XXXII.

For Alisa

“You won't stop me, Throkos. I have my mission.” Cedric muttered. He rubbed the sweat out of his eyes. His vision was already blurry.

“I’m experimenting with a new poison, this time. One that’s resistant to your flame. Or, better yet, counters it entirely.” said one Throkos.

“Taking away my options, eh? And yet, you've left yourself so vulnerable.”

“Even if I die, you won't be long for this world.” said another.

Cedric tapped his cheek in mocking thought. The guise was ever harder to keep. “Aren’t you forgetting someone?”

“You intend to use Serkukan to simply ‘remove’ the poison? Tartys will see. Kogar will see.”

“But I’ll just kill them, too.” Cedric called forth Grivonym in a theatrical blast of purple magic that illuminated the whole hall. “You’re a human, right? Is that your trick, your secret? So one hit of Grivonym, I take your Etherian away, cure myself, and lay you low.”

Throkos scoffed. His flail fell into his hand, the head popped apart into two, four, eight, twelve…

And then there were eight of Throkos, eight flails... and an insurmountable number of heads.

"I've already got you beat. Surrender." Cedric choked out his bluff as he was sure the number of enemies doubled yet again.

Throkos only hesitated for a moment before he rushed him with his flail spinning through the air. Two more followed.

Grivonym arced at all three illusions. The leylines twisted, Serkukan demanded the blade to pierce flesh...

But the blade only met a hollow form, which burst into toxic gas that constricted his lungs.

The real Throkos ran in from the side, and kicked hard into Cedric’s wrist. The sword clattered noisily against the wall.

“Fuck—”

Cedric’s cry was short-lived. Throkos grabbed the exposed wrist and spun his back against Cedric’s chest. He fell low and pulled, sending Cedric over his head and then down to the floor with a heavy thud.

Cedric frantically swatted at the ground until he hit Throkos' boot. His hand wrapped around the ankle, funneled natural ley, pulled it together and...

Bzzzt!

Throkos howled. He tensed up while his body was wracked by that horrible sting of ley lightning. Moving would be impossible. For a moment.

Cedric reached out with gasping cries, struggling to reach Grivonym, begging Serkukan to call it to his palm...

But it was Throkos who finally stepped for it. His paces were labored and heavy. He bent down and plucked the black blade from the stones.

Serkukan! Okella! Someone!

The tendrils shot from his extended wrist. He gasped when they wrapped around Throkos' leg, and spiraled upward until they plunged beneath his dreadlocks. The world fell away around the two of them.

Okella, thank you!

She soon appeared, standing across from him in a dark room with windows too high up to see the dim moonlight outside. A single inhabited bed was pressed into the corner, with few other furnishings besides.

"This poison is going to kill me. We don't have time to waste; we have to reach his ley and kill him."

Okella became flustered. "You were going to spare Ivalié, why not Throkos?"

"Because Ivalié was..." He scratched the back of his head. "Okay. Fine. We'll take a look—"

The door hissed open. A figure stepped inside.

The young boy on the bed asked, "Rithi...?"

Cedric spun. His eyes went wide. His body felt a chill.

Rithi!

X

Faunia panted. Sweat clung to her forehead, bounced off when she was struck in the chest by a pommel. She swung her own sword in return.

“Kag tine, des taka!” shouted her orange-bannered opponent, just before their blades clashed. An azar towered to her side, swinging a falchion like a heavy mace through the Calamonian's armor in a crushing strike. He gargled out a deathrattle before he fell to his muddy jungle grave.

Arrows covered the sky. The furthest of the soldiers fell. Azar rushed past the staggered Orphans at rampant speed and slammed down scimitar, axe, and falchion alike. They'd finally given respite to Faunia's own squad of five, putting the Alisan forces into the offensive. Her sword was dented, but clean of blood.

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They’re practically the cavalry! With no horses to speak of, they do a damn good job at breaking the line.

And indeed, the chaotic and frenzied line broke apart when the azar stormed through. The lizard-like frex (described similarly to kobolds, in another tongue) ran toward the frontline, too, hopping onto the other Orphans’ backs to use their light branch-spears to poke at the eyes of the steel-clad Calamonian soldiers.

It's chaos out here. I've never seen anything like it, never fought on a battlefield, let alone one of this size...

There were too many dozens of soldiers to count, with many more marching from Alisa in the days to come, and many more already ahead of them. Lyros had silently mounted a full-scale invasion of Calamon. The Calamoni people would discover it the selfsame second that their nation crumbled apart. Faunia stood back and let her sword hang loosely in her hand.

I couldn't stop it. I never had a chance. This is too large-scale, too grand for the likes of me...

The exca birdmen went overhead. Their hooked feet held head-sized rocks, covered in glowing symbols and runes.

Explosives. She shielded her eyes as the booming blasts went off, routing the last of their opponents.

The Orphan Legion was barely necessary. The Alisars seemed to have everything covered on their own. Faunia stepped back. Eson and Lezat and a couple others eventually jogged to her sides.

“Fuckin’ impressive!” Lezat snorted.

Eson nodded in agreement.

There was a dark-skinned, rough-complexioned man in the rear van behind them, steel helm atop his head. Lezat nodded toward him, “Percy! Go catch up with ‘em! Don’t let them hog all the glory!”

The young man nodded, and the pale, round-faced female soldier beside him followed him back to the frontline. Then it was just the three of them, again.

Faunia stared over the corpses. It made her stomach turn to stare so, but her curiosity was overwhelming.

“Where do they come from?” she asked.

“Now that’s the fucking question.”

Eson sighed, “Where did all of this language come from?”

He glowered at the young soldier. “We’ve searched all about these jungles and the southern woods for any signs of encampments or barracks or… anything. There’s nothing. We’ve got no idea where they’re coming from. Or if they even work for Calamon. They've been wandering around for some time, according to the First Line, and a silent division.”

Faunia shifted her lips. “But Calamon has no leader, besides The Twelve.”

“Right you are.” He glared at Eson again, avoiding his typical foul language. “Then who do they work for?”

There was a scream from the front.

“Percival!”

The dark-skinned boy had been dropped to the ground. His leg was covered in blood, all over the chain links of his armor.

A figure with a huge black axe loomed over. A figure on a black horse. He’d run right through the ranks, broken through the frontline…

That axe is bigger than a man…!

Faunia ran forward in a daze. Her sword went aloft.

Black armor. Golden trim. A black mask… She remembered their conversation.

Lambert?

The eyes behind the closed-face helmet began to glow violet.

Shit! An Etherian?

But Rithi's eyes had been violet, too — perhaps it wasn't so. Perhaps.

She tripped to the crowded ground as a hand wrapped around her ankle.

“Kag tine, des taka!” hissed the writhing body. One of the felled soldiers. Not quite felled enough!

She kicked him hard and repeatedly with her other foot.

“Kag tine, des—”

There went his jaw, caved into his mouth. He didn’t seem to feel it. His tongue kept squirming in his broken face, kept trying to pronounce words that he was incapable of.

Eson stood over the body and stabbed his sword down vertically through the corpse’s head. The already shattered helmet split in half. It stopped moving. “The dead refuse to die, it seems.”

Faunia pulled her ankle free and rushed to her feet. The other bodies were squirming already.

She looked back to the cavalier.

But the sel were already dropping down around him and sweeping up from behind his horse. Six of them, all pulsating vibrant magic out at him. The figure stooped low over his mount, and soon an azar rushed with an oversized meat cleaver and cut his head clean off. The body slumped to the ground.

Then came the horse. She averted her gaze.

Lezat rushed forward to check on Percival. Eson stayed by Faunia’s side.

They shut him down so fast — with that, we just might have a chance against Kogar after all. Perhaps things are not so dire as I had thought...

But her attention was taken by the felled cavalier again. They pulled the helmet from his decapitated head and tossed it away. Then they brought forth the spear, which the head should rest upon...

She gagged.

They’re strong. They’re incredible. But they’re… brutalistic. Perhaps too enamored with themselves. Too dehumanized.

Her eyes traced the forms of the sel, kicking and desecrating the body of the supposed Etherian.

That’s not something I’ll ever understand, she thought, and kneeled down for a prayer…

A red-stained azar struck her back with his arm as he walked past. "Up. Enemies remain for the slaughter."

They exchanged glares. But Eson muttered, "We'd best pull our weight, Faunia."

So she stood. Her shoulder carried the weight of her sword.

"For Alisa." said Eson.

She hesitated.

"For Alisa." said Faunia.