Chapter 52
The attacks on the palace didn’t go as planned. The men who had infiltrated the palace guard showed up, and everything seemed to be going to well, right up to the moment when they gained access to the king’s quarters. The door snapped shut behind them, and they realized that the king was not there.
But thirty Classed Warriors and Rogues were. Yecha sat in the king’s chair, cleaning her fingernails. She looked up at the conspirators and sighed in disgust.
“I should have known it all along,” she said as she identified each of them. “It really kills me that Anaxis is the one who helped me spring this trap. To the dungeons with the lot of them. The questioning will begin immediately.”
The struggle that followed was violent but brief. The conspirators had spirit and determination on their side, but Yecha’s response team was made up knights and classed mercenaries that she trusted. They had orders to avoid killing until after the questions could be asked, but a few casualties were permitted.
And, unfortunately, two of the zealots had no intention of being questioned, swallowing suicide pills that took rapid effect.
They were the lucky ones. The others would regret being taken alive, once the questions started.
The king, meanwhile, was miles away, resting comfortably in one of his hidden estates. He had entrusted the entire matter of springing the trap to Yecha.
Unfortunately, the crown had significantly underestimated the extent of the conspiracy. Throughout the capital, zealots and assassins were striking at prearranged targets. Six targets were eliminated without issue. Twelve targets survived, killing or avoiding their attackers.
Anaxis was surprised to count himself in the list of targets when an arrow shot through a window and struck him in the shoulder as he was out conducting his rounds. Worse, the arrow was poisoned.
Fortunately for him, the assassin’s had vastly underestimated the durability of a high level rogue. Perhaps if he’d been twenty levels lower, the wound would have been critical and the poison enough to finish him off.
Instead, he simply found himself embarrassed and angry as he pulled the arrow out of his shoulder and bound the wound as he stuck his head out the window, trying to identify who had shot him. Unfortunately the assassin had vanished.
He sighed. Then, as he realized that the conspiracy must have been far larger than he thought, he rushed off towards the adventurer’s guild. If the king wasn’t the target, or the only target, then he could think of only one asset important enough to warrant his personal protection.
He did not arrive until after the excitement was over.
~~~~~~
Tom landed on his side, his hands covering the wounds on his stomach, gasping in pain. He looked up at his attacker, who was looking down at him with a shocked expression.
“Why?” Tom asked.
“I-I” Toth stuttered. The young man had just been Claimed. The magic was warring with his person. A thousand images were flashing through Toth’s mind, rearranging his personality and ingrained beliefs even as he fought against it.
He was a level six commoner. Tom was a level thirty-nine Controller. In a contest between Tom’s Claim skill and Toth’s will, the outcome wasn’t even close. The zealot that had stabbed Tom died, and in its place was something different.
“I’m sorry?” Toth said. “I was tricked. Fooled? I don’t know.”
He sounded small and lost. His beliefs shaken and his personality undermined. He knew why he had thought he’d needed to kill Tom Weaver, but everything that he’d thought he knew about everything had changed in an epiphany.
Tom Weaver wasn’t the undead king of a hostile religion that would see an end to all life on Welsius. He wasn’t an abomination that must be cleansed. He wasn’t the harbinger of disaster and strife.
The eye in the sky hadn’t been judging Tom. It had been judging Toth. He was the sinner, the blight on the world, everything that was wrong and impure.
The guilt of what he had done struck Toth down all at once. He looked at the knife that was still in his hands, and he knew that the only way to atone for his sin was to drive it into his own chest.
“Finish him!” Priest Goh called from the audience. Toth raised the knife, intending to end his own life, but when he saw the other conspirators in the audience he hesitated.
If he didn’t act now, what would happen to Tom? Tom’s life was the most important thing in the world to Toth in that moment, more important than even ending his own to atone for his sins. As the conspirators moved forward to finish what Toth had started, Toth moved to block them.
Half of the screaming audience was running away. Others were moving to help Tom. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a minotaur appeared.
“Protect me,” Tom said.
“Yes,” Toth agreed, believing that Tom had been speaking to him.
A large axe appeared in the minotaur’s hands, and the minotaur swung it at Toth, but missed. Toth dashed forward, not realizing that he was dodging a lethal blow by inches as he set out at the liar who had set him on the course of damnation. Goh’s expression was shocked as Toth charged him, bloody dagger in his hands.
Realizing that the boy had gone mad, the false priest of Ma’at cast a spell. It was a telekinetic blast which struck Toth in the stomach and knocked the wind out of the lad. Others moved to secure Tom’s would-be-assassin, but Toth began shouting out the truth.
“I am not alone! There are others who would see Tom dead in the audience! Tom, you are not safe, you must get away!” he cried out. Toth pointed at Goh. “He is the mastermind!” He pointed into the audience at another of the conspirators and denounced her. And another and another.
The conspirators cursed and began pulling out concealed weapons. One of the accused men grabbed a girl to hold hostage. She bit his hand and ran away.
The crowd escalated into chaos.
Tom tried to prop himself up. He held out a hand, and another Minotaur appeared in a swirl of mist and lights. The creature looked confused for a moment.
“Protect me,” Tom said again, and once more a weapon appeared in the beast’s hands. A warhammer this time.
Toth again believed that the injured teen was speaking to him, and he felt a wave of determination fill him. He stood and charged at Goh once more, seeking to strike off the head of the serpent that was the conspiracy he had been part of but moments before.
Goh cursed. He began chanting. He wasn’t much of a mage, lacking a true education in magic. A ball of fire, weak and anemic, appeared and lanced out at Tom. Tom gasped, but the first minotaur intercepted the magic attack before it struck him.
“You, Toth,” Tom called. “Stay here. You, you’re not going to try to kill me again are you?”
“No!” Toth said. “I’m sorry, I was mistaken! The evil ones tricked me, I--”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tom said. “Protect me.”
“Yes!” Toth agreed, his voice breaking for the first time in three years. “I swear my life to you, Tom Weaver!”
“I need a healer,” Tom said, trying to prop himself up better.
“You need to get to safety!” Toth said. “You are surrounded by enemies! Him and him and her!”
Tom’s eyes narrowed. He was seconds away from passing out, but he tried to focus. He pulled Mana from the nearby Core Stone and Spawned another Minotaur, ordering the beast to protect him as well.
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The onlookers and the bystanders in the audience were mostly running away, leaving behind two categories of people. The conspirators, and those determined to help. Unfortunately only one of those groups could identify themselves on sight.
“Traitor!” one of the conspirators called, attacking one of the would be helpers.
“What? No!” The unarmed man said, seconds before the conspirator stabbed him in the chest.
The crowd devolved into a melee. Tom watched, helpless, as the people who had come to watch their loved ones attain their classes were accused and attacked.
“Stop,” he called.
But the violence did not stop.
Goh was smiling. This was not how things were supposed to go, but as he chanted another spell, preparing to unleash lightning on the target, he was certain that he’d be able to kill the enemy asset before anyone could--
The pain from the blunt force blow to the back of his head caught him off guard. Goh fell to the ground, then rolled over to look up at his attacker. It was Duncan Seethring, the first of the boys that Tom had Evolved that day.
“Doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re one of the bad guys,” Duncan said.
Goh cursed and raised a hand, preparing another spell. He wasn’t much of a mage, however. Duncan wasn’t much of a warrior for that matter, and he had no weapon but his fists.
So he used them until his knuckles were bloody and bruised.
Into the chaos, Grant appeared, Flickering next to Tom. He knelt and supported Tom, helping him to sit up.
“What’s happening? Are you alright?” Grant asked.
“I’ve been stabbed,” Tom answered. “I’m down to a third of my Health. I’m having trouble staying awake.”
The minotaurs noticed Grant and were about to swing their weapons at him when Tom called them off. “Stop! He’s not going to hurt me. Protect me from them!” Tom said, pointing towards the crowd.
“Lay back down, Tom,” Grant said. “We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”
Tom obeyed, thankful that Grant appeared when he had. He closed his eyes, grunting in pain as Grant applied pressure to his wounds. With Grant there, he could relax a bit. Grant would know what to do.
As Tom relaxed, his vision began to fade. He passed out with a quarter of his health remaining.
~~~~~~
The magic dome that Ubo cast had a large radius. A lot of people were caught inside that dome, and few of them were able to resist when it began to shrink. Hiding in a building did no good. Propping oneself against a wall and trying to resist the pressure didn’t work, as the pressure didn’t go away. They were trapped where they stood, and would remain trapped until the spell was released. Those who had that particular idea came to regret it as they were pinned against whatever they had propped themselves against.
Inexorably, the everyone else was drawn into the center of the dome as the dome collapsed from all directions towards its center. Towards the man who had cast it.
Hundreds of people, angry and indignant, were drawn towards the mage’s school. This was exactly why most of them didn’t want the magic school built in their neighborhood to begin with, and they were very vocal in their complaints. Ubo quieted them all, raising a hand and firing arcs of lightning into the sky, accompanied by thunder the likes of which few storms had the ability to produce.
“I am seeking a man between the ages of twenty and thirty. Everyone else will be free to depart once I have identified him,” Master Ubo said in a voice that boomed over the thunder he was creating. “If you have a clear conscience, then you have nothing to fear, and I apologize for wasting your time. Only those who have--”
“He’s right there, Master Ubo,” Vella announced, pointing at the young man who had delivered the cart. “Wearing the orange tunic with the gray leggings. Brown hair with a mustache – yes that’s him!”
The man she was pointing to abruptly began floating. He cried out as he was drawn towards the mage who was in the midst of demonstrating his power on a stage grander than few but his most powerful peers could emulate.
“What gives you the right!” the man called out.
“I am Master Mage Ubo Urban,” Ubo said, his voice continuing to boom. “My rights come from my title and my power. What gives you the right to attempt to poison me and my apprentice, cur!?”
“Lies! I’ve never--”
The man cut off and began screaming.
“This is a lesson, Vella,” Ubo said in a perfectly calm voice that still cut across the crowd. “This is how the Urban family treats its enemies. This is a restricted spell. It’s not entirely well understood how it works, but it creates the most painful sensations imaginable. It is a spell taught only to Master Mages who can be trusted not to abuse it.”
The man continued to scream.
Some of the mages in the audience, ones who knew a thing or two about magic, went pale as they realized what magic was being cast upon the man at the moment. It was a spell that nobody was supposed to know, because all the practitioners who supposedly knew it had sworn to take it to their graves two centuries ago. But the Urban family didn’t believe in letting magic of any sort die out.
“I believe that is enough for now,” Ubo said, and abruptly the man’s screaming slowed. “Now, tell me. Why did you poison me, and try to poison my apprentice?”
“You was the target, not the girl,” the man said, his voice hoarse.
“Both trays were poisoned,” Ubo pointed out.
“Didn’t know which one was yours,” the man said.
“Why?” Ubo demanded.
“Don’t know,” the man admitted. “I was paid, that’s all. I don’t know anything!”
“Not good enough,” Ubo said, and the man began screaming again.
The screams went on for longer this time, the man swirling in the air as he suffered unimaginable agony. Nobody in the audience dared to say one word against the man’s treatment for fear that Ubo would turn their way.
“You wasn’t the only target!” the man announced once the screaming stopped the second time and he’d had just a second to take a breath. “The king, the leaders of the new Adventurer’s guild, some others, but I don’t know who all! I’m sorry I don’t know, just make it stop! Don’t hurt me anymore, please?”
Vella watched with wide eyes as the man was lowered to the ground. Ubo stepped over to him. His voice was kind and sounded forgiving as he spoke. “There there, it’s alright now,” he said calmly. He looked up into the audience. “Reginald, go to the palace and see if the crown needs the help of a skilled mage. Tremont, to the adventurer’s guild. Take whoever with you that will follow you and that you can trust.”
“The barrier spell hasn’t been released,” Tremont pointed out.
“And it won’t be, but it will part to allow you through,” Ubo said.
Tremont paled as he realized the level of control that such a casting would require. He couldn’t do that. He certainly couldn’t do that on top of the other examples of power and ruthlessness that Ubo had displayed in quieting the crowd and torturing the poisoner. He glanced at Reginald, who had come to similar conclusions. And, at the same time, he cursed as he realized that the man he hated was being given a competing task.
He had to get to the Adventurer’s guild immediately. Hopefully he’d be able to save someone and put his skills on display, while Reginald would arrive at the palace to find nothing amiss. It would grate on him to the end of time if the opposite was true and Reginald saved the king or the princess or something while he was on a fool’s errand.
He called out for several of his lackeys to join him and fled. Reginald did the same.
Once they were gone, one of the remaining crowd members nervously asked if they were to be allowed to leave.
“No, I think not,” Ubo said. He gestured, and the prisoner again rose into the air. “I have been gentle with you so far. You very nearly poisoned someone that I care about. That ‘very nearly’ is an important qualifier, because if you had actually succeeded in poisoning my apprentice I would use my forbidden magic on you until you died of dehydration, you see. Thank me for being gentle.”
“Thank you, great master Ubo,” the man said piteously. “I do not deserve your consideration. Please forgive me.”
“You’re right, you do not deserve my consideration,” Ubo agreed. “However, I am willing to grant you further forgiveness if you tell me everything you know about the conspiracy.”
“Yes, Master Ubo,” the prisoner agreed, and he began to talk.
Periodically, as the man named targets, Ubo would send out more of the mages who had begun to occupy the campus in the past few weeks to find and protect the intended victims. Nobody dared gainsay him. The mages who had not very long before been causing Ubo to tear out his hair were completely intimidated by the Master Mage now.
When the prisoner finally stopped speaking, Ubo patted his shoulder.
“Is that everything you know?” Ubo asked gently.
“It is, I swear it!” the man insisted.
“I think you know more than you think,” Ubo said. “What role did Mage Turnball play in the conspiracy?”
The prisoner looked up, suddenly terrified. “Mage Turnball? I don’t even know who that is!”
“Sure you do,” Ubo said gently. “Search your memory. What role did Turnball play?”
The man cast about, looking desperate. He really didn’t know who Turnball was, and if the mage played any part in the conspiracy he knew nothing about it. He was about to say so when a whispered voice that only he could hear spoke to him. He immediately repeated the words.
“Turnball was a willing accomplice! He’s got an unnatural lust for goats and he sought to overthrow the king to overturn the law against bestiality!” the prisoner announced.
“Good, very good,” Ubo said. “Now what about Mage Lionite?”
The whispered voice again provided the answer, and the prisoner repeated the words immediately.
Twelve mages were accused of heinous things. The audience was laughing by the end of the list.
“Good, very good. Maybe we can save you after all,” Ubo said to the prisoner. “Will you swear these things in court, before the king, and to any and everyone who asks you?”
“Yes! I will swear these things to my dying breath!” the man promised.
“Good,” Ubo said. “I would hate to have to visit you to remind you of anything you’ve forgotten.”
“I swear on my soul that isn’t necessary!” the conspirator promised.
“Make certain that it isn’t,” Ubo said. He cast another spell, and the man abruptly lost consciousness.