Naereni

Doubouir’s words made everyone focus on him further. “Toren’s been following Mardeth’s actions for the past few months, tracking down his operations through Alacrya. And most recently, we managed to infiltrate a base of his along the Redwater.” I picked up how Sevren’s stump of a shoulder twitched uncomfortably at that mention. “But I managed to get a look at the machine the Vicar of Plague used to create this altered blithe concoction, and I studied a sample of the drug myself.” He winced as another explosion went off somewhere in the distance. “Mardeth seemed to have incorporated some bits of an acidbeam hivemother’s mana pattern into his concoction. Whenever that awful mist touches a mage, it perpetuates the cycle, infecting their mana core and spreading to others. Once the blithe mist is unable to detect mana any longer, it will seek the closest crystal of basilisk blood.”

Hofal drew his pipe from his trench coat, looking at it. His fingers trembled as he tried to light a smoke, his eyes more than haunted. “What’s the point of all this?” he asked, dropping his pipe. He didn’t try and pick it up again, instead looking emptily at the fires blooming in the distance. “Just to cause pain? To cause suffering for suffering’s sake?”

Doubouir shook his head. “The basilisk blood contains the resulting mana. It maintains its charge. Charged for... Something. I never got that far. Once I realized it was a mana plague, I left my base immediately.” His eyes flicked to Boulders. “My sister opted to join.”

“I’m a powerful striker,” the navy-haired noble said, stepping forward. “I can more than carry my weight in helping you,” she said seriously.

Ahh, this one needs to prove something, I thought, scrutinizing Caera Denoir with narrowed eyes.

“Is there a way to stop it?” I asked aloud, forcing a cheery tone, “To stop both the spread and the concentration? You’re the smart one here. We’re all different flavors of idiot, so you’ll need to tell us in simple words.”

Sevren hesitated, his pure white bangs shadowing his face. He suddenly looked half-starved. “I’ve got an item here,” he said, withdrawing something from a dimension ring, “That might be able to break the connection to the basilisk blood.”

My eyes widened in surprise as they drank in what was nestled in his palm. A dark crystal seemed to absorb the light. Absently, I tried to calculate how much it was worth. I knew what it was, after all. They’d been used in the Joans’ failed Clarwood Forest expedition.

“A beastward,” Wade breathed, his hand instinctively brushing against Apple’s flank. The adorable skaunter hissed in disgust. My lover caught onto Sevren’s plan quickly. “When these are broken, they’re able to scramble an acidbeam hivemother’s connection to the rest of her hive, at least on contact! That’s what you’re planning to do!”

Sevren sighed, withdrawing the item back into his dimension ring. “That only solves one part. I can’t stop the spread of infection from person to person. The best way…” he visibly hesitated. “The best way would be to kill the infected. Put them out of their misery,” he said with steel. “Death makes the mana inside their body go inert. Once the mana is inactive, the mist won’t spread any longer.”

Greahd pushed herself forward, looking up at Sevren Denoir. Even while missing an arm, the man held himself with a sort of dignity as he matched Greahd’s stare. “That isn’t the best way,” she said sternly. “That is the easiest. Those two are not the same. There are no doubt hundreds of mages who’ve been infected. Maybe thousands. To kill them all would be a massacre on the greatest scale seen since the war between Vechor and Sehz-Clar!”

“So what do you think we should do instead?” Sevren asked bitterly. “I didn’t get time to try and make an antidote. And considering there isn’t even an antidote for normal blithe’s effects, I’d like to hear what solution you’ve got in mind!”

Greahd’s mouth worked as she faced off with the highblood, but it was Karsien who spoke up next. “My mist can mask those within from the searching intelligence of the blithe waves,” he said, his mask of joviality long gone. “I can help us move a small team to wherever the basilisk blood crystal is located. And in regards to helping those at risk of being infected, we do have options.”

My mentor withdrew an item from his dimension ring, holding it out. A bluish beast core swirled with light striations in his hand, the object glowing with a faint pulse of mana. He looked at Greahd. “I know you said that you would never again help the Rats with your spellform,” he said solemnly, dipping his masked head. “But I would ask that you do it again. For one last heist.”

Greahd stared at the beast core. Her sole rune was a spellform that allowed her to work in tandem with other mages to store their spells in a beast core. And if Karsien could store his mist in a core…

I breathed out, my cheeks flushing as I recognized what that meant. My mentor could create half a dozen spells that wouldn’t need to be activated by him alone. Only the person who smashed the core.

Greahd’s palms settled along the unnaturally smooth blue surface. “One last heist,” she whispered, as their mana began to flow and twist together.

—

Over the next several minutes, a plan slowly formed from the pieces scattered about. Sevren had suggested small squads of unadorned should carry a beast core to places in the city he’d pointed out as high-risk areas, then smash the core and blanket them in protective mist. East Fiachrans could then spread out, spreading the word to all the mages who were still uninfected to gather inside the mists for protection.

Adding onto this, Wade had offered the guidance of his rats to each of the unadorned who volunteered for the dangerous missions. He would stay behind to help coordinate the rescue efforts. Men and women surged forward in droves to help this suffering city against their long-time oppressors.

Karsien had withdrawn a surprisingly vast amount of water-attribute beast cores. He worked tirelessly with Greahd as he infused one after the other with mist, seeming to tire only in mana. His spirit remained strong as ever.

He sighed as he finally altered a beast core, both his and Greahd’s faces matted with sweat. He flexed his arms as one of the volunteers–Benny’s mother, Baela–resolutely accepted the core into her hands, seeming almost reverent. The young Benny clung to his mother’s dress with hands that missed a few fingers, sniffling lightly. Yet even his eyes shone with something beyond resolve.

Baela gave me a steady salute as she clutched the beast core closer to her chest. “I’ll make a difference, Miss Rat,” she said solemnly. “I promise you that. I’ll save lives, like Lord Daen did my boy,” she said, her hand clutching Benny’s shoulder.

I nodded. “Just make sure to ask for compensation afterward,” I said jokingly, acknowledging her resolve, “Else we’ll have to steal some for you.”

Baela smiled hesitantly, then turned around. A stream of unadorned citizens trailed after her, all wielding various household implements and scrap items in a roughshod attempt at weapons. There was a fire in their steps that belied their strength. I offhandedly wondered how they couldn’t be mages as I saw the burning in their eyes. One of Wade’s rats hopped up onto Baela’s shoulder as agreed, its beady little head looking for any sort of danger.

“Why did you have so many beast cores?” I asked Karsien quietly as he settled in beside me. “We both know how expensive those are, my dear mentor,” I continued, voicing the question that had been bothering me for the past few minutes.

“He planned to try and attack the Doctrination himself,” Hofal said, plodding up beside his longtime friend. “He figured he could manage a way to get Greahd’s assistance regardless.” He looked at me, clasping the head of the axe on his waist. “I was going to join him. But they got to us again, first.”

I worked my jaw, watching as the good people of East Fiachra streamed from the central plaza, each soul searing with a purpose that hadn’t been there before. “And why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, looking at the man who had trained me.

Karsien adjusted the bandana around his mouth, refusing to answer as Mr. Doubouir stepped up, his sister gracefully sliding into step beside him.

“Are you all ready to go?” he asked, adjusting the teal cloak on his shoulders. “We’ll need to keep an eye on the sky for where the blithe vapor travels as it returns to the source, and avoid any vicars that might try and vomit that horrible gas onto us.”

“Yes,” Hofal said, standing up from where he’d been sitting nearby. He flexed his muscled arms. “You were right, Naereni. Too long have we allowed the Doctrination to take from us all. To bury their dirty fingers into everything we try, tainting our dreams and ruining our peace. I’ve run from my past for too long. He clenched his axe tightly. “It’s time we took the fight to them.”

—

I jumped over a protruding slat of rotted wood, mana thrumming through my veins as our group darted through the streets. Everywhere I looked, the air was tinged with a light layer of green. Within the confines of Karsien’s mist spell, we were thankfully unaffected.

Karsien, Hofal, Sevren, and Caera kept pace with me as we ran northward, following the blots of blithe mist that streaked into the sky and concentrated somewhere in North Fiachra.

All around the city, a picture of destruction burned in my eyes. Remnant traces of battle tinged the mana in the air, and smashed rubble around decimated houses belied the conflict. I spotted the bodies of several vicars as we ran, but there were far more mages who had been subsumed like poor John. Their eyes seemed to plead as their cores were turned into no more than a battery. When they exhaled their sorrows, only blithe gas seeped from their mouths, streaming up into the night. These were the ones who had last tried to fight.

Here and there, I spotted familiar East Fiachrans darting through the rubble, checking on bodies, barging into homes to check for survivors, and putting out fires with buckets of water pulled from the nearby canals. Whenever they found mages still alive–which was more often than I’d suspected–they pointed them toward a predesignated spot of misty protection.

Mister Doubouir’s face had a deep cast to it as he ran, glancing at his sister every now and then. Miss Boulders, on the other hand, seemed to have molded her face of iron. Even as signs of destruction, fighting, and death flashed around us, she had the lithe grace of a trained soldier. Of a woman who knew what needed to be done.

Maybe I shouldn’t call her Boulders, I thought absently as we snapped down an alleyway, tendrils of water vapor following in our wake. She’s the real deal. Not a puffed-up pansy like all those noble girls I stole from.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Hofal’s bearlike form was as sturdy as the greatest temple as he ran. He was once an initiate in the Doctrination, I knew. He’d only said a little about his time there, but he’d left, hoping to never see the temples again. And now they’d chased him, even here.

Yet the man who had treated me like an uncle, who had given me a listening ear and an insightful view into the world, and who had shown me why I needed to be patient, looked ready to bring his wrath to those who had chased his nightmares for so long.

I couldn’t see what was beneath Karsien’s mask as he took the lead, but a sort of grim determination seeped from my mentor. He was the one who taught me the joy of quipping in battle. Of always bearing a smile on your face, even in the darkest of circumstances. But since he’d accomplished his revenge against Flint–Dornar Joan–that side of him had bled away. He’d let go of another mask. Afterward, he’d always seemed focused on something farther away. Something none of the rest of us could see. But now, his eyes were focused on the path directly ahead.

The wall separating North Fiachra from the other subdistricts was utterly destroyed. It had once nearly bisected the entire city, a towering black earthen structure that kept the poor penned in and the rich in their cozy warmth. Yet something had happened to destroy it, revealing the land beyond.

I gulped. I’d thought South and West Fiachra had been hit hard by the blithe plague, but North Fiachra looked like it had been run over by one of the Vritra themselves. From that barest glimpse I caught, it was hard to see a building that wasn’t a smoking ruin or wasn’t in the process of becoming one. Patches of conjured metal, seeping earth, and dying frost littered the northern district, signs of pitched battle throughout.

Karsien’s spell shifted as something hurtled toward us. I caught a flash of roaring fire as a mist clone ejected from our protection, intercepting the fireball as it tried to blow away our protection. A vicar was perched on a nearby rooftop, glaring down at our protective bubble.

“Run!” Sevren shouted. “We can’t afford to waste time here!”

Another fireball hurtled toward us, but we were already moving. We crossed the border to North Fiachra, vicars hot on our heels as they trailed us. Some tried to get close, but crescents of wind from Caera and warding ice knives from me kept them at bay for now.

I grit my teeth as we crossed the border into North Fiachra, running for all I was worth. My legs pumped as I spun on my feet, throwing out a flurry of conjured daggers. Simultaneously, I thrummed mana through my foot, leaving behind a frosty white glyph on the stones. As my knives dug into an approaching vicar’s arms, chains erupted from the rune, lashing him to the floor as the links sought the handles of my thrown knives. He grunted in pain as he faceplanted into the cobbles.

“How’d the ground taste?!” I mocked behind me as we continued to run. “Certainly better than your sister’s–”

Something erupted from the cobbles beneath our group, spraying chips of stone as the earth seemed to birth vicars in real-time. I reacted on instinct, driving a dagger of ice through the eye of one as he tried to pull his torso free, blithe vapor sifting through his teeth. Hofal reaped bloody vengeance as a swing of his axe decapitated two, preventing them from exhaling their fumes.

Sevren Denoir tried to avoid the swipe of a vicar’s outstretched hand as they clawed up from the stone, which seemed to be malleable under their touch. He moved as if to throw a punch with his right arm, but it wasn’t there. That cost him dearly.

The vicar latched onto his leg, then threw him bodily toward the border of the mists.

Toward me.

His body hit me in the chest, knocking us both out of the protective cover in a tangle of limbs. Internally, I panicked, feeling a flash of fear as I realized we were now exposed to the open air.

I got a glimpse of the assault on Karsien’s mist. Vicars clung to the far edges, warily watching the area-of-effect spell. It wasn’t clear where exactly we had been within, and that uncertainty was all that spared Sevren and me from a bombardment of spells as the mist left us behind.

Sevren scrambled to his feet, about to try and rush back toward the mist cover. I yanked on his ankle, pulling him back down to the ground. He whirled on me angrily. “I need to get back to my sister!” he snapped. “And that cover is all that’s–”

I jumped up, snapping a hand over his mouth and cutting off his sound. His eyes glared at me, but he seemed to recognize the situation we were in. “We aren’t going to catch up without getting riddled with holes,” I said quietly, inching us toward a nearby canal. “They’ll be fine, Mister Doubouir. Karsien knows what he’s doing. We’ll meet up later, got it? But because you knocked me out of my protection, too, I’m going to make us even.”

Karsien’s mist wall continued to travel north, masking their trek. As I suspected, my mentor knew I’d catch up. Most of the vicars followed it, trying to get rid of whatever was fueling the spell.

Sevren’s eyes darted to the canal beside us. I smiled sweetly. “The best way to make it past this wall of vicars is underwater,” I said. “The blithe mist can’t reach us as easily underwater, too. And it’s just so, so sad that we’re both going to have to swim through it, isn’t it?”

The highblood pushed my arm away, then withdrew a small metal cube. “I have a powerful cloaking artifact here. It’s how I managed to smuggle my sister and me into your camp in the first place without drawing the attention of that blithe,” he snarled, his shoulders heaving. “We don’t need to dunk ourselves in a canal, but we can’t afford to move too fast, or else the protection will fuzz.”

I frowned, feeling irritated that the man had ruined my plans to push him into the water. “Fine,” I ground out, feeling almost pouty. “But you’re going to follow me. I know these streets almost as well as East Fiachra’s. We’re going to walk like thieves, Mister Doubouir, not soldiers.”

I felt the little device in Sevren’s hand activate, covering us both in a small wall of condensed mana. I breathed a little easier as I felt the surety envelop me.

I clung low to the ground, keeping to the shadows as I took a covert route northward. As we’d gone through North Fiachra while trailing the splashes of green overhead, I’d long since realized where exactly we were headed. Where this final showdown with blithe would take place.

Sevren was able to match my pace surprisingly well. I’d taken him for a snooty, holier-than-thou man after how I saw him treat other highbloods, yet I found myself surprised with how well he moved through stealth.

You’re a thief, too, aren’t you? I thought wickedly as I peeked around a corner, noting as Baela directed a few unadorned down another street. They ran with abandon, no doubt fearing the retribution of the vicars high above. Thankfully, Karsien’s path of water had drawn the attention of most as they tried to rip him out of his shell.

Baela made eye contact with me after a moment, and for the first time, I noticed the other men trailing her. A contingent of highblood guards stood in tattered uniforms, haunted casts to their eyes and the look of a startled rabbit. In their center was a familiar man. What was his name? ‘Rambling’ something. The tattered crest on his jerkin was a dark helmet. I could’ve sworn I’d stolen from him before.

I patted Sevren’s arm, then pulled us forward. Baela probably had a good idea of where the vicars were most concentrated, seeing as she’d been through here a bit more. Sevren and I could plan a more controlled push forward.

“Baela!” I said in a whisper-yell. “How are the evacuations?”

Baela looked nervously back at Rambling, whose eyes were fixed intently on Sevren. The man was a bit broader than average, bearing a build more akin to Hofal’s. His greying hair had probably used to be slicked back, but now he huffed while holding his cane for support. His elegant silk suit looked more than scorched.

“We’ve gotten a lot of people out of their homes so far and into the pockets of mist,” she said hurriedly. “The vicars tried to break through them, but after we gathered enough mages, we were safe. They’re able to fend off their attacks while we go out looking for more survivors.”

I nodded. When I opened my mouth to speak again, I was surprised to hear the steady timber of Rambling’s voice. “Sevren of Highblood Denoir,” he breathed. “You’re here, too?” He looked at me, his calculating eyes narrowing. “And you. You stole from my manse, once. A priceless artifact handed down by my great-aunt. It cost me an arm and a leg to buy it back once it got onto the market.”

Oh, yeah! Morthelm! He was one of our first targets, and I’d gotten a pretty penny for pawning that bracelet off. I snapped my fingers. “But it was a really nice bracelet,” I said, then decided to ignore the affronted man as I turned back to Baela. “Can you tell me the safest route northward? I got separated from the rest who are going to attack and we need a good route onward.”

Baela fidgeted nervously, Benny clutching her pant leg. “If you go by the big fountain east of here, that’s clearer. We’d planned to drop one of the protective spells there, but the area was too decimated by spellfire and other debris. It wasn’t a good gathering place. But if you just want to pass through…”

I nodded, turning to the side and preparing to leave. There was only so much time left, and Karsien would be waiting for me. This city was waiting for me.

“Wait,” Morthelm said as I prepared to leave. “You… you’re Lord Daen’s friend, aren’t you?” he said, looking at me.

I nodded, itching to leave. “He’s a good man,” I said. “If it weren’t for him, your ungrateful, lazy ass wouldn’t be getting saved right now.”

“He kicked the bad man who tried to stab me,” Benny said from Baela’s skirt. “Used his magic and everything! He’s the best mage there is, I promise! He’ll come here to save us soon!”

Morthelm’s eyes focused on the little boy without fingers, his mouth slowly working. I could almost see the calculations he was doing in his head. I thought steam might fly from his ears from how hard he was thinking.

Then he seemed to realize something as his eyes widened in disbelief.

Morthelm looked at Sevren, then back at Baela. “I see it now. Highbloods working with street rats. The highest of the high being helped by the lowest of the low, all coordinated by unadorned,” he breathed, his back straightening as his eyes flashed. “And you all know Toren Daen. This is what he meant, wasn’t it? What he was trying to do?”

An explosion sounded nearby, and several vicars slid onto the street. They looked at our group hungrily, jeering their promises of salvation.

Fuck! I thought, recognizing the situation we’d just gotten ourselves in. Now that the vicars had spotted us, we’d have to fight or chase them. I began to summon my ice daggers, but a hand on my shoulder pushed me back.

I squawked angrily as Renton Morthelm put himself between the group and the vicars, his guards hesitating by Baela’s side. His cane tapped on the ground as he walked forward, putting himself in our enemy’s sights.

“Take my men,” he said, not turning around, “To somewhere safe.”

Baela hesitated, seeming unsure. Renton turned his head back, inspecting the mother and the boy. “What is your name, woman?” he said, slightly gruff. “I realize now that I never asked for the name of my savior.”

“Baela,” the woman stuttered, taking a few steps back. Morthelm’s guards seemed unsure as they hesitated, too.

“Go,” Renton said, unsheathing a sword from his cane. He flourished it, and I felt a pulse of mana emanate from him. It spread over the street, washing against the vicars who prowled along the rooftops and cobbles. “I may be old, Miss Baela, but I still bear the pride of Highblood Morthelm.“ The vicars focused on Renton as the mana flowed over with unnatural intensity, their eyes shifting as some sort of spell enraptured their focus. “It has been a long, long time since I acted as the shield for my ascending party, my spells drawing the attention of every fell beast that crossed our path. But know well that no enemy shall pass me.”

Sevren stumbled forward, gripping Renton’s arm with his sole remaining hand. “You intend to die here?” he asked, sounding baffled. “You won’t survive. And you’re doing this… for nonmages.”

Renton scoffed, shrugging off Mister Doubouir’s hand. “Lord Daen was right,” he said, flourishing his cane. “I would not have believed him had he told me what he was trying to do. Yet without his efforts… Without them, we would all be consumed. I am old, not senile. Our home has a chance because of Lord Daen. So go with the Young Rat, Lord Denoir, and save our city.”

I grabbed Sevren’s shoulder, towing him away as the vicars closed in. Renton breathed out a puff of air, then tapped his cane against the ground. A swirl of wind rose along his body, coating him entirely in armor that redirected and disoriented anything that got too close. A helmet settled over his head, one that looked exactly like his family sigil. “Come, you beasts!” he called, protected from the blithe mist so long as his spell held. “Know the strength of Highblood Morthelm!”

Sevren watched in awe as I pulled him away toward where Baela had indicated earlier. I gritted my teeth as I heard the sound of clashing steel and spellfire behind us.

We needed to reach the Joan estate.