Chapter 1: Oaths and Gifts: Part Two
“The first gift is from my uncle, the King of the Underworld, Hades. He knows that heroes must sometimes need to use stealth and cunning to face their foes, so he hopes this gift shall be of use in the future.”
As she spoke, she reached into that strange sack and drew out a . . . helmet? Yes, it was an ancient Greece-style helmet, like one of those worn by the Spartans, save that it didn’t have one of those big mane things on the top. Instead, the skull of the helmet was a smooth curve, and the face and nose guards formed a sort of mask that was iconic in modern culture. The helmet was made of steel, polished to a near mirror shine, but otherwise unadorned. I noted that the sack still looked as empty as before, so I guessed it to be like the small pouch hanging at my waist. I began to wonder how they might compare to each other, but my thoughts were derailed as the goddess started to speak.
“This is a Helm of Darkness, a helmet that will provide invisibility for the one that wears it. It was forged at my uncle’s command by using a small shard of metal taken from his own Helm, and as such possesses a portion of its power. Not only does it grant invisibility, it also muffles the noises made by those that wear it and defends from spells and enchantments that would be able to pierce normal cloaks of concealment and the like.”
Well . . . wow? What else was I meant to think? Being able to turn invisible was one of the dreams of every child. Hell, even quite a few grown-ups too, and it was just being laid out in front of me as a gift.
Athena gently put the helmet down on the table and turned back to the bag.
“The second gift is from my other uncle, the god of the oceans and the shaker of the earth, Poseidon. He hopes that his gift shall protect you from harm and see you safe through many battles.”
Again, she reached into the sack, but this time she drew out something larger than the helmet. It took me a moment to realise what it was, but as she laid it out on the table it finally clicked. It was a breastplate, one made in the style of the ancient Greeks.
It was one of those vest-like ones, the dark, almost black metal forged to resemble the musculature of a ridiculously ripped man. The chest and abs stood out in sharp definition, sculpted from darkened metal that was almost black. There was a small amount of ornamentation forged into it, edging to the individual pieces of metal wrought in gold, two small horses facing each just beneath the neck hole, small touches that seemed to highlight the fact that this was no dress armour. This was meant for war, for battle, to turn aside blades and arrows that would otherwise take the life of the one wearing it.
I could also feel power in it, and I think I would have been able to even before my Awakening. I didn’t need to call out my halo to feel the magic in that piece of armour, it practically radiated from it like heat from a fire.
“This is the armour of Achilles, forged by Hephaestus and worn in the war against Troy. After his death, it was given to his son, Neoptolemus. In time he gave his father’s armour to his grandmother, the sea Nereid Thetis as a memento of his father and her son. In turn, she eventually passed the armour to Poseidon, and now it is time for it to be worn in battle once more.”
I was trying my best to keep a calm face on, but this was pushing it a bit. This was the armour of ACHILLES, one of the greatest heroes of the Iliad! Growing up my mum had read me so many stories, and the Trojan War had been one of my favourites. This was the armour that Achilles had worn when he faced Hector? I . . . I almost felt overwhelmed!
Well, on a purely practical level I was grateful, I couldn’t remember much, but most of the versions I’d heard of the story agreed that after Achilles lost his original armour with the death of his friend Patroclus his mother had gone to Hephaestus and persuaded him to forge a sword, a shield and armour without equal. These gifts, combined with his invulnerability and his great prowess, had made him only a step or two removed from flat-out invincible. He’d beaten Hector, he’d slain the Amazon queen Penthesilea, and defeated fellow demigod Memnon. In the end, he was laid low by a cowardly arrow to the heel where his armour didn’t protect him, and where his invulnerability was absent.
But my vulnerability wasn’t in my heel; it was somewhere that this armour could protect very well. Yes, I struggled to keep my face calm as I realized I could definitely see a use against my vulnerable bellybutton issue.
“Thirdly I bring a gift from my father, the King of Olympus, Zeus. Somewhat more mundane than those of my uncles, he hopes that it shall prove more useful in removing the minor yet irritating obstacles from your path.”
I had a hard time dragging my eyes away from the armour, but my curiosity was able to overcome my awe. This time the goddess pulled out . . . a small wallet? It was made from dark leather and seemed to fasten with a clip rather than using Velcro, like mine did. All in all, it looked completely normal, mundane in every way I could think of. Unsure of what else to do I reached out to it, glanced at Athena to make sure it was alright, then, at her small nod, picked it up.
The wallet was not empty, it had a full feeling to it, the sides almost bulging due to whatever it held. My curiosity piqued I unclasped it and opened it up. Inside I found cards, lots and lots of cards. They were plastic ones, in many colours and with many designs, some of which I recognized. It took me a moment after I extracted them to realize that they were all credit cards with various American banks that I recognized, such as Western Bank, True Trust, NBI, and a host of others. A quick check showed that there were also several other banks that I was familiar with due to my travels. A couple of French ones, one that I recognized as being Swiss, a German one, a Greek one, and a couple of British ones. All told there were a total of twenty-five different cards in the wallet, along with a small bit of folded paper.
Unfolding it I saw that it was a print-out, one with pictures of each of the cards on it, with numbers next to the pictures. The security numbers I guessed, meaning that I would be able to use these cards. Not bad I supposed, but how much did they each have on them? Or was I meant to work to get something into them? With my new abilities, I could think of a dozen ways to make so serious money in pretty short order, but if that was the case then Zeus had given me a pretty crappy gift in comparison to his brothers.
Something of my thoughts must have shown on my face because Athena suddenly spoke up.
“My father is aware that in order to operate in this modern era wealth is of considerable aid in easing your efforts. Since the pathways opened once more Hermes has been working upon various projects and building up the wealth of himself and my family. At Lord Zeus’ command, he has prepared these accounts for your use, in the hope that the wealth contained in them will be of aid to you in efforts.”
Well, that made more sense. Not what I was expecting from the King of Olympus, but I could see the practicality of it. I had power now, lots of it, but having some money to back it up would make things easier in many ways.
“How much are we talking about?”
If it was a few thousand then I could work with that. Granted, I didn’t have a very clear picture of what I was going to be doing in the near future, but even if it was something like relief work to places that had been hit by gods fighting then-
“Each card contains an amount roughly equal to three million pounds sterling each, in the currency of the country in which the banks of the cards are based.”
I didn’t consider myself a greedy kind of guy. My interests are mainly on the cheap side, books, games, reading on the internet, even my trips were as inexpensive as I could make them. I’m not the kind of guy who dreams about one day buying some sort of super expensive sports car, designer clothes, or outrageously costly jewellery. That said, I have had daydreams about what I would do if I somehow won the lottery, but daydreams were all they had ever been. I never seriously considered having that sort of money.
And here I was, having been handed . . . how much? Come on, this was basic maths! Each card was something like three million . . . three million pounds, three million! Oh, what I could do with- No! Come on, don’t get distracted. So th-three million each, and there were . . . how many cards? I’d counted them only a couple of minutes ago, how had I managed to forget how many there were? It was . . . twenty-something. Twenty-seven? No, that wasn’t it; it had been a rounder number. Ummm . . . Twenty-five, that was it, twenty-five!
So, it’s three times twenty-five, so that’s . . . that’s . . .
My head spun slightly as I realized that okay, that is a pretty big number.
“So, Lord Zeus is giving me seventy-five million pounds to help with whatever I’m going to have to deal with?”
“Indeed,” the goddess replied, her words as calm as the surface of a lake in midsummer. “My father felt such wealth would be of use in your future efforts. There are also a small number of properties included in the wallet, locations you can use should you ever choose to travel in America.”
Money and properties? Some part of me was wondering just why the King of Olympus was being so generous with me, but the larger part of me was driven by another sort of curiosity.
“What kind of properties?”
“Nothing of great note,” She replied, “An apartment in New York, a domicile upon the western coast, some tinker projects of Hephaestus that my father believed you might benefit from. Minor gifts one and all.”
It was almost ridiculous but having a wallet full of money and property in my hand almost seemed like more of a change than becoming a demigod. Yes, I now had new looks, a huge pair of wings growing out of my back, and powers that most could only dream of, but there was something more familiar, more real, about suddenly having more wealth available to me than I’d ever even thought would be possible in my lifetime. Somewhere at the back of my mind, I could hear a small voice gleefully shouting; “Screw the rules, I’ve got money!”
I took a deep breath, trying to dismiss the juvenile notions that sprang up of fast cars, massive TV sets and overpriced game systems. I couldn’t lose sight of the other gifts, just because the money was more immediately understandable. Invisibility and invulnerability were more valuable than mere cash, even if each of them was limited. I’d been given treasures here, and unlike the metal sphere I’d been given by Nüwa these had immediate use, especially the armour.
Ever since I’d learnt about my navel being my weak spot, the implications of it had clung to my mind no matter what I did. In sparring it was worst of all, this constant fear that just making a single mistake, just dodging the wrong way or blocking too slowly would cause a hit to strike that small vulnerability. Sure, I’d done what I could to protect that critical spot, but there’d always been the fear that it wouldn’t be enough. That armour would go a long way towards making me feel a bit safer, that was for sure.
“Thank you,” I stated to Athena, inclining my head as much as I thought I could without being subservient. “These are marvellous gifts, ones that I’m sure will be of great service in time.”
“I am pleased they have found favour with you.” She replied, stepping back, even as she started to hold up the golden sack once more.
I opened my mouth to say something else . . . and found a huge yawn swallowing up any words I might have said. I actually heard my jaw crack as it stretched, even as my hand darted up to cover my gaping mouth. I heard a snort from the side and glanced over to see Kali making no effort to cover her amusement. Looking back at Athena I saw that she looked mildly irritated, but not offended.
“I . . . sorry about that,” As soon as I could speak again, I offered a somewhat sheepish apology. “Looks like a wash and some adrenaline will only take me so far.”
I tried to make a joke of it, smiling as I idly scratched the side of my face. Kali was already smiling, and Joan joined her with an amused smile of her own. Hadriel was as stoic as ever, and Athena nodded gravely.
“Perhaps it would be best if we continue this in the morning,” The Greek goddess allowed. “Our introductions have been made, and gifts given. This can be continued once you have regained your full vigour, agreed?”
She didn’t just address me but questioned the whole room. Nobody had any objections though, and my own nod was damned heartfelt.
“So, got any spare rooms where I can crash?” Kali asked as she got up. “I don’t mind a night or two in the shed if I have to, but a bed’s always nicer.”
“There are several rooms that have been properly furnished and prepared,” Joan stated, opening a door to let the goddesses out. “They may not have been expected to be used, but they are ready, and should be quite comfortable.”
She paused for a moment, looking at Kali, then at Athena.
“The beds may be somewhat small for you though.”
“A minor matter,” Athena waved a hand dismissively as she stepped through the door. “One that can be endured with little discomfort.”
“That’s the spirit. Glad to see you’re not going to be a petty princess about this, blondie.” Kali sounded genuinely amused as she followed after them.
“Hardship is not something I am unfamiliar with,” Athena replied, her voice a tiny bit stiff. “In my travels, I have ha-”
Whatever else she might have been going to say was cut off from me as Hadriel pushed the door shut, her hand on my shoulder to keep me from following after the saint and the two goddesses. Before I could ask her why she’d kept me back she turned to face me, her expression questioning.
“I shall allow you to return to your room shortly, but before you rest, I must know . . . did something unplanned happen during your mission?”
I blinked at her, my sleepy mind having trouble shifting gears for a moment. I’d been so caught up in trying to concentrate on the unexpected guests that had arrived, as well as the implications and complications inherent to their presence, that what had happened earlier had just slipped to the back of my mind.
“You . . . you could say that.” I offered, a weak grin on my lips as I sat down in one of the armchairs.
I really did mean to tell her about everything that had happened to me. about Etienne, about what Typhon had done to him, about meeting with Li and the orb and bag that he’d given me. I meant to tell her about the sudden surge in my magic, about how I was stronger, about how scared I’d been during the fight, and how out of my depth I’d felt.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
There were loads of things I wanted to tell her, and almost as many questions that I wanted to ask her, but I never got a chance to voice any of it.
As soon as I sat down in that armchair it didn’t matter how uncomfortable I felt. It didn’t matter that I had to lift and spread my wings a bit to avoid putting all my weight on the joints that connected to my back. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I was no longer having to hold myself up, either with my muscles or with my magic. Yes, the back of the chair pressed into the inner portions of my wings made it feel as though I was sitting with my arms tucked behind me, but I didn’t care.
The armchair was soft, the room was warm, and I was so tired. All I did was close my eyes for a moment, just to give them a chance to rest. I really did plan to open them again and talk to Hadriel. However, as soon as they closed it felt as though they had lead weights hanging from them. I was vaguely aware that things weren’t quite going to plan, but I just didn’t care.
The darkness stole over me, thick and comfortable, like a fresh blanket, and the last of my thoughts sank into the calm oblivion of sleep.
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Hadriel stared down at the slumbering form of her charge and did her best to quell her minor frustration.
Once again, she had to remind herself that despite his outer appearance Adam was not a true angel. He was still subject to many of the weaknesses of mortal flesh, despite the enhancements that his body now enjoyed. At least his need to intake food and drink was no longer a concern, though she was still uncertain as to why he chose to regard that as a loss rather than a gain.
Turning away from the young demigod she closed her eyes and reached out with her more etheric senses. Not far from herself, she could feel three signatures of power, one familiar, the other two all too new. Joan was clear to her, having been in her presence for days now. The familiar feeling of the High Heavens permeated the resurrected soul, something akin to the presence of an angel, but not quite the same. The Angel of Swords found it soothing, a reminder of home while she existed upon this plane of flesh and matter.
Athena felt potent, but it was in a way that the angel was familiar with. There was something about the Greek goddess that was somewhat akin to the soldiers of Heaven. Perhaps it was due to her nature as a virgin goddess of war in a pantheon that was known for their . . . passionate pursuits. The goddess of craft and warfare had dedicated herself to the development of her skills, rather than the pursuit of her pleasures, and the results combined with her divinity were similar to the nature of angels, at least on a superficial level. Consequently, the power that radiated from her put Hadriel in mind of being in the presence of one of the higher-ranked members of her brethren. One of the commanders of armies, one of the spearheads, those that led the charge against the forces of hell. It was a considerable power, one sufficient to lay cities to waste or drive back armies.
And it was utterly overshadowed by the power of the second goddess.
As a foot soldier of the High Heavens, the red-winged angel did not stand high in the ranks. Yes, she was skilled and powerful, but she had never sought to elevate her position, content with her place as a combatant. As a result, she had not spent much time in the company of the elite of the High Heavens, but that didn’t mean she had never encountered them. She had once been privileged to be commended by Michael himself for her part in one of the offensives against hell.
She remembered standing in his presence and feeling his power. Michael, one of the eldest of the warriors of the High Heavens, one of the great generals of their forces, one of the few angels to bear the title of both an archangel and a seraphim. A one-time peer of Lucifer, a champion of the Almighty, one of the trump cards of the Heavenly Host. She recalled being in awe of his might, of knowing how it compared to her own and how tiny she was by comparison. Never in her life before or since had she felt anything similar, save for when she stood in the presence of her creator.
Not until now.
Kali . . . she, unlike Athena, could in no way be said to resemble an angel. She was a goddess, pure and simple, an incarnation of mortal fears and dreams, yet a being that existed independently of them. She was an incarnation of the domain she was connected to, a personification of a concept that was ancient and powerful. Kali was a complex goddess, her domains not being easy to define. In simplistic terms, she could be said to be tied to death, time, destruction, violence, and even the concept of ‘doomsday’, the end of all. Some had called her the goddess of destruction, but that was not entirely accurate either.
Lord Shiva was the god of destruction in the Hindu pantheon, but he was the destruction before renewal, the end that allowed for a new beginning. Kali was the inevitability of destruction, be it through the violence of an attack, or simply the inevitable breakdown brought on by the passage of time. In that way, she was the more fearsome deity, because she was the more implacable, the more inevitable.
Beyond that, she was a warrior goddess, a being that had been birthed to destroy the seemingly indestructible. Hers was a legend of blood, massacre and fear, and all of it done to defeat a great evil. It wasn’t an evil myth, but it was a fearsome one, one that made it all too easy to misinterpret her nature. The ultimate combination of all these qualities was a goddess that verged on the demonic but remained righteous. A goddess that served as one of the major trump cards to one of the strongest pantheons in the world.
In truth, Hadriel was uncertain as to how she felt about the dark goddess having sworn her oath to Adam. On the positive side, it meant that he now had a truly fearsome ally in his ranks, one of the greater powers of the world. The crimson-winged angel was confident in her own skills, as well as those of Lady Joan, but also knew that she could not stand against the likes of the mightier gods and demons. Perhaps in time, Adam would come into enough of his potential that he could stand amongst such ranks, but such would be far in the future if it ever happened at all. Until then an ally of Kali’s strength would be an invaluable asset.
On the negative side, the Hindu goddess was a less . . . reliable ally than Hadriel would have preferred her charge to possess. Yes, her strength and power were undeniable, but just as legendary was her bloodlust and battle frenzy. Kali was known to descend into such fury that she would continue to fight even after a battle was over, with Lord Shiva famously being the only one able to calm her. Her vow to Adam might protect him and his allies from her wrath, but an undisciplined soldier, no matter how powerful, could still be a millstone about an ally’s neck.
Hadriel did not sigh, such an expression of emotion was not natural to her, but the feelings within still churned in her heart. This evening had been illuminating, in quite a number of ways.
Lord Shiva. Her charge was a Legacy of Lord Shiva!
Such a bloodline was on par with Lady Bath Kol and went a long way to explaining the immense potential her charge seemed to possess. In the Hindu pantheon, Lord Shiva stood as one of the unquestioned peaks of power, possibly even as the mightiest god of all. His feats and accomplishments were myriad, and any Legacy of his was certain to be powerful. Perhaps just as important was the connection it granted her charge to the Hindu pantheon since a demigod born of their lord’s bloodline would command considerable respect. The few gods of the Hindu pantheon that had made themselves known had mainly kept to themselves or focused on fighting their traditional enemies but had demonstrated their power. If Adam could convince them to aid the High Heavens against the incursions of the forces of hell, then it would be a boon.
“Nnngh . . . nngghhhnn!”
She was pulled out of her thoughts as Adam stirred in his sleep, a low murmur escaping his lips. He didn’t appear to be distressed, instead, he just looked mildly irritated. As she watched his wings pulled up around him, forming a feathery cocoon about his slumped form, and he quieted down. She just had time to see a smile spread across his face before a wing was drawn up, hiding his face.
Hadriel’s head tilted slightly as she looked down upon the sleeping young man. Was he dreaming? The thought nagged at her as she continued to stare, her mind drifting from the implications of his bloodline to something of a more trivial nature.
What was it like to dream? The thought nagged at her, even as she moved to take a seat of her own. Angels were superior to mortals in many ways, but that very nature came at some costs. The minds of the soldiers of the High Heavens were broader, deeper than that which mortals could naturally attain, but they were also less complex, less intricate. Mortals had things like the free will, a balance of good and evil within them, and even a natural level of innovation that was rare amongst angels.
The winged servants of the heavens had come into existence with their purpose and identity already fully formed. They didn’t know uncertainty in the way mortals did, and their minds were structured differently as a result. The division between conscious and subconscious thought was far smaller in their case, little more than what was needed to maintain instincts and intuition. This made them deadly in battle, where their minds were keyed to swift and decisive action, as well as able scholars and administrators in times of peace, but it did come with some costs.
Though angels could sleep they could not dream. This lack of dreams did not harm them, as it would mortals, and was a small thing, almost insignificant, but it refused to leave Hadriel alone. She often wondered if it was just her amongst her brethren who felt this odd envy. She was unsure of why she felt this way, but she often wished that she could dream, that she could slumber and escape into a world of wonder and nonsense born of her own buried thoughts. Such a small thing, but it was a tiny private sin of envy that she allowed herself.
She would have preferred to awaken Adam, to complete their discussion as well as learn what had happened during his small mission. His state when he returned had clearly shown that matters had gone awry, but that was all she could deduce. However, it was clear that her charge was exhausted, and she needed to allow for his mortal frailties.
It was best to let him sleep and recover his strength. Tomorrow he should be mostly, if not completely, recovered, as a result of his increased vitality. She could afford to wait a few hours for her answers. His sleep would also give her more time to consider the arrival of the goddesses and how to account for their presence in the future.
For a moment she considered lifting him and carrying him to his bed so that he could sleep better, but then dismissed it. he was comfortable enough where he was, and his wings and vitality would ensure he didn’t need to worry about being cold. Turning about she flicked the electric light off as she left the room, leaving her charge to his rest.
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Marcello was trying to keep a grin from forming on his face, but it was far harder than he would have expected.
Normally, smiles and other joyful expressions didn’t come to him with any great ease. It wasn’t that he didn’t experience such emotions, but a lifetime of hardship and years in the military had left him naturally grim-faced. Emotions were things that he had come to mask, to conceal lest they give other insight into his mind, or simply the impression of weakness.
Still, despite more than a decade of such habits, it was difficult to maintain his grim veneer in the face of this success!
He’d thought that it was going to be impossible, that actually leaving the British Isles with the scabbard of King Arthur could not be done. Yes, he’d held onto the hope that Morgan le Fay knew what she was doing, but as pressure had mounted, as the noose about them had closed in, he’d begun to think there was no chance of escape.
In all truth, he’d been shocked by the sheer scale and vehemence with which the king and his country responded. He’d expected the king to send out some of his knights on a quest to retrieve the scabbard, maybe enlist the aid of demigods or other magic users to aid them. What he hadn’t expected was the near full mobilization of the military, the police, and even some rescue services joining in the search. Airports, docks, and railways stations, all of them had been occupied by forces that searched every passenger and staff member to see if the lost treasure was in their possession.
And it wasn’t just mortal forces that were searching either. The Knights of the Round Table were out in force, spreading to all corners of the country as they sought the thieves of their king’s lost artefact. Magic users and demigods had come with them, but it had not been the small group of questers that Marcello had anticipated. Instead, dozens had seemed to come crawling out of the woodwork, working in concert with troops and cops to weave a web meant to keep the scabbard from being taken. It had been a huge effort, and it had almost been successful.
The scarred mage had nearly swallowed his tongue when one such search party had come to the very docks where he and the others had been hiding. And then he’d gone on to nearly bite his tongue in half when he saw that the party actually included one of the king’s own knights. He knew the sorts of powers that those knights had, powers beyond mortals. They were refinements of souls, people that had been mighty in life, and then joined Arthur in Avalon after their deaths. There they had been tempered by the passage of years and the power of the sacred isle, meaning that when they returned to life, they were more than they had once been. Just as Arthur was on par with a god, so were they on par with strong demigods.
Given that the scabbard was tied to the magic of Avalon, a magic those knights had soaked in for centuries, they should have been able to sense it. They should have been able to sense it more accurately than even a highly talented mage. The check group had not been far from their hiding spot, only a handful of minutes’ walk away. They should have been able to easily find the lost scabbard.
But they didn’t.
Morgan le Fay’s magic had held, the enchantments she’d woven into the covering he tightly held had worked! Hours passed, day became night, and the knights hadn’t come charging in to retrieve their king’s lost treasure. Instead, they had remained at their posts, waiting to see if anyone would try to enter the docks, unaware that the group they sought was already there.
It had been nerve-wracking, the wait, the tension, constantly wondering if the precautions the immortal enchantress had taken would be enough. He’d spent hours thinking that any minute something would go wrong, that he’d hear the breaking of wood and concrete that would signify that the knights had found them. He’d found himself wondering what would happen to him then, whether he’d live to be tried by Britain’s king, or if his patron would take steps to silence him before he had the chance to talk.
Marcello knew it had happened before; agents of his patron that had been captured ended up dead before they could spill secrets they might have. The deity he served had long-term goals, and at the current time, those goals seemed to be best served by him staying in the shadows. Anything that might draw attention was dealt with ruthlessly. And the scarred mage had no desire for such a fate to be inflicted upon him.
However, the minutes became hours, and still, they were not found. Then, just after three o’clock in the morning, the silence of their hiding place was broken by a whisper. It was so faint that at any other time, it would have been all but inaudible. In the oppressive silence of their tension, it rang as clearly as the roar of a lion.
“It is time.”
The voice was unmistakably that of Morgan le Fay, but this time the sorceress herself did not make an appearance. Instead, a small globe of dully glowing green light manifested in the middle of the warehouse office.
“Follow this light,” Her words were a command that left no room for disobedience, not harsh. “Preparations have been made. It shall lead you along a secure route to a vessel that will allow you to escape.”
That had been it. Even though the other members of the small group had whispered questions, demanding more information, there had been no reply. When the tiny sphere had begun to drift out of the office and towards a back door what choice had they had but to follow? It was quite clear that the immortal enchantress had no use for their input, only their compliance, and they had no choice but to offer that compliance if they wanted to get out of this with their skins intact.
The guidance offered by the dull light had proven to be perfect though. It had led them past patrols, guided them to the hiding spots needed to evade detection from spells and sweeps, led them away from obstructions, and made sure they didn’t stumble over such things as broken glass or anything that could give them away. It had been gruelling, and by the time they made it to the small out-of-the-way pier at the far side of the docks, Marcello was soaked in sweat, his arms aching from where they clutched the wrapped scabbard to his chest in a death grip.
There had been a small motorboat waiting for them there, barely more than a large dingy in truth. The entire thing had been painted black and had been empty as a ghost ship. There was no sign of who had brought it there, but the scarred mage noted that it remained in place, despite the lapping of the waves beneath it, and despite the fact it wasn’t tied to anything.
“Get aboard. Quietly. Do not take your time, your window of opportunity is a small one and shrinking fast.”
It had only taken them a matter of seconds to board the small boat, Marcello having the hardest time since he couldn’t freely use his hands. The instant they were all seated the small vessel had begun to move, though the motor had remained dead and their passage made no noise. Behind them, the lights of the docks had finally disappeared into the distance, and the only lights had been from the stars above them and a silvery moon that hung in the sky. Marcello had continued to anticipate the sounds of pursuit, the roar of an engine, the whine of a helicopter, and maybe even the splash of some enchanted steed riding across the water. However, as minutes and then hours passed, he realized a single, amazing, fact.
They’d managed to make their getaway!
That was the reason he was struggling to keep a smile from his face. Against all odds, Morgan le Fay had actually managed to get him and the scabbard out of the country.
He still held the wrapped scabbard tightly, but it no longer seemed quite as heavy as it had before. Looking up he thought he could make out distant lights on the horizon. It might have been a trick of his eyes, or it could be that they would soon be reaching land, either was fine with him at that moment. After all, the worst was behind him now. Once they reached the shores of France it would be a relatively simple matter to meet up with the immortal mage and hand the stolen artefact to her.
Yes, he could now comfortably say that the worst was behind him.
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