Beyond the glass window of the land-dragon drawn carriage, the scenery blurs. Below, an endless sea of obsidian grass. Above, featureless clouds, suspended within the vast, blue sky. For time and time again, those are the only sights to mitigate the monotonous drone of the endlessly spinning wheels and the equally tiresome mutterings of my companions on this journey.
Despite tedium and fatigue's encroachment into my sanity, my heart pounds, coursing electrified blood through my body.
Everything's coming together…
It's been four days since my meeting with Geo. Though not everything went to plan, and he was ultimately unwilling to part with Rachel, we did sign a pledge that would have the man come to my aid when the time is right.
Of course, had he known he was under the influence of tathir spores or that a spirit pledge is worth less than the ink it's written on when signed by me, I doubt he would have been so accommodating to my requests.
The man's will is formidable; I'll grant him that much. A weaker-minded fool would have been far easier to manipulate when under the spore's inducement. Still, I can't call the venture a loss. I might not have retrieved the girl, but I will. More crucially, the stage is so very nearly to set, and the curtains will soon fall on those who stand against me.
Withdrawing my mind from my thoughts, I allow the stream of machismo pouring from the mouths of the young Blackshire Clansmen occupying the carriage to permeate my awareness. Words of honour, vengeance, conviction, and commitment to their cause flow uninterrupted between the three other passengers of the omnibus. As we continue towards Gandel city, their displays of enthusiasm only increase in intensity.
Oaths, dedicating their bearers to "the righteous task," spread like fire among my fellow passengers. Hands shake, and laughter resounds as my prey proudly announce to one another what it is they have planned for "the fools that dare cross the might of the Blackshire Clan."
'My Brother, we will avenge the humiliation our Clan suffered due to the trickery and cowardice of the Bishop Clan!' Placing his hand on my shoulder, a brown-haired boy gently squeezes as he looks me in the eye. He searches my soul, no doubt seeking camaraderie and mutual outrage in my expression. Hardening my gaze and gritting my teeth, I allow the boy to find what he's looking for.
'If only we were not caught unaware, I would have personally gutted those gutless swine! They cannot be allowed to escape retribution for what they did to our Clansmen!' The boy, still holding my shoulder, nods slowly at my words. Releasing his hold and placing his hand to the side of my face, the boy pulls my head towards his own and presses our foreheads together.
'You cannot blame yourself. No one here does. It is true when I first learned that the Mohan Clan was to join with our people, I was apprehensive. I was among those who resented our union. I did not trust in the integrity of outsiders. However, since witnessing your courage with my own eyes, seeing for myself how valiantly you fought to protect my brothers… I am ashamed that I once questioned your integrity.'
The boy releases my face and, once again, lays claim to my shoulder. 'Despite having already suffered under our enemies' hand, here you are, joining us in this admittedly foolish quest to regain our honour. There isn't a soul who would blame you had you declined our invitation-'
'Do you believe I could be so shameless as to allow others to seek vengeance on my behalf and not join them in their righteous cause? Of course not! If I am to regain my honour, I must do so with my very own hands!'
"Honour."
"Courage."
"Righteousness."
These words mean nothing to me, but when spouted at these self-deluded fools, there is nothing in this world more inciting to their ears. They picture themselves as heroes of old, dashing forwards in a noble crusade.
Do they not know?
Have they not heard?
Has nobody told them?
There are no heroes in this life; there are only the victors and the vanquished. Strive hard towards victory. Once every contrary voice is forever silent, dictate whatever mythos you choose to bring comfort.
'We are nearing the city. Ready yourselves.' Standing to his feet, the brown-haired boy unhooks a deep-blue tailcoat from the coach's interior wall and passes it, along with a sheathed sword bearing the cross-staved symbol of the Blackshire Clan, to me. Standing myself, I don the coat and strap the sheath to my side.
The carriage slows as it crosses the boundaries of the grass terrain and inches onto the gravel. We travel onwards for a few moments more before transitioning from gravel to cobblestone and regaining our lost velocity.
Screams and shouts fly from the streets and reach my ears as the coach continues forwards, undeterred by the pedestrians standing in its way. Men, women, and children run past the windows. One unfortunate soul is sent soaring from her collision with the edge of the carriage. I stumble on my feet as the coach's wheels speed over large bumps lining the city street. Charging into, and over, every obstacle in its path, the carriage maintains its mad dash towards the heart of Gandel city.
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'There!' The boy shouts. Without another word, he opens the door and jumps from the still moving carriage. Following his lead, the other two boys similarly alight the vehicle. With a smile cut across my lips, I approach the open exit and jump.
Lying bloodied and broken on the street, the lamentable pedestrians without the fortune to escape the carriage's onslaught. Some crawl, mewling and groaning, as they carry themselves with lacerated arms out of the road. Other's whimper but do not move, for each limb that could facilitate such movement bends and twists in angles unnatural to the human form. Others more lie dead. The content of their skulls spewed over the cobble paved road.
This is the truth of their courage and honour.
This is the limit of their righteousness…
My eyes move past the battered and bloodied people on the ground and towards my companions. Together, they advance on a group of three white-haired young men and two silver-haired young women exiting a building on the side of the street. Identified by the symbols on their black, knee-length tailcoats, without question, the group are nobles of the Bishop Clan.
The young Bishop Clansmen shift their heads from side to side. With mouths agape, they stare at the horror before them. One of the girls points towards the approaching Blackshire Clansmen. Tugging the arm of her female companion, she directs the group's attention to the oncoming danger.
'Have you lost all reason!' As if to answer the girl's enquiry, the brown-haired boy draws the sword from his side. Following suit, the remaining Blackshire and Bishop Clansmen arm themselves with weapons of their own.
No further words are exchanged, for there's no time for such things. Before thought can give rise to sound, sword raised, the brown-haired boy rushes at the tallest man in the group, and together they clash blades.
In an impressive display of swordsmanship, the brown-haired boy swings his opponent's sword to the side. With his defences broken, the broad-shouldered, young man targeted for the brown-haired boy's "righteous retribution" has no time to defend against the diagonal slash that cuts him from hip to shoulder, nor the finishing blow that severs his head from his body.
Well, it seems the festivities have begun...
Sword in hand, I stride towards the melee. Finding an unengaged target, I circulate Tension through my body and charge. My victim's eyes flash wide as I approach. Rings of hardened earth circle the youth; they condense and gather around his arms. I don't wait for the boy to complete his Art. Before the fruit of his intentions ripens, I hurl five orbs of acid towards him. With his fortified arm, the boy blocks my attack. Grinning, he assumes a sidewards stance.
Smoke rises from the boy's hardened limb; he breaks his stance and inspects the damage. From each point my Art struck, acid rapidly corrodes the rocks engulfing his limbs. Frantically, the boy thrashes his arm, no doubt, in an attempt to dislodge the encroaching liquid.
That moment's distraction is all I need.
With a single swipe of my blade, I carve a deep gash into the boy's throat, showering the cobblestone below with his blood.
A silvery blur flashes in the corner of my eye; leaping backwards, I narrowly escape the sharp edge of an axe endeavouring to part my head from my neck. I gather Tension to my fingers and hurl spheres of acid towards my aggressor. With an outstretched arm, she forms a circular barrier of rock, shielding herself from my attack.
'What is the meaning of this?' Red dyes the otherwise colourless face of my adversary; expelling all air from her lungs, the girl screams her outrage and confusion.
I can hardly blame her for the reaction; to the girl, this scene makes no sense.
"What could have provoked these attacks?" I imagine she's thinking. In her position, I'd ask the same. The Bishop and Blackshire Clans are by all appearances allies. Without question, both sides are aware the final state of that alliance is destined to be war, but in the interim, such open hostility is unprecedented.
Do both Clans not share a common enemy in the Dread Mother?
Is it not their mutual intention to avenge their past humiliation before turning aggression towards one another?
These are all fair questions to ask. It's far from unreasonable for this girl to be asking them. Her outrage is not unmerited. After all, for the accusation that instigated this conflict…
The Bishop Clan is innocent.
'Did you think you could escape just retribution for your recent actions?' Practised indignity dripping from my lips, I lift my hand and point my index finger directly at my foe. As if seeking the true target of my accusation, the girl twists her head to the side and looks behind.
'Me? I have done nothing to warrant this attack. Our Clans are allies!' The girl stomps the ground with a foot. Sharply, she exhales from her nostrils, inspects the carnage surrounding her, and gently shakes her head.
'There has been a mistake, and now two of my brothers lie dead. Stop this madness now. Let us take this no further until we have a chance to understand the cause!' As the last word flees her mouth, the surrounding battles slow to a halt; each combatant steps backwards away from their opponent and lowers their weapon.
'My name is Daphne. I am the third daughter of the Bishop Clan's second elder. I give you my word, if you cease your aggressions immediately, I will do all in my power to mitigate the consequences of your actions. If, as you say, you have been wronged by my Clan, I will guarantee you clemency!'
Shit! They're listening to her. If this ends here, all of my plans would have been for nothing.
'Clemency!' I shout. 'It is you who should be asking for clemency! You are a Clan of murderers and cowards!' I turn to face my co-conspirators and point at them one after the other. Projecting through my eyes manufactured anger and authentic disgust, each gaze that meets mine breaks contact and angles to the ground.
'Through my memory potion, you witnessed the Bishop Clan's misdeeds for yourself. Unprovoked, they slaughtered our brothers and spat on our dignity.' Retuning my stare to Daphne, I lift my arm and point my sword in her direction. 'She offers us clemency and expects our grievance to be dispelled?' Pausing, I look to the floor. Deep, staggered breaths pass through my teeth, and slowly, I return my sight to the girl.
'I will not rest until every last one of those bastards is dead, and our brothers are avenged.
'For Jasper!' Echoing my words, screaming them to the heavens, the fools of the Blackshire Clan reignite their fury and reengage the enemy.
With a smile on my face, I stare into Daphne's eyes.
It's nothing personal, but I need you to die.