Chapter One Hundred and Three
Acquisition Unit Two
Ten minutes prior to the gathering in the forum of Fort Guardian, Acquisition Unit Two scuttled away from the right-most pavilion, having found it predominantly empty, and made their way across the unoccupied camp. The unit consisted of four warriors: Carter, James, Archie and an older Archangel, Carlisla.
Carlisla had a thick, circular shield on one arm and spiked club in her right hand, called a Silva star. Her hair was platted in two braids, tied up behind her head, and she wore studded leather armour which looked black in the night.
Carter’s cloak billowed out behind him as they distanced themselves from the rear of Nikereus’ army, heading to the central command tent, standing in the heart of the fortress slopes like a growth. Carter had met Carlisla a few times before. She about his height but her arms were thicker and her reactions quicker. She was from the city of Blackhall, in Pridemia, a place famous for its warriors. Pridemians were quiet, and generally mocked as quite stoic, but it was cultural, not personal. To their friends and family, they were sunny and warm, but it was custom in north Talisatia to treat strangers with true neutrality. Favour and distaste were earned, nothing was given out freely. She had all the northern features, from pale skin to dark eyes, hair, as well as a sharp jawline and a thick, low accent.
Archie followed Carter sharply across the mud. He settled his hand on his long, forward-curving sword. He’d polished it the night before and spent a few hours at the training arena by himself. He’d been glad to know he hadn’t forgotten everything he once learned.
Up alongside Carter, naturally, was James, jogging in long strides to keep up with his nimble friend. As they moved, James recalled his conversation with Jack before he left.
“We could really use your strength in the distraction force. Plus, it means you won’t have to use your Arcancy, just reinforce some others’.”
James had smiled appreciatively but shaken his head all the same. “One more soldier won’t make the difference up in your crowd. You look after Michael so I can look after Carter.”
It wasn’t as though James thought poorly of Archie or Carlisla. Archie was a fine lad, but he wasn’t exactly Talis Windbringer or Harlock Havenor. And Carlisla was easy to rely on, but stranger things have happened than a spontaneous arrow to the back of the head in wartime.
The notion filled his body with tension as a cold wisp of wind crept beneath his armour. James’ skin crawled and before he knew it, he was thinking about the burn of Arcancy and the bone-curling pain that lay beneath the muscles when he called it. He fought down the thought.
It won’t come to that, he thought to himself.
James tried to focus on the spear in his hands and the war tent ahead and the ground beneath him but the dark voice of his own, tormented past chuckled.
You didn’t have a choice back when he was beating you. You broke open like a dam. What makes you think you’ll stand a chance if something happens to Carter?
James slowed his run so the others sped past him, and as soon as they did, he struck himself hard in the temple and briefly went blind as he clenched his teeth and clamped his eyes shut. The voice quietened beneath the noise of the pain, but it would be back.
Eventually, the Acquisition Unit slowed to a stop before the central command tent.
It was like the others, more or less, though despite being bigger and more imposing, somehow it seemed duller, and altogether not even really worth investigating.
Carter crouched low to the ground, raising his eyebrow and shrugging. “Doesn’t look like anything special.”
James agreed, glancing back toward the battle raging in the distance. “Maybe we should just re-join the others.”
Archie felt his hand slip off of his sword and he nodded rather carelessly.
Carlisla watched the young men stir in disinterest as she looked to her hands, idly flexing her fingers before grabbing Archie by his arm. “Hold on for a second. Open your eyes.”
Carter and James looked disinterestedly as Carlisla peered into the young man’s eye. Suddenly she made a sour face and let him go.
“There’s a deterrent field cast over that pavilion. Like the same one we use on the fortress grounds to keep non-Legacies away. I can see it stirring in the colour of your eyes.”
Carter’s eyes flashed slowly in shock as he grabbed two daggers from his cloak. “You mean like Dark Tongue?”
Carlisla made a non-committal face. “Same tree, different branch. Everyone, grab my arm.”
Carter, James, and Archie reached out rather numbly and grasped her thick arm and gloved hand, but before they had the chance to ask questions, white light rippled from her grip. It latched onto them like lightning jumping from the clouds to a high hill.
The swirling grey in Archie’s eyes dissipated and one by one the tension in the groups’ shoulders was found again.
Carter stumbled back from the magical hand-hold and looked up in bewilderment to feel his heart trembling in his chest. The tent before him, now bare of its faint illusion, cast out a sense of deep, unending dread. Even with the battle raging on behind them, decorating the night sky with flashes of arcane light and the raging shrieks, the command tent alone held every scrap of his bare attention.
“What in Thall’s name is your Arcancy?” Carter asked, jittering, like all the anxiety had been stoppered and suddenly let loose in an uncontrolled flood.
Carlisla tightened the strap on her shield and looked to the command centre. “I control clarity. You can control metals, right?”
“I can sense certain raw metallics and puppet them with enough effort.”
“The way you sense unmined veins of ore beneath the ground, I can sense muddled clarity. The whole ordeal with Oliver gave me a damn migraine and I couldn’t tell why.” The Pridemian then realised she’d spoken a great deal and awkwardly cleared her throat, turning her attention back to her shield-strap.
Archie thanked her quietly and drew his long, cleaving sword. He wore chainmail beneath his thin leather, and a thick set of steel plates on his left arm, known as a glancing shield. It was a famously used by the military which guarded the Redthornian empress. It was effective but now all he wanted was something to grip in his hand.
Once they’d collected their wits, the unit kept moving until they were thirty feet from the pavilion.
As they slowed their approach, two dark howls filled the night sky, and from behind the great canvas structure prowled two enormous Mountain Wolves covered in long coats of moss. With each step, the ground squelched and left enormous paw prints in the mud, and their dark, monstrous eyes locked squarely on the Acquisition Unit.
There was a long, cold beat as a thin sheet of rain began spritzing over them, and Carter wiped his hands before regripping his daggers. “White-Steel. Darvish. You take right. James and me will take left. You’re all Legacies. Remember that. Go.”
At ounce, his trio replied strongly, “Aye, Commander.”
Carter and James rushed left. Archie and Carlisla bolted right. The Mountain Wolves split down the middle and barrelled for either pair.
The right-most behemoth snapped at Carlisla as she narrowly rolled out of the way, rising back to her feet and clubbing the monster across its jaw.
As the creature reeled from the blow, Archie leapt and slashed his heavy blade across its tall shoulder, forcing an unrivalled bellow of pain as it swiped wildly at him, missing by a fraction of an inch.
It turned and leapt toward Archie as he dove to the mud, watching it crush the space he’d been in before. The beast snarled, turning and stalking toward him hungrily as he struggled to rise, slipping in the mud.
Meanwhile, James was busy trying to bait their own monstrous opponent one way while Carter sprinted up from behind and leapt on, driving daggers into its back.
The creature roared, trying buck him off, twisting and turning its body violently as he clung to the handles, bruising his knees and elbows black every time they slammed against its stone hide.
Carter dragged himself up the monster’s shoulders but the moment he ripped one of his knives free, the Mountain Wolf threw its head down and bucked its body up, whipping him upward. Carter shouted but held fast to the other plunged dagger stuck in its shoulder and he slammed back down. He could feel a newly broken rib as he dangled by the beast’s ear.
As the Mountain Wolf turned and snapped at the vulnerable boy, James stormed forward and thrusted the spear at its great skull, cracking through the canine’s jaw.
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The Yiraa whipped its head back around in pain, knocking James’ spear to the ground and him along with it, as a dark essence wept from the wound.
On the other side of the fight, Archie rolled nimbly out the way of the first pounce, and Carlisla, completely alive with white, flaring veins, slammed her now-shimmering club into the creature’s head, sending it stumbling before she grabbed Archie and pulled him to his feet.
The monster stumbled and looked dazedly over them, as though unsure what it had been doing a moment before or why it mattered.
Archie watched its enormous, stone head swivel between them and the other fight, and he huffed in amusement. “So, I guess the control over clarity can also mean a lack of clarity?”
Carlisla panted and nodded as the Mountain Wolf began snarling again, slowly regaining its sense of puppeted rage, and she said, “Looks like the Heart Stone has more kick than I do.”
Archie helped her stand upright. Blood orange light bled into the back of Archie’s skull and he felt himself more squarely. “Let’s see if the Heart Stone can hold up against a lack clarity and willpower.”
Carlisla raised her shield and spoke with the certainty than only tradition offered some. “Stand aside and find peace or stand against me and be damned,” as the creature paced forward once more.
Across the way, Carter was thrown from the side of their Mountain Wolf after leaving half of his dagger-supply in its side. He landed hard in the mud as James continued to stab and slice at the creature’s face whilst narrowly avoiding its enormous claws and snapping teeth.
The only advantage in the rain, was that the mud stopped monsters like Mountain Wolves from being as horrifyingly nimble as they were on dry ground.
James felt his strength beginning to wain as he retreated further, keeping the beast at spear’s length while he shouted, “Slick! Give us a hand, will you?”
Carter panted and wheezed as he forced himself up and came tearing back across the soil. He drew a foot-long dagger from the depths of his mystic cloak. He tried not to use it because using it usually meant losing it. Inside its core he could feel the raw iron residing, and with a barrelling sprint he threw himself at the creature’s side once again, punching the blade completely into its ribcage, leaving only the handle exposed, like all the others.
The Mountain Wolf shrieked and whipped around and it caught him with an outward swinging paw, cracking him across the face.
The force of the blow went through his entire skull in such a nauseating bloom of pain that he didn’t even feel himself hit the ground.
Its agonized roars vibrated through the mud.
James watched in horror as the wounded creature turned to Carter’s limp body.
But as the monster opened its enormous maw, a look of discomfort spread sharply across its dull eyes, followed by a deep chorus of pained barks as Carter pushed himself from the ground, his face trickling with blood, while his arms writhed with silver light.
The dagger in the monster’s side twisted and turned under his command, digging deeper and deeper into its body until finally, the creature cried out and collapsed, melting into an enormous pile of dark sludge, seeping back into the soil.
Carter collapsed, twitching from the pain as James, Archie, and Carlisla ran up, shouting with concern. He paid them little mind as James helped him sit up.
Carter vaguely noticed about ten feet behind them was the other Mountain Wolf, sitting and looking generally disinterred and passionless as it stared across the compound.
He decided not to ask, though without the dark, twisted commands in its mind, it merely reminded him of just another lost dog.
James tried to help him rise, but Carter became overwhelmed with nausea and waved his hands, numbly begging them to leave him on the ground.
Behind them, the Legacy forces were winding their way back to the fortress, barricading the monsters from their frontline with a shield of magical light. The amount of raw power lit up the valley like a false dawn.
Carlisla looked to the commotion and then to the war-tent, whispering frantically, “We’re out of time. Come on, let’s get what we came for.”
“Let’s d-do it.”
Before Carter could say otherwise, Archie and Carlisla darted toward the tent.
Seeing Carter’s panic, James bolted after the two overeager fighters and shouted, “Stay here, I’ll bring them back! Guys!”
Carter watched the world spin blurrily around him as James ran through the dark rain. He rolled onto his stomach and began to crawl, weakly croaking, “Stop. Please. We don’t... we don’t know what’s in there.”
The tent-flaps flashed open and yellow light spilled out onto the valley as Archie and Carlisla broke inside despite James’ calling. After another moment passed, James went roaring in after them with his spear held tight.
Carter felt his hands growing numb as he ripped himself across the ground. His body was covered in mud, his face was bloodied and swollen with bruising. But still he crawled, unable to yell loud enough over the sound of the war and thundering storm.
It took what felt like a mortal age, but finally Carter reached out toward the tent door-canvas and couldn’t even feel the fabric between his frozen fingers. He pulled it out of his way and the yellow light washed over him, sending him into another wave of nausea as the blinding glare stained his eyes. His arms gave out and his torso collapsed into the dry floor of the tent while the rain drummed on his legs.
A shadow passed over the fallen nobleman, and for a moment, Carter managed to open his eyes to see a figure, silhouetted by torchlight, standing thoughtfully over him.
Though their more minute details were foggy and unclear, the figure had six arms, a body of both pale and dark slate stone, and pure blue eyes.
Carter lowered his gaze to see Archie lying face down on the floor. He was breathing faintly with his sword driven deep into the soil a foot away from his grip. A long gash was driven over his eye and blood trickled down across his face.
Carlisla was lying on her side, completely unconscious. Her shield had been ripped from her, as was evident by the grotesque bruising and torn skin along her left arm. Her Silva star was lying further up the tent with several of its spikes shattered.
James was alone on the other side of the pavilion, leaning up against one of the support beams. He had a long shaft of stone jutting out of his stomach. One half of his own Merhoii spear. His chest rose and fell quietly and his eyes flickered but didn’t open. His left hand was weighed to the ground by the other half of his spear. The veins in his fingers pulsed slowly with green light and every inch of James’ visible skin was red like he was warm to the touch.
Carter looked at his friend and a feral, ungodly darkness moved in him as his hand quietly shifted into the recesses of his cloak, grasping a crescent blade dagger. “Nikereus, I presume?” he croaked, without looking.
The commander of the Obthraie gave a bright, fanged smile and turned, letting the yellow torchlight flow over them fully. Their delicate features, almost Atyon, their graceful yet strong arms, their many restless fingers, all dancing to some internal tune. Their body was dressed in an armour of seemingly wrought darkness. It flowed like a cloak but clicked beneath the touch of their fingers like steel.
“Not just me, no.”
Moving lightly in the back of the tent were over half a dozen of Nikereus’ lieutenants. Like their commander they were armoured, and unlike any of the other Soiltorn, their movements were free of restriction or stiffness. They moved utterly on their own and spoke mutteringly to one another in a foreign tongue. They seemed entirely unbothered by the attack, moving crates and reviewing plans like the Legacies weren’t laying at their feet.
Nikereus looked over the Legacies in the room and sighed. “I must commend you. This was certainly bold, if slightly poorly executed. But you came quite close, it must be said.” The Soiltorn waved two nimble hands over the centre of their shadow-armoured chest and a piece of the darkness vanished.
Sitting in the centre of their chest was a pale, somewhat translucent stone. It was no bigger than a fist and engraved with an endlessly intricate pattern of markings, glowing weakly, pulsating like it yearned to stop. A resurrected Heart Stone.
Perhaps two inches to the right of the Heart Stone was a clear crack in Nikereus’ abdomen.
Nikereus touched it thoughtfully and nodded to James, breathing on death’s door. “Your friend did well to pierce my shade. Shame his thrust was not ever-so-slightly truer.”
Carter felt ill merely looking at the concoction of dark magic, and the way it seemed to tremble with every step Nikereus took.
Nikereus knelt down and pulled Archie’s sword effortlessly from the soil, despite it being stuck up its hilt. They looked the blade over and glanced to Archie, barely conscious on the floor. And as though asking about the weather, they mused aloud, “I wonder, if you had to sacrifice anyone in this room? Who would you choose?”
Carter tightened his grip on one of his daggers and tried to pass the movement off as a painful adjustment, but the nausea swam thick behind his eyes. Unable to even hear his own voice, he breathed, “Me. I’d choose me.”
Nikereus gave a moment’s thought to the boy’s answer and looked to James. “Well, this one clearly means something to you.” They then gestured idly to Carlisla with one of their many off-hands. “This one… isn’t someone you know, but I think you respect them.” And lastly Nikereus turned to Archie, nudging him with the tip of his own sword. “But this one is many things I think.”
Carter inched the knife out of his holster, still concealed by the cloak draped across his arms. “They’re all important to me.”
Nikereus’ amused face fell sharply away and they looked over Carter to the darkness behind him and simply nodded. “Enough niceties.”
Carter gritted his teeth and felt the heat well behind his eyes. “I agree.”
Carter threw himself up, slashing with the dagger but within inches of landing the blade in Nikereus’ stomach, two tall, armoured Obthraie grabbed him by his wrists.
Carter screamed out and thrashed against them but they bound him behind his back. He struggled not to be sick from the vicious movement. He twisted and fought but every action merely grated his flesh against their stone hands, and he stopped in a thicket of grief, looking Nikereus square in the face. The cruellest thoughts infested his mind. They were poison in his mouth so toxic he could scarcely shape them into words.
Carter’s words snarled slowly, dripping off his tongue. “I’m going to break you open and dance to the melody of your screams. You hear me! You will die and you’ll beg your god to save you from me!” Carter was screaming and lurching as spit and rage sprayed from his teeth. “And only once you shatter your throat screaming- only once you are numb to the agony will I fucking butcher you like the animal you are! I’ll fucking kill you for touching him! I will fucking rip you open-”
Nikereus hit Carter flat in the chest with a closed fist and several ribs cracked.
Carter’s breath vacuumed from his lungs. He knew his lungs weren’t pierced but he couldn’t breath and his vision was going black.
Nikereus then smiled rather warmly. “Pay attention, now,” they said, and then turned toward Archie. Using the side of their foot, they rolled the blacksmith flat onto his back. The curve on their lips stayed, but in their deep, dark eyes there sat a quiet, honest rage, like a razor-sharp river stone beneath dirtied waters, just waiting.
With all the calmness of a winter breeze, Nikereus plunged the stolen sword into Archie’s chest with a snap like cracking ice.
Archie sputtered blood across his freckled face and he stared softly up to the ceiling, as though trying to look through to the stars.
Carter wanted to scream but his mouth wouldn’t move, and so he slammed his elbow into the stomachs of one guard, sending a white-hot flare of pain into his arm as he tried to grab another dagger, but the Obthraie merely grabbed his wrist again and twisted him to ground. Carter only found his voice long enough to scream out in a raging, grief-ridden pain, when Nikereus kicked him hard in the temple, knocking him out cold.
Archie let his head roll over and saw his team leader dropped to the soil. He watched the way the sword in his own chest rose and fell with his final, wheezing breath. It was the only weapon he’d ever owned.
The gentle blacksmith closed his eyes.