As the preceding testers stated, a surge of prana strove to deter my hand. However, as they also stated, it wasn’t a distressing sensation. Did it know I was not its master? Or did Lucian also have to contend with this opposing force? Did this blade once belong in Orda? How could I even be certain this blade hexed us in the first place?
Four seconds in and I had already surpassed the records of the others. No question it delivered a stiff resistance, but besides making my hand and forearm feel sweaty and partly numb, nothing persuaded me to let go yet. As long as I continued circulating prana into my arm, the enchantment seemed manageable.
I unsheathed the blade all the way. A faded red smear of drying blood was still on the reflective light gray steel. My heart swelled with ire. The grating emotion triggered an extra stout surge from the enchanted weapon. I reacted by gripping tighter and breathing deeper to calm myself down. Soon succeeding in getting back to normal, I saw no reason to push myself further. I sheathed the blade and set it on the ground.
“Well?” asked Svren.
“It’s workable. I think we should get in front of the attendants so I can try restoring their free wills.”
General Valentine approved with a nod and by ordering Isabel to pick up the scabbard. When the general pulled out a cigarette, Alex asked him whether he could have one. The general approved of this as well.
Following whatever procedure the generals came up with, General Valentine went out the basement while the rest of us waited below for a few moments. Once the precaution had been applied, my group climbed the stairs to the attendants.
Nicole sat in the same spot we left her. Proving his self-sufficiency had not been wholly left to his master, Marcos stood next to a small table in order to pour himself a drink of water from a pitcher. We let him quench his thirst before telling him to take a seat by Nicole.
Ensuring they still needed to be released from the viscount’s influence, I asked them, “Do you remember your answer when I asked why your master wanted us dead?”
“I do,” answered Nicole.
“Well, what did you answer?”
“I said he would have a just reason, sir.”
“So it wasn’t shocking to find out your master wants people dead and has killed twice today?”
“No proof, I’m sure.”
“Even when I saw it with my own eyes?”
“A just reason, I’m sure.”
“They’re nutcases, Mercer,” said Isabel. “Time to snap them out of it.”
“Sergeant,” said the general.
“Yes, sir. It’s your call.”
“You may pull out the sword, Mister Eberwolf.”
“May I speak this time? I might have to talk aloud to get the enchantment to follow my bidding.”
“Hmm… In whispers. The rest of us will stay well behind you.”
Staying well behind me meant the general and the krewen loitered outside the door. Felicia stayed inside with Alex and Isabel, the latter of which laid the sheathed weapon by my boots before backing up. As I picked up the scabbard, I noted the expressions of the attendants never really changed. They truly must have not been contemplating what we were doing. The hex made their viscount’s well-being top priority, but their otherwise empty heads seemed to make them susceptible to any external influence, even if it led to their deaths.
An external influence coursed through me on grabbing hold of the sword’s grip. I unsheathed it. Now allowed to, I used the prana I was bracing my body with to link with the blade’s enchantment. The counter defiance nearly threw off my hand in a nigh physical pulse of pressure. It required every muscle of mine to flex to keep my hand on the sword. The wood floor creaked as I pushed prana through my whole arm and hand. Breaking out in a hot sweat from head to toe, I quickly needed to get on one knee. The sword itself helped support me when I stuck its tip into the floor.
Knowing I had little time to sustain this condition, I whispered, “Is this your hex? I need it lifted… I need answers… And I know… I know how no one deserves… their wills taken away…”
Really?
I felt that word, not heard it. Or maybe I imagined it altogether, for it was such a feeble, meek sentiment. Then, in a more palpable sense, the sword’s prana latched on to my own. Something like a “mystic hand” reached toward the very depths of my reserve and pulled away a curtain so its “mystic eye” could peer into whatever lied in that spiritual profoundness. When the curtain closed again, I realized I was able to breathe out again. No exhale lifted so much weight off me before.
The sword’s essence released me. About half my unsoiled prana had been sapped as the endeavor ended. Resistance remained from the blade, but at significantly reduced power. My numbed, soaked hand slipped off the grip. The sword did not fall, for I had entrenched enough of it in the flooring for it to remain upright.
My sight next went to the sobbing Nicole and Marcos. Hearing the crying and seeing I had let go of the sword, everyone strode closer to me.
“What’s going on?” asked General Valentine. “What happened?”
With shaky legs raising themselves up, I said, “I-I’m not sure… I think the hex is gone.”
Taking a step toward the couch, Felicia asked, “Nicole? Marcos? Are you two all right?”
Nicole dumped her head in both hands, but after a long moment, Marcos was able to lower the crook of his elbow to reveal a face drenched in tears and answer, “No, madam… I quite suspect… we are not all right… I have awoken from what feels…. like… Gods… It feels like my head… is being pinched between… two clamps…”
“Give them a few minutes,” said the general. “How are you doing, Eberwolf?”
I shook my hand to bring back some feeling. “I’m fine. Just a lot of prana to use at once. Makes me wonder what it takes Lucian to get it to cast its hex.”
Sitting on a chair by the side wall, a smoking Alex said, “His family business is all about vlimphite, right?”
“Ah, right. He probably steals all he wants. The whole reason for the enterprise might be so he can use the sword’s enchantment.”
“He doesn’t steal much,” said a still hunched over Nicole, one hand supporting her wilted head. “A lot of it turns out to be useless to him.”
I squatted to match her line of sight easier, though she made no attempt to look at me. “Then why a vlimphite business?”
“He doesn’t steal much, but he does steal it… He pursues a certain type.”
“There are types of vlimphite?” Svren asked me.
“I’m no expert on the crystal. I suppose he could be looking for crystals already filled with certain pra… Wait, didn’t Maya mention something about the turncoats looking for a special crystal? Nicole? Does Rathmore work with turncoats?”
She moved her hand only enough for one of her teary, red eyes to glimpse between me and the sword. “Yes.”
Turning to look up at the general, I said, “Sounds like Rathmore is a major reason why the turncoats were able build their submarines.”
“All the more justification for us to investigate his family’s assets. Nevertheless, I now worry about how difficult the investigation will be with who knows how many enslaved allies out there. Madam, do you understand you’ve been under a mind curse weaved by the viscount?”
“A mind… curse?”
“Yes, one that makes you follow the viscount’s orders without question. He’s killed and escaped our custody using it.”
A sob escaped her throat while a few tears streamed down her cheeks. “Thank the gods!”
“Uh, why is that?” asked Isabel.
“Because… I-I’m thankful you’ll believe me.” She ran a sleeve under her nose. “It’s so obvious now, but it wasn’t really me doing the things he wanted… It felt like it. It felt so natural to protect him, to defend his crimes.”
“You’ve seen him kill before,” I said.
A small nod. “Once.”
“And others simply disappear,” said Marcos.
“I can assume they’ve been killed… and all I remember thinking is that they must have deserved it if Lucian wanted them out of the way. I’m crying like a little lass now because everything I should have been feeling in those memories all came flooding back at once.”
“Why kill anyone if he can control them?” asked Felicia to no one in particular.
I stared at the sword. “If the hex is as tough to cast as it is to dispel, then he can’t manipulate every rival or troublemaker he meets. Killing is a simpler solution.” To the duo, I asked, “How long has he had that blade?”
“It’s a family heirloom,” answered Nicole. “The former heads of the Rathmore family almost always have that sword by their side in their paintings.”
“Do they also keep a dagger?”
Nicole shook her head, but Marcos replied, “I caught him picking up a dagger that popped out of thin air. A moment later and it disappeared from his hand… Gods, that was years ago now… So much time lost… I don’t even know how much time. It’s all so hazy. Like someone else…” He choked up and cried again.
“Can you give us the names of the most influential people he speaks with regularly?” the general asked them.
“I can try,” answered Nicole.
Standing up, I said, “General, we should use the sword to remove the spell from as many people as we can as fast as we can. We can end up battling armies of mercenaries backed by the wealthiest people in Grenhath if Lucian can get out a message to them.”
“Hmm, such an undertaking will be problematic on multiple fronts.”
“You know what’s more problematic?” asked Alex. “Getting shot at by mercenaries. Give me a gun and let Cyrus fly around with that sword and this will be easier for all of us. No more of this not trusting us horseshit. What else are you gonna do? Continue to let a little hex control all this godsdamn realm?”
“Careful, boy. Acting impetuous now is a good way to lose what trust has been gained.”
“He’s merely expressing his frustration,” I said. “Frustration we’re all feeling one way or another. Perhaps carrying the sword myself is out of the question, but it’d be impractical to receive your permission and head down to the basement every time we need it, especially at a moment’s notice. I suggest the twins hold on to it. It will thus be within reach, but you can order them only to hand it to me in times of dire need.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” said Isabel, “but I’m not sure I can hold on to it. It rejects me, remember?”
“The sheath is able to block its effects. Wrapping the hilt in a thick cloth should also be able to keep you from accidentally touching it all the time.”
“Oh, if that works, then I really don’t mind.”
“Even so,” began the general, “I’ll have to run it by General Noboa first. For now, we’ll have to take it back to the locker. You, scout ranger, find me a pen and paper to write the names the attendants give us.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
As expected, the viscount pushed himself to meet many different notable names both human and krewen, most often in the form of lavish parties he hosted throughout the year. Exactly how much exposure to the hex one needed to obey written commands from Lucian was unknown. However, even if most only liked him as far as to agree to cut funding to the Vanguard, it would ruin their ability to carry out missions. A large percentage of soldiers might refuse being thrown into life and death situations, if not outright abandon their duties, on hearing their pay would be lowered or stopped altogether.
Unsurprisingly, further interrogation revealed that a man who received almost everything he desired enjoyed the company of uncountable mistresses. An unknown number birthed his children, though only his wife’s young son and daughter were legally recognized. For how often he must have employed his hex around family, I wondered whether the viscount ever experienced true love or friendship in his life. Could you love your own children if they were your guileless thralls? What a wretched existence. And for what?
My conscious felt too oppressed by failure to wait around eating and resting, so I visited the generals after a quick meal. I pressed the issue on the sword. Likely alarmed by the possibility a message from the viscount could end the Vanguard and his career, General Noboa seemed somewhat more open to my suggestions. Nevertheless, his natural inclination toward precaution forced me to take a smaller step.
I said, “At the very least, general, I’d like an opportunity to link with the sword for a few minutes again.”
“For what purpose?”
“The better I understand it, the better I can understand the power of the viscount. And to be entirely forthright, I suspect the sword itself may be able to provide answers.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not certain myself. It’s said even the simplest enchantments are the product of the crafter providing small pieces of their soul. Oftentimes this results in nothing but a minor supplement to an items durability or cutting ability. However, give something enough of a soul and who’s to say there isn’t something more than a charm to link with?”
“You believe you can actually communicate with this weapon?”
“Hard to say.”
“But you did sense something before?” asked General Valentine.
“Aye. Something.”
He bobbed his head. “I’ll give you an hour. You can’t go anywhere else but the basement. We’re currently busy formulating a plan and sending out messages, so it’ll be our lieutenants who will look after you.”
“Much appreciated, general.”
Shortly after gathering the others, I found myself staring into the open locker. Like before, everyone put themselves at the other end of the room as I grabbed the scabbard. I sat with my back against the lockers and laid the sheath across my crossed legs. Hoping to get the subdued resistance I left the blade in, I skimmed my fingers on the hilt. The initial dissuasion was indeed strong, but it died down considerably on recognizing my prana. Nevertheless, with my prana low, and expecting the resistance to regain veracity if I relied on my corruption, I did not have long to assess the blade’s capacity to link with me.
Despite the desire, I had little idea on what to actually do. I wrapped my hand around the grip and channeled my prana through the hilt and within my hand in varying ways. Sometimes the blade’s power reacted in brief waves that tingled my arm and got me to sweat again, but there seemed to be little purpose behind it.
In my permitted whispers, I asked it, “Why resist so much? Why not resist more now? Who enchanted you? Do you wish to go back to Lucian?”
A brutal surge forced my hand away.
Quickly placing my hand back, I said, “Sorry, sorry.” The resistance lulled again. “I see… You hate him. You hate Lucian. I do as well.”
Its power retreated away from my prana this time.
“Hmm… You hate him, but you don’t like me hating him? Who are you? How do I link with you?”
Its presence gradually returned over the next several moments.
Calm.
“Calm? Is that right? You want me to be calm?”
Calm.
“All right. Can’t hurt to try…”
I settled my prana, closed my eyes, and took deliberate breaths. The sword relaxed as well, for its power stirred at a soother pace. It felt like progress, but then nothing seemed to happen after we each composed ourselves. At least I was saving prana now.
The apparent shortage of headway over the next half hour bothered me at times, mainly when I yawned, but I reminded myself to appease the sword’s whims… This may have been a trial of some kind to earn its trust… Or maybe it needed me to recover prana… Or maybe I needed to reach a state of serenity I never… never-
A breeze? I opened my eyes in an atmosphere phasing into early dawn or late twilight. Using the scant light, I noticed I now sat on a cool, flat, white block of stone ten yards wide. Surrounding it was a forest—a dying one. Peering through the leafless branches and countless trunks, I saw
where the light came from. Rather than starlight, moons, or a sun, indistinct orange hues glowed in slowly shifting intensities over every horizon. Since one segment of the brightening horizon would be offset by a dimming hue from its opposite side, there happened to be a balance of overall light brimming throughout the foreign region.
While the murky water poorly reflected this nameless light, it was enough for me to realize the entire forest within my perception was flooded in an unknown depth. The gentle wind blew stale air that warmed more than cooled, and which hardly disturbed the swamp’s surface. Scattered among the trees were other blocks of stone, a few having columns and roofs, many of which had become rubble. A charmless place all in all.
I stood up and said, “Hello?! Anyone out here?!”
Except for a partial echo of my words, no one responded. I walked to the circular stone’s edge. Here I saw steep steps leading into the water and a fallen tree trunk up to my left. The half-submerged trunk pointed to the water not being so deep, so I carefully sank my boot into it. The water rose to my knee before my boot hit the soggy ground. I went up to the fallen tree to break off a long branch, which I proceeded to use to poke the ground ahead of me and make certain I did not step into deeper than expected water.
The branch poked into several indents, but the ground stayed relatively level as I made my way to the next stone foundation. On climbing the subsequent stone, I was made keenly aware of how too damn quiet everything was without my legs sloshing through the water. The zephyr rarely even creaked the branches. If only to disrupt the hush, I called out for someone again.
As I made my way to the other side of the triangular-shaped foundation, a puny sob reached my right ear. I stopped and listened harder… Another sniffle. I jogged to the right edge. The closest stone ruin in that direction looked larger than the others in the immediate vicinity, so I headed for it.
When the ruin became better defined than a whitish blur behind trees, I noted the circular foundation sprouted a ring of columns all along its perimeter. The columns supported arches, which went around the whole way, though they did not support a roof. Of greater interest to me was the vaguely humanoid figure huddled next to a column. As I faced its back, I could only see sagging, partly folded wings, which resembled something like a butterfly’s, if thicker. Dark autumn colors shaded them.
The Dragon Knight and the Steam World Page 32
