Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads!
Seris Vritra
The communication artifact in my hand pinged again, the effervescent red glow of light like the heat haze of a dwarven forge. The spherical device flashed once. Twice. Thrice.
I maintained a calm front as I stared at the fire, listening to the artifact ring. My fingers tapped across my legs, observing the low-burning fire in my rooms.
The sound of the artifact was much like a drumbeat if I listened closely enough. A thump, thump, thump that pulsed outward like the squeeze of a heart.
Cylrit has not reported to me, I thought with an undercurrent of worry. I should have heard from him. At least through the urgent line if something was amiss.
We had agreed-upon protocols in place for meetings such as the one I’d directed him toward. Cylrit was to negotiate with King Leywin on the removal of the Legacy’s Vessel from this war, while also drawing Mawar into our clutches. But regardless of the outcome of my Retainer’s mission, he should have sent word within several hours of his meeting. If he did not have access to his communication artifact or it was somehow damaged, there were arrangements in place for my Retainer to send word through less efficient means.
The worry that reared its head was not entirely unfamiliar. It was something I felt more and more as Toren seeped his molten touch closer to my heart. But all the same, I was practiced in such thoughts.
My communication artifact ceased its ringing, and so too did I feel my stomach clench in uncertainty. The flames in the hearth across from me dimmed, and each shadow seemed a little darker. I could not explain why. There was no logical thought behind it. But I felt a sort of cold spread along my veins like snowfall.
Worry without action will do you no good, Seris Vritra, I told myself, enforcing calm across my psyche. I did not allow my blood to freeze in my veins. You do not know enough to draw any conclusions.
I slowly stood, smoothing out my dark dress. I had several contingencies in place already depending on the possible outcomes. The best-case scenario was that Cylrit’s artifact was somehow damaged or broken, but that meant that he would have faced some sort of battle or unforeseen scuffle.
I did not profile King Leywin as the sort to renege on a deal, I thought, pacing slowly. Taking into account the worst possible scenario–but also the one most likely–I might have been double-crossed by the once-king. The most likely possibility is that he has done something to capture and incapacitate Cylrit, but it would be anathema to his character to do so. At least without informing me first.
I had deduced easily enough that the newly crowned commander of the Triunion forces was parlaying for time. I suspected he did truly wish for Virion Eralith’s health, but if he could buy a few months for his new ‘gun’ technology to develop and disperse across his military, the king would kill two birds with one stone.
Kill two birds with one stone, I thought with a subtle upturn of my lips. Strange, for that to be one of Toren’s little quips from Earth, considering his phoenix heritage.
I shook my head slightly with a sigh of bare exasperation. I needed to stay focused.
In lieu of this understanding, I had tacitly agreed to stall my efforts on the northern front of this war. My spies reported that trenches were being dug all across Sapin’s south in unending lines. Spikes and barbed wire had been laid down for a reason I couldn’t yet comprehend.
But I had focused on the other fronts I had influence over. I’d begun granting Viessa more troops and supplies, subtly reinforcing her battlefields and diverting King Leywin’s resources as I propped up her dying vanguard. My steamships conducted raids along Sapin’s western and northern shores, darting in and ravaging military outposts and supply lines before retreating as fast as they’d come.
Yet these were all common tactics in warfare. Not enough to justify some sort of shift in Cylrit’s negotiations or warrant his capture.
I stopped in my slow back-and-forth walk, something aligning. “Unless…” I whispered quietly, tapping a finger against my arm.
I’d opened discreet talks with some of the disabused nobles of Dicathen. The pompous, greedy aristocrats had been outraged by Arthur Leywin’s deft dispersal of their power and centralization of authority. And they wanted it back. House Wykes in particular had fed me information likely thought hidden from the rest of the world, the re-emergence of the asura and the truth of how Arthur had become king once more chief among them.
If Taci Thyestes had learned of Arthur’s parlay with Cylrit over matters of Spellsong, then that might deeply strain even Arthur’s ability to keep my Retainer safe. With the pressures of an asura at his back, even the mightiest lesser leader would be forced to change their course.
Yet I still did not know enough, and I could not act on half-formed assumptions.
I stowed my communication artifact back in my dimension ring, instead withdrawing something else. Where the artifact felt absurdly cold, this one was… warm. In a way I could not truly understand.
Inversion glimmered as it blackened my skin, but the pain did not unsettle me. No, the song of my blood quieted slightly as I embraced this small piece of Toren.
That was Toren’s gift, to connect others. And Rahdeas had hinted to me that Toren’s endeavors in the Hearth were proceeding well.
He would return with the assurances of his adopted family, of that I was certain. He is the linchpin of everything I am building, I realized after a moment, holding that basilisk horn close to my chest. All of it… It’s all revolving around him, now. Slowly but surely, like the pull of a star.
I will need to inquire about these new technologies that Arthur Leywin is introducing from Spellsong, I thought. They must be Earthen in nature, same as the steam engine. Toren will know.
I would also have to restrict my lover’s actions more with the knowledge of Taci Thyestes’ directive, but I was not as worried about the asura’s intervention as I would have otherwise been. From all reports, the pantheon was a rash, young, and predictable being, despite his asuran nature. And since Aldir Thyestes’ intervention, I had escalated my plans on countering asuran influence.
Even now, my dimension ring held one such countermeasure.
I turned, the horn in my hands helping me cement what I needed to do next. Cylrit was not responding, which meant that there was likely something that had gone awry with his meeting with King Arthur, but my knowledge was still lacking.
I strode purposefully from my rooms, once again refactoring my plans and goals. The dark caverns of Burim felt strangely cold despite the end-of-summer heat, and I restrained the urge to shiver. I kept Inversion strapped to the side of my belt, using that warmth to banish the strange dread in my core.
But as I walked through the halls of the Divot, it didn’t take long for me to notice something was strange about the cavernous stretches.
The serpentine reaches of the dwarves were always swarming with the presence of the shorter folk, but now? They were dark and empty. What guards were present were all Alacryans.
Before I could think to question someone further, the crashing sound of footsteps on stone resounded past my ears. It quickly grew closer with an urgency that made me turn.
Lusul of Named Blood Hercross rushed forward, his dark skin beaded with sweat. He stumbled to a halt as he reached me, before quickly falling to one knee. His mana pulsed out of him erratically, showing how nervous he was. He kept his pinkish eyes trained on the floor.
“Scythe Seris Vritra,” he said obediently, his sweat leaking through his clothes. “I have… urgent news to report.”
“Lusul Hercross,” I said, tilting my head as I looked down at the young man. He had risen quickly in my military to be one of the forerunners of our station in Burim. He trembled under my cool attention, but I knew from past experience that he held a spine stronger than any steel. “What is it you wish to tell me?”
“The dwarf, Elder Rahdeas, is attempting to evacuate Burim,” the young man said quickly. “He’s working on the Undercrofts right now, but he’s trying to push out the dwarves onto the docks or through the teleportation portal.”
Immediately, my mind flashed to the last conversation I’d had with the addled dwarf. Where we’d contemplated the past and our mutual rebellions.
What is the old dwarf planning? I thought, immediately feeling that earlier uncertainty rekindle. Rahdeas had some mental tie with the leader of the Asclepius, and though I’d assumed our goals aligned…
I began to move, my stride purposeful as this information settled like a lead weight at the bottom of my stomach. The clicks of my heels on stone was determined and sharp as they resounded about the cave. “So the dwarf is forgoing our alliance, then?” I questioned, my voice cool and dispassionate. “He is surely aware of the implications of this.”
Lusul quickly fell in behind me. Though his near-pink eyes were nervous, they held a spark of determination and confidence that had only grown the more he’d been drawn into Toren’s web of companionship.
“You have my permission to speak, Lord Hercross,” I said, sensing that he had more to say as I continued to move. “Say your mind.”
“The dwarf tried to direct Alacryan troops, too,” he replied after a moment. “They did not comply, but I took the initiative to inform you. The Elder was incredibly insistent.”
Almost as if on cue, a few of my captains rushed down the hall. Captain Dromorth, ever loyal, stood at their forefront. The man almost seemed to sink into the dark from the ebony of his skin. His glasses were askew as he thundered forward.
“Scythe Seris Vritra,” he said, about to kneel as the Hercross boy had. “I have–”
“News to report regarding Elder Rahdeas, yes?” I said, tilting my head. I didn’t slow in my stride at all, walking as if nothing could stop me. I was a winter breeze to the shivering leaves of my captains as they fell in behind me, same as Lusul. “Speak.”
“We attempted to stop the dwarven Elder from withdrawing dwarven troops, but we were stopped,” he said carefully. “It is a deepest failure on our part, and nothing can be done to remedy it but request your intervention. With the methods the Elder employed…”
With the increased presence of Alacryan troops in Burim, it should have been simple to at least force subservience or threaten a battle that could not be won. Either Rahdeas was being extremely foolhardy, or he had information I didn’t know about.
I quested out with my senses, my gaze piercing the tons upon tons of rock and stone as it quested downward. Granite and metal and crystal failed to hide the world below from my sight.
And I sensed it. Some sort of artifact had been masking it before, which was why I hadn’t initially sensed it, but…
I turned slightly, the only indication that I had heard the captain’s words. Dromorth was precisely the kind of man I appreciated in positions of power. One who was willing to speak his mind, but was also subservient and aware of my authority. “Olfred Warend placed himself between you and the dwarves, did he not?”
The captain swallowed as my aura pressed outward slightly. “Indeed, Scythe Seris,” he muttered darkly. “We didn’t know the former Lance was here in Burim, but–”
“Because he should not be,” I interrupted, feeling a rising sense of worry. Olfred should have been stationed in Vildorial alongside Cylrit, working together to ensure the city was bulwarked against assaults from the Lances. “What, precisely, did Olfred do?”
“He demanded we bring you, Scythe Seris Vritra,” Dromorth said, shaking slightly under the effect of my aura.
Most certainly a demand not from the Lance, but from Rahdeas, I immediately understood. This implies that he wishes to speak before he shatters our alliance, at the very least.
“Follow behind me from a distance, but do not approach unless otherwise ordered,” I commanded my captains, aware that this could shift to physical conflict quickly. My core churned as I lifted upward off the ground ever-so-slightly, before speeding through the tunnels.
It didn’t take me long to exit the Divot. As I hovered in the cavern, I felt compelled to sweep my eyes across the massive cavern once more.
Stalactites hung like a thousand icicles all across the caverns, backlit by the constant glow of the lavaducts. The ducts themselves glowed with the heat of a forge as they carted the molten blood of the earth in ever-expanding arteries across the chasms. Those lavaducts hung from tough iron chains like men swinging from the gallows. Like a bleeding back peppered with a hundred wounds, the furthest reaches of the cavern wept streams of lava into the ducts, where the molten rock then flowed throughout the entirety of the dwarven abode.
The platforms and bridges between, about, and through each stalactite were swarming with dwarves and soldiers as they darted about, shouting orders and in a general panic. I could see soldiers as they tried to usher civilians toward the exit of the cavern. The bridges were nearly overwhelmed with people as shouts and cries of confusion echoed everywhere.
But despite this, my attention was drawn lower. The darkness of the Undercroft beckoned, two specific mana signatures flaring amidst the shadowed smog of poverty and despair.
Rahdeas and Olfred Warend.
I gathered my mana about me, my regalias close to activation. The burnished spellforms on my back tingled with warmth as I subtly prepared myself for combat. The dwarven Lance could not hope to match me in combat, and I doubted they had any scheme that could overcome my strength. But missteps were always made on assumptions.
I lowered slowly like an angel of darkness, my dress fluttering and my hair flowing in the end-of-summer breeze. It took some time to finally dip into the dark smoke of the Undercrofts. The smog withered away where it touched my mana barrier, allowing me to pierce the gloom.
The stalagmites of Burim’s underground thrust up in a thousand different places like reaching hands, each finger of stone splayed in a vain attempt to meet their brethren on the ceiling. But just like the beaten and downtrodden, they would never see the wealth of the sky.
I passed a few rickety shacks and wooden structures lashed to the stones in rotten timbers, feeling the terrified eyes of Burim’s lesser folk as I descended toward their Lance and leader.
Dozens of magma golems glowed like beacons as they herded the poor of Burim–at least those who would listen. I could sense more dwarven soldiers scattered all about the Undercrofts, likely leading more and more of these poor folk in a mass retreat. Dozens of earth mages slowly conjured massive constructs of stone.
Ships, I recognized. They’re conjuring ships. And they have been for a few hours already.
My eyes widened imperceptibly as I took all this in. This wasn’t what I had initially thought. Already, I was factoring everything I was sensing into my assumptions. If Rahdeas were breaking our partnership, then what use would he have for pushing the poorest of the poor nonmages out? Or to make these great stone vessels?
My aura pressed into the two of them. Rahdeas, of course, did not react. But Olfred Warend–who should not have been here, but in Vildorial–stepped in front of his father as his mana flared. His beard bristled as his eyes flashed, a determined cast there even as his hands trembled.
The initial anger and annoyance I’d felt at my captains’ reports had already deepened into growing worry that clawed at my gut. And as I locked eyes with the dwarven elder, that fear I’d smoothed away earlier started to rear its ugly head.
I let myself observe the shifting workers around me. Their panic. Their worry and fear. “You did not inform me of this, Rahdeas,” I said, injecting my tone with a dose of skepticism and light annoyance. “I know not what the–”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“We’re activating the Rising Earth protocols,” the old dwarf said, interrupting me. Interrupting me. “You will do the same with your troops now. There is no other option, Lady Scythe.”
My aura flared, turbulent power wafting out at the presumptuous command of the dwarf. “You presume to command me, Elder Rahdeas?” I asked, tilting my head. “In Alacrya, men have been executed for lesser crimes than interrupting a Scythe as she speaks.”
Olfred opened his mouth, his body trembling from my aura, but the elder stepped in front of him, pushing him back with a gentle hand. “Not now, son. She doesn’t see it yet.”
The former Lance shifted at the word son, something akin to fear welling up in his features. “Father, I–”
“What do you mean there is no other option, Elder Rahdeas?” I interrupted, feeling growing impatience. I did not allow my eyes to wander, but the scattered pieces of this puzzle were slowly forming in my head.
The Rising Earth protocols were Burim’s standardized response to lavatides as they rose from the deepest depths, coating the entirety of the Undercrofts in lava and burning all to cinders and ash. But the lavatides followed a predictable decade-long cycle, and they should not rise for another five years.
So the Elder believes something just as catastrophic is coming, I reasoned, pulling together the puzzle. He isn’t just trying to evacuate his dwarves, but Alacryans as well.
For the first time, the dwarven elder looked me directly in the eye. His sole, good eye pierced me like a javelin. Not because it was misty with insanity and torture, no. But because it was impossibly clear. More clear than I had ever seen it before.
Rahdeas slowly fell to one knee, his very bones seeming to creak as the once-bulky dwarf forced himself to kneel. The dwarves all around watched in confusion and worry as the bulky man prostrated himself before me.
“He didn’t see it coming, Lady Scythe,” the dwarf said somberly, pressing his face into his hands. “With Toren’s actions drawing his sight inward, he never cast his glances to the wider world. They’d left the Hearth long ago, well before Toren’s quest, but…”
I strode forward with purpose, inwardly aware of how all the dwarves about were staring with confusion at their elder. The Undercroft was silent as smog swirled like clouds after a great battle.
“He tried to forestall it, Seris Vritra. He sent what messages he could. To Spellsong. To the coming fire. But it is… too late.”
It fell into place with worrying swiftness. The itch in my stomach. The need to evacuate all from the caverns, even going so far as to use the Rising Earth protocols. The suddenness of it all and the out-of-character actions of the dwarf in front of me. “What did the Lost Prince see, Rahdeas?” I demanded, my mana flaring. “What must we run from?”
Rahdeas raised his trembling head, looking at me with tears in his eye. “Blood and fire, Lady Scythe,” he said with a trembling breath. “Blood and fire.”
And as he said the words, I finally felt the aura. It washed through the entire cavern, making the stones themselves sweat and my hair cling to my skin. It was like the scorching gaze of the summer sun as it beat down on you from above. Suddenly, I imagined I was not in the relative shade and coolness of the caverns, but on the surface of the desert as it bombarded me with flame.
I felt that heat wash over and through me, making my mouth go dry. I could feel that being at the entrance of the caverns, their strength a palpable force that scalded my insides. Toren?
It was almost like Toren. But this wasn’t my Spellsong. This was more powerful than Toren, far beyond him.
“Foul Vritra!” a voice boomed through the entirety of Burim. The very stones rumbled with the star-pulsing power. “Reveal yourselves now! I have come to wreak vengeance and fire for your crimes against all!”
Chul Asclepius
There was a fire in my core. A burning, undying, everlasting fire. It was hotter than anything I had ever known, and the very emotion burning me away. Even as I flew like an arrow over the sands of the desert, aiming due south, I could feel naught but that anger.
The wind continued to whip and tear at me. The constant particles of sand and dust slammed into me like small ballista bolts, but I cared not as my quest drew me toward justice. Suncrusher demanded the blood of those who had lied to me, who had used the sacred name of my mother to ensorcell me in their putrid ruse.
I had been foolish. Blinded by the hope of her name, I had been naught but an untrained whelp as I stepped into the trap of the vicious Retainer. It was only the keen eyes and heart of the Good King that had seen my body spared their machinations.
I’ll tear them all apart! I thought, tears streaking down my face as the winds drew them from my soul. Tears of weakness that burned. The tears of a child. They will all burn!
The Good King had trusted in the Vritra, just as I had. And he had nearly been slain as well. Vicious, wretched serpents!
I held back a pathetic sob of weakness as I continued on my flight, my hand grasping my chest as my heart twisted painfully. Vicious serpents, spearing your heart with fangs of hope.
The voice came again. Muffled and indistinct, as if I were hearing it beneath a training haze with little water.
“Chul… Chul… You must–”
The voice cut out for an instant, smothered by my wretched fury. I gnashed my teeth as Mordain’s spellwork—half a continent away—probed at my soul.
“Return. Do not take this pat–”
I screamed aloud in rage, fire erupting around me. The heat of the flames burned the very air as my vision went red, the world buckling under my fury. The burning scoured away my Uncle’s incessant voice, and the wriggling tendril of his sorrow turned to naught but ash in my mind.
My bellow traveled like a war drum, the world warping as tears streamed down my cheeks again. Uncle didn’t understand this, either. He’d never understood. He was too cowardly. Too content to just rot with his clipped wings. And because he refused to do what was truly necessary, my flock faced a threat as great as the sky.
The Vritra knew of our Hearth. The wretched Retainer had spoken of my mother, used her to lure me into his scheme. But that meant that somehow, Agrona Vritra’s agents knew of my home. I knew, deep in my core, that my Mother would never willingly tell the basilisks of our sanctuary. Hers was the greatest will I had ever known. I could imagine no torture that would pry such knowledge from her heart.
But somehow… Somehow, they did. Which meant that even if Mordain demanded I return, I could not. Not until I wiped them all from the face of the continent. They all needed to die.
I stopped in the air, my chest heaving in and out. I wilted, feeling my body curl in on itself.
Keep your eyes trained forward, my young chick, my Mother’s voice echoed through my head. If you stray, you will be struck from all sides. There are those out there who will wish to hurt you. But you are above them.
I took those long-forgotten words, trembling. I wrapped and wove them like strands of silk, creating an armor of controlled rage. Those robes of red clung to my mind and soul, supporting me. Giving me purpose.
Keep my eyes forward, I thought, staring south. I was almost there. Almost. They only wish to hurt me. They will fail in their quest. She is my armor, not my weakness.
When I set forward once more, the unending fire in my stomach had not cooled, but it had become controlled. For a moment, I’d mastered the flame as my mother had taught me, controlled and harnessed it.
My wounds were already mostly closed. My mana core—which had been nearing depletion in the wake of my battle with the despicable Wraiths—was close to full once more as I focused on mana rotation.
I would not let myself be lured in once more.
It was barely a few minutes before I finally happened upon the great southern sea. The desert cut off abruptly into sheer, steep cliffs, diving low into the crashing ocean far beyond.
And despite the rage burning in my chest, I could not help but stare. The sea… It seemed to stretch on forever. The sunlight glinted off of it as if it were reflective glass, glimmering like precious stones. The sky above it… the late afternoon sun shone like a marvelous gem of fire above like a benevolent father. The waves rose and fell, shifted and weaved.
I’d heard stories of the oceans, of course. Epic tales and great poems of the endless trails of water that crossed this great planet. Aphora often painted the sea and sky in the Passage of Art, and I’d always delighted in his craft. But still… I had thought the unending sky to be the greatest expanse in this vast universe. When I had first stepped out of the Hearth, I had been taken by the majesty and royalty of the winds.
But as the sea glimmered beyond those cliffs, I realized that the ocean held as much beauty as the skies.
That is false, I thought after a moment, my jaw slack. It is together that they reach the peak of true form. Their beauty is driven ever further by their union. The line of the horizon is what brings this world true greatness.
I stared at that line for a time, speechless even as the winds whipped through my hair. Is this why my Mother bore the title of the Dawn? I wondered. This could only be greater through the early morning sun.
But then something oily and black intersected that beauty, like a tear in the parchment. A stack of thick smoke rose into the sky like a twining serpent. It hissed and chugged as it slashed dark blots of ink across the canvas before my mind.
The enchantment on my mind fell away as I snarled, tracing that line to the defiant creation coasting the waters. Defiling them.
The boats of the Alacryans. The ‘steamships.’ I had heard of them from those I had rescued from beasts. It was their malice and black lungs of belching smoke that kept the good people of Sapin contained from the west and north.
When I am done with the Vritra-blooded wretches within, I thought, flying forward, I shall destroy every abomination I see. I will free these people of their tyranny.
I floated down in front of the cavern, the sun warming my back as I stared into the cavern of the treacherous dwarves. I could sense them, too, darting about in panic and fear. The warmth of the star on my back was almost like my Mother’s touch, compelling me onward. Telling me to keep my eyes forward.
I floated into the cavern, Suncrusher held tightly by my side. I puffed out my chest with pride, my gaze daring any and all who stared to challenge me. I let my mana flow, professing my strength with utmost confidence.
I inhaled deeply, tasting that smoke as it tainted my lungs. “Foul Vritra!” I boomed, imbuing my voice with mana and making it travel further. Those words carried every mote of my vengeance, every spark of my desire. “Reveal yourselves now! I have come to wreak vengeance and fire for your crimes against all!”
I would not stoop to their cowardly methods. I would follow the path of my mother in confrontation. The skulking serpent would be found. I would burn away their taint.
I floated further into the cavern, sneering. The terrified eyes of the fleeing dwarves and Alacryans washed over me, but they were not my quarry. Though I would punish the traitorous dwarves for hurting those good people of Sapin, they were not my priority.
I settled on a wide, large platform, my twin eyes piercing the gloom as I stared about. The stone burned and sizzled underneath from the casual heat of my aura.
“Reveal yourself, foul beasts!” I echoed once more, stalking forward. “No enchantment or faux civility will spare you Suncrusher’s kiss. I have come for blood and fire! I bring the vengeance of all those burned in the fields of Sapin! The flames of the phoenixes wronged by your wretched taint follow in my wake!”
A few spells flew toward me from panicked and confused mages. Bolts of fire, bullets of wind, and even a writhing sickle of ice. I felt something attempt to target the insides of my ear in a bid to upset my superior balance as the hail of spells approached.
I snarled, then casually waved Suncrusher. Pillars of fire lanced down from on high, burning through Alacryan and dwarf alike in sizzling heat. My mace flew, shining like a captured star, before it obliterated any and all attacks coming my way.
“Hide not behind your soldiers, wretched Vritra!” I yelled, questing out with my senses as I stalked forward through the conflagration. The scent of burnt flesh and dying men reached my nose as I swiveled my head. “Face me yourself!”
Indeed, most of those I saw were those soldiers. Armed in plate or standard garb of an army, I knew they bore the sins of all who struck at those in the country. Dozens more lesser mages jumped from platform to platform. Mana flashed, forming shields and weapons as I was gradually surrounded. In shades of red, black, and orange of Darv and Alacrya, I was gradually ensorcelled by a web.
I turned, my lips creeping into a sneer as I observed the many flashing eyes throughout the caverns. Indeed, the dwarves worked closely with the Alacryans. They perpetuated the massacres all across the countryside.
I felt pain in my skull build as I remembered my endeavors for these past months. The constant death and destruction of every devastated homestead. The lives that I had failed to save as I traipsed through the fields and cornrows, trying to find anyone left living.
The humans were naught but beasts for the slaughter as those with the accursed blood of the basilisks stomped them out.
Hundreds were gathering, preparing their spells and their mana. It all roiled about me like a sea, but I felt no fear. These effects were paltry and petty. Even with my defective core, I would find no difficulty brushing aside these monsters like a fly on the wind.
But still, no sign of the accursed basilisk-blooded one blared in my senses.
“Very well. If you wish for slaughter,” I yelled, raising my mace high as I siphoned mana from my core, “then you shall have it.”
Before I could bring down vengeance, however, something wrapped around my leg. I looked down, noting the creeping, red-hot rock as it began to seep upward.
I shifted slightly, shattering the magma, but that had only been a distraction. I sensed the mana seeping through the stones around me, before something created entirely of piping-hot lava surged down from above. The golem hefted a massive hammer, screaming silently as it brought it down.
I raised a hand, snarling as the air warped from the magma golem’s heat. I caught the hammer, a shockwave of force radiating outward. I flexed, intending to crush the golem in my grip and tear it asunder. Before I could follow through, however, the construct of magma began to liquefy.
The molten stone seeped along my hand, up my arm, and over my chest. I could sense the mana hardening it in a vain attempt to keep me contained.
I snarled as spells began to fly inward, nearly fully encased. Cowards. They thought me trapped, prey amongst pack predators. But these sinful men did not know the fire I would wreak on their bones.
Suncrusher pulsed. A simple, threading expulsion of fire that obliterated every incoming bolt of lightning, spear of ice, or tendril of water. The Alacryans could only blink in surprise and dismay as their attempted assault failed once more.
I gripped my mace, feeling its warmth and heat. Feeling reassured. Then I threw it outward, guiding it in a roundabout arc.
The dark weapon belched phoenix fire as it arced upward, smashing through the hanging daggers of stalactites all around. On and on it went, piercing and breaking and crushing every base of support.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Guided by my intent and mana, my anger forced Suncrusher through every stalactite where soldiers rested. The entire cavern shook from each impact.
And then the cracks resounded out. The soldiers—once so happy to try and pepper me with spells and death—could only watch in grim horror as their bases of support began to splinter and sway. I saw their fear, tasted their terror.
This is for the good folk of the farms, I thought angrily, wrenching myself free of the hardening magma with ease. This is their justice.
And then, like a rain of icicles amidst a winter storm, the stalagmites began to fall. Men screamed in terror as the darkness of the caverns below claimed them. The floor rumbled with the sound of crushed rocks as the stalagmites shattered against the bottom.
Suncrusher whirled back to my hand, just in time for me to pivot on the stones and bat away another magma golem. “Cowards!” I bellowed, calling mana from my core and strengthening my limbs. “Know that hiding behind your soldiers shall not spare them my vengeance! You show your true nature in every moment you run!”
More magma golems threw themselves at me, erupting from the ceiling and ground and every other stalagmite. Some tried to cling to me. Some swung hammers or tried to encase me in a coffin of fire. Others simply detonated like a bomb.
I cared not for any of it. I stalked forward, tracing the summons to their source. I was inexorable, unbreakable, unstoppable. The golems tried to break the bridges, but I simply flew instead. They peppered me with slugs of molten rock, but my heat only grew. Soon, I was shrouded in a cloak of expanding fire. Every rock that entered my corona only added to its flames.
“Still, you hide,” I hissed. It had taken some time to sense where the magma conjurer was weaseled away. I was no earth mage, and this one was adept at hiding their signature. But amidst the smoke of blood and the fear of the Alacryans around me, I could finally pierce their location.
Hiding in the ceiling, I thought with a sneer. Like a rat.
I hefted back my hand, focusing on that far-distant mana signature. Suncrusher pulsed in my hands, desiring more blood.
Then I threw her. She screamed fire as she soared like my Mother on the wing, ignoring any and all obstacles in her way. Half a dozen mana shields erected themselves out of nowhere to try and stop her upward flight, but they would not halt her.
My mace slammed into the cavern roof, embedding herself there like an axe in a mighty oak. The force of the impact caused trembling quakes and fractures to spread through the rock, and then those cracks were suddenly alight with flames as heat surged from my weapon. It was akin to watching the smoldering coals of a campfire from on high as the very ceiling above breathed with heat. Magma and molten stone dripped down as the conflagration burned the stones.
More stalactites fell like daggers, knocking aside those strange ducts of lava and tearing apart the iron chains. Magma splashed and flew across the army that was still struggling to respond, making them scream as the cavern trembled.
I leapt, fire burning from my boots. My eyes focused into tiny pinpricks as I caught on my prey: a small dot of burning orange, backlit against the molten sky. They had barely escaped baking alive like dough in an oven from their nesting in the ceiling.
One moment I was on a platform near the entrance to the cavern. The next, I was displaced by half a mile, my hand reaching out. The figure–cloaked in armor of lava–did not even have the time to react as my hand wrapped around their helmeted head. My fingers crunched into the stone, sinking deep.
“A worm that flees the torrential rain,” I snarled, twisting on the wing. “You only open yourself to the snap of a hawk.”
I ignored the fool’s struggles in my grip, the way the magma tried to seep over my waiting fingers like tightfitting leather. Instead, I hurled him like a stone toward the ground.
He became naught but a streak of orange light. His armored form smashed through half a dozen thrusting stalagmites as he carved a furrow in the cavern floor. Smoke and dust rose around the crater he eventually made. Rocks crumbled from the broken stalagmites he’d flown through. Some of them tumbled and toppled like felled trees, adding more resonant crashes to the pulsing of my heart.
I flew down to my broken foe. Perhaps I would have spared him as much notice as the other fools who dared to try and stop my vengeance, but through the heat haze I had recognized this foe.
Olfred Warend, former Lance of Dicathen. A traitor to the continent and to the good people who wished to live their lives in peace.
The furrow carved in the earth was long and wide. I stalked forward, fire leaking between my fists as I thought of the Mayor of Men. The countless children and womenfolk I had failed to save in my quest across the plains. The dead and dying and bleeding that had followed in the wake of every beast.
The beasts that these dwarves let in.
“I came to bring justice,” I snarled, staring at the shattered Lance. His armor had exploded into a million pieces, splattering the nearby wood and rocks with melted stone. Blood pooled around him, and he stared weakly up at me. “And there is none more deserving of the hammer of judgment than you, Lance Balrog. Traitor to your people. Bringer of despair and death. You, who brought in the serpent to the healthy home.”
The Lance inhaled a rattling breath. “So… different,” he wheezed, slumping with misty eyes. “From Spellsong.”
Spellsong. Both the Good King and the Wretched Retainer had spoken of this being; the one they claimed was followed by the ghost of my mother. It must have been a lie.
I raised a hand, calling with my mana as I stared down at the broken fool. Suncrusher ripped herself from the ceiling far away, before blurring back toward my hand. I caught the mace with ease.
“I will find this Spellsong,” I snarled, hefting my mace high in preparation for the final strike. “And I will demand truest answers from him.”
The Lance coughed blood. “Your Mother… I thought I saw her once. A ghost as she–”
I ignored the man’s words, blocking out the sound. I gnashed my teeth. I squashed that urge to listen, to hear. I had been betrayed the last time I had left my heart open. The Wretched Retainer had nearly seen my death.
The dwarf’s mouth moved silently, but I did not hear it as I prepared to deliver the final blow.
But then… But then I felt it. A strange, otherworldly, almost familiar sense of mana. My eyes widened, and though I fought to shroud my heart from hope, I could not stop the painful squeeze in my chest.
It is a lie, I told myself, my arm slowly lowering. She is not here. This isn’t your mother. It’s some sort of trick.
It must have been, but… But I could not stop myself from turning my head upwards towards that heavenly source. I couldn’t stop her voice from coursing through my head in calming waves. I could almost imagine her soft, loving song as it caressed my ears. I could almost feel her reassuring hand on my shoulder.
I ignored the dwarf, my eyes tracing upward toward the ceiling again. There… near the portals. That was where her song beckoned.