Chapter 146 Pt.1:

“How much longer before the camp breaks?” Cetina asked. She had removed her new so she could wipe away the sweat covering her face, one of the few disadvantages of changing to a more complete set of metal armour.

“Shouldn't be too much longer.” Anton glanced at the nearby tents. “These should be coming down shortly.”

Indeed they were a little overdue to leave. Only in the past few minutes had the reinforcements arrived, more infantry and fewer Knights than originally planned. Anton thought that might be a better result. The siege of Clausonne wouldn't need Knights until the gates were broken. Horses could hardly climb up vertical stone walls.

“I...I actually want to change something about my armour.” Cetina held an arm aloft.

“Already? You've barely had it for an hour.”

“And it's really good. It just...”

Anton smirked. “You want to make it garish, don't you?”

Cetina's eyebrows twitched. “It's not garish. Bebbezzarian colours are bright and beautiful, just like our country. When it's not burning itself to the ground. But I just don't feel comfortable unless I can see them.”

“I remember Kal saying it wasn't ideal for camouflage.”

“I'll wear a cloak then.” Cetina snapped her finger, albeit muted by the metal gauntlet. “The Dark Elf cloaks are pretty good. You still have yours?”

“Excuse me!” A voice called from the side of the training fields.

The training fields were still rather heavily congested, even at this late hour. A space had grown around them, which had nothing to do with the scorch marks littering the grass acting as some kind of barrier. A young Qaiviel soldier, wearing the green and white colours of the kingdom, waved enthusiastically until he was certain they had seen him.

“Yes?”

“Forgive the interruption, my Lords. But Duchess Belinda has requested your presence.”

“Whatever for?” Anton folded his arms. “Everything is essentially sorted. Apart from the battle of Clausonne itself. I wonder if she's decided to court some minor lords for some kind of alliance?”

“Is she the sort of person that would do that?” Cetina quickly refastened her loose armour pieces.

“Possibly. Quite possibly.” Anton turned to the messenger. “Alright. We'll head there, find out what she wants.”

The messenger bowed and left, walking towards where their section of the camp lay.

“I wonder if there's any paint here?” Cetina asked aloud. “I might be able to finish it before we have to leave.”

Anton smirked as they left the sparring fields and began to weave through the closely packed tents. “I think the Royal Army might take offence to you ruining their armour.”

“It's mine now so I can do with it what I want.” Cetina flexed her hand. “It just doesn't feel the same.”

“I find it impossible to believe that a Bebbezzarian has ever managed to sneak up upon a foe.”

Cetina couldn't answer, choosing to act as if the question had never been asked. The human traffic through the tightly packed tents did not abate, even with perhaps an hour before breaking camp. Normally they would pass by a small series of kitchen tents, feeding the normal soldiers with a rough but hearty meal, but someone had broken a cart just before the entrance, spilling bags of grain and oils over the ground. To the right a large group of cooks and labourers shouted and argued loudly while gesticulating towards the broken cart, effectively blocking the path. The messenger stood before the cart, bewildered by the scene. He glanced back and smiled bitterly.

“I don't know what happened.” He forced a smile. “It wasn't like this when I came through here. The back way is still free though.”

The messenger pulled his helmet down and jogged behind the tents. Anton shrugged lightly and followed. Just as they passed the rear of the tents something brought panic to Anton's mind. Another cart had stopped behind them, blocking the path and the kitchens were making noise, clanging pots and other metals when before they had been utterly silent. And there were far too many people lingering behind a kitchen, at least twelve aside from the messenger, far too armoured compared to the rest of the camp.

“Draw your sword,” Anton whispered.

“W-Right.”

Anton raised his hand to create a lightning bomb but a sharp bolt of pain stopped him, cutting his breath short. He glanced down, out of his leg a crossbow bolt jutted out from his armoured upper thigh, the bolt has slipped through the tough hide armour as though it was wet paper.

“Fuck.” The messenger, standing beside another Qaiviel soldier holding a discharged crossbow, loudly thumped on a wooden post holding up the kitchen tent. The raucous clanging only grew louder.

“Don't stop!” Another yelled.

Anton glanced behind. Four men, again Qaiviel soldiers, burst through the rear of the opposing tents. Each held a cold murderous look in their eyes, the ruthless eyes of someone paid to kill.

“Bastards!” Anton threw a single lightning bomb at the crossbow wielder, rendering him to giblets. The noise alone startled the other assailants, the clanging of metal pots was not enough to hide such a distinctive noise.

“Go! Now!” The messenger yelled. “We don't have long.”

Cetina backed into him, holding her back against his as she parried a thrust from the rear assault, striking the man with the handle of her new sword and breaking his nose.

“You-”

Anton's eyes caught movement from the kitchen tent. Two large stones held down a flap just half a meter behind him, only when the cloth moved forward did he catch a man lunging towards him with a grey pot in his hands.

Really?

Anton threw another Lightning Bomb at the front, catching another two assailants, and turned to deal with the pot wielder but he was already upon Anton. Anton lent away, the strange pot struck his shoulder and rolled into the crook of his neck but even hurt. He readied to loose a Lightning Bolt directly into the man's pudgy face, his teeth were covered in the remains of a red moss, when he realised that his entire body felt heavy. Unnaturally heavy. In the brief instant of panic he realised the pot wasn't a pot, rather a helmet, and that it wasn't iron or steel, neither metal was that dark nor had hexagonal white markings.

Without his magic Anton felt truly helpless. Cetina was preoccupied with the assailants behind her, even as she cut down one and readied to dispatch another with a dagger, and couldn't come to his aid just yet. Anton drew his dagger and, in desperation, didn't spin the blade, hit the man in the stomach with the handle. It caused the man some concern, a quick glance down and he drew his own blade to match. Anton flipped the dagger and drove it hard into the man's stomach even as he attempted a wild swing at his face, holding the Ghlyirl helmet against his shoulder with the other. Anton's dagger drove deep, the man's shirt near instantly dying red while dodging the man's own wild swing, missing his face but cutting the band holding his own helmet down. The blade continued on its trajectory and struck Cetina harmlessly on her back plate. For a moment Anton thought he was safe but the pudgy man's smile told him he was utterly wrong. The man discarded his dagger and reached to remove Anton's loose helmet, all the while pushing forward with his significant weight. Anton managed to step out of the way but his helmet was dislodged as they crashed through the neighbouring tent.

“Help!” Anton shouted, but to no avail. The only glimmer of hope was that this tent didn't hold more assailants.

“No one's going to save you, boy.” The pudgy man laughed, bloody spittle covered his teeth and leaked down his lips.

He gripped Anton's hand hard, preventing him from withdrawing the blade and pushed Anton's helmet free. In the brief instant he held Anton's helmet the Ghlyirl helmet rolled away. His body immediately recovered the ability to control his magic. Anton didn't worry about the collateral damage, to himself or the tent, and released a burst of flame into the pudgy man's face. For a moment the man couldn't understand what was happening, the next his face then his body was engulfed in a searing red hot flame. He screamed, quickly cut short as his throat burned, and backed away from Anton. Before Anton could celebrate another assailant, smaller and more wry, darted through the tent and threw a thick red powder into Anton's face. His eyes stung like needles and his breath was taken from him once again.

“Fucking mages.” The man coughed, evidently caught by his own concoction.

The pudgy man had stopped screaming and remained kneeling over Anton, perfectly still as his arms dropped to his side.

“I hate mages. Fucking dangerous freaks you are.”

Something hard hit Anton's head, his mind screamed in pain alongside a wetness that ran down his head. Something cold encompassed the top of his head and his magic ceased to function once more.

“Not so tough are you now?”

Anton heard someone else enter, tearing their way through the tent, judging by the clangs of metal from outside it wasn't Cetina, alongside the unmistakable sound of a dagger being drawn. Though his eyes screamed in pain Anton forced them open, a simple dagger was but inches from his throat, the only part of his body remotely exposed. He caught the dagger in his left hand, driving through the thin leather glove and pulled hard with both. Such a strange action caught the assailant off-guard and pulled him towards Anton. Anton ripped the dagger free, the burst of pain brought his some lucidity through the sheer amount of adrenaline rushing through his body, and rammed it into the tumbling assailant’s neck. A spatter of blood later and the man was nothing more than a bleeding, stumbling corpse.

“Should have used a sword.” The other assailant grumbled.

Anton blinked hard, forcing the blood from his eyes as he desperately tried to free himself of the Ghlyirl helm.

“Oh fuck.”

Something heavy slammed into Anton's chest, taking the wind out of him. The dead pudgy faced man had fallen forward, consuming Anton in a hot mound of fat and flab, inadvertently protecting him from an imminent sword thrust but hadn't knocked the Ghlyirl helmet free.

The assailant smiled, drawing his sword and prepared to ram it straight through both of their necks.

---[]---

Cetina remembered drawing her sword at Anton's instruction. Then, when the first assailant’s sword hit hers, Anton's Lightning Bomb killed the crossbowman, everything fell away. Her mind was now trapped, watching things play out before her like the audience to a theatre, only able to scream in vain at what was unfolding before her.

The first of the four assailants lay dead, still tumbling through the air with a dagger wound bursting blood on his neck. The second swung his sword wildly at Cetina.

So slow. Why does it always go so slow?

Though the number of times Cetina had fallen into this trance could probably count on her fingers she never forgot a single time. All were horrible experiences but this, this was undoubtedly the worst. Normally she would be nothing more than a ghost but this time everything was far more lucid.

The second assailant's sword struck hers, some strength but not enough. Cetina parried the strike before ramming her armoured fist into his nose, just like the first assailant. She stepped forward and drove her dagger into his side before returning back to her original stance, her back bumping into Anton. But something was wrong. His back wasn't exactly where it should have been.

Turn! For the love of anything fucking turn!

Cetina's body responded. It wasn't like another being controlled her body, only that it responded to the most basic of instructions incredibly slowly. Everything else, the complex arts of swordplay and fighting continued without her wandering mind to interfere.

I'm sure Anton would say it's a good thing...Please turn!

Her left eye, covered with the magical eye-patch, caught a glimpse of something large and white lunging at Anton. A man, his face fat and pudgy from overeating, ran at Anton with something large and grey in his hand.

What is that?... Oh no. Ghlyirl! We need to stop him!

Again her body tried to respond but there only Cetina, or at least some fragment of her mind, could act. She turned to help, holding her sword outward in a swing but the two collided and continued forward, sending them both tumbling through the opposite tent.

No! This is how he dies! After all this, some fat bastard with a Ghlyirl helmet.

The notion of Verona or Kal's reaction didn't even enter her thoughts.

Cetina continued her spin, using her momentum to move nearer to the breach in the opposite tent, if only to put something between them and Anton. Another assailant tried to attack but managed to evade Cetina's slash, a sudden burst of blood from a stump revealed that he hadn't escaped entirely.

“Who's this bitch?” The last of the four assailants asked the others, his hands shakily held his sword upright. “She wasn't a part of the plan.”

To Cetina they spoke slowly and normally at the same time; the world felt slow, their mouths moved at a reduced speed yet Cetina understood everything perfectly. She didn't spare a single ounce of thought to the strange phenomena.

“It doesn't fucking matter!” The messenger, the unassuming young man, yelled, more shrieked. “Kill her!”

The clanging of pots continued but with less frequency, someone must be closing in to investigate the racket.

You'll have to go through me!

Cetina intended to speak aloud but her mouth refused to move. The assailant's stepped back one step. Evidently something had escaped her lips.

The messenger pushed the assailant's forward as he re-loaded the crossbow. To Cetina their swing, their very footsteps were like that of a shambling child; slow and easy to predict.

Four fell to her blade, without thinking her body reacted to their attacks and managed to deliver a near perfect counter; directing the blade into the ground and dispatching one with a dagger, another two with a hard horizontal slash cutting through their thin clothes and opening grievous chest wounds, the fourth she ran through and threw him back into another, sending them tumbling back. A blast of heat cut through the joints of her armour, warming the gambeson underneath, alongside a scream and the scent of burning hair and flesh. Cetina forced herself to glance back with her eyepatch enhanced vision, it could see everything in perfect clarity, even in her peripheries. A man, the pudgy man, lay kneeling over Anton as his upper body burned. Already his skin had charred and bursts of melting and boiling fat leaking through.

While she was distracted, the relief that Anton was still alive and could use magic, an assailant, small and wry, slipped through.

Why didn't I...Because he wasn't trying to attack me! I hate this trance!

Cetina willed her body to swing, the Chelium edged sword struck the ground hard but well after his feet had passed. She cursed herself again as a plume of red powder filled the tent. A slight pang of relief filled her when the assailant began to cough and splutter violently, waving his hands to disperse his own powder, but she knew that Anton had received most of it. And more worryingly he wasn't using his magic.

“What's with this bitch?” The messenger grumbled to himself.

Only a handful of assailant's remained in front of her now. She still had her shield, the crossbow wasn't too much of an issue but behind her Anton lay underneath the dead pudgy man, the powder wielding assailant already lay dying beside him but another stood over him. Cetina, trapped inside her mind, couldn't understand how he managed to get past until she saw a flicker of light cast over him.

The tents aren't walls.

As Cetina attempted to back into the tent a bolt struck her side. Despite her new armour the bolt’s tip cut through the metal and dug deep into her flesh. Cetina, trapped in her mind, felt only a dull throb, knowing full well that she should have dropped to a knee or let out a groan at the very least.

Anton barely made a sound when he was struck...No time for thinking like that. Even in here...

“They're almost here.” An assailant, holding a bloody arm, ran towards the Messenger from the far end of the alleyway. “They're fighting them back but they won't hold for long.”

“Not against Knights.” The Messenger loosed another bolt at Cetina, this one she caught with her shield. The blue tip of the bolt immediately explained how it had penetrated metal armour with such ease. “Delay them as long as you can. I don't think we're getting out of this one, but at least we'll have finished the mission.”

The blood assailant nodded and limped away. Cetina could no longer hear the clanging of pots, now shouting and ringing of metal swords striking metal.

“Nothing ever goes easy.” The messenger readied another bolt.

I need to get to Anton. He can deal with all of these so quickly, just need to get that Ghlyirl of his head and this will be all over.

Cetina backed into the tent and caught the assailant, standing over Anton, ready to drive his sword through the pudgy man's neck and into his. Cetina threw her dagger at the man, his eye caught the shiny glimmer from the sharpened steel just as it drove deep into his arm. He grunted, stepped away and held his arm. It was far from lethal or even incapacitating but it was enough, enough to buy Anton a few more moments.

Cetina turned back to the alleyway just as a sword flew at her face. Her body moved of its own volition, deflecting the blade.

That Messenger's about to loose another bolt. I can't take another.

Cetina dropped her shield and stabbed the man in the gut with her word. He tried to pull away but Cetina held his shirt tight, the man's hands only cut themselves to bloody sheds as he pulled on the Chelium edged sword. Cetina saw the Messenger loose another bolt and ducked behind the man. She felt a pang of pity as he looked back and, even though he felt everything at normal sped, saw the bolt coming. It pierced through his back and jutted out his chest, at least Cetina was safe. As she kicked the man away to retrieve her sword the very air behind her exploded. She found herself smiling, thinking that Anton had just used his magic. She was right but not in the way she first thought. What she saw stopped the assailant’s dead.

---[]---

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Anton grit his teeth as the assailant stood over him, to ram his sword through the boiling pudgy man's throat and into his. One arm lay pinned by the man's sheer bulk but the other, bleeding from a dagger wound, was free. A strange staring game grew between them; whenever Anton moved to free the Ghlyirl helmet he manoeuvred the sword to stab and pin his hands to the ground, then to slice Anton's exposed throat, but Anton continued to shuffle his head back and forth, slowly pushing the Ghlyirl helmet free. Not to mention both could hear the shouting and sounds of battle coming from both sides. The assailant was simply running out of time.

“Fine then.”

He manoeuvred the sword over the pudgy man's upper back, to someone from outside it would appear to be Anton's neck, and prepared to drive it home with both arms. He wasn't a monster of a man but Anton had no doubt of his conviction or his growing desperation.

My armour won't be enough to stop the blade, and Cetina's still fighting for her life. Am I so weak without magic? Obviously...But I do have magic. A quarter...

Anton's tail, still wrapped tight around his waist, retained a charge. Perhaps a quarter, only so he could create more Marble Spears to deal with any additional Stitch Soldiers like Caiden. In his panic he hadn't tried to use that source of magic, it was still something that he partially wished he hadn't received, if for no other reason than his feet would be normal.

“Your helmets not as good as you think.” Anton spat out from behind the dead pudgy man's head.

The assailant almost hesitated. As he began to thrust downwards something flew into his shoulder, he staggered to the side and held his arm tight. The hilt of a dagger jutted from his arm, blood quickly stained his clothes. Anton saw Cetina turn back to the fight.

I owe you whatever you want after this.

Anton focused every ounce of charge he could muster into his free hand. A writhing ball of black lightning burst into reality, stunning the assailant as he ripped the dagger free.

“H-”

He knew not to ask the obvious question and readied to attack again, this time attempting to ram the sword through both of their heads.

Anton needed time to create the Marble Spear, or anything formed from the Black Lightning. Compared to Glyph magic his knowledge was incredibly limited. He had already experienced what happened when one went too far before and had no intention of experiencing it again.

As Anton couldn't throw the writhing sphere he began to stretch and form the lighting into a simple long cylinder. It wouldn't hurt him but even the smooth surface could result in lethal wounds if they touched the assailant’s skin. The assailant noticed and decided to switch his attack at the last second, driving his sword into the still coalescing Black Lightning. Anton had no idea if that was a strategy used to fight Principle Mages in melee, to physically destroy or interfere with their magical creation but it was the strategy he had chosen. For all he knew the solidifying cylinder could blast him with some unknown magic, so it wasn't an entirely unreasonable decision.

The sword tip struck the formed parts of the thin cylinder, only a few inches from the slightly shrunken sphere of Black Lightning, the metal edge quickly turned red from the heat and vibration before driving into the Black Lightning itself. The sphere exploded, showering everything in a blinding light, so bright that it knocked out Anton’s senses. When they returned he could no longer feel his left hand. He blinked furiously, only a stump remained. Instead of a gushing burst of blood thousands upon thousands of white cubes, identical to the material of the Marble Spear, formed a bizarre cap fusing into his skin. There was no pain or numbness, just a sweet sensation. More worryingly he could feel it across his face. Anton’s first thought was to heal himself better, the question of his evaporated wedding ring didn’t arise, but he still couldn’t use magic.

The assailant still stood above Anton, unmoving without his sword. Thousands of holes riddled his body, wide and deep enough to allow the dim tent light to shine through, even through his head. No blood seeped out, just like Anton’s stump the white cubes formed a near-perfect seal, all tightly packed into one another like the interior of a geode. As the man shuddered blood began to seep through the cracks. A single croak escaped his lips, those too were drilled with the white cubes, and he fell forward, straight onto Anton and the pudgy man.

Anton paused for a second, just to make sure he was well and truly dead, before swatting at the Ghlyirl helmet with his stump of a hand.

Cetina continued to fight outside, still on the defensive and holding the attackers back. While the assailants had relented with the gruesome death of their colleague Cetina immediately turned her attention to the survivors. He could tell, just from a single glance back, the vacant look in her eyes and the ease at which she deflected their blows that she had fallen into her trance.

“It would be great if I could get something like that.” Anton finally knocked the helmet free.

Immediately his control over his normal mana returned. He lightly healed himself, his left hand remained a stump as his magic resisted the marble cubes and couldn’t push through, and, after forcing his right hand free to claw at great clods of grass and dirt, wiggled his way from underneath the two dead men.

As he tried to pull himself upright, pushing against the ground with all of his limbs, a cry came from behind. A young man, not the Messenger, ran at Anton with a small knife drawn. Before Anton could attack he drove the blade through his armour just above his waist and towards his kidneys. Something lay in between, his tail. The pain was unlike anything he had experienced so far, so bad that, for the briefest moment, he felt his mind slipping away.

“What?” The young man, easily in his late teens, whimpered as he tried to pull the knife free. He staggered back as Anton turned around to face him. Anton hadn't needed to use Tethra's power to heal himself, the tail and all of the new pieces healed themselves, albeit extremely painfully.

“What are you?”

Anton groaned internally at the cliché line when the young man attacked again. Anton's mood, and more importantly his tolerance, had reached its end. He blew away the man’s hands with a simple lightning bolt and kicked his knee hard. Though Anton wasn’t as strong as Cetina he had grown in strength ever since arriving in this world. The knee gave way and the young man tumbled onto his back. Before he could do anything other than wildly look at his lightning charred stumps Anton stomped hard onto his chest. The man spluttered as Anton pushed down with all his weight.

“Who sent you to kill me?”

Anton hoped Cetina wouldn't hold it against him, but he was more valuable to Leo than she was.

“Eh...” The man whimpered, tears and snot running down his face. He said nothing as his pants grew wet.

Before Anton could ask anything further or use his magic Cetina grunted loudly in pain. Three crossbow bolts jut out from her side, two in her leg and one close to her stomach. Even with such wounds Cetina fought on without impeedment, with more strength and skill than her attackers.

“Freaks and heretics cannot be allowed to exist.” The young man whimpered. Though the light had vanished from his eyes he had slipped back into some sort of mantra hammered into him. “They must all be destroyed, for the honour of The Ho-”

“I think I understand who sent you now.” Anton kicked his head hard, a spray of blood from his cheeks alongside loosened teeth as he fell unconscious. “I'll deal with you later.”

Anton summoned a Lightning Crow and a Fire Imp, ordering them to defeat Cetina's assailants. The sounds of chaos grew as the two creatures attacked the lightly armoured men. Cetina remained standing at her position, her shield and sword raised and refused to lower either. Anton retrieved his original helmet, the strap would need replacing, held it tight on his head and peered outside. Bodies littered the small alleyway, far more than had originally attacked, all cut down with an incredibly sharp sword or their throats smashed in from something suspiciously shaped like Cetina’s fist. Some still moved, groaning as they rocked back and forth on the cusp of death. The Messenger was nowhere to be found, even the far end of the alleyway was devoid of people. The banging of pots and pans had ceased, replaced with the sounds of minor scuffles and demands for surrender.

“Is that Messenger still here?” Anton asked Cetina.

Cetina said nothing. Her eye remained unfocused as it darted left and right searching for more enemies. No one could raise a hand let alone a weapon.

“Cetina? Fuck, how many times did they get you?”

Again Cetina said nothing. Another two bolts jutted out from her armour, both in the right leg. The strength she had was nothing short of miraculous. Anton grabbed her shoulder, despite being in her battle trance she only glanced at him before looking away. Her shoulders began to tense before she shook her head and blinked hard.

“I...Anton! You're alive! Thank goodness.” Cetina dropped her shield and held his head with both hands, pressing her metal-plated forehead against his own. A strange laugh escaped her lips. “When you fell-You’re hand!”

Cetina relinquished her hold, her face contorting into a wince. “What happened to your hand?! Oh no. They’re going to kill me.”

“The hell are you worried about? Don't worry about me.” Anton felt Cetina's strength begin to give way. Anton pointed to her armour. “Worry about yourself for just one bloody second. You’ve got bolts jutting out of you! How are you not down? You’re lucky you’re not dead.”

Cetina didn’t acknowledge his concerns at all, instead focusing her attention on his hand. She said nothing as the seconds ticked on.

Anton looked to his stump. Up close it looked like the interior of a white crystal geode.

“I’m alive, Cetina. We’re alive. That’s what matters most.” Anton grabbed one of the bolts jutting out of Cetina’s leg. “But we need to get this out of you first. How you’re not on the ground is beyond me.”

“Right…” Cetina prepared to rip the crossbow bolts out when she looked to him again, the lines of worry and concern once again creased her face. “It got your face too.”

“Is that what it was?” Anton ran his fingers over the abnormal feelings on his face. “We’ll deal with that later. I’m still more concerned with being alive.”

Through his glove, he could feel the small cubes that had bonded with his flesh, but hadn’t drilled through it. The fat man hadn’t received anywhere near the same damage as even Anton. Either that or his connection to the White Realm negated some of the attack.

“What do we do?” Cetina continued to stare at his hand.

“Just-Just…Fuck’s sake, Cetina.”

Anton pressed his boot against her own and, before she could question or worry about him further, ripped the bolt out with all his might. Cetina gasped in pain, gripping his shoulder so hard he felt that she might crush his bones. A tear-filled eye, tears running underneath her eyepatch, stared back at him but offered no rebuttal.

“One down,” Anton mumbled. “Five more…”

“I’m fine. Keep going.” Cetina’s grip tightened as Anton ripped out the second. “I…I’m not fine.”

Cetina used Anton to slow her descent onto her rear. “I took a lot more damage than I thought.”

“No wonder you wanted that tower shield.” Anton mused.

Cetina winced in pain. Now she was free of the trance everything came back in full force. “Yeah...I, I can't move my right leg.”

“Just give me a moment and I'll have them out.” Anton gripped another shaft tight, other others had just punched through but this had dug extremely deep. “This is really going to hurt.”

Cetina grit her teeth for the inevitable burst of pain. She grunted as Anton ripped the bolt free. Underneath the blood Anton saw a blue metal forming the tip. The others were simple steel-tipped bolts, but that was poor comfort to Cetina right now. Anton hurriedly removed the last of the bolts from her body and healed her. Cetina took a deep breath as the wound closed.

“The new armour you bought me is ruined.” Cetina tapped the hole on the side of her waist. “A bit higher and it could have been really bad.”

Cetina held the Chelium bolt. “This could have gone through my heart…”

Something flashed over her face. Cetina bolted up and held Anton’s arm tight, holding the white cube covered stump up high. “This is…No. You wouldn’t…What do we do about this? And your face?”

“I can still use magic.” Anton flexed his remaining hand. “And that’s all I need to worry about right now…It’ll be really annoying if I only have one hand…”

Cetina let go of his arm and looked to the corpse-filled alleyway. She sighed, her shoulders drooped. “I could see you fighting, fighting for your life, but I couldn’t help you. I screamed at myself to move…”

“Later, Cetina.” Anton pinched her cheek. “We’re still fighting, right? And if you’re my bodyguard you don’t have time to worry about what happened, only what we can do now.”

“Yes!” Cetina’s slightly depressed state evaporated instantly. She gripped her fist tight and recovered her shield. It had taken a light battering, pain chipped and new bright marks where the weapons and bolts had struck but otherwise, it was in one piece.

“Where did that Messenger go? Left or right?”

“Right.” Cetina pointed across the kitchen tents. “Deeper into the camp. Do you think that's a good idea? On his part?”

“Maybe. Make it look like he's fleeing the fight rather than being involved...We are surrounded by grasslands at the moment. Now,” Anton turned back to the tent. “We need to have a little chat with my new friend.”

Cetina nodded and entered the tent first. Anton couldn't find the hand-less young man. There was no way he could just crawl out and with the amount of blood he had lost he was only a minute or two away from death, if he had woken up after being kicked that hard in the head. It's not like Anton was completely clueless on who ordered the attack, he wanted to know how they managed to get in.

“Blood.” Cetina gripped his shoulder. “Blood trails leading outside.”

Two small trails led out of the tent, about the width apart if we were dragged out by his collar. There were no bloodstains on the cloth so someone had grabbed him.

“No loose ends.” Anton murmured. “No. That’s not right. If they just killed him it would all be over, unless they thought that I could resurrect the dead. They might think that after seeing my fight with Caiden…”

Cetina prevented him from going first, pulling the tent cloth apart with her blood-stained sword. An older woman stood outside, jumping at the sight of a bloodied sword emerging from a tent.

“Oh. There are more of you.” She said softly. “What's happening over there? Is someone attacking the camp from the inside?”

“Was there someone just dragged out of here?” Anton tapped Cetina's shoulder and pointed forward, to keep an eye on the woman, just in case. “Someone without arms and bleeding heavily?”

The woman nodded, holding the hem of her skirt tight. “There was. Two Knights dragged a man out. He...He was missing his hands?”

“Which-”

The woman pointed to the north, to where Anton and Cetina were originally travelling.

“I think they went right after the tents. He didn't look like he was in a good way.”

“It'll be even worse when I'm done with them,” Anton growled.

Though the thought tether he brought the summons back. The Lightning Crow hovered over his head while the Fire Imp ran back through the opened tent to join them.

“A demon?” The woman was on the verge of a panic attack, her knuckles white from fear.

“No,” Anton said calmly. “What colour were the Knights?”

“They-They wore cloaks. It was a light colour-”

Anton pushed Cetina forward, not having time for the woman to slowly remember a simple colour, and created another two Lightning Crows. It felt so good to have his power, his magic, back. He wouldn't forget the sense of helplessness in a long time.

The blood trails quickly began to grow weaker along the trampled grass the further they travelled. A body only had so much blood in it after all, and most remained inside the torn tent. The thoroughfare beyond swarmed with people, mainly soldiers, running towards the site of their initial battle. It was a motley display of various groups all arguing with one another over who should be in command. To them, they had come across an alleyway full of murder victims and coming from, what they probably thought, a large group of infiltrators attempting to disrupt their advance on the capital, not the site of a thwarted assassination attempt.

Through the chaotic swirling masses, Anton spotted an oddity. Two Knights, wearing yellow armour, walked together, between them they dragged something heavy along the ground. Every so often someone stepped in their way, everyone else gave them a wide berth, and one waved them to the side.

“Hey!” Anton yelled, his voice cracking slightly. “Stop!”

He couldn’t think of anything better to say. Cetina ran in front, pushing confused soldiers and civilians hard out of the way, while Anton ordered his Lightning Crows to intercept. The Yellow Knights glanced up as the Lightning Crows flapped angrily in their faces. Normally the creatures were utterly silent, apart from their beating wings even when raining death from above, but now they squawked and swooped at the Knights. It was enough for Anton and Cetina to catch up.

Anton recognised the Yellow Knights, part of the Yellow Strikers Order that had travelled with Duchess Belinda. Their faces were foreign to him but he didn’t speak to them once during their travel. Between them they held the handless young man, his skin had turned pale from blood loss and his stumps no longer leaked blood. Judging from his trembling lips he was still alive.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Anton asked, standing slightly behind Cetina while ordering the Fire Imp to prevent anyone from attacking them from behind.

"We’re taking this man prisoner." The Yellow Strider said, his voice unusually flat, as if he was spending a huge mental effort to remain calm.

"Strange that you took him from an abandoned tent," Anton replied angrily. "One where we were still fighting and littered with dead bodies. Almost like you knew what was happening before it did."

Both shared a glance as they lowered the handless man. He began to babble unintelligible words as his breathing quickened to a ragged pant.

"Is it just you two or is it your whole order?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

A small space grew around them, the Fire Imp snarled and waved its small blade menacingly to a surprisingly effective degree.

"But if he's really an assassin then there's no harm in letting him bleed out?" The second smiled. "I doubt he could talk much like this anyway."

Don’t know why you wanted him if you’re going to fold like that. Maybe you just know it’s not a good idea to keep pretending.

"You two must have heard the stories, that I can heal just about any wound? The people of Slihal surely told you about that, if you bothered to lower yourselves to their level."

"Who said he was an assassin?" Cetina asked softly. "When it could be a drunken fight that grew out of control."

Excellent point.

The Yellow Strikers glanced at one another, one’s hands slowly reached for something resting on his hip. A small bag, barely larger than his fingers, stained with patches of a thin red powder.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Anton said. “We’re a lot faster than-”

The Yellow Striker didn’t hesitate and threw the small bag. Cetina raised her shield but Anton created a small fire shield, just enough to encompass the small bag. The red powder ignited, producing a small burst of acrid smoke, which only served to irritate his nose rather than debilitate. In the few moments Anton was distracted the Yellow Strikes decapitated the handless man and one tried to flee, the other charging to attack Cetina. The attacker realised, only at the last second, that his companion had deserted him. Cetina stepped forward and deflected the strong blow into the ground. Stupefaction covered his face as Cetina punched him, hard in the throat. Though covered by armour the sheer impact was enough to stun the large man. He dropped his sword and reached for his throat as Cetina pushed again, throwing him back and onto the ground. Anton knew that it would take some effort to lift himself, more than he could muster with a damaged throat. The Small Lightning Crows swarmed around the fleeing Knight before striking him repeatedly with their weakest attacks. His body turned stiff and careened onto the ground, throwing up grass and dirt towards the stunned onlookers.

“Make sure he doesn’t get back up.” Anton patted Cetina’s shoulder. “Don’t kill him, but hurt him if you need to.”

Anton quickly checked the handless man for anything of value. Apart from another bag of red powder, so fragile it almost broke in his fingers, there was nothing. He still didn't understand why they tried to rescue this person over attacking or simply executing him in the first place. There were two people that could answer his questions.

"What is happening now?!" Someone shouted over the murmur of the crowds. “I thought we had dealt with all of the intruders.”

A Knight pushed his way through the crowds, one wearing the colours of the Blue Firestorm. Marcus frowned at Anton then to the men lying dead or stunned at his feet.

"What is this?" Marcus drew his sword, not aiming it at Anton, along with a small cadre of Knights, Blue Firestorm and Black Riders that pushed their way through. “What happened to your hand and face?”

"These two," Anton motioned to the two Yellow Striders. "Have some serious questions to answer."

“And your-”

"My Lord!" The Knight lying at Cetina's feet tried to rise to his feet. "These people-"

"Stay down!" Cetina struck him hard in the chest back, sending the bright Yellow Knight back onto the lightly churned grass.

"I take it you heard the noise?"

Marcus's eyes fell on the three Small Lightning Crows, standing silently on the ground, ever so often jerking their heads like a bird looking for prey.

"No way we couldn't. Left Castor and Bernard with King Leo for protection..."

A young Black Riders squire ran around the edge of the crowd to Marcus, whispering in his ear.

"That close?"

"You found the bodies?" Anton asked softly.

"Yes...Multiple bodies. Quite a blood bath." Marcus looked at Cetina's bloodied blade. “And not all from magic. Why is that?"

"Ghlyirl," Anton answered calmly. "You understand what that does to mages, yes?"

"I have seen it. Which means-"

"They were well supplied and knew what they were doing." Anton lightly kicked the shocked Knight. "Prepared to deal with troublesome mages…I want to interrogate both of them. Somewhere secure. And there's someone running around with Chelium tipped crossbow bolts. They punched right through Cetina's armour so going through a King's skull wouldn't be too difficult."

Marcus didn't hesitate as he summoned and dispatched a messenger. If the assassins had failed in dealing with Anton, an important but not a critical target, they might decide to take a serious gamble to end the civil war, doubly so now that Leo would be in one location. Of course, it didn’t explain why he hadn’t tried to kill King Leo to begin with. At least the camp wouldn’t have been alert.

"I certainly hope they'll keep their heads down." Anton knelt by the armless and now headless man. "But I don't think they will. Now, why were you two so eager to bring him back?"

"Take these two to the supply area," Marcus ordered. "Make sure they don't manage to kill themselves. Gag them if you must."

"I'll hold you and your order responsible if they do," Anton said softly, unaware that his voice now sounded like ice. "They tried to kill Cetina and myself, so you can imagine that I’m really, really annoyed right now. And everyone could be a suspect in aiding these cretins."

Marcus remained silent but sent a look that he understood. The Yellow Strider Knights were taken away, a Knights holding each limb, and the crowd was forcefully dispersed. Those nearest to the kitchen, and the body littered alleyway behind, were the last to go.

"Find the cooks as well," Anton ordered the Knights. "If they aren’t already dead. They were a part of this as well. I’ll force it out of them."

"They've all gone." A soldier yelled. "But we've found some more bodies, hidden behind some of the supplies. Looks like they killed the old cooks and took it over."

"You have some serious security issues," Anton said softly.

"With a camp this large and this many people...They could easily bring in a few of those Stitch Soldiers if they wanted to. I’m glad they didn’t."

Anton brushed his waist, his fingers felt the cut in his armour and the scale ridges beneath. "I don't think they're here."

Cetina held his shoulder until he smiled back but she still looked extremely worried.

"They wanted at least the body..." Anton looked at Marcus's Blue Firestorm emblem on his chest. "Do the Knight Orders have something on them, like tattoos or markings? Something unique to each order?"

"Some do." Marcus hesitantly approached. "We have a tattoo on our backs."

Cetina kept him well within her sight and refused to sheath her sword, Anton wondered if she could win against the older Knight. He clearly had much experience in war and could still lead an entire Order, even when his replacement was no slouch.

"I wonder where the Yellow Striders have theirs."

Anton flipped the headless body over, Cetina helped as it was surprisingly difficult to move with only one hand, and ripped off his blood-stained shirt.

"Are..." Cetina's voice wavered ever so slightly. "Are you sure you want to do this here?"

"He's not worried." Anton slapped the dead man's stomach. He was relatively well built, for someone so young. "Besides, I dissected a Goblin in front of half of the village. Probably didn't help convince them I wasn't crazy."

"Yes. They told me about that."

"A Goblin?" Marcus mused.

“And just in case someone disposes of the body before I’ve had a good look at it.” Anton glanced to Marcus but neither said anything.

No marks or tattoos adorned the man's front. As they flipped him back over Anton noticed a small tattoo, barely larger than his thumbnail, on his upper right shoulder. The small black mark reminded Anton of a kaleidoscope, at least a small fraction of one. From the blot small lines grew, evidence of plans for a larger tattoo, for when the man ascended the ranks, which would now never come to fruition.

"If this isn't one." Anton tapped the mark. "Then I'm very confused. I'd like to a look at the backs of the Yellow Striders."

"Could be theirs." Marcus mused. "Never had much to do with them, too far south."

Cetina lightly tapped his side with her shin. She had the same thought he did.

"I'd like to have a look at yours too." Anton smiled, the expression was not reciprocated. "Just to make sure, of course. I wouldn’t feel comfortable if I didn’t know."