It was an odd colour that shone both through, and from, the pair’s skin. A colour that was not really a colour, nor did it really shine, though it cut through the darkness. It was more an uncanny light, a mirage of power surrounding the Conduit and her Partner, who had both begun Drawing on the Elements.
It was beautiful – and terrifying. Harin wanted to watch them, despite the danger; he wanted to bask in the glow of their power.
He wanted to run a hundred miles away, to hide himself from this world-shattering force.
Their movements were smooth and clean. Selrine’s Partner disintegrated the carriage door with a single impact from his fist before jumping out the new, larger, exit and lending a hand to his Conduit, helping her make a light landing on the blood-stained grass. They turned as one to face the treeline, the Partner bending to take an arming sword from a fallen caravan guard.
The clash of steel on steel was deafening as the remaining soldiers of the Crown continued to fight their ambushers. Arrows whistled through the air, producing screams and blood-pools in equal measure upon finding their mark - or thudding harmlessly into the dust.
Selrine raised her hand to the sky, watching it as if it wasn't hers, before her eyes began to emit the same aquamarine shimmer as during the Testing. In the palm of her hand, the light-that-was-not-really-light condensed into a misshapen ball as what appeared to be water took it’s place.
Slowly moving her hand down to eye level, Selrine looked in all directions, her unnaturally candescent eyes searching for her first victim with an alacrity and intensity one might associate with an osprey diving towards a shoal of fish.
Sighting a group of the highwaymen looking to surround a lone guard, she yells, “By the Light of Lucerian, duck man!” as she slashes her arm horizontally through the air before her, the ‘water’ that had gathered in her palm became a thin blade that hung still in front of her.
As the man ducked, the blade streaked through the air and cut the highwaymen in half before their eyes. Their torsos pirouetted through the air, trailing blood like crimson ribbons in some grotesque ballet. In their last moments, they flew through the air screaming in pain as they saw themselves separated from both the ground, and half of their limbs.
Various organs littered the ground as lakes of blood grew around their half-corpses. Selrine, seeing that her projectile had performed it’s intended purpose, immediately continued scanning her vicinity for new targets. Her Partner had moved around to the other side of the carriage, holding his arm out towards an archer he had sighted in the treeline. He grasped the air, pulling his fingers closed to form a fist.
The ground below the marksman opened up and swallowed him whole, entombing him below the earth, and it began to move inwards on itself in a chewing motion.
His muffled screams did not last long.
After his brief imprisonment, the temporary tomb opened up again and a fine carmine paste effused from within the ground. Similar scenes of violence and destruction repeated themselves until their assailants had been annihilated. Harin had long since begun cowering in a corner, clutching his ears as the screams of men continued to permeate the air.
Selrine and her Partner found him in the beaten and vaguely-pincushion-like remains of the carriage they had been traveling in.
“Brioc! Look what you have done to the boy. I told you that new Tested should not witness you fight!” She chastised him like a mother might a child caught with their finger in the honey pot.
Selrine carefully closes in on Harin in an attempt to comfort him. It did not work; Harin was terrified. He had just seen first-hand the brutality of war, and the horror of violence. His eyes were wide as he shook, hunched over in the corner. Seemingly giving up on tranquilising him, Selrine stands before waving her hand over Harin’s head.
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His eyes moved upwards into his skull and he fell limp on the floor of the carriage, slumbering peacefully, in great contrast to but a few moments prior.
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Creak. Thump. Creak. Thump.
The rhythmic sound of a moving carriage filled Harin’s ears. His mind was hazy; his thoughts filled with cotton and wool. A devilish headache blocked any further interrogation of his state of mind. He returned to the familiar and homely embrace of darkness.
Harin awakens one again. The carriage was still moving, but he could think. He tries to remember happened; what caused him to forget.
Immediately, he wished he hadn’t – Death, Screams, Blood. He bolts upright, barely stifling his own attempt to shout for help. He noticed two things: First, he was in a different carriage, easily deducible from the simple fact that the wall opposite him retained a door. Second, Selrine and… Brioc?
They were absent. Shifting himself to swing his legs over the side of side of the bench, he sees a small white rectangle availing itself of the seat opposite him. Realising it was a small sheet of paper, he picked it up and unfolded it carefully. It read, in scrawling cursive:
“Harin,
You shall undoubtedly be troubled by the other day’s events, and I apologise for subjecting you to such a spectacle. On the other hand, it will have been a valuable lesson on the dangers of war. Brioc and I have remained behind to ensure that this was the only such group equipped to ambush a royal escort. We have left the remaining twenty-and-four guardsmen with you. Though there should be no more trouble on the road, they will see to it that you arrive in the capital safely.
Incidentally, you should be there within a day of waking. It would have been unnecessarily difficult to transport you should you have remained conscious.
Best wishes,
Selrine”
…
This was a turn of events that Harin had not expected. He did not know how long he had been unconscious, and doubted that he had been so for the weeks it would take to travel to the capital from Graendale by carriage. He should ask the guard, just to make sure.
Harin stood, and gingerly opened the carriage door, searching his surroundings.
They were beautiful.
Oak, maple, and sycamore trees line the cobbled road on which the convoy was traveling at measured intervals. The summer breeze carried the scent of flowers and fresh bread, and the light caress of peace. He sees the guardsmen on horseback in defensive formation around the carriage convoy, each covering their own small portion of the treeline.
The nearest of them spots him, waves, and pulls the reins of his bay horse. Staying a few metres from the carriage while it moves,
“So our sleepin’ beauty finally makes ‘is debut appearance, eh?” His voice is gruff though his tone is friendly, his accent that of the northwest plainsmen; bred and trained for war.
“Yeah…” Harin laughs nervously, “But uh… where are we? I’ve never been somewhere so… beautiful,” Once again taking in the scenes passing them by, he allows his curiosity to get the better of him.
“Well, lad, we’re not ‘alf a day’s trek from Light’s Grasp itself! Look down the road!” The guardsman is both amused that Harin had to ask, and simultaneously proud as he directs Harin’s gaze,
Light’s Grasp had walls white as snow, and taller than a castle. You could fit an army’s worth of archers atop it’s battlements alongside the siege defences that dotted the walls at regular intervals. Cathedral spires tower over even the incalculably massive outer walls; a statement of wealth, power, and devotion.
For miles around the outside of the walls there were vineyards and orchards and wheat fields that feed the city and it’s breweries.
“Wow…” Harin was understandably awestruck, “That’s…”
“I know, lad,” interjects the guardsman, “We all got that jaw-drop look the first time,” he is almost sympathetic, though he is more bemused than anything else. A few minutes pass during which Harin stands in the doorway of the carriage and stares at the city; the place he would spend the next few years of his life, learning to kill.
“Wait! How did we get to the capital in a week?!” Harin’s sudden realisation and genuine surprise causes the guardsman to chuckle aloud,
“Ye finally caught it eh, lad? We’ve been traveling double time to get ye here. Those two were insistent that we get ye here even at great cost.” The guardsman begins light-heartedly but quickly turns to a more serious tone,
“I… oh… thank you, sir. You didn’t have to… I…” Harin begins unsteadily with more than a hint of embarrassment before the guardsman interjects.
“We did have to, lad, but it’s good to see one of yer kind with some humility, eh? A rare sight these days, lad. I’m called as Yazu – Captain Yazu of the Crownsguard.” Yazu smiles, looking both relieved and like a favoured pupil had passed an important test. He salutes Harin by placing his hand straight horizontally on his chest just below his cervical before tugging the reins and again making the formation around the convoy complete.