by Y W Lumaris
Hawk nodded. “Agreed, but the mage here isn’t looking so good.” Fen glanced between them, a woozy feeling swaying him. With a shake of his head, he refocused. Me? Not good? I’ve done better than this! Offended, Fen glared and thought quickly how to resolve this.
You’ve been under-practiced for thirty years, love. Please be careful.
“Now’s not the time, Ophelia.”
Ladon looked at him oddly but focused on Hawk. “When he drops the wards, send out the big guns. The Accursed are powerful, but we have the advantage of numbers.”
“How many of ’em we got left?”
Ladon looked around.
“A few hundred that way, fifty mounted. I’m sending the captains a warning to keep youngest recruits furthest back. Experience is going to matter when those wards drop.”
Fen glared. “I got this, General.”
“Shut up, mage.” Ladon snapped. Fen tensed. “On my command, you’ll drop the ward.” Ladon motioned a captain over and took over the bike. He sat on it and looked to Fen for his confirmation.
Fen held the cold gaze, sweat beading his brow. Ladon narrowed his eyes back.
“I’m expecting you to drop the wards on my command, Court-Mage Fen.”
Fen didn’t answer, eyes following the man as he drove off.
Don’t let your pride interfere, Fen. Just listen to him until we’re past this.
Ignoring Ophelia’s warnings, he’d made up his mind. Over the next several minutes, the force re-formed and Fen could see the youngest closest to the rover, but everyone knelt and aimed their weapons. The closest held their stances, Ladon on the edge, facing the mounted monsters.
“Drop the wards!”
He heard Ladon’s voice carrying over the soldiers as well as echoing through the radio in the rover. Fen obeyed, but flicked his wrists to summon forth a greater power. The blue magic turned purple and hot, slicing horizontally across where the wards were. It took the wind out of him, and he saw stars – but before he blacked out, he heard the satisfactory sound of a hundred gurgling screams.
Damn it, Fen, you show-off!
“Holy fuck—” Hawk bolted and caught Fen’s limp form. “Holy fuck!”
The harpy’s black-out didn’t last long, coming to with the sound of the battle surging south, where the remaining Accursed fought the experienced soldiers. He lifted his head, pushing Hawk’s form back, and gripped the rover’s cage-like bar to hold himself up and stare back. Tasting copper, he wiped the blood from his lips and gazed ahead, ears still ringing.
Twenty. He could count only twenty left, and that number was dropping fast.
Hawk stood nearby, still gawking, and many of the younger soldiers muttered and looked back and forth between the corpses and Fen in wonder. It made the mage feel much better than moments before. Much more confident.
“Hawk? What was that? Come in, Captain Hawk?” General Ladon fired and killed what seemed to be the last Accursed rider. Fen could see him talking into something as he motioned his men back.
Fen turned and grabbed the radio before Hawk and clicked it.
“It was your court-mage superior, General Ladon,” he said through a triumphant smile. “I told you I have this.”
He released the button and smirked over his shoulder at the general. The man paused, and he could imagine an incredulous look. No more writing me off as some prude mage. He could only imagine what the next conversation would be after this.
His triumph was short-lived, however, as a large form appeared through the cloud of dust. It hovered over Ladon, Fen’s smugness disappearing in an instant. He clicked the radio.
“General Ladon, behin—” He didn’t finish shouting into the device before claws grabbed Ladon and teeth sank into his shoulder, shaking him side to side like a rag doll. The nearest soldiers let loose their weapons and fired until Ladon was dropped and the monster died. The dust remained unsettled, leaving the men on high alert.
“Shit!” Captain Hawk hopped into the driver’s seat and turned, shouting at soldiers to move aside. Fen barely grasped the cage to prevent being tossed out as they drove recklessly. “Fuck, he’s gone now! Fuck!”
“The armor, it should—”
“Did you see what happened?!” Hawk barked. “He’s dead. If he’s not now, we best hope he dies quick!” Fen clutched the railing and watched as they neared the circle of soldiers.
Oh dear. Fen, do you think...?
“I think so, Ophelia,” Fen said softly, touching the pocket Ophelia was tucked inside securely. Her magic flickered with his, and he could sense her assurance.
Hawk didn’t have a mind to question him as they reached them. The soldiers parted, and Fen hopped out before the captain, jogging over to observe the sight. Ladon’s armor was cracked, the shoulder piece gone, blood soaking his shirt. The skin already began taking a gray look, greenish-blue veins surfacing. He couldn’t talk; his eyes were shut, teeth clenched in incredible pain.
“General Ladon?” Captain Hawk crouched next to him, taking his hand. Ladon’s eyes peered open, lips barely moving before he passed out. Likely from the pain, Fen guessed. Hawk bowed his head and shook. Then he took his weapon and stood. He pointed the gun at the dying man.
“What are you doing—” Fen yelled, jumping between them. Hawk glared down his nose at the harpy.
“Giving him a quick end to this torture!” He clutched the gun tight, loading it.
“What about the others? They got medics,” Fen argued stiffly.
“All they got was a lethal dose of painkillers. There is no cure for this, mage. Ya know as well as any of us.”
“He doesn’t deserve painkillers?” Fen glared. “You’re not worthy of a gun if you’re so trigger-happy.”
“Sir, it acts fast,” a soldier nearby defended Hawk. “Those with lesser injuries can be given a painless end – this is nothing close! General Ladon deserves a dignified death.”
Fen pursed his lips, heart thumping.
You’re going to do this, aren’t you?
I have to.
“You can shoot him if I can’t save him.” He pushed through the captains and crouched.
“Save him? You’re insane,” Hawk growled.
Fen rolled his eyes, but remained firm. “Everyone, turn around.”
“What?”
“Turn around. This is an order,” he said, voice sharp-edged. “Form a wall so others can’t see.”
“Why—”
“Just do it!” Fen seethed.
With hesitation, the soldiers obeyed, forming a wall around him and blocking the army from seeing. Hawk was the last to follow suit, but Fen didn’t move until he did. The spider crawled from out of his pocket, perching on his arm to keep further watch as he pulled out a knife from the belt around his waist.
You’re being bold, Fen.
“This is just to slow it,” he muttered, unbuttoning the blue canvas bracer. He dropped it and rolled up the black thin sleeve up to his elbow, white scars along the forearm glinting in the evening light. Taking the band out of his braid, he used it as a tourniquet above the elbow. Pumping his fist, he positioned himself nearer Ladon’s head. The human’s skin had turned an ash-color now. Time was running out.
Raising the knife, he carefully cut, mindful of muscles. He winced, gritted his teeth, and held his fist over Ladon’s mouth, using his free hand to part the man’s lips and push the flow of blood down. How much would it take? He was getting frustrated by the slow pace. I need tools, dammit.
“Are you done yet?” Hawk’s jeering voice sounded.
He’s turning!
“Don’t look!” Fen snapped. He watched a dozen drops meet the man’s tongue, before pulling out a handkerchief and cleaning up himself and the knife. After returning the knife to his belt, he yanked down his sleeve and pulled on the bracer. He cleared his throat. “Get this man on a stretcher and pitch the camp. He’s stabilized enough, but he’s still going to die if I can’t use my tools.” He stood, buttoning the brac
er as the soldiers moved. They exchanged looks, amazed. Ladon’s breathing, though rattly, was even-paced. He still looked horrible, and Fen could sense the doubt among the men and women.
Hawk sent other captains to spread the word, and the soldiers fanned out. Scouts checked the perimeter and the cargo trucks were moved. Although Fen’s quarters were pitched within minutes, it felt like hours waiting. Weariness threatened. The amount of energy he’d exerted was beyond his usual; it’d been years – decades – since he’d done something half as powerful. And now he was about to drain his blood to save the general.
I deserve a goddamn feast for this.
Fen dragged his bags out as he waited for Ladon to be brought in. He set up the folding table and immediately began unpacking. Every move he made hurt, limbs heavy as lead.
The tent flaps opened, held by two soldiers while two others carried a stretcher inside. Fen looked over as Ladon’s body was lowered. He jumped, not expecting his half-naked state to look worse than before. The armor and clothes had hidden the true nature of the wound well.
Hawk eyed him. “You sure ya have this?”
Fen nodded, shoulders slumped. Ladon’s breathing worsened, the green veins snaking from the wound and around his neck, up his throat – stopping at his cheek. Another part diverted to stretch over one of his pectorals, but stopped just above the navel. Fen paled, the sight grave if he couldn’t act fast. It unnerved him.
I’ll be here if it doesn’t work, love.
Ophelia’s voice eased him only a bit, and his mind pulled away under the weight of Captain Hawk’s stare.
“Radio me if he goes nuts and attacks you. I’ll kill him – and you if he bites you.”
“Thanks, Captain Hawk,” Fen said, rigid as he watched the man go.
Once alone, Fen tied the flaps closed. Anyone intending to enter would get past with enough pushing, but he expected he’d be given enough respect to avoid that. He sighed and began unbuttoning his bracer again. Ophelia jumped off and returned to her larger form, knocking things aside as she did. Her legs fanned out, reaching around and soundlessly picking up the mess. Shortly after, the fuzzy appendages tugged open Fen’s bags, pulling supplies out for him.
She moved so gracefully, so quietly. Fen felt eternally grateful as she pulled out all his tools and laid out the necessary ones in a neat order on the table.
“I will pour some water in a bucket to clean the general’s wounds,” she said, entirely calm, her eight eyes reflecting the light with a twinkle. The fangs shifted as she spoke, though not all the time.
Fen looked at her as he sat on a stool and tied another tourniquet on his arm.
“Use the inside voice,” he whispered. “Surely someone is going to eavesdrop.”
She chuckled in his mind’s ear, easing his worry. I’m sorry. I just miss my voice sometimes.
He smiled a little and went back to work while she sang a song in his head and went about cleaning the wound. The soft melody cleared Fen’s head, allowing him to focus better. Once he filled the vials with blood, he moved on to mixing in other bonding elements to turn it into a more effective potion.
“Keep an eye on his vitals...this is taking longer than I hoped,” he whispered. He didn’t need to look to know she was heeding his direction before he’d finished speaking.
I’m going to guess you have a half hour. Is that enough time?
He thought about it. “Barely, but I think so.”
After several long minutes waiting, the mixture was done, and he moved swiftly to grabbing a syringe gun and kneeling next to the fallen general. His eyes roamed the broad chest, the scars tracing up the abdomen and crossing to meet the edge of the fresh wound. Each hole where a tooth punctured had become green with gray-to-black skin surrounding it. The veins were still a sickly color, reaching around the man’s throat and halfway up the jaw. Fen placed his hand over his heart, where he could feel a faint heartbeat – too faint and slow for comfort. Each breath rattled.
Ophelia lingered nearby, watching. Fen touched the tip of the syringe to the man’s cold skin and hesitated.
Why are you worried, Fen?
“He’ll need to know what saved him.”
He won’t tell anyone.
“Are you sure?”
He was the only one to defend you to his peers. Even if he did laugh a bit. He wants to give you a chance. Also, he was looking at you in such a way when you were singing and playing that lute!
Fen looked up quickly, a faint blush touching his cheeks. “What?”
He’s a good character, Fen. Save him. It isn’t like you have much choice, anyway. I believe Hawk would replace him, and, well, I don’t know about him.
Sighing, he looked back at the human and pushed the syringe into his arm, close to the wound. He watched the blood-mixed concoction slowly disappear. Ladon’s face twitched, releasing a low groan in response, but he didn’t stir. Fen didn’t realize he was holding his breath until his chest burned. Once done, the harpy took a breath, breathing through his nose as he watched the inky blots shrink and heard the rattly breath turn clear. Ladon’s lips parted as he gasped in a sudden breath, and under his black-clawed hand, Fen could feel his heartbeat rapidly strengthen. His eyes widened.
Withdrawing, Fen allowed himself to fall back onto the stool and slump against the table, too dizzy to walk.
He won’t wake for a bit. Come here, Fen, I’ve got the cot ready for you to sleep.
“And if he wakes before I do?” Fen lifted his chin to look up at the looming spider.
He and I can have tea.
Fen smiled as Ophelia pushed him up and let him lean heavily on one of her many legs, guiding him to a cot of thick blankets. Fen plopped into it, wrapping himself in a cocoon of covers.
Chapter Six
Ladon stirred, grimacing against superficial light. His eyes stung, and his head ached. Groaning, he rubbed his face. What happened? Once he could peek open his eyes, he recognized the canvas suspended above as a tent, a large one. His own? Then he heard movement and looked to see a giant spider setting a kettle over a small portable burner on the ground.
“What the hell!” He jumped back, toppling over to the ground, entangled in the covers.
“Calm down, General Ladon.”
He turned his head at the voice and stared at two clawed feet near his head. Looking up, he found Fen staring down at him, his expression difficult to read. Ladon hurried back to the cot and sat up, pushing aside the covers, only to find himself half naked, arm and shoulder bandaged tightly and aching.
“How do you feel?” Fen asked, crouching next to him and eyeing him. It was a strange look, as if unsure of something. It made Ladon’s skin crawl. His eyes darted to the enormous spider looming behind the harpy. Was he dreaming?
“I’m...I...there’s a giant...”
The mage brushed it off. “Ophelia isn’t a threat, she’s with me.” Then he eyed Ladon again as he repeated himself. “How do you feel?”
Ladon stared at the spider, who hummed a tune now. He internalized the question.
How do I feel? Besides the spider and Fen’s stare, I suppose I’m all right. What...wait. Wait. He recalled the battle. The power Fen showcased, eliminating the last of their enemy in a single terrifying blow. He’d turned his back to look, stunned at the mage – when he’d realized his mistake.
“An Accursed got me,” he muttered, touching the bandaged shoulder. His brows connected, furrowing. He jerked away when he felt Fen’s hot fingers touch his brow. He stared at him. “I should be dead.”
“Look at your hands.”
Tearing his eyes away, he looked down at his hands, throat tightening at the sight; they were gray.
“What the fuck!” He stared at them as if they were something detached. He felt detached. This wasn’t his body – it couldn’t be. As his heart thumped, he winced, ears suddenly becoming acutely attuned to their surroundings, and he felt dizzy, sick. Fen tried to calm him.
“The sickness will pass
, your senses will normalize, but you’re...no longer human, I’m afraid. But you aren’t dead, at least.”
“At least?!” His throat tightened, and he glared at the man who seemed unfazed, sitting with his hands folded on his lap. Just like a damn dainty mage – the pretentious assholes living in ivory towers! All of Ladon’s bias built to a peak until their eyes connected and he recalled the gentle voice and song the man had sung.
And then he recalled legion of fiends he’d slain almost single-handedly.
He’s more powerful than I thought.
“Maybe I am being too positive,” Fen continued, trying to read him, probably. Ladon looked away, eyes on the floor. “You’re not dead, but not cured either.”
“So I’m a tamed Accursed?” He grimaced at the thought.
“No. You’re maybe...tainted, looks-wise. And if you lapse in treatment, you will sicken and die.”
He looked back. “Treatment? Since when do we have treatment? How? Why am I not dead?”
“Treatment, to answer the last two questions.” Fen nodded at the spider, and before he knew, Ladon caught a cup of hot tea. Fen graciously accepted his. The spider moved on with scarcely a sound. I need to ask about that, too. Ladon stared back at Fen for answers. “I learned a good few years ago, that I’m...” The harpy’s eyes flickered, voice lowering as he leaned in. “...immune.”
“Immune?” Ladon stared, anger welling. “So you are the answer to this?”
“No. Not by a long shot.” His look and tone hardened. “If the king knew, he’d foolishly have my blood harvested. The other kings would war over it. And I’d die, my soul laughing at the fucking morons who think they have a cure but never will.”
“Explain.”
“My blood, raw, stopped the spread of the disease into your bloodstream, but only momentarily. I added components that I’ve engineered to work with the bonding process. It’s imperfect though. It’s enough to stop the progression altogether – but only for so long. There is no cure,” he emphasized. “I can get bit and not die, but I am, as you well know...cursed.”
“You’re a harpy, that’s why.” Ladon looked at the man’s clawed feet for effect, earning a dramatic roll of the eyes. Fen folded his free arm, the other still holding his teacup.
