Slowly, Trenton drew himself to his feet, taking a spot right next to Sodrue in the long grass, which gently tickled his thighs as it swayed. It was a little difficult to make out much of anything, a sudden gale drawing long over the windswept bluff, but after a moment, Trenton almost thought he could hear…cheering? It was jubilation of some sorts, that much he was certain, but its exact nature was hard to discern at their distance.
“Sounds like someone is throwing a party,” Wimbleton mused.
“Without us? Unbelievable,” Garrote shook his head, coming up only slightly off balance next to Trenton.
“If we hurry, we could still make it before nightfall…not that we’d necessarily catch the celebrations, I’d just rather a warm bed to sleep in tonight,” Leo said, eyeing the quickly sinking evening sun.
“I can second that, got a kink in my back from sleeping on the ground so long,” Evai said.
“Really?” Raligoth butted in, a coy grin smeared across his face, “My back feels great, can hardly even feel it,” Evai rolled her eyes, gently slapping at him. “Low blow,” Raligoth said as he teetered precariously back and forth at Trenton’s waist, “attacking the cripple.”
“I’ll spit in ‘yer eye ‘ya damn ingrate.”
“I don’t have eyes.”
“That won’t stop me.”
“I don’t like this. Trenton, care to lend me a hand, lad?” Raligoth pleaded.
Trenton shrugged, “Reap what you sow.”
Raligoth’s mouth hung open, “...after all I’ve done for you.”
“But you haven't done anything??? You just sit around all day waiting for us to do things,” Millie said, pointing at Raligoth as if making a damning accusation.
“Not like I have much of a choice. I’m a little…dis-” Raligoth tried.
“You already made that joke,” Wimbleton said, suddenly appearing before Trenton, bowing down, and clamping Raligoth’s mouth shut with his metallic right arm. “Alright, no point languishing here. You’ve all gotten your 83 second break, time to keep moving.”
“Nope, not walking,” Garrote said, raising his arms into the air. “I’ve got a better idea.”
All at once, they rose into the air, invisible force lurching them upwards. Trenton was more than used to the feeling by this point, so he held himself together quite well as Garrote thrust them forward, quickly picking up speed until they were flying across the plains with a marvelous ferver. Everyone was, actually. Well, everyone except Evai, that is. Immediately she curled into a ball, clutching her abdomen and mouth with desperation, a thick sweat cascading from her brow.
“Are you trying to skirt your training by practising your magic? I’ve half a mind to take an arm for that-” Wimbleton said, crossing his arms and glaring at Garrote.
“Oh, would you look at that? A gust of wind,” Garrote spat out, shoving his left arm out to the side.
Immediately, Wimbleton flew from the gravity orb, almost as if hit by a carriage, ragdolling helplessly through the air as they continued their course straight forward, Wimbleton no longer included. Next to Trenton, Karfice gazed passively out at the receding form of the young boy, emotion unreadable behind his mask.
“I don’t think you fully thought that through,” Karfice said, twisting his head over his shoulder to look at Garrote.
“Nah, I think I thought it through perfectly, actually. It’s so much quieter already,” Garrote said.
“No, that’s not-”
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To Garrote’s left, Wimbleton simply appeared, popping into existence next to them like he’d never left, arms still crossed, “Just for that, you’ve lost your arm privileges.”
Trenton couldn’t see exactly what happened, Wimbleton’s movements far faster than anything he was accustomed to. Instead, he caught the sudden glint of sunlight against metal, a blur lasting no more than a frame, and voila–Garrote no longer had his left arm. Wimbleton held it slightly out from his chest, watching as Garrote began to scream a wild series of obscenities, the magic shattering, sending all its tenants flying every which way.
Trenton reached out to grab Millie and Evai, curling his body around them to protect them as they violently skidded atop the gentle grass surface. After a moment, he came to a stop, bleeding only slightly from his sudden deceleration. Somehow, unbeknownst to him, he’d wielded his presence into his arms, back, and shoulders, bolstering only the sections that were actually touching the ground, looks like his training was paying off.
“See, now,” Karfice called out, lifting Kiva’s more injured form as he rose, “it’s pretty loud.”
At their forefront, Garrote writhed on the ground, screaming in agony as blood pooled beneath him.
“What the hell!?” Kiva cried, running over to Garrote to inspect the wound. Her head whipped up at Wimbleton, eyes alight with fury, “What do you think you’re doing!?”
“I did warn him,” Wimbleton kneeled down next to Garrote, holding the limp limb to Garrote’s stump, something he’d only just recently gotten rid of. “Besides, this is gonna hurt a lot more. Hold him down.”
Over the span of 14 seconds, the skin connecting the arm and shoulder sizzled and boiled, rolling like liquid as strands of flesh shot out from either side, intertwining the severed parts back together. Garrote, of course, cried like a banshee, somehow reaching an even greater pitch. Trenton would almost be impressed were he not so distracted by the circumstances of current events. Atop his shoulders, Millie watched with morbid interest, peeking through her fingers at the grim sight. Next to him, Evai looked absolutely mortified, stock still and stock white, a bad combo.
Garrote wretched himself away from Wimbleton, feverishly tearing the muscles and skin in an attempt to get away from Wimbleton, which only succeeded in spurting more gouts of blood into the air. But after a couple moments, Kiva struggling to keep him calm, Garrote’s body and voice stilled, the pain overwhelming him.
“Finally, that makes things so much easier,” Wimbleton said, slotting the arm back in place and finishing the patch job. He stood, hosting Garrote’s unconscious body onto his shoulders as if he were no lighter than a sack of feathers.
Sodrue looked down at Wimbleton, lips pursed, brow drawn, “Little harsh, don’t you think?”
“Little!? Do you think we’re just little dolls!? What the hell is wrong with you!?” Kiva shouted, bolting to her feet, and pressing her face into Wimbleton’s.
“Calm yourself,” Wimbleton said.
“Calm myself!? You-”
“There’s someone waiting for Garrote along the main road, 3 miles or so from the gate. I’m going to make sure they don’t meet,” Wimbleton nodded towards the towering wall of the city, now practically upon them. It was a brilliantly constructed piece, albeit somewhat more ramshackle than the other cities. Bricks looked out of place, some sections were askew to others, and the imposing steel gate, with bars thicker than Trenton’s entire body, was bent in at least a dozen places. The wall had taken some beatings, and whoever they had reconstructed it was doing so too quickly, almost as if in a panic. “Besides, I’ve got an informant I have to meet up with elsewhere in the city, so I’ll be taking Garrote with me. If all goes to plan, we’ll be leaving the city tomorrow morning with the location of the ambassador's location and without any corpses. Sound good?”
“So you ripped his arm off to knock him out?” Kiva bristled.
“Among other things. He’ll be furious when he wakes, but he’s also going to actually wake up, so I’ll call it a job well done. Any conventional means would only leave him suspicious.”
“We can talk about this later,” Trenton said, laying a comforting hand on Kiva’s shoulder. “We’ve loitered too long already.”
She looked at him, eyes melting like chocolate the moment she laid eyes on him, warmth returning to her hardened features, “...yeah, right. Where are we going to meet up, then?”
“There’s a nice tavern in the inner sector called the Caverus. We’ll sleep there for the night. In the meantime, I’d try to get your business finished. It’s late, but from the sounds of it,” Wimbleton said, the sudden blare of a hoard of trumpets drowning him out, “people are going to be up for a little bit.”
Together, they approached the gate, looking up at the small bubble of guards shifting about a ways overhead. After a moment, one of them popped their head over the side of the wall, squinting down at the approaching group. The guard was young, about their age, and for some reason, vaguely famil-
“Is that Gyrus?” Leo muttered