“Do you have everything?” Veximarl patted himself down. He shouldn’t need to bring anything himself, but he didn’t know what tools that Chickadee needed.
“We’re good!” Chickadee exclaimed as he adjusted his work bag on his shoulder. He then outstretched his arm. “Cacophony!”
A ring on Chickadee's middle finger began to glow. Ash then poured out from around his fingertips and swirled about in front of him. As soon as enough of it had accumulated, it took on the familiar shape of the owl. This was part of an experiment that he and Veximarl had been working on. They found out that it was possible to have other people summon tainted beast golems using Veximarl’s blood.
Veximarl put a hand to his staff and summoned Ale. Though the horse was large, it wasn’t fast. The only blessing was that the horse had endless stamina. “I doubt that I will be needed, but I can’t help but feel worried. Go ahead and start without me.”
Chickadee grinned. “Will be fine with waiting,” he said. Then he clamored onto Cacophony’s back, steadied himself, and ordered the bird to start running.
Ale took off as soon as Cacophony outstretched his wings. While the owl headed skyward, Ale stayed to the ground. Veximarl had to waste time navigating the roads that curved around the hills rather than charging over them. He ran the horse hard. Since Ale wasn’t a riding horse, it was loud and bumpy. There wasn’t a way for him to notice if he had gotten a message by letter.
No one was there to greet Veximarl in the courtyard. He knew that Luca and Naiov had been with Vincent, and had half expected one of them to be available to give a briefing. Veximarl worried that something terrible had happened in the infirmary, but he couldn’t unsummon his stead and run them himself. A stranger was standing in the middle of the courtyard, and he didn’t like to cast his magic around strangely dressed men.
“How much longer will this take?” Asked Protea in an annoyed tone. He was berating Amalfrieda, who was standing next to him.
Amalfrieda was nervous, which made Veximarl nervous. “Lady Till won’t sign off on my paperwork until after I’ve cleared out my squadroom.”
“... Eh?” Protea tilted his head. The look he gave her was further made odd by the mask on his head. “I don’t have room to bring your stuff with me. You won’t even have room for it in your new quarters.”
“I’ve only got a bag of my stuff. Some first years are going to help me carry the larger pieces into furniture storage.” She waved her hands about. “I’ll be done after that!”
Protea didn’t move. The only part of his face that was visible, his mouth, was scowling.
“... Fifteen minutes!” Amalfrieda squeaked.
“Do it in ten,” muttered Protea. His head slightly turned as he noticed Veximarl passing by. He stared at the necromancer with the corner of his eye, like a bird sizing up his prey.
Veximarl had already veered his horse to the stables. Unfortunately, Protea’s cart was between him and there. After he got inside, he could safely unsummon his horse, stretch his sore legs, then run off to the infirmary.
“Lord necromancer. A moment.”
Veximarl’s back stiffened, but he didn’t dare turn around. Don’t acknowledge. Don’t show a sign that you heard him. Keep going straight. It was all the likely that he completely misheard what the strange man said, thus there wasn’t a reason to pay him any attention.
“Lord necromancer!” Protea called out from behind him, much louder this time. “You must be the one I’ve been sent out to test. I can’t imagine anyone else would be riding around on a dead horse!”
Veximarl froze in place. His utter shock at the statement had made Ale freeze up as well. “... P-pardon?” He immediately regretted his decision to engage. Cleric’s senses weren’t usually as sharp when it came to sensing out corpses.
Protea lifted up his mask, so that it sat nearly on the upper part of his forehead. “Though I did see that boy ride in on a tainted beast earlier. Flew right to a window and poofed into dust.” He flicked out his fingers, reenacting the dramatic nature of Cacophony’s unsummoning. “I debated on going up there myself to see if that was you, but I had heard you weren’t the flashy type.”
Was it Amalfrieda? Veximarl had given up on hiding his secret from those at Braytons. Had she told Protea about him? Either way, there was no point in hiding it now. Veximarl slipped off of Ale’s back and unsummoned him. His legs wobbled for a moment. Riding so roughly without a saddle hadn’t been comfortable, but he didn’t want to show a hint of weakness in front of this man.
“... I’m afraid you are mistaken.” Veximarl stood tall, but his face was pale, and his knees refused to stop shaking. “These constructs are a new type of golem that had been developed in Carapace. A friend of mine is the daughter of a tinkerer there. She had brought them over. I assure you that Braytons is an honorable establishment that would not allow for the admittance of necromancers.”
Protea smiled as he approached Veximarl. “This was fun… I was hoping that you’d lie to me.” He shrugged, but was nonetheless amused by how the situation was flowing. “In that case, I have no choice but to arrest you for the murder of Paladin Dorian Buttonweed.”
Veximarl instinctively put a hand to the top of his spear. “Arrest me?” Not execute? He then frowned to himself. This was troubling. “Once again, I believe that your mistaken.”
“It’s my pleasure to inform you that the evidence we’ve processed proves that there was a necromancer in that engagement.” Protea put his hand to his hip. The tips of his fingers graced the hilt of his dagger. “Paladin Buttonweed’s autopsy showed that he died from corruption of the heart. A trademark spell that only necromancers can use. Neither Sybil Twist nor Alton Toval are capable of such magic, which means that you are the only possible suspect, my lord.”
“Paladin Buttonweed was murdered by the bandits who attacked us at Felsend. Paladin Buttonweed and Sir Grimhawk sacrificed their lives to save us that day.” Veximarl straightened up. He stood firm. “There was a powerful elementalist with them that way. It wouldn’t be unusual to think that there could have been other magic users there that day.”
“The magic used to preserve his body was cast by a necromancer. It was purposely set to fail during the transport of his body, so that the corruption of the heart would be hidden by natural decay. Such forethought could’ve only been put in place by a necromancer who was seeking to hide himself and I doubt that a random assassin would think to do so.
My lord, you can continue to argue that the evidence was falsified, but my orders for your capture come directly from King Howell. His personal investigators wouldn’t have sent me if they were unsure about the evidence.” One shoulder shrugged, while his other hand kept steady near his dagger. “My only job is to verify the identity of the culprit and arrest him. If you are not him, sir, I have no choice but to kill you.”
Why was the hair standing up on the back of Veximarl’s neck? He felt like a deer being stared down by a mist cat, yet nothing about this man was particularly intimidating. Other than the position of his hand on his dagger, he was completely relaxed and seemingly defenseless. Judging by his cart and his robes, this man was a cleric. Veximarl didn’t believe that a cleric could outmatch him when it came to combat.
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So why did every ounce of him screamed that he needed to flee. “I won’t be hunted,” snarled Veximarl.
He winced when Protea’s dagger was ever so slightly drawn from its sheath. There was an overwhelming and paralyzing sense of familiarity about that blade that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. Something about it was more terrifying than the man who wielded it.
“That’s a shame, because I know a good hunter,” replied Protea coyly as he yanked the dagger free. “Unfortunately, he declined my invitation. You’ll just have to settle for playing with me!”
Alton was carefully watching them from the infirmary window, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He’d just draw attention to the situation if he chose to open the door now. It was best to keep an eye on it for now and only call out if he thought it was going poorly.
Chickadee was sitting at the side of Vincent’s bed. He was making chopping motion with his hand at the paladin’s elbow. “Here?”
“Not really an expert at amputation,” muttered Ira Knut.
Blu swatted Chickadee’s hand away. “You are not to remove his arm! Only the bracer! There must be something you can do for him that is far less violent.” She then looked over to Alton. “Has Vex arrived yet?”
“He hasn’t,” he replied. His eyes then widened as a large, feathered mass spilled out of the back of Protea’s cart. He quickly closed the curtain and turned his back on the scene. “I wouldn’t count on him being the solution to this. Chi, you’re smart enough to figure this out on your own. I know you can do it.”
Below, Veximarl had already anticipated that he’d be on the receiving end of a lunging attack. He baited Protea in close by taking the time to draw out his spear, hoping to trick the cleric into believing that he was going to use his weapon to deflect. In reality, he was waiting for Protea to start his swing, then he would summon his shield right in front of Protea’s face.
There was a glint of metal as Protea dashed forward, and Veximarl defensively raised his spear. His shield appeared in front of him. Veximarl felt a strange sense of time dilation as he kept his eyes on the dagger. He was hyper-focused on it. Now Veximarl was second-guessing his fighting instincts. Why would...
It was the color of the weapon. That dark metal… The dagger was pure blood iron.
Veximarl lowered his spear and thrust his right hand forward so that he could fortify his summoned shield with divine energy. Tendrils of red and purple light began to dance around the edges as the cat in the center let out a roar. Protea’s body, rather than making contact, moved backward in an unnatural manner, as though he was yanked. The wagon behind him let out a strange rattling noise at the same time.
Protea landed a short distance away and twirled the dagger between his fingers. As he stood up, Veximarl could see faint silver trails hanging from his clothes. It was the same sort of mana strings that clerics use to perform sutures. He had stitched himself to his own wagon and had planned to pull himself back rather than make contact with the shield.
How many steps ahead did Protea plan? What was the range of those threads? Did he stitch them in place before his attack or was he quick enough with them to put them in place after he had seen Veximarl put up his shield? Veximarl felt troubled. He could end up dying quickly if he wasn’t careful.
Protea extended a tangled web of threads between his hands. His dagger was dangling from the center. As he outstretched his hands, throwing knives slipped out of his sleeves. Silently, he swung his arms forward, flinging the knives through the air. He was able to skillfully puppeteer where each knife flew. Veximarl realized that he was going to be attacked from all angles.
There wasn’t enough time to dodge… He had to locate the blood iron dagger. Veximarl’s eyes scanned the air as he stamped his foot and flexed his hand. His shield split into several pieces that spiraled around him. Channeling divinity was far more draining than maintaining a summon. He had to find the dagger and only charge divinity into the shield that would make contact with the dagger.
Knives began to explode around him as the projectiles made contact with his shield. Veximarl continued to look around. He couldn’t see where the dagger was. The weapon was solid blood iron. Did Protea not want to risk damaging it? If he didn’t, he would’ve put the weapon away. He must be waiting for an opening.
A second wave of knives flew at Veximarl. Sweat was building upon his brow. He still couldn’t find the dagger. Where was it going to attack from? A glint of black and Veximarl instinctively twisted to the left. It was coming in fast and low. His shields quickly banded together to defend himself.
Yet the dagger was yanked back before Veximarl had finished forming his defense. Why? Was Protea that desperate to protect his weapon? ... No, he didn’t seem the type to make needless movements. He was flaunting the weapon at Veximarl, forcing him to maintain focus on it. This meant that this whole display was one big-
Veximarl felt claws dig into the back of his neck. He stumbled backward as Amalfrieda tugged her towards him. His spear was thrust into the ground between Amalfrieda’s legs, forcing Veximarl to spin around so he could face Amalfrieda properly. Whipping the weapon around, he shoved her away with the butt of his spear.
However, yanking himself free like that had only worsened his wound. Blood was soaking into the collar of Veximarl’s jacket. At least Amalfrieda had only done some minor muscle damage and had completely missed the veins. Veximarl stretched his hand towards Protea, aiming to transfer the damage onto him.
To his surprise, Protea summoned his shield to deflect it. It was in the shape of a life-sized sawdust doll. Blue light burst out the back of its neck a moment before Protea unsummoned it. Veximarl felt a violent sting along with his wounds. Like salt or acid had been sprayed across them. He nearly doubled over from the pain he felt.
“Quit hiding!” Protea hollered at his cart.
The feather mass that Alton had seen earlier peeked out from behind the cart. She had left it earlier, but she didn’t have the courage to come out while the fighting was going on. Veximarl clamped his hand to the back of his neck. He stared at the figure as it approached him.
She had wings instead of arms, and scaly, stubby legs. Her feet were mainly toes, with long talons attached to each digit. The nest on her head was actually a mess of tangled hair and loose feathers. As for clothing, she only had an old, soiled robe that was loosely tied about her waist.
“... A harpy?” Veximarl staggered backward. He bumped into Amalfrieda, who kicked him forward.
Protea couldn’t hide his excitement. “That’s right! I brought a harpy!” He giggled. “Because the big boys know how to treat me well after I get a promotion!” He pointed at Veximarl. “Get him!”
The harpy let out a screech that rattled the windows of the barracks. She fanned out her wings and charged forward before leaping up. Veximarl attempted to move his hand and summon his shield, but his both his arms were abruptly yanked back. His entire body was covered in mana threads.
He let out a grunt as the harpy’s talons gripped around his torso. She was shorter than the average adult human, maybe a little shorter than either Chickadee or Sybil. To Veximarl’s surprise, her talons didn’t hurt. They were being used to shove Veximarl in the ground and help position the harpy as her mouth clamped down on the collar of his jacket.
The suckling sound was horrendous, but he supposed it was better than having her lick the wound. Veximarl held perfectly still as the harpy let go. She sat down next to him and awkwardly used a foot to feel around her robe. After a moment of fumbling around, she managed to retrieve a bracelet from a pocket.
She began to mouth the bracelet. Her top lip was like a small beak, but her bottom was more human-like. Veximarl stared at her. He didn’t understand how he should feel at the moment, but he also didn’t feel any ill intent from the creature.
“Are you done yet?” Protea tensed his fingers. The threads around Veximarl’s body tightened.
The harpy chirped.
“What does that mean?” Protea tilted his head. “Is he or isn’t he?”
The harpy clacked her teeth and beak against the bracelet a second time before bobbing her head.
“... Damn.” Protea started to walk towards his cart. He was dragging Veximarl behind him. “Time to the lord over to the pa-”
He never got a chance to finish that statement. The window and part of the wall attached to the infirmary exploded off the building with a loud bang. A golem of glimmering teal and gold leaped from the infirmary and landed on the ground below.
Amalfrieda flexed her claws. She took a step back. “What the fu-”
“Silence!” Exclaimed the minotaur. Iath’s golem form took a step forward as he pointed a finger at Veximarl. “You will unhand that man and tell me where my sister is, or you will die where you stand!”