.
Chapter XXIV – Jonan VI – Questionable Pursuits
Jonan sat by the side of an old friend’s bed. Taelien was at his right side, the swordsman’s left leg wrapped in bandages, his expression grim.
Hours passed before Lydia opened her e
yes, and Jonan was intent on getting the first word in.
“You’re lucky, Lydia. You’re the last of the three of us to wake injured in a bed.”
She shivered, much as she had when she was asleep, her eyes closing again. For a moment, he worried – but then they reopened, free from sleep.
“Where…”
“You’re at a medical facility near the citadel,” Taelien cut in, leaning forward. “Aladir has been here periodically, but he’s had several others to treat as well.”
Lydia nodded, closing her eyes again. “I…what happened? I don’t...” She turned her gaze toward Jonan, her eyes narrowing. “You. What are you doing here?”
Jonan quirked an eyebrow. “Visiting you?”
Taelien reached forward and took one of Lydia’s hands. “It’s okay, Lydia. He wasn’t there. I don’t think he was involved.”
Involved? Why would she –
Oh, the Vae’kes thing.
Jonan stood up from his chair, his left arm still throbbing, and turned away. “Well, I don’t want to make things awkward. I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”
“Wait.” Lydia’s voice. Jonan turned back around. “Stay. Help me understand.”
He sat back down, nodding solemnly. “Where do we need to begin?”
The wounded paladin smiled. “I don’t think I’m missing that much – I just…it hurt so much…”
“The Vae’kes escaped.” Taelien tensed his jaw. “So did Susan Crimson, who we believe was working with him.”
Susan Crimson? I don’t know that name, but it seems…familiar somehow.
“And the others? Garrick, is he…?”
“Dead. I’m sorry, Lydia. He’s with Eratar now.”
Such a worthless platitude. But if it helps her, I suppose I’ll tolerate the lines, even if I won’t repeat them.
Lydia sighed, closing her eyes. “He saved me. Appeared right behind Sterling – I remember that much.”
Taelien nodded. “He died a hero’s death. But I fear he was not our only loss.”
Lydia’s expression looked pained. “Who?”
“Two paladin candidates – members of Sterling’s squad. Celia Laurent and Alden Stone.”
“For what little it’s worth,” Jonan offered, “I am sorry for your losses as well.”
Lydia nodded weakly, giving a sad smile as she looked toward him. “Thank you, Jonan. And I’m sorry about before – I just, my last memories were –”
“No, I understand. And you are right to have a degree of suspicion – a Vae’kes rarely acts on his or her own. I can provide you with no proof, but I have never had any association with this ‘Sterling’ that Taelien spoke of.”
“I understand. There are many Vae’kes – it would be absurd for you to know them all, just because you work with the priesthood.”
Taelien released Lydia’s hand, moving his hand back into his own lap. “As for the others…Velas is in the worst shape of us, but she’ll survive. Landen made it through relatively unscathed, aside from his pride. I’m in much the same shape.”
Lydia attempted to push herself into a seated position, but Jonan leaned forward and pressed down on her arm. “Don’t try to move yet. You’re not going anywhere for a while.”
She frowned at that. “What do you – oh.”
Her gaze caught on the thick iron rod attached to her right leg, anchoring the bandages that held the recovering limb in place. She shuddered.
“It…could be some time before you can walk again. And you may never regain your full use of the leg, but Aladir thinks they can save it, at least. I’m sorry, Lydia.” Jonan tapped his left arm. “Just think of it as a fashion statement. Your leg bandages will match the ones on my arm.”
“More like the ones on my own leg,” Taelien patted his left leg, wincing at the contact.
Jonan rolled his eyes.
Lydia swept her gaze between the two of them. “You two are going to have to get me out of here soon, even if you have to carry me. First, because I’ll go insane if I’m stuck here too long. And second, because Torian Dianis’ trial is in two days.”
Jonan and Taelien exchanged a look. Taelien spoke first this time.
“Lydia, you’ve been out for more than three days. The trial has already started – and it’s not going well.”
Lydia folded her arms. “Then what the resh are you two doing here with me?”
Jonan shook his head. “It’s a closed hearing. Members of the city council and the priesthood of Xerasilis only, given that the accused is a member of the council. We’ve asked to be called upon, but…”
“Reshing politics,” Taelien mumbled.
“That’s absurd. We’re witnesses, in varying capacities. You especially, Jonan.”
The scribe nodded at that. “Yeah, a witness that works for the same organization as the other people we just arrested in connection with the same crime. That’s going to come across as very credible.”
“I will insist upon it. Get me one of those Xerasilis priests – I’ll talk to them.” Lydia looked resolute, even as she continued to shiver in the bed.
Taelien patted the side of the bed. “I think you’re going to want to eat first.”
She frowned, her face looking suddenly childlike. “Well, I am very hungry.”
***
Days passed as the trial of Torian Dianis continued. With Ulandir Ta’thyriel still missing from the city, Aladir was able to use his influence to participate in the hearings, but the news he bore gave Jonan little comfort.
“They’re still asking for more evidence?” The scribe folded his arms, leaning back against one of the citadel’s walls.
He was joined by an unlikely group – Taelien sat next to a blonde woman that he was near-certain was Silk, and Landen of the Twin Blades was passing a bottle of wine back and forth with his apparent cousin, Nakane Theas. Lydia was seated nearby as well, in a wheeled chair that the others used to help her move about while she recovered.
Aladir tightened his jaw, nodding slowly before speaking. “Eridus confessed to being the one who killed Kalsiris, and that’s undermined our case against Torian. Given that Eridus was also a water sorcerer, he was capable of creating the toxin that was used on the crossbow bolt that hit you.”
“But that wouldn’t explain why Torian altered the toxin while it was in my body.” Jonan sighed.
“Unfortunately, that could easily be interpreted as a failed attempt to cure the poison – if and even then, it couldn’t be proven that he did anything to you at all. We would only have the testimony of the other sorcerers who checked your wound, two of whom are his daughters – making them both unreliable, for different reasons.”
Jonan tensed his hands in the air. “Is Vorianna – or, Rialla, I suppose, now that she’s no longer hiding – making a case against her father?”
“I haven’t seen her since Torian was arrested. I’d imagine she doesn’t want anything to do with this affair – if she speaks against her father, she makes herself another potential suspect if that fails to bear out.”
“I’ll talk to her.” Jonan lifted his good arm and scratched the back of his head.
Aladir put a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do more, but I don’t know –”
Nakane spoke, setting her bottle down on the table in front of her. “We will find everyone responsible for this – and we will make them pay. Court or no court.”
Landen shook his head. “That’s dangerous talk, ‘Kane.”
She tilted her head as she looked back at him. “You disagree? You going to throw me in prison to stop me?”
The twin-bladed swordsman sighed. “I didn’t say that. Look, I’m going to help you, but we need to do this through legal means.”
She folded her arms. “We’d best do it quickly. My father is on his way back to the city – and if he returns to find my mother’s killer free, my own deviations from the law will be the least of our concerns.”
Landen nodded solemnly. “W
e’ll get them. Got one already, at least – and now Kalsiris can rest peacefully.”
“Peace?” Nakane gave a choking laugh. “You clearly haven’t seen the spirit plane, cousin. There is no peace in death.”
Taelien stood up. “While I hate to interrupt you two, I think I have an idea.”
The blonde leaned heavily against the table. “Oh, look out folks. Taelien has an idea. Better get ourselves armed.”
Yep, that’s definitely Silk.
Taelien scowled. “Thanks for contributing, Vel. You’re a real help. Pulling your weight, like I hear you did with the Vae’kes.”
She stood up, shoving him backward. “Oh, I’d like to hear you say that again.”
Landen chuckled. “Gods, you two, keep the foreplay where it belongs. Like the barracks, or Lydia’s office.”
“Okay, there’s going to be no foreplay. Not here, definitely not in my office. Never in my office.” Lydia folded her arms. “Taelien, do you have an actual plan?”
The swordsman turned his gaze toward her. “Sure, it’s simple enough. We just have to catch Vae’kes Sterling.”
Jonan gave Taelien a withering glance. “Yes, let’s all rally our forces and march upon the – where exactly is he? Oh, right, we don’t know. And we don’t have forces. No forces at all.”
Lydia groaned and rubbed at her left temple, a gesture that looked disconcertingly similar to one of the Thornguard hand signs, but different enough that Jonan knew it was just a sign that she had a headache. “As much as it pains me to admit that Jonan has a point, I’m afraid that in this case, he does.”
Jonan frowned in bemusement. “Why would that be painful?”
Taelien smirked. “Have you ever tried listening to yourself?”
Landen shook his head. “As amusing as this all is, I’d like to point out that our last encounter with Sterling was completely one-sided. I don’t think we put a scratch on him.”
Taelien folded his arms. “Well, sure. But I wasn’t there.”
Silk shot him a fiery glare. “And you’re lucky for that, Sal. Your arrogance is usually cute, but not right now. Garrick Torrent died fighting Sterling. If you were there, maybe you would have saved him. Maybe you would have died, too. In either case, this is not something you should be posturing about.”
