Heretic Spellblade 3

by Robertson, K. D.

  Nathan blinked.

  “Of course, he’s involved in it,” a deeper voice said. “He caused it all.”

  A bare-chested beastkin stared at him. He had a pair of thick horns and was covered in ash. A blacksmith or metalworker, probably.

  Next to Nathan, Fyre took a step forward, her face twisting. Nathan stopped her.

  “I’m a Bastion in service to his Majesty and the Watcher Omria,” he said. “If things fall apart because I do my duty, then maybe that says something about those responsible.”

  The eyebrows of the merchants shot up.

  “Maybe it does,” the beastkin blacksmith said. “I’d prefer to work in peace.”

  “And I’d like a world without demons, so I could retire,” Nathan drawled. “Sometimes we deal with shit, so that we can enjoy the better days.”

  Before the argument could continue, Nathan bid farewell and turned away. He had his answer, which was that this appeared to be some sort of political play.

  Once back at the carriages, he looked around again. Nobody had moved. The line had more than doubled in length by now. If this was an inspection, it was the slowest one that Nathan had seen.

  “This is a trap,” Narime said.

  Nathan looked at her. A huff escaped her and her tails batted at him, tickling him with their fluffiness.

  “I’m allowed to admit that you were right, aren’t I?” she said, raising an eyebrow as she drowned him with her tails.

  “Do I get rewarded like this every time I’m right?” he said. He ran a hand through one of her luxurious fluffballs.

  Narime squeaked and her tails retreated. Her glower suggested he had gone too far.

  At least in public. He privately reserved some time in his calendar to comb those tails with his hands. No way was he letting her tempt him with them, then get away without a fluffing.

  “One day I’m going to convince Ifrit to teach me a spell that gives me a tail,” Sen said.

  Fyre tilted her head in confusion. A moment later she perked up and her tail nearly whirred behind her.

  “Needs some more fluff,” Sen said, noticing the horsegirl’s reaction.

  Fyre pouted.

  “You don’t need a tail, Sen,” Nathan said.

  “Needs and wants are separate things,” she replied, her voice deepening as she did a bad imitation of Nathan. “Plus, Ifrit goes silent any time I talk about giving myself a tail.”

  Nathan stared at Sen.

  How perverted was Ifrit, if that was his reaction to Sen asking about a tail? Although given Sen’s preferences in bed, it might just work…

  “Oh…” Sen said, eyes widening. “I recognize that expression. That sort of tail.”

  “By Omria,” Narime muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Perversions aside, these wagons aren’t going anywhere. We’re going to need to deal with this ourselves, Nathan.”

  He nodded, but he had already formed a plan while they joked around. “Narime, Fyre, I want the two of you to protect Anna in her carriage. Keep the door closed.”

  His gaze fixed on Narime, and she frowned at him for a moment. Then she nodded. A smirk rose to her face as she led an excitable horsegirl back to Anna’s wagon. Surprisingly, Fyre hadn’t protested when he ordered her away.

  Sunstorm ducked out to replace her. The Champion wore a form-fitting black leather outfit, with her only nod to the uniform being her jacket. A strip of black cloth covered her neck. Beneath it lay a single onyx, which provided her power.

  Her olive skin stood out compared to everybody on the street, but she paid no heed to the stares. Her black hair had grown out and was wrapped in two small buns on either side of her head.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Sunstorm responded by touching her pair of sheathed short swords. Sen gave her a shove.

  “No killing,” Sen said. “At least until you’re told to.”

  “Boring.”

  The three of them approached the gatehouse. The wall towered over them, but there wasn’t much to see. In Aleich, the inner walls were no longer manned. They simply took up space. Crumbling stonework loomed over them, and vines stretched along the length of the wall.

  Even the gatehouse itself didn’t function. The portcullises were jammed opened with steel bars, as the mechanisms controlling them had rusted away centuries ago.

  Inside the gatehouse were a pair of large wagons laden with large crates. Bored guards stood next to the wagons, their uniforms bearing the insignia of some random noble. The exit was blocked by a crude wooden blockade, which was manned by several men in Imperial Army uniforms and armor.

  A pair of pompous merchants argued with a stocky officer, whose expression suggested he intended to be here all day. A mage stood next to them.

  Unlike the other guards, the mage appeared alert. His fingers drummed on his oaken staff as he kept a lookout. He was the first person to notice Nathan, and nodded in acknowledgement.

  “I’d ask if something is wrong, but it’s obvious at a glance that there is,” Nathan said loudly as he approached. “The hell is going on and on whose orders are you here?”

  Nathan’s voice had an almost magical effect. The merchants backed away, their mage muttering to them to retreat to the wagons. Onlookers crowded near the entrance, peering inside. The Imperial soldiers began to cluster around Nathan, but far enough away that they probably thought they were being subtle about it.

  “I don’t believe that’s any of your business, milord,” the officer said, rubbing his knuckles against his breastplate. “Our orders aren’t yours. Let us do our job and you do yours.”

  “Cute,” Nathan said. “But I’m a Bastion and outrank you. Give me a reason to believe that you’re here on official orders.”

  “Cute,” the officer taunted, mimicking Nathan’s tone with a smirk. “Do you have any proof of that? Fancy little crest aside, I don’t know you. I don’t take orders from nobodies.”

  The atmosphere shifted instantly. An eerie silence fell, as the onlookers shut up. The mage’s eyes widened, and he gestured for the merchants to move backward. Even the bored guards reacted. They fell into wary postures, hands on their weapons as they eyed the soldiers.

  Everybody knew what Nathan was, even if they didn’t recognize him. Nobody impersonated a Bastion. Not only was it treason and heresy, but it was an easily detectable lie.

  To magical senses, Champions and Bastions were like magical mountains. Easily detectable even miles away, unless they hid themselves. Any magic user capable of lighting a candle without matches could confirm that Nathan was genuine.

  The soldiers stopped being subtle and began to close in around Nathan. Nobody moved to help him.

  Probably because they didn’t need to.

  “I’m genuinely not sure if you’re acting stupid to stall me, or if you are this dumb,” Nathan said. “It’s good acting if you are stalling, but too obvious.”

  “I don’t know—”

  Nathan drew his sword and pointed it at the officer’s neck. “My proof is obvious enough that everybody knows who and what I am. But why don’t we walk you down to a local guard post and have them check you out?”

  Before anything happened, screams and yells erupted far behind Nathan. The trap had sprung.

  He sighed and sheathed his sword.

  The officer stared at him dumbly. All the soldiers froze, weapons half-raised to rush Nathan.

  “Sunstorm, deal with them,” he said. “No killing.”

  Then he turned and walked back to his and Anna’s carriages.

  “You owe me a head after this,” Sunstorm muttered.

  Then she blinked forward, faster than normal eyes followed. Her first punch caved in the officer’s breastplate. He flew into two other soldiers, bowling them over.

  Sunstorm didn’t watch the fat officer take flight, however. She leaped from soldier to soldier, snapping out a kick or a punch for each one. Bones shattered, armor dented, and men screamed in agony as they were brutalized by a w
oman much smaller than them.

  Within seconds, Sunstorm had reduced the soldiers to a groaning pile of barely conscious wrecks.

  “Maybe you should contact the real city guard,” she said flippantly to the merchants and their guards.

  She vanished in a puff of shadow, only to reappear next to Nathan. He ignored her, his teeth gritted as he hoped he hadn’t made a mistake. Somebody had planned this out to kill Anna. For once, he wasn’t the target.

  Chapter 7

  Open battle had broken out near the carriages. People fled past Nathan. Nobody appeared to be injured, other than those that fell and hurt themselves. Guards from the other carriages watched the chaos, frozen with indecision.

  The cause was obvious.

  Anna’s guards fought against the Imperial Army. Or at least, people wearing stolen Imperial uniforms. There were several dozen attackers, and most of them only wore parts of their uniforms or had done a sloppy job putting them on. Crests and uniforms of other noble houses showed beneath the Imperial uniform.

  Several onlookers were caught in the chaos. The catgirl merchants that had been walking up the carriages huddled in a corner of the melee, hugging each other. Others had taken up arms and were battling the attackers.

  Nathan saw the beastkin blacksmith and several other burly beastkin battling alongside what looked to be private guards. Despite their efforts, the attackers were better trained, and the civilians started to go down.

  “Sen,” Nathan ground out.

  “On it,” she said.

  Her eyes glowed as she raised a hand. A glowing red triangle appeared in front of it—a third rank spell.

  A moment later, tendrils of pure flame ripped across the street. They shot over the shoulders of Anna’s guards and the innocents, and only targeted the enemy. Over a dozen attackers found themselves engulfed in flames as the tendrils tore through them. They began to run away, screaming, but collapsed on the way.

  The tendrils instantly vanished, and Sen closed her hand.

  “Shit,” Sen said. “Too much. I forgot how fragile normal people are.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Nathan said.

  He rushed forward. Raising his sword, he cast a fourth rank spell. A glowing yellow square appeared around the tip of his blade.

  After several long, agonizing moments, lightning slammed into the center of the melee. At least one attacker screamed as he was blown away, but that wasn’t the point.

  The point was to scare the shit out of everybody.

  The melee froze. The attackers faltered, looking over at Nathan to see him approaching with two Champions.

  “Folker, are we fucking done yet?” one of the attackers yelled. He had a grizzled beard and seemed to be the leader.

  Nathan was almost certain that “Folker” was the surname of a Nationalist noble.

  More importantly, Nathan looked over to where the ambush leader had yelled.

  A cloaked figure leaped away from Anna’s carriage. The carriage had been blown open, and wreckage was strewn about the road.

  Fyre charged after the figure, her garnets glowing like miniature suns. Garnets were a jack-of-all-trades gem, and provided Champions with a good mix of strength and durability. For many, they were the poor brother to diamond gems, which had a similar role.

  But Fyre’s scimitar glowed with a golden light, and she seemed to leave small afterimages as she attacked. She must have some sort of gem ability, despite using garnets.

  The cloaked figure reeled under the attack. Their hands bristled with magic and were somehow able to deflect Fyre’s scimitar without being cut open. Very little could be seen other than the cloak. The hood covered their face in magical shadow.

  Then the figure blinked backward. Not in a puff of shadow, but closer to short-range instant teleportation. Their cloak billowed outward for a moment.

  Nathan hissed. He saw two gleaming opalescent gems in the figure’s collarbone. More to the point, the figure was definitively female, given the notable curve to their chest. Under the cloak was the uniform of an Imperial noble, likely Folker’s.

  He knew who this Champion was. If she hadn’t used both of her gem abilities, he might not have immediately recognized her. But while she hadn’t been one of his Champions in his world, he had fought alongside her many times, up until her death during the fall of Trafaumh. Like Sunstorm, she was a trained assassin.

  The assassin spotted Nathan and paused. At this point, she should retreat.

  “Folker!” the ambush leader shouted.

  Fyre charged the assassin, and she vanished. As expected.

  Then the assassin reappeared closer to Nathan, preparing to strike.

  In that instant, Nathan realized his mistake.

  He was a famous Bastion, but far from his binding stones. Right now, he was protected by two Champions, and about to be attacked by a duogem Champion that specialized in killing.

  “Shit,” he said.

  Power rose within him as he reached for his binding stones. He’d need to reinforce his body with spells and every ounce of magic that he could to keep up.

  Next to him, Sen prepared a pair of third rank spells while Sunstorm stepped in front of Nathan. Both of them were ready to defend their Bastion.

  “Folk—” the ambush leader tried to say again.

  Except he was interrupted by a short sword severing his head.

  The catgirl merchants from earlier rose to their feet. One held a gleaming short sword and two gems glowed in her collarbone as she ripped off a cloth collar. The other pulled her sword out from inside a basket.

  Blood flew as the catgirls slaughtered a half-dozen attackers. They charged the assassin, their gems glowing with power.

  With a quick glance at Nathan, the assassin vanished.

  Cursing, the catgirls whirled and checked their surroundings. But the assassin was nowhere to be seen.

  The remaining attackers were quickly subdued. Nathan noted that the catgirls didn’t bother taking prisoners. They brutally executed anyone who resisted, their expressions now thunderous scowls.

  But enough of the attackers surrendered that there would be prisoners to deal with. The fighting stopped, and a crowd slowly began to build up again.

  “You’ve stopped us, but we still won,” one of them spat. “Your precious duchess is fucking dead. Some super Bastion you are, huh?”

  Discontent rose among the crowd. Some saw Anna’s destroyed carriage and began to connect the dots.

  Fyre bounced over to him. “It’s fine, my lord. You don’t need to—”

  “He doesn’t need to worry? Because he’s going to be the new duke? You hear that, folks?” the man said.

  Fyre and the catgirls glared at him, and Nathan suspected this was an intentional ploy at martyrdom.

  Fortunately, help arrived.

  “If Nathan is becoming duke, it’s certainly not because I’m dead,” Anna said.

  She stepped out from her ruined carriage, completely unharmed. Narime followed her and gave Nathan a wink.

  The crowd clapped. To them, they’d seen a great magic trick. The attackers stared in disbelief.

  Moments later, Anna’s guards and knights crowded around her. Her attempts to shoo them away failed. But word would spread in the city about what had happened.

  “My lord, I saw his uniform. He was part of—” Fyre began to say, her tail wagging excitedly.

  “A mercenary group,” Nathan interrupted, speaking loudly enough to drown her out.

  Fyre stared at him in confusion. “No, I mean—”

  “Fyre, shut up,” Sunstorm said.

  The horsegirl opened her mouth to complain, but then shut it when Nathan shot her a look. She pouted.

  “Mercenaries?” one of the catgirl Champions asked, approaching them. They toyed with their swords—probably because they didn’t have a scabbard.

  “Almost certainly. They’ve stolen uniforms from nobles and the Imperial Army. They’re here to sow chaos in the Empire. There’s
a bunch more of them back in the gatehouse,” Nathan said, speaking far too loudly. He wanted the crowd to hear him. Then he lowered his voice. “Until we confirm anything else, I think this is the best approach.”

  “Mmmm, I’ve been hearing great things about you, Bastion Nathan,” the catgirl said with a smile. “It seems you live up to the stories.” She licked her lips and looked at his crotch. “Although I can’t confirm some of them.”

  The other catgirl coughed and elbowed her partner. “We’ll take over from here and do that confirming, sir. We’re Champions assigned to His Majesty’s… defense network.”

  Both catgirls showed him small silver badges that bore the mark of the Imperial Spymaster. Nathan briefly touched them and confirmed the magic in them was genuine, then nodded.

  “Thanks for the intervention,” he said.

  “We’d hoped to take her down, but saving you will have to be good enough for our report,” the first catgirl said. She sighed. “Fucking paperwork. I’ll try to get you an early copy of the report. I’m told you’ll be in the palace.”

  Both catgirls saluted, before leaving him alone.

  “Defense network?” Sen asked.

  “Spies,” Sunstorm said flatly. “I thought the Bastion for Aleich was Maylis?”

  “She is. The spymaster borrows Champions from Bastions whose portals are relatively inactive.” He frowned.

  Borrowing Champions wasn’t the most reliable system. Loyalty couldn’t be guaranteed.

  It was why he remained wary of Fyre. He’d been holding off on it, but he needed to transfer her to his control. The downside was that it would make it even harder to send her to Vera if he formed a personal connection through Fyre’s gems.

  The real Imperial Army showed up quickly enough and hurried the carriages along. Nathan left them to their work.

  His party needed to squeeze into a single carriage now that one had been destroyed. A brief fight broke out over who got to sit next to him.

  The result was Fyre glowering at Sen and Sunstorm. Sen cuddled up against Nathan, grinning at Fyre triumphantly.

  “Don’t be obnoxious,” he warned.

  “Oh, please. She’ll be doing this all the time once you finally make her your Champion. I’m not looking forward to fighting her for your attention.” Sen pouted for a moment.