There were advantages to having left all of his treasures back in his own world, and Silenos found that ease of departure was among them. He had virtually nothing worth packing, and thus virtually no delay between himself and his moving on from the city of Abaritan. Nothing, save for Ensharia’s whining.
“You’re leaving?” She pressed, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief, betrayal and fury. Silenos only nodded.
“Our work here is meaningless, if the King has lost his combat power then he is of no use to anyone, and we would be better suited in hurrying towards the next Hero on our list.”
While Ensharia’s face tightened and throat warped in preparation for an argument, Falls cut in. He leaned against a door, grinning that smug grin that seemed perpetually upon him since they left Abaritan.
“I agree with the caster.” He declared. “Anyone spineless enough to collapse after one battle was never going to be worth anything to begin with.”
Silenos felt a stab of irritation. It was of no particularly empathetic nature, mere offence taken at the brazen incorrectness of what Falls had said.
“The effects of trauma upon a human brain are complex, unpredictable and varied.” He replied, letting his displeasure show. “A lack of comprehension regarding this fact, an insistence that they are evidence of mere weakness, is one of the most common markers for a primitive society.”
Falls’ face fell. Clearly, he had expected Silenos to indulge his stupidity, whilst Ensharia looked utterly thrilled to see him contradict it. She didn’t let the relief keep her from speaking more, however.
“What I don’t understand is why the Dark Lord has kept quiet about taking the sword.”
Silenos paused, considering the words himself.
“He wouldn’t.” He said at last, thinking the matter through even as he did. “This would be an immeasurably large morale victory, a humiliation and neutralisation of a deadly enemy, any skilled General would have it demonstrated for all the world. And yet no stories have come of the Godblade being paraded across the world?”
“None.” She nodded, seeing, clearly, that Silenos was back to considering the matter. No doubt she considered that her chance to rope him into staying, and now that she’d broached the mystery, he couldn’t say she was entirely wrong.
“We’re staying.” He announced, earning a grin from Ensharia and a groan from Falls. The look upon the magus’ face needled Silenos a shade, so he continued speaking to rectify it.
“And the two of you will be searching the city for the Godblade, I believe it is still somewhere in Abaritan.”
There, much better. The look of utter dread replacing Falls’ annoyance was vastly more amusing.
“Why?!” Ensharia frowned, clearly not an enthusiast of the idea.
“Fuck you!” Falls snapped, clearly even less so.
“Because I have more important things to do.” Silenos replied. “And attempting to use my glorious mind with the two of you following me would be like- do your people have an understanding of brain tumours?”
They paused, and Ensharia slowly shook her head. Silenos sighed.
“It would be like attempting to think with a large, deadly growth slowly spreading through the meat of my brain.” He made a note to educate the two on more advanced sciences so that they might better gasp his rapier wit, then began for the door. “Now get to work, we haven’t long.”
----------------------------------------
Arion watched the caster stride out of the room as if he owned the place, and felt his blood boiling again.
There hadn’t been many positives to his master’s murder, but the largest by far was that, finally, he’d been able to claim his birthright as the greatest caster alive. No decades of waiting to surpass his power, or years of waiting for his aged heart to give out, he’d finally reached the front of the line and sat down in his vacant seat. Then the Shaiagrazni had arrived to ruin everything.
“Unbelievable.” The bitch grumbled, interrupting Arion’s thoughts as she glared at him. “Leaving me with you.”
“Sorry, am I distracting?” He asked, flashing her his second most charming smile. She was a good actor, he had to say, her look of feigned repulsion and loathing almost convinced even him, and betrayed not even a trace of the lust he must surely have inspired.
“He must have a good reason.” She pressed, turning away from him, face curling in that adorable way Arion had learned it did whenever she thought particularly hard about something. “He can be eccentric, is selfish, but he doesn’t waste time without cause. He’ll be doing something important.”
Arion had rather thought that past the requirement of pointing out, but decided to let the bitch have her petty victory
“So you’re going to do as he says.” He guessed. She rounded on him at that, glaring.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
“We are, unless you want to take longer leaving this city than is necessary.”
Arion, at that, found himself caught between the twin evils of agreeing with a woman and leaving himself trapped in the shit-smelling warrior’s city. He took his time in thinking the problem over.
“Fine.” He conceded at last. “Let’s go.”
It was irritating to admit, but Arion found the female far more useful than himself in navigating their search. He supposed that was one of the major advantages to being a Paladin, getting used to finding one’s way around foreign cities. That, and her womanly instincts were probably helping to home in on the sword. They were rather good at finding things, he’d heard.
First the two of them directed their efforts towards just asking random soldiers if they knew anyone who’d been present during the battle, which turned over a few names, but not any that were within reach. Their next plan was to try following the actual Godblade itself, moving off to find the city’s underworld.
“When something valuable goes missing, you can think of a city’s gangs as one big safety net to catch it, should it slip out of everyone else’s hands.” The bitch had explained.
“And you know all this how, exactly?” Arion noted. “You don’t strike me as master of the criminal mind.”
She didn’t strike him as much more than a giant ball of sugar and honey, actually, but that was neither here nor there. However bitchy she’d become since, Arion still remembered her kindness when he’d been faced with execution, even if it had probably been motivated by her being the one scheduled to behead him.
“I wasn’t always a Paladin.” Was all the bitch said.
Arion noticed the obvious there, she was leaving something unsaid. He considered whether to press for more information or not, but decided there were better things to do. He could always needle it out of her later, or just fuck her until she let it slip in pillow talk whenever she finally caved.
“You’re leering at me.” The Paladin growled, trying, and failing, to look intimidating rather than cute. Arion smiled.
“I prefer to call it appraising.”
“Everyone else calls it leering, stop.”
She turned away, pointedly, and he actually felt his smile waver. Arion had known women who enjoyed playing hard to get, but this one was taking it to a ridiculous extreme. She almost didn’t seem interested.
Arion had never actually interacted with gangs before, his knowledge of them being entirely theoretical and gleaned from books or stories. They were quite disappointing. They didn’t sing and dance, for one thing, and they demonstrated no plans to erode aristocratic society and destroy the world. He failed to spot even a single baby being eaten, and not even one of them was being puppeteered by a Demon. Nonetheless, they proved the most useful source of information so far, particularly with the bitch’s rather well-aimed questioning.
One group led them to another, who directed them to a smuggler, who volunteered his contacts, one of which was a man famous for collecting weapons of a magical inclination. They headed straight for him, finding themselves at a large, if unassuming, building. It was made of solid stone and mortar, a rare feature in cities as primitive and un-magical as Abaritan, and Arion took a moment to let a strong breeze sweep over the surrounding vicinity for a few moments, coiling through alleys and under crevices.
“A dozen men hiding nearby,” He noted, feeling the shapes and movements of their shivering bodies as light resistance against his magic, “Not sure how armed they are, but…” He focused on dimensions, shape, size, “They’re probably commoners, by their shortness.”
It was more than a little satisfying to see the bitch staring at him with the mix of awe and considering wariness she usually reserved for Shaiagrazni. Arion was careful to hide his tiredness as he soaked it in.
Small breezes were one thing, but he’d spread that one over everything within a hundred feet horizontally and fifty vertical. He’d probably shifted close to ten thousand stone of air as fast as a jogging man, and even he’d been pushed close to his limits in doing so.
But surprise attacks were the bane of any caster. Arion put his worry aside and stepped into the building alongside the Paladin.
The first thing he noticed inside the place was that it was tight and cramped. Not good, if a fight broke out any caster would be disadvantaged in such circumstances, and a windmage more than even most others. The second thing that hit Arion was the smell on the air, an odd, clean scent of careful cleaning and perfumed surfaces that felt entirely at odds with its function.
It seemed not to deter the bitch, because she just hurried on into the place without a moment’s hesitation, forcing Arion to increase his own pace so as to not be left following a woman. The interior was no more spacious once they headed deeper into its bowels, walls of wood and brick closing in like strangling fingers around him. The thought of a fight became more concerning to Arion with every new step. His worry only grew as they came to a central room in the place.
Half-office and half-bunker, it was another structure of stone rather than wood, and seemed made to withstand a trebuchet. Arion had seen far more robustly built places, the University of Magira had held chambers which would’ve weathered weapons capable of skewering five of such rooms in a row, but he had to concede it was impressive enough for the work of duns. Those without magic were not entirely helpless, he supposed. Particularly when they could hire others who didn’t share their disabilities.
Seeing those duns in person, though, had Arion feeling a shade less sympathetic of their limitations. The ones around him now were all broad, hard and mean-looking, bodies encased in armour varying from simple chainmail hauberks to full steel plate with articulated mobility about the joints. The sole exception was a man lounging on a sofa at the back of the room, whose gaunt face framed a pair of eerily clever eyes.
“Please, let yourselves right in.” He said, sounding more amused than affronted at their unannounced entry. “Random strangers are always welcome in my home.”
“Your shop.” The bitch countered. “Or do you not do business in subtly acquired goods anymore?”
He grinned.
“Subtly acquired, ha, I like that. Who the fuck are you?” The shift in tone was so sudden that it sent Arion back a step, and had his fingers twitching with fraying nerves. His magic was just a hair beyond reach, and he had to fight not to call on it. It wouldn’t help their cause if he tore their leads apart before extracting any answers.
“We’re the people who are going to turn you over to the Hand if you don’t hand over the Godblade.” The bitch retorted, seemingly oblivious to the men stiffening and half-drawing blades as she said it. Arion found himself suddenly less confident as he eyed the size of them, but she remained unfazed.
“Funny.” The beady-eyed man sneered. “Kill the-”
Arion had always been quick, and so his winds were already squeezing down the nearest man’s throat before the order to fight even came. He’d compressed with close to the full capacity of his magic’s power, having prepared the move well ahead of time, and yet this opponent was one gifted with a rare physical power.
He received nothing more than a shattered neck, bits of jagged bone erupting out from torn skin where the air pressed. Arion had meant to behead him completely, not a bad bodyguard.