(This scene contains content some might find upsetting. For a list of content warnings organized by scene, please check the chapter titled "Episode 2.5: Duxon")
Tobei tried to imagine how the scene must look to the guards up on top of the walls. In the cool, early morning light, still dim enough that the ridges of rock around them must be making vague, shifting, ominous shapes, so soon on the heels of last night’s wailing. Where now the mountain was silent and might seem at first glance peaceful, a body couldn’t forget a waking nightmare so easily, and Tobei felt sure the guards must still be watching those rocks—ready in case one might change shape. Or crawl closer. And then, with that horror still hanging on to them, what would they think when they heard a new sound bleeding from the mountain?
He put blade to string and, ever so lightly, drew out the first note.
First, they would dismiss it as imagination, a ghost-note of last night’s Chaos that had yet to be burned off by the rising sun. But on the second note, this one low and laden with magic, they would begin to question. Indeed, Tobei looked up to see the nervous turning of helmets as the guards traded glances.
Beneath him, Kunin had gone completely still, relaxed yet eager, with both ears turned back to make sure he didn’t miss a single note of direction. On Tobei’s cue, the Wolf floated forward.
What would the guards think as a silver Great Wolf appeared, gliding over rock and ridge like a phantom, his brilliant blue eyes the only specks of color on this whole Mother-forsaken mountain? How would they react as the beast approached with speed that didn’t match his easy gait? Would they even notice the man and violin on the beast’s back?
He knew, at least, that they would hear the whispers woven into the quickening melody that seemed to be rising up like a cursed chorus from the stones themselves. Prophecies for what was to come. Promises, riding on the backs of music notes that sounded like wicked laughter.
Death, the song said. Death is coming.
Finally, one guard lifted their rifle. It seemed to knock some sense back into their neighbor because a second guard quickly lifted theirs as well. Kunin’s pawbeats quickened to match the tempo of Nani’s song.
Back at the Farm during their weapons training, Tobei had asked the Colonel why he needed to learn about guns when they were all practicing magic. Firearms had been created for those who didn’t practice, or so Tobei had always thought. In demonstration, the Colonel had set up a target and told Tobei to use his magic to protect the target before the bullet could hit it. He’d failed, of course, and the Colonel had looked down at Tobei and said, “Even with a Master’s magic, you can’t outrun a bullet, Tobei. That means your enemy can’t either.”
No, Tobei agreed as he stared up at the barrel of the rifle pointed right at him, he could not outrun a bullet.
But Kunin could.
Tobei had to grip tight with his knees to keep his spot in the saddle as the Wolf surged forward, rocks popping on his trail as the shots found their homes. Instead of heading for the camp’s gate, Tobei leaned and Kunin obliged, arcing to the right to run along the wall and toward its corner.
His job of distracting the guards was already done, so he wanted the chance to watch Daivad work. It was always awe-inspiring and filled Tobei with a giddy pride to watch what Daivad could do, though Tobei would never admit it (because Daivad would never admit he felt the same when he watched Tobei—and Tobei was sure that he did).
Maxea, decked in her own military saddle, complete with shining, bone-white headgear and chest plate, ran flat out, the fur of her belly brushing the ground. Kunin might be faster than her, but it was beyond impressive that Max could run like that with a beast like Daivad on her back. Daivad kicked both legs over to Maxea’s right side and dropped into a roll. When he’d popped back to his feet he swung an arm out, gesturing for Maxea to give him some room to work. She swerved around to the left, and Daivad went as still as the rock beneath him.
Earthbreaking is more than cutting stone and splitting the ground, Daivad… The roots of the smallest, softest sapling can reach deep and spread wide… Earthbreaking is more than destruction, if you want it to be.
Daivad sent his magic down through his feet and deep below, traveling through the latent vibration of the Earth itself. He felt the layers upon layers of minerals that Mother Dark had crushed and pressed and smoothed over eons to build this mountain, felt them as though his own rough hand were passing over them. His magic seeped into the finest hairline fractures and traveled along them as they forked like lightning, minuscule enough to be harmless—if he were anyone but an Earthbreaker.
There. He found the fault he wanted. He could see exactly how the fracture would grow and spread when guided by a sure, cruel hand.
Daivad uprooted one foot—and drove the boot heel down. To the guards above, had they noticed him yet, it would seem as though nothing happened—but Daivad felt his magic, the vibration travel from heel to earth, humming, building, until—
He felt the smallest crack, dozens of yards deep in the bluff, just beneath the far wall. Satisfied, Daivad returned to his body just in time for the rumbling to begin.
It built slow, the perfect bass to layer beneath Tobei’s ever quickening melody, swelling around them to a skull-rattling crescendo—
And then an eerie, awesome quiet like he’d suddenly been dunked underwater as the bluff face sloughed cleanly off, like the Light Mother herself had reached down from the heavens and brushed the rock away. For a moment the bluff face was suspended in nothing, dust bleeding through the air, loose stones arcing slowly out, tons upon tons of rock floating on open air. Tobei’s music faded back in, a song heavy like held breath and blooming like a fresh bruise.
Then, gravity returned with an almighty CRASH.
It was only a moment longer that the far wall of Duxon’s camp held itself together, now standing on nothing. It was almost comical, like the wall had forgotten for a moment the hold gravity had on it. The guards atop the wall had enough time to begin to scramble to safety—but only to begin. And then the wall resigned itself to its fate.
The second CRASH was no smaller than the first.
Their structure compromised, the runes protecting the walls fizzled out. One down, three to go. Daivad’s work was far from over.
Still in sync with the earth, he felt the vibrations of Maxea’s fast approaching paws behind him and threw out his arm, catching her around the shoulders.
A whole host of singing had risen up to accompany Tobei’s music. The screaming of the guards that tumbled to their deaths, the shouting of those upon the three remaining walls, the roars of the prisoners within the walls, who by now knew all too well that the Royal Beast was here to free them.
Tobei grinned as Daivad grabbed onto Maxea—how the beast didn’t even break stride was astounding. Still hanging off her side, Daivad sent the Wolf full-tilt toward the near wall, bringing her up alongside it, close enough to drive his fist into the stone.
Still, Maxea didn’t break stride. Cracks burst across the wall’s face, spidering up from Daivad’s fist as he drove it along the length of the wall and crawling quick towards the boots of the guards above.
More screaming to join the chorus, and the wall buckled.
Tobei whooped, elated, and shouted, “Get fucked, Motherfuckers!”
When Daivad ran out of wall, he kicked himself back up onto Maxea’s back and the black Wolf swung around to meet up with Tobei’s silver Wolf. Side-by-side, they rode straight at the wall of dust that had quickly replaced the stone—and dove through.
The Wolves soared over a mountain of rubble and burst through the dust into another world—one that was in total Chaos.
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Things had changed over the last decade or so. Daivad remembered clearly the first camp they had taken, how the prisoners within had been terrified, confused, lost without their chains to guide them. But with each camp they took, with each rumor that spread, painting Daivad a figure even larger than his true one, the prisoners reactions had changed as well. The moment they realized the Traitor Prince was here, they began to fight. To riot.
So when the Wolves and their riders soared into Duxon’s camp, the first thing they saw was a tiny, bone-thin, elderly person dressed only in a filthy loincloth jerking the rifle from a guard’s hands and, when the old prisoner couldn’t figure out how to work the weapon, they resorted to simply smashing the butt of the rifle into the guard’s head until they collapsed to the ground, their helmet flew loose, their skull caved in, and their face was little more than bloody porridge.
Daivad quickly judged that the old prisoner had everything under control, so they kept moving. He gave a hand signal and Tobei broke to the left obediently, while Daivad urged Maxea to the right, toward the sound of a cracking whip.
His estimation had been a little off. Half off. He’d been right to guess there were only about a dozen guards within the walls—he spotted one cowering on the rooftop of a shed constructed from rotting wood, attempting to escape the thin, grimy, grabbing hands of the prisoners below, and another being dragged along the rocky ground by a chain circling their neck. But he’d been wrong about the prisoners. When that rotted wooden shed collapsed, it was at least eight prisoners that fell upon the guard like ravenous wolves, and on the other end of the chain dragging the second guard, another five prisoners. At a glance, he estimated—for every guard there were five, maybe six prisoners.
One guard stood on a wagon surrounded by twenty or so prisoners, keeping them at bay only with the furious, panicked crack of a whip. When one prisoner lunged forward, the guard lashed out, and a bloody gash exploded across the prisoner’s left eye. They fell back and clutched their marred face, screaming.
Daivad shifted his weight and Maxea slid to a stop, launching Daivad at the guard before they could prepare the whip again. In the air, he shifted, his bones breaking, warping, rearranging, his claws sliding out, his skin tearing and bubbling, and a snarl twisting his face.
It took a mere second to catch the guard, whirl around, and slash five claws across their neck, spraying blood.
Not enough.
Flinging the guard aside, Daivad leapt from the wagon to find Maxea once again beneath him, and they were off. After shouted orders this time.
Down the main road through the camp ran a clutch of guards from the front gate, led by two riders on the backs of enormous warhorses. Pitiful reinforcements, painfully late.
Daivad leaned forward and Maxea surged straight down the road toward them, head on. The two of them against six guards in full armor, all with rifles and swords, two of them mounted. Perfect. The promise those bodies made him was dizzying, it tempted him to give in, to shift again, to lose control. To let his own blood blacken.
But he wouldn’t.
All six raised their rifles, and Daivad dove left while Maxea swerved right. A volley of bullets whizzed by, and Daivad didn’t even notice the one that caught the skin of his shoulder. When he connected with the ground, he sent his magic down into it once more, and as he rolled back to his feet, he brought the ground with him.
Large chunks of rock broke free of the road, and Daivad threw one fist, then the next, shooting one rock to catch the left rider in the chest, unseating them, and the next rock to unseat the other. Understanding Daivad’s intent, Maxea dove in, nipping at the horses, herding them out of Daivad’s line of fire—or trying to. These were warhorses, they had been bred for battle, and they repaid Maxea’s nips with enormous, powerful hooves to her headgear. But the Wolf did not back down, simply whirled to change tactic.
Daivad let the rest of his rocks fall, not wanting to risk hurting the horses by firing them at the guards. He was more than happy to put his claws to good use—
He dove in.
Finally.
Finally, Daivad felt right again.
He lost himself in the slaughter, in the Chaos. Adrenaline lit his whole body on fire, and he felt everything, and thought nothing. He felt the grit between his teeth from the dusty air, felt the warmth of the blood spattered across his face and soaking his hands, he felt the starbursts of pain that didn’t yet register as pain when a sword slashed across his forearm and when a bullet grazed just above his elbow, he felt skin and fat and muscle parting easily around his claws, and he felt bones snapping beneath his boot heel. And he thought nothing.
Tobei’s job was disappointingly easy. Daivad had obviously sent him to the quieter part of the camp—not that it was by any means quiet. Nani’s sweet singing mixed with the sounds of decades of pent-up rage finally bursting free the moment the first crack appeared in that wall. There was blood everywhere, flying fists, snarled words, but Tobei had only seen two guards still standing—the prisoners had taken care of all the rest.
Tobei only got to send one slashing note to sever the whip of one guard and Kunin had only got to clamp his jaws on the head of another before all the guards were dead. Winking at prisoners as Kunin loped by, Tobei directed the Wolf back toward Daivad and Maxea. From the sounds of it, he’d guess Daivad was having much more fun than he was.
It was over far too soon.
Daivad whirled, looking for his next victim, claws still hungry, but found only the old prisoner from before, stumbling back from him, looking awestruck.
If the prisoner spoke, Daivad didn’t hear it. His ears were still primed for whip-cracks and gunfire, his eyes distant, unable to see anything but threats. Six guards were dead around him, and two dozen more bodies—these standing, breathing, bleeding—populated the main road behind him.
To his left, the warhorses were neighing and kicking at Maxea who circled them, the Wolf darting in only when one tried to run. Daivad stepped up and caught the reins of the nearest horse—a big bay gelding—and climbed into its saddle before the beast knew what was happening. After a moment’s panic, the horse seemed relieved to have direction once again, and it complied when Daivad nudged it forward.
He rode around the camp, searching for just one more guard to sink his claws into. But everywhere he went, down the main road, in between the few ramshackle buildings, along the two walls still left standing, there were only armored corpses and awed prisoners…
No—he passed for the second time by three corpses piled against a busted wagon and finally caught the muffled, panicked heartbeat. One of those three was not a corpse.
The idea never made it to Daivad’s conscious mind—as he dismounted the big bay and tossed aside the two bodies that were dead, he really thought he meant to make the third one match. But when he hauled the guard up, sobbing and pleading, by their chest plate, he found himself not sinking his claws in, but growling,
“You—are going to relay a message for me.”
When Daivad returned to the middle of Duxon’s destroyed camp, the prisoners all stared at him, breathless. Tobei was, as usual, talking, now riding the other horse in tight circles to calm it down while Kunin pouted several yards away—but none of them were listening any longer. The old prisoner from before stepped around Tobei’s circling mount and stopped before the big bay. For a moment, they just stood there, looking up at Daivad with big, teary blue eyes. Until, slowly and with a lot of bone-creaking, they lowered to one knee.
Daivad tried not to roll his eyes, looking instead down at his hands as they popped and shifted back to their human shape. “Stop that.”
One by one, the other prisoners knelt as well. A few burst into sobs, or muttered, “We’re free!”
“Mother Light,” Daivad growled to himself.
“Wh—” Tobei had dropped the reins, but the horse kept circling so Tobei had to turn his head around and around to give the kneeling prisoners an offended look.
Daivad called to the prisoners, “Take these horses and the rest from the stable—you’ve earned them. There are a few wagons still standing. I suggest loading them with anything you can find and riding out before reinforcements arrive.”
The old prisoner looked up and pulled together fuzzy brows that would be white if not so filthy. “Your Highness—”
“Do not,” Daivad growled, “call me that.”
The prisoner sputtered, “A-apologies. What title do you claim, then?”
“Daivad.”
They nodded. “Daivad. I’d’ve thought you’d want us behind you. We—We’d trail you into hell, if you asked.”
“I didn’t ask. Your trail’s your own.”
Those big blue eyes went wide with fear. “We’re—on our own?”
Daivad’s belly squirmed looking into those eyes, so he glanced around at the other prisoners instead. It was too many. He could barely keep filled the bellies already living in his camp. Adding sixty or so to his numbers in one swoop? Where the hell would they even sleep?
He hadn’t thought there would be so many here.
“Your trail is your own, your lives are your own,” Daivad said, not nearly as good at dodging questions as Tobei was.
The prisoners looked at each other, fear setting into their expressions.
“I’m an old man,” the prisoner started, slowly. “Nearly half my years were lived behind these walls. I’ve got nothing beyond them. The only reason I still bother taking breaths is a dream. To outlive the Mother-damned queen of Lushale.”
There was a murmur through the prisoners behind him. A few nodded heads. The old man held out his arm to display the letters DUX tattooed up his forearm. Just like Doll’s. “Our lives’ll never be our own again. She took them from us. So I want to take hers!”
The old man had to take a moment to catch his breath. Daivad wondered when the last time he’d talked this much had been. And how many times he’d rehearsed this speech in his head. The man continued, a little more subdued. “But I can’t. Best I can do is follow someone who can.”
There was more murmuring now. More nodding, even from the prisoner who had to keep a hand clamped over the goo spilling out of their whiplashed eye. Tobei even paused his pouting to send the old man an impressed frown.
Mother fucking damn it.
“Anything around here you name Useful, pack it. Quick,” Daivad called. “By the next hour, we need to be well into our path.”