“It’s him!” a man shouted. “It’s the Embercore! Let’s put him out of his misery…”
Pirin expected a platoon of Aerdian soldiers, or some silver-armoured ostal, but instead, a group of dirty elves and men in tattered coats and gambesons pushed through the crowd. Some carried machetes and knives, and others held hammers and axes. All of them wore disgruntled, hungry expressions.
A man in a clean brown coat pushed to the front. Curly black hair, brown eyes, brown coat…it was Garrosen Tereau. “You brought great shame on me, boy.” He held a short sword with a wide blade and a single cutting edge. “You tore up my brother’s school and dishonoured him, along with all the other Silverswords! I’ll take both your hands for that!”
Pirin stepped back, widening his stance and making fists.
“Do you know them?” Myraden hissed softly.
“I might have angered a few criminals…” Pirin replied. He cycled his Essence, preparing a Winged Fist. His mask still clung to his face (he had put it on this morning), and it glowed with a faint warmth. When he glanced at Gray, she chirped with understanding.
“That is sure enough,” Myraden said.
“Well, I didn’t think they’d chase me across the country to get revenge…”
Myraden sighed. “Most wizards are like this. If we get split up, meet me at the wharf.” She pulled her spear off her shoulder. Red sparks of Essence leapt off her fingers, the exact same shade as her bloodhorn’s crystal horns. The strand of Ískan Silk spiralled up, as if it was winding around an invisible staff. The spearhead poked straight upward, forming into a spear. “Berth four,” she said. “The passenger liner.”
“I’ll be careful,” Pirin whispered back.
By now, people pushed to the edges of the market, shouting and trying to clear their wares out of the way. But before they could finish, Garrosen and his thugs attacked.
The man charged first, sprinting towards Pirin with his blade raised. Pirin stepped to the side, but Garrosen blasted a gust of air at Pirin. It struck him in the chest. The air was heavy as a fist, but concentrated and much stronger. The force carried him off his feet and flung him along the walkway.
Myraden leapt at the man. She stabbed with her spear with enough speed and strength that, if Pirin hadn’t known better, he would have guessed she already started enhancing her body. Garrosen ducked and pushed the spear to the side with his sword. Myraden’s bloodhorn pranced down the walkway, leading with its hooves and trying to quick the man. Garrosen stepped back, swinging his sword in front of himself to keep the Familiar out of his way.
Before Myraden and her Familiar could attack again, the thugs converged on her.
Pirin wasn’t worried about her. She could handle the thugs, but they’d distract her.
Garrosen was his problem, then.
The man sprinted toward Pirin. Gray fluttered behind him, gripping onto the back of his coat with her talons and pulling him back.
“Gray, watch out!” Pirin yelled, pushing intent into each of his words. Garrosen wheeled around, trying to slash the gnatsnapper with his sword. But Gray understood the warning. She released his coat and fluttered just out of reach.
With the time Gray had bought him, Pirin untied his sheathed sword from his belt. He blocked Garrosen’s first strike—a heavy, overhead blow. But the man lashed out again with a magical technique—a powerful column of air. This time, it hit Pirin in the gut, flinging him down the walkway.
Pirin crashed through a market stall, smashing through crates of hard biscuits and scattering a basket of tough winter fruits.
He rolled over and jumped back to his feet. Garrosen approached, but Pirin couldn’t see the man’s Familiar anywhere.
“Looking for my birdy?” Garrosen sneered. “She ain’t here. A little too big to bring into a crowded city, don’t you think?”
Gray swooped towards Garrosen again, her wings stirring up a gale that rocked the walkway. The man reached up with his hand, and like he was pulling downwards, he unleashed a Manifestation technique.
Hooks of Essence appeared in the air in front of him, made of swirling white feathers—Manifested Essence. He punched them, and they flew through the air towards Gray.
The first hook flew high, but the second wrapped around the top of her wing and pulled her down. She landed in the plaza below with a thud.
“Besides, a Flare doesn’t need a Familiar to teach a pitiful Embercore a lesson,” Garrosen continued. “I’ve about earned my right to take honourable revenge against…what? A Kindling-stage child? If not for myself then for my family.”
Well, Pirin wasn’t about to tell Garrosen that he’d advanced his core to Spark. If he hadn’t felt a shiver run down his spine, it meant the man hadn’t scanned his spirit yet.
Pirin pushed himself up and shook the dust off his arms. If Garrosen didn’t have his Familiar nearby, that meant he was just relying on the Essence he had in his own core. He’d have no way of producing more Familiar-tinged Essence on such short notice…
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Pirin just had to outlast him. He’d underestimated Pirin, and now, he’d pay the price.
Garrosen stepped forwards slowly, drawing his fist back like he was pulling a rope. The air vibrated around his hand, and white feathers of Essence rippled down his arm. It was the Winged Fist technique, an Assault technique, taken to its peak. Manifesting the feathers of Essence was simply a by-product of using so much Essence at once, but it was uncontrolled—not a natural part of the technique.
“It’s a shame, Embercore,” said the man. “But consequences are consequences.”
Garrosen threw his fist forward, and the air surged away from his fist in a massive column. The white feathers blasted along with it, swirling in the air and spiralling around the shape of the technique.
Pirin ducked to the side just in time. The air and feathers smashed through the market stall behind him, tearing a hole in it and sending debris flying. Then, Pirin lunged forwards, driving his own weaker Winged Fist straight into Garrosen’s ribs. The man slid back a foot.
Myraden and Kythen were holding their own against the thugs. A few had fallen already, and the rest surrounded her cautiously. She whipped her spear around in a circle, the shaft loose again.
Pirin didn’t have to worry about her. He just had to get away from Garrosen. He leapt over the railing, his coat fluttering behind him, and landed in a crouch beside Gray. She staggered up onto her legs, then chirped.
I’m alright, said her voice inside Pirin’s head.
“We need to run.” They needed Garrosen to use all his Essence.
What are you waiting for?
Pirin sprinted across the small market plaza, dodging flustered merchants and a pair of Aerdian soldiers who had come to check up on the ruckus. Gray hopped along behind, skittering on her talons.
When Pirin and Gray reached the other side of the plaza, they turned down an alley, then ran onto a larger road. Wagons rumbled along, as well as horses and a whole slew of elves on foot. But there was enough room between them all for Pirin and Gray to weave between.
At the next intersection, Pirin turned, trying to get closer to the civilian docks. But a blast of air and feathery Essence coursed past just in front of his nose. One of the feathers slit his cheek.
Another weaker blast followed, catching Pirin in the shoulder and flinging him down to the street. He tumbled across the cobblestones and crashed through a stack of barrels on the street corner.
Garrosen pushed through the crowd. Most of the onlookers scattered in fright, letting out sharp yells before retreating to the edges of the road. To avoid a group of bewildered peddlers, the man leapt up onto a stack of barrels. From his height, he blasted another two pulses of wind at Pirin. Pirin rolled away from the first blast, and Gray leapt in front of the second, flapping her wings to disrupt most of the attack. She still skidded backwards a few feet.
Pirin pushed himself up, and he and Gray kept running. Lanterns and torches whipped past his face, turning into streamers of orange light at the edges of the street. His mask had no mouth slit, and every breath he took didn’t seem as full as usual. When they were halfway to the harbour, his lungs began aching.
He looked up at the sky. The moons were rising, and one—he couldn’t tell which—was nearing its peak. The fireworks would start soon, and they needed to get on a boat before then.
At every corner, Garrosen tried to blast him with a column of wind. The man cleared the way with slices of air and feathery Essence, and every step he took seemed bolstered by arcane power. But he couldn’t have been a peak Flare, otherwise he’d have caught up to Pirin in a few steps.
A few times, he tried to snag Pirin with a hook, but Pirin heard the Essence swishing through the air and ducked away.
Still, Garrosen was getting closer.
Pirin rounded a corner and pulled a stack of barrels into Garrosen’s way. He purposely turned down another shaded street, whose road was still icy—he was more used to running on ice than this southerner. He slid under a rolling wagon, and Gray flapped overtop of it.
His lead increased, but he lost it again along a vast, straight road. Garrosen had still been enhancing his body, and Pirin hadn’t.
Three quarters of the way to the harbour. Pirin couldn’t tell how much Essence Garrosen had left, but it couldn’t have been much. The man was using techniques as fast as he could, and he wasn’t conserving Essence.
We should fly, Gray suggested. We’d be faster, and he doesn’t have his bird with him.
“Do you want the entire harbour to see us?” Pirin asked, speaking quickly. The first time, he didn’t put enough intent into his words, and he had to repeat it. Then, he added, “Those warships have flak catapults! They’ll blast us out of the sky if we try to fly past them!”
Then run faster!
“I’m trying—”
A blast of air struck Pirin in the back, flinging him off his feet. He crashed into Gray’s side, but the blast was stronger than anything else Garrosen had used so far. It carried them both into a wooden wall. The old, rotting boards shattered under the impact. He and Gray crashed through a deserted building, then through a lattice window on the far wall.
They tumbled out the other side of the building and fell onto an old sandstone terrace. It was wide enough to fit a small cargo ship, and it overlooked the harbour. Workers scrambled away. They sprinted out the hold Pirin and Gray made.
Open crates lined the terrace’s edges, each with a simmering fuse of cloth leading up to them. The crates held ten or so parchment tubes, and complex lines of runes etched their sides.
“Fireworks…” Pirin breathed. They’d go off any second. He scrambled to his feet, then turned to Gray. “Are you alright?”
She shook out her wings and tilted her head. I’ll survive. I can still fly if you need…
The terrace was too tall to leap off of. They had to deal with Garrosen right here. “We can take him.”
The man marched through the shattered window, kicking the remains of the glass away with his boot. He leapt down onto the terrace, too, barely visible in the dim light. He flourished his sword. “Nowhere to run.”
A whistle shrieked, and a blast of light illuminated Garrosen. Just to Pirin’s left, a column of sparks shot up into the air and arced over the harbour. At the peak of its arc, it popped into a clean sphere of orange sparks.
The fireworks had started.
Garrosen punched a hook of Essence at Pirin. Pirin dropped to the ground to avoid it. But it didn’t matter. The hook dispersed into individual, harmless feathers before it reached him. Garrosen threw another half-formed hook at Pirin, but he batted it out of the air with a tap of his sword. It shattered with just a touch. “Running low on Essence?”
Garrosen growled, then jumped forwards. He fired off one more Winged Fist at Pirin, but the technique sputtered out halfway through. A gust of wind barely rumpled Pirin’s clothes. For good measure, Pirin struck the bottom of the man’s arm with the pommel of his sword. It would have shattered a normal man’s wrist, but Garrosen just growled and stepped back.
“How’s that for evening the odds, hm?” Pirin grinned. “Now, it’s my turn.”