AMETHYST 5.3: TWOSHOES
“I am the realisation of boundless choice. I am the pleasure that art brings the soul. I am the ankle and wrist too hot for any shackle. I am Lady Freedom.”
– from the Nenthelemic Creed
You were a good find, Gilaela, I thought as I followed my squirrels over the roof’s edge.
“Thank you,” my fairy and unicorn replied in unison – I got the impression this amused Gilaela, but I could sense Zelurra’s bristling. She didn’t like having other eldritches awake with her in here.
“She may just have to get used to sharing the space,” Gilaela thought jovially.
Zel muttered something I fancied neither of us could make out; I had too much on my mind now, as we crashed into the seven deathknights we’d been pursuing.
They didn’t take it very well. To be fair to them, a large number of golden-furred giant squirrels were probably the last thing they were expecting. The skeletal men doubtless would’ve taken my eldritches apart in seconds, had I not been there, hurtling down into their midst, flinging them all from their saddles and swallowing away the nethermist that supported their steeds.
I worked on their lances as it devolved into a melee in the street, stealing away their energies; this way, even if the squirrels were slain they wouldn’t be destroyed so completely that it’d take generations for them to return.
Such was my hope, at least.
It was pretty awesome to watch a fuzzy, angry-looking rodent the size of a small horse slap an imposing undead noble through a half-crumbled wall. The deathknights recovered quickly enough, but by the time the first squirrel was run-through I was done adjusting their lances, and turned my attention instead towards focussing the anger that was welling up once more, spilling out of my spiralled horn.
I emitted a wave of light, doing nothing to the squirrels but splooshing two of the deathknights into empty suits of armour that dropped instantly, clattering on the ground.
On the roof above me, our two tremendous zombie-birds were keeping watch – they hadn’t been fashioned by an undead-lord, and we’d taken their fealty. I could sense that Shallowlie was now stripping the bone-chariot that had pursued us into its constituent parts, reassembling them into bone-golems with a speed that showed she’d had practice.
I have to have a go at that, I thought, sparing a quick glance up to admire the host of roughly-humanoid bone-men she was making. Only roughly-humanoid, as they were festooned with extra arms, bladed appendages; some even had multiple skulls atop their shoulders…
Then I lowered my head again, bent my horn at another deathknight.
Before Shallowlie was done, Fangmoon descended and helped me wrap up the last enemies and their now-useless mounts.
“Where’s the magister?” I shouted to her, casting about.
“He was right there with me,” she replied, snapping the spear of the deathknight she fought with a giant paw as she raked through his breastplate with the other.
“I can’t sense him, Feychilde,” Zel said.
“I’ve got nothing – you?” I called.
Fangmoon raised her face to the wind for a moment, then turned to me and shook her head.
“Damn it,” I muttered, increasing my elevation and moving to the edges of the street, looking down the adjoining roads and alleys…
Nothing.
“I’d have sensed it if something attacked him,” my faerie advisor mused, “so we can rule that out.”
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A diviner’s involved, I guessed.
“You’re probably right. I should be able to see him, one way or another, if it had nothing to do with a diviner.”
“He has fled, craven coward,” Gilaela sniffed. “I sensed this within him all along.”
Be nice, I told her. It looked like this was his first time dealing with something like this. I didn’t see him at the Incursion.
“You didn’t look like that during the Incursion,” Zel said. “At least, I think… And you never ran away.”
“Our master is of noble bearing,” the unicorn replied, “is he not?”
I sighed, then returned to the others to report that he was nowhere to be found. The magisters were retreating – was this why the weave around the Door had failed? Had Valorin left Zadhal? Or had something happened to Direcrown? There was no way to say for certain, and I had no idea how long our blessings would last, keeping us warm, letting us fly… The flying wasn’t such a big problem for two arch-sorcerers and an arch-druid – the exposure to sub-zero temperatures would be far worse. I had little doubt Fangmoon could keep us alive, but temperature-control wasn’t something she could just wave a hand at like a wizard.
We continued our halting journey westwards, and two minutes and one large pack of undead dogs later, we finally came upon some of our compatriots.
“Spiritwhisper! Glancefall!” Fangmoon cried softly, streaming towards the pair of enchanters. “You’re alive?”
She said it like it was a question – because she wanted them to explain how? – or was she expressing doubt as to whether they were undead?
I looked them over with both my sorcerer’s-eye and ordinary sight; there was no sign of anything wrong with either of them. Both were breathing heavily, as evidenced by the amount of fog on the air in front of their faces. Spiritwhisper had removed his blue swirly mask, and his eyes were downcast; Glancefall’s jester’s mask was still in place but I could see the set of his jaw…
Something’s wrong.
“Wheh is Rosedon?” Min blurted.
The enchanters shifted uncomfortably in the air, and it wasn’t from the cold. Spiritwhisper in particular looked distraught, and Fangmoon returned to her human shape to embrace him, which didn’t make him look any more happier at first, as if he were resisting; then he relented, returning the hug and sinking his head down into her shoulder. Meanwhile, Glancefall explained what had happened in soft tones, not taking his eyes off our huge pet vultures or Shallowlie’s thirty-or-so skeletal abominations.
Rosedawn sacrificed herself to try to find Timesnatcher and help us regroup. They were on their way back to her when she was ripped apart by the chariot – repulsed and grieving, fearing for their lives, they had no choice but to flee, and had been running for almost ten minutes now. They knew that using the link had brought devastating consequences on her, and, at a loss for how to contact the others without putting themselves in danger, they’d done what we’d done and moved slowly towards the west, keeping their eyes peeled for danger or aid.
While he brought out a miniature illusion of the city and displayed our location, Shallowlie was hanging her head, frozen in the air. The ghosts surrounding her had stopped moving, and I could feel the sorceress’s grief.
After a minute poring over the details, I could see we still had a lot of ground to cover and we weren’t far from the edge of the city; we had to get closer to the centre…
“We don’t have a wizard,” I pointed out, “so we’re going to have to find the others sooner rather than later. Can you set the links back up again?”
“It’s going to tell them we’re here, Feychilde,” Glancefall unnecessarily reminded me. “If we go ahead with –“
“You’ve got shields now.” I waved a hand at our new pets. “I don’t think one of these contraptions is going to be a problem if another decides to pay us a visit, and if deathknights just rush here in random groups that’s great – we can handle them in small numbers.”
He cocked his head, considering it –
“Danger!” Zel hissed.
Before I could do anything there was a hollow, rushing sound that snapped away back into silence, like a single wave of wind ripping past us.
“Where’s Fangmoon?” Spiritwhisper said, voice empty of emotion, too scared to sound frightened.
He’d split apart from her at some point while Glancefall was speaking and she’d drifted out of my line of sight, to my left, towards a relatively-intact house…
“It’s taken her!”
What has?
“I… Wraith, I think!”
“A wraith!” I reported immediately to the others.
“Oh, Twelve Hells,” Glancefall snarled, then thought at us: “Fine, let’s do it this way. Spread out, quickly!”
The others started searching the ruins as I cast about; even Shallowlie, whose remaining cheerfulness had seemingly evaporated upon hearing of Rosedawn’s demise, started to perk up now there was something she could do to help, someone needing saving.
Is there any chance this is what happened to the magister? I asked Zel, frantically throwing my senses over the environment.
“No, Feychilde, I think I was pretty clearly aware that something was happening to Fangmoon – remember what I said about the magister? I didn’t –“
I sense it, then, louder: “I sense it!”
An invisible presence, on the fourth floor of a decimated six-storey tenement block. Not fifty yards away. A swirl even more-pronounced than the banshee.
* * *