64.

A Shame She's Already Dead

Cedric shuffled back and forth through black soot, his back against the wall, his feet against the opposite wall. He carefully, slowly lowered himself through the dark crevice, one painstakingly delicate move at a time. The spiked knuckles in his hands dug into his skin; at least the tactile boots were mostly comfortable.

He winced as he thought his talons missed their grip. He pushed harder against the cool bricks until he felt them snag. Then he released his held breath. The stench of coal and firewood permeated his nostrils once again.

“Let’s hope nobody lights the fire,” Ekzire warned in a whisper from above.

Cedric didn't reply. He was too anxious about someone hearing them. The entire point of this plan was to maintain the element of surprise, sneak in under broad daylight, get the drop on Rykaedi and—

Ssshhrk! Ekzire’s gauntlet scraped loosely against the wall. He slipped, tumbled down with a “Woooah!”

Cedric caught his weight like catching a cannonball, immediately his own grip was dislodged. It wasn't a long fall but he knew it would hurt—he warped the charred logs and steels beneath them into log-shaped pillows, and suddenly the impact was a whole lot gentler, only knocking the wind out of their lungs, the clawed grips out of their hands.

Ekzire rolled out of the wide fireplace and choked for a moment as his lungs fought to refill. He drew his sword as soon as he could regain his footing.

Cedric leapt out after. His black shortsword summoned to his hand as he surveyed the room—giant, with a domed ceiling and white marble pillars akin to Aeon’s own. It was almost like Aeon and Haketh had both been used as inspiration for this place, even in the shining stained glass windows which stood tall between the doors on the left and right walls. There was a big dark door past that long table and, strangely enough, complete, decadent silence. The kind of still silence which fills the gaps when a place has been vacant for weeks. The kind of silence that's deafening. “Empty?”

Ekzire nodded, lowered his sword with a relieved sigh. “Appears so.”

“What about the ley? Do you feel anything?”

“No. Can I try Antithesis?”

Cedric took a deep breath. “Okay.”

BTZZZZZZZZZZZ!

The ringing struck his ears like an explosion. He fell, grasped his head, gasped out as the pain of Antithesis seared through him like a flaming knife, twisting and writhing in his skull. It took every onze of his energy not to scream out in complete desperation.

When the painful buzzing began to subside, there was a new noise, intermittent like footsteps. He strained to listen; clap, clap, clap... Then he craned his neck, caught the movement by the door. Straining, he pulled himself up from the tiled floor, wiped the drool from his mouth as he stared over the long polished table at Arobella, the Aeonic Queen in the flesh. Only in the flesh.

“Rykaedi...”

Arobella bit her nail, posed sensually on the open door. “Just me!”

Arobella? So Antithesis can silence Rykaedi, too… If I had Grivonym, this would be the perfect chance to…

“Oh—” She laughed as a clattering of steel footfalls announced the dozen steel-clad soldiers who suddenly appeared all around her. “—and my men. Salvatore!”

Like a dog summoned by his master, a knight in steel armor passed the crowd. He pulled his helm off to reveal his thick brown mustaches and wrinkled face, cast the hunk of metal aside to the floor. He stepped up onto the end of the table and drew the long steel from his hip.

“That's Serkukan. You were looking for him, weren't you?”

“I was.” He winced as he swallowed, doing his best to hide the rage from his face. “Hello again, Serkukan.”

Cedric turned to Ekzire. “Get to cover—keep Antithesis active!”

“But Cedric—”

“I’ll fight through it. If Rykaedi comes through, we're fucked.” And he leapt onto the other end of the table.

Salvatore rushed forward in a blaze. It was immediately obvious that his speed was doubly what a human's should be—their blades clashed practically as soon as Cedric’s feet landed.

Arobella whistled, pointed at Ekzire. The sellish man shuddered, desperately looked for a safe spot as the soldiers began to round the table toward him.

Just as a knight neared the end of the table, just a corner away from reaching him—KRNCH! A sidedoor adjacent to the knight exploded open into wooden shrapnel. Viltar leapt out in matching maroon armor, cleaved the man's torso from his legs with one great sweep. “Sorry, we were late!”

The door across from him suddenly burst open in a similar fashion. In poured the maroon-clad Hunter soldiers as if from a bucket.

Arobella was still in the doorway gawking, clapping, loudly guffawing at the scene… and then a soldier in a black mask arrived to whisper in her ear. Her zeal fell into a smug smile, and they took their leave.

…No! She's getting away!

“Ekzire, Viltar,” shouted Cedric, “after her!”

He watched her go. Then—BZZZZZZZZZZZT! Antithesis again. Cedric fell low to the ground, howled out in pain.

Salvatore seemed to stop too, touched his forehead with his offhand. “What the fuck is…?”

Cedric took his short sword, desperately swung it into the back of Salvatore's leg. It bounced off the armor in a show of sparks.

Salvatore looked down and scoffed, a wicked grin growing across his face.

Viltar glanced left and right between his attackers in the growing frenzy of battle. He slammed his axe into a man’s chestpiece, spun with force enough to use the man's limp body as a bludgeon against two more men. The three of them clattered noisily against the back wall beside the fireplace. Then Viltar whistled, pointed at them.

The three soldiers behind him ignited mage-bombs, chucked them into that corner.

BTOOOOOM!

The building shook. Ekzire's balance wavered, then Viltar was at his side, grabbed him by the shoulder. “Go! For King Lorik!”

The soldiers howled out, “For King Lorik!”

Viltar gave a great shove into Ekzire’s back, chased him as the sellish man broke into a frenzied, frightened sprint toward the door. Lorik’s soldiers had pressed the Sylvet men into the defensive. The only one who made a lunge for Ekzire found Viltar’s axe in his spine just as quickly.

Then Ekzire broke out into the hallway, he turned left and right for any trace of her but found only empty marble halls, glistening in ornate beauty.

Viltar almost knocked him over when he barged out. “That way, to the right! She can't be far!”

And they took off, their weapons held at the ready…

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

Cedric smirked through burning tears. His face was hot against the cold table. His arms and legs felt weak…

The pain was unimaginable. He thought he'd felt the worst pain possible by now, but… the simple twisting motion of Salvatore's sword in his lower spine exceeded his expectations. He sobbed, choked on it. Then he bit his lip to silence himself. Don't give... the satisfaction...!

Then the last of his soldiers fell. There were only two Sylvet left—one suddenly stumbled into his ally, then fell to the floor. One left. But they'd lost. His own two squads, thirteen each, twenty-six men in total… all dead.

“Sometimes it just doesn't go your way, eh, Serkukan!?”

He could only wheeze out cries as the drilling into his flesh continued. He'd made a mistake, that much was certain. Now it was over, beaten by some revenge-drunk lunatic. Not even an Etherian… not even…

…Wh…?

Oh. Right.

Cedric shut his eyes.

I guess he did.

“Okay,” Cedric thought he said.

Salvatore’s blade snapped in half. He raised an eyebrow as he inspected the hilt, “Hmm?” Then crimson-plated Serkukan lunged up from the table, grabbed his face in a clawed hand—”AUGH!”

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

His fist pounded three times against Salvatore's chest, the three crimson blades between his knuckles punctured deep through his organs and pulled steaks of blood like intestines all across the table.

The knight fell to his knees and dropped his broken handle. “H…how? Queen Rykaedi promised me… revenge. She gave me power…!”

Serkukan loomed over him. “You were naive to think you could take revenge upon a god.”

And Serkukan swung again. His middle claw took Salvatore’s head off at the neck, launched it into the wall. The body fell limp. The fight was won.

Serkukan would have glared, if not for the jagged crystalline helmet which obfuscated his face. He growled to suffice the urge. Then he said, "You're getting dumber; Antithesis wounds our chances just as much as it does hers. Our best bet would have been to collapse the building atop her, leave no survivors. Or even..." Serkukan touched the chin of his helm, paused for a moment. "...I see. That's an idea. Come now, we have to catch her before she—"

The crimson armor began to bleed off of him like a fountain. The blood pooled all over the table and Serkukan fell to his knees. Then it rinsed from his head, left him smeared in crimson, left him as Cedric once again. He gasped as though delirious, gazed up at the ceiling. “I'm tired… I'm tired.”

It's easy to surrender myself to the sensation.

The last Sylvet scurried out of the bloodied room before he could meet that same bloody fate.

But if I surrender myself to Serkukan's whim...

...what good am I as a human?

X

“Faunia!” Marisol stood outside the housetent with her familiarly energetic smile.

Faunia returned the smile. “It's good to see you, Marisol.”

“It's better to see you—you know how I worry. How did the meeting go?”

“Yvesmalia wasn't on board. It's fine—we’ll come back to it, I suppose.”

“I'm surprised. You were offering them a lot.”

“We were asking for a lot, too.”

Marisol nodded. “It would have given Calamon the uniform strength of a real nation. We wouldn't be playing at politics anymore.”

“It is what it is.” Faunia raised her hands in faux surrender, a gentle smile on her lips. “How are things in Calamon?”

“Good. As good as they can be. We've been making ample progress on the reconstruction effort. The people have stepped up a lot since realizing how fragile we'd be under an Etherian siege. Some of our new recruits are tasked with just spreading information, spreading beliefs. Our recruitment is skyrocketing with adventurers left disenfranchised by the old way.”

Azafel’s chaos becomes Evra's order…

“There were a few people I met preaching King Lorik's name, saying how he made them believe...How is Cedric?”

Faunia looked away. “He's good. Well… I don't know. He made some… questionable choices. I don't know how to feel.”

Marisol touched Faunia's arm consolingly. “I'm sure he knows what he's doing. I've always trusted Cedric.”

That's because you're blindly optimistic. Look how carefree you are—your smiles are all genuine, aren't they?

“Akvum and Vyncis made me uneasy though,” she laughed. “I guess my hunch wasn't far off there.”

“Yeah…” Faunia snapped back from her sudden intrusive thoughts. “Are you staying to help us take Cromer?”

Marisol shook her head. “No, I'm sorry. I've work to do between Alisa and Calamon, mending the divide and repairing our battlements. It won't get done without me.”

A voice cut through: “Unless Thelani lends their aid.”

They both turned back to see Yvesmalia approaching, her dim scowl still etched into her pale face.

“Yvesmalia, it's good to see you!” Marisol beamed.

“Can I have a minute alone with Faunia?”

Marisol and Faunia exchanged a glance, then the girl smiled. “Of course. I'll leave you to it.” And she walked past Faunia's housetent, vanished into the encampment.

Yvesmalia was slow to start, as though her undelighted face was repressing her speech. Finally, she swallowed the blockage, and said “I want you to liberate Llueves.”

Faunia's eyebrows jumped up like frogs. “Llueves? ...Then I'm right about your heritage, aren't I?”

“Just—!” She sighed, seemingly trying to quell her annoyance. “Yes, I'm from Llueves. We're amassing all of these forces, doing all of these fake ‘good deeds.’ If you want to be the world’s heroes, there's something that's actually good.”

“You don't agree with our siege of Cromer?”

“Of course not. But I can't stop that. There are innocent people in there who just want a new way of life and you're prepared to stomp all over their ideals just because you don't like their appointed leader. A leader they chose, by the way.”

Faunia's own face became stern. “Rykaedi isn't fit to rule men.”

“Faunia, I really don't give a damn. We're not going to agree on this no matter how hard we try, so let's not. But I'll give you everything you asked for if you just promise to tackle Llueves—within the next year, I should specify.”

“Tell me about the situation. Is it that bad over there?”

The agitation loosened from her face, replaced with some facsimile of trepidation. “The governing body collapsed a while ago due to infighting. Thousands of slaves poured out into the world with no place to go, filled every nook and cranny of the nearby towns and destroyed their economies. The princes and princesses all went their separate ways into hiding—they’re the only bloodline who've ever been able to procure Slates.”

“Slates?”

“A slate is a way to demonstrate your magical capability; it's like a sigil that the Lluevi family can form out of the ley to show off how many spells they know, what kind of caster they are…”

“...Can you show me yours?”

Her face became agitated again.

“You're a Lluevi princess, aren't you?”

Yvesmalia was quick to move on: "The entire country is ruined, their capital is collapsed into dirt. The Lluevi people are dying there. We can talk the specifics when this whole mess is all over..."

"Is this something you've been planning with Thelani? Is this why Thelani is equipped for war?"

“Are you going to do it or not?”

How selfish. We offer her a seat beneath our throne... and she asks for her very own. If we give everybody in the world a throne, where do we draw the line?

Faunia smirked as though the winner. “Very well, Yves,” she said her nickname like a cuss, “we have a deal.”

And Yvesmalia begrudgingly clasped Faunia's hand...