They arrived at the unguarded back door. It was locked, but with a swift kick, Sigyn had taken care of the problem. They walked inside, ready to fight, but also keeping an eye out for anyone not outside dealing with the riot. Sigyn had her muscular arms up, fists out in a defensive stance. Axeton had unsheathed Glainne, and fell into Stance Seven on instinct. Both of them marveled at each other out of the corner of their eyes; Sigyn was captivated by the colorful glass of Glainne, and Axeton was shocked by how such a nice person could become so menacing in an instant.
They approached a sitting room, with a dusty set of plush chairs along one wall. Axeton, remembering his Grenfield training, swept the room while keeping himself and Sigyn out of range of anyone who could be hiding.
“Clear,” he said, the air from his mouth upsetting the dust that had been hanging in the air.
Sigyn grunted in acknowledgement, flexing her arms to refresh her bearing. “This room is abandoned,” she quipped.
Axeton looked around again, taking note. Everything inside was dusty, and their own footprints were the only ones they could see.
“Agreed,” he replied. “Something is wrong here. Estes is a fat old man, if he were here, he’d be camped out in the sitting room. He can’t live without a high level of comfort.”
“Rich people are predictable,” Sigyn snorted. Axeton agreed, but didn’t respond. He followed their search to the next room, a narrow hallway with one door leading to the kitchens. In the middle was a stairway leading to the second floor. They searched the kitchens, discovering that the larder was full of staples like flour and salted meat. Axeton looked through the cupboards with one hand, the other still gripping Glainne’s hilt. He quickly looked through them all, empty. He growled in frustration.
“Sigyn,” he said without looking back. “Do rich people use spices?”
“They do,” she replied, pivoting on her right foot to check the space behind her, before turning back around to face Axeton. “My village grew a lot of them, and most of what we sold went to landowners and royalty.”
Axeton pointed to the empty cupboards. “So what does it mean when a rich person’s house, one with enough influence to afford a powerful artifact to protect his house, has no spices?”
Sigyn’s head swayed as she looked around the kitchen. “He’s not here. Maybe your gut is wrong?” she implied innocently.
Axeton chuffed, tapping Glainne’s golden crossguard with his finger. “I’m sensing a lingering aura of someone connected to the Bell…he has to be here,” he said, equally to himself as he spoke to Sigyn.
“Then let’s check upstairs,” she suggested sternly. Axeton nodded in agreement, as Sigyn took her position behind him.
They climbed the stairs carefully, and although it creaked every few steps, the pair hoped that the sounds from outside would mask it. The house had several large windows facing the front courtyard, and Axeton grimaced as he started to hear painful shrieks and guttural cries of anguish from outside.
“Don’t hit our own men, you idiot!” came the voice of Corporal Mo at the top of the stairs. It seemed to be coming from a room further down the hall on the second floor.
“They’re panicking down here!” came the reply from Mari. “It’s all one pile of angry people, I can’t get a clean shot.”
A loud crack came from that same direction.
“There we go,” Mari sighed. “But each kill means one less hired goon to help load the goal into the cellar. Can’t we kill them after, like we normally do?”
“This is getting too messy,” Mo replied. “I’m going down there to clean it…”
Mo turned, bringing into his field of vision Axeton and Sigyn, blocking the doorway. He blanched for a moment before regaining his composure.
“Get back down there!” he ordered, finger pointing angrily at the pair. He noticed them both glaring at him and gulped. Mari turned away from the window, looking over his shoulder.
“Shit!” he yelped, turning his whole body around and bringing his bow to bear on Sigyn. He released his shot with a crack, but the small room didn’t allow the arrow to achieve peak velocity and he was used to factoring that into his aim. The arrow streaked at Sigyn, which nicked her right shoulder before embedding itself into the wall behind her.
In the span of the shot, Mo snapped his fingers in his gloved left hand while drawing his own sword with his right. Lined in the fingertips of the glove were tiny pieces of flint and steel, and the spark it created boomed to life, the flames swirling around the glove like an obedient snake.
Axeton tilted his head upward, looking down at the flames cautiously, before he looked back up at Mo.
“You’re not really going to fight with fire in here, are you?” he asked incredulously.
The Flame Gift user grinned at the paladin. “The boss said to tie all loose ends, no matter the cost.”
Axeton brought Glainne in front of him, pointed straight forward in Stance Seven.
“You’re boss is insane. Once he finds out you’ve failed here, he’ll kill you.” he replied curtly, not breaking eye contact with Mo.
The Fire user didn’t respond with words, instead choosing to lunge forward and uppercut Axeton with a fistful of searing flames. The paladin wrenched his head back, narrowly missing the contact but still felt the heat. While he was mid step going backwards, he looked down for a split second and saw that Mo had followed up his punch with a lunge of his sword. Axeton swiveled Glainne to the side, knocking the weapon askew with a tinny clang.
Mo then put his hand forward, and with a moment of concentration, extended the fire in his hands into two bursts of flame that snapped forward. One of them missed entirely, snuffing itself out before hitting the wooden wall of the room. The other hit Axeton square in the chest, the heat searing his skin. He winced in pain, bringing Glainne up again to guard himself from any more ranged attacks. Mo took a step back as well, surprised that his enemy was able to withstand a blast and stay on his feet. His eyes flicked down to Glainne, which Axeton had propped up between him and Mo, the flat of the blade forming a crystalline wall between them.
“A sword made of glass,” he sneered. “Are you a moron?”
Axeton huffed, then brought the sword back up. “Come here, and you can find out,” he taunted.
With a flash, the paladin stepped and struck out with Glainne. He put weight behind the strike, and Mo’s face went from self-assured to worried in a split second when he tried to lightly knock the blade out of the way, but was barely able to affect its trajectory. Glainne’s tip stabbed into the right side of Mo’s torso, but his leather armor took most of the attack.
The Fire user winced, his left hand instinctively going towards the wound, but stopped once he realized it was still cloaked in fire. He scowled at Axeton, his jaw set in a murderous glare.
Do you remember what I said, about weakening your enemies? The quiet voice whispered.
Axeton lunged again, Mo jumped out of the way to avoid it entirely. The man landed, the balls of his feet ready to pounce. Axeton stepped forward, this time with an overhead slash, which Mo caught on the crossguard of his own weapon. He used both hands to block, and Axeton used the opening to land a punch of his own, right into Mo’s gut. He wheezed, his fire almost going out, before it pulsed white hot, forcing Axeton to back away before getting burned.
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Mo moved to close the distance, the heat warping a painting that was on the wall next to the fighters.
I can’t let him burn this place down, Axeton thought. Estes is here and he has to answer for what he’s done.
He felt the heat, almost unbearable with Mo just a few feet away. The man slashed downward towards Axeton’s left shoulder, but he was able to bring Glainne up in the nick of time. Mo’s sword screeched down Axeton’s blade, before hitting Glainne’s crossguard and harshly bouncing off. Axeton jammed his head to the side, narrowly avoiding Mo’s left hand as the heat seared the side of his face.
Axeton yelped, bringing his free hand up to his face. Feeling peace, he focused for a moment, feeling the pain subside from his face as well as his scorched stomach. Mo balked.
“You can heal yourself?!” he cried, indignantly.
The paladin didn’t answer to this wicked man. With all his strength, he used both hands in an overhead chop with Glainne. Mo brought his own weapon up to block again, but his time, the Shattered Blade slammed through it, leaving the Fire user holding a useless hilt.
Mo had turned his head away, forcing his eyes closed in a subconscious effort to shield himself during the strike. When he looked back, he stared wide-eyed in shock at the destroyed weapon in his hand. He quickly dropped it after snapping back into focus, bringing his gloved hand up to fire upon Axeton again. But the paladin was ready.
Axeton, in a final lunge, went low. On his way back up to Mo’s level, he grabbed the wrist below his gloved hand and twisted, bringing Mo off-balance.
“I yield!” the man shouted. “Don’t kill me!”
HE WAS GOING TO BURN YOU TO ASHES, the angry voice slyly reasoned in Axeton’s head.
He’s just another one of Dorian’s fools, his own thoughts replied.
Axeton looked down at the man, who’s face turned from cowering to cruel in a split second. He grinned up at him with a wicked smile, while Axeton’s eyes flicked to the gloved hand. The Fire user had lowered the temperature to shoot at Axeton, but was bringing it back up rapidly. The paladin grimaced as the flame in the middle of the man’s hand transitioned from red, to yellow, to white, then purple.
He turned to Mo, with the authority of his goddess in his voice.
“You’re done here.”
He channeled another burst of energy, like the one that healed him, but the offensive side of the power, and slammed it into Mo. He screamed, his head launching back in agony as the flame in his hands shuddered and danced, before snuffing out. Axeton released the man’s wrist, and he fell to the floor.
Mo looked up at him, his eyes wild with shock, before looking back at his gloved hand. He snapped his fingers, generating sparks with the flint and steel in the tips, but no fire ignited.
“You…” Mo said weakly. “You stole my Gift.”
Not stolen, the voice answered. That side of your power merely shuts off access to their Destined Object. It’s only temporary.
Axeton shook his head. “No,” he replied. “Unlike you, I don’t steal. You were abusing your toy, so like a parent I had to take it away for a while.”
Suddenly, Sigyn appeared beside Axeton, Mari unconscious and slung over her shoulder. His precious bow had become a pile of broken wood and flax string by the opposite wall.
“This one was pretty weak,” the firbolg said proudly. “Once I broke his little bow, he tried to use Force and throw rocks at me.”
Axeton turned, noticing a few minor welts on her arms. “Are you okay otherwise?” he asked.
Sigyn nodded. “Yeah, I saw you get burned, but it looks like you're okay too. I told you your power was awesome.”
She noticed the clothing burned away at his stomach.
“And that you should get some armor,” she concluded.
“That you did,” the paladin responded. “Although it took me a while to believe it myself, and yeah I should probably get some.”
Both of them looked down at Mo, who was almost too afraid to move, his eyes darting between the two and Mari, who still hadn’t woken up. Axeton brought his sword down to Mo’s face.
“You’re going to tell us everything,” Axeton ordered, wavering the sword to keep Mo’s attention on it.
“Okay, okay!” Mo cried. “What do you want to know?” he asked, defeated. His shoulders slumped.
“First,” Axeton began. Sigyn stepped forward.
“Hold on,” she said quickly. “Shouldn’t we have…witnesses for this?” she implied, her head motioning towards the courtyard.
Axeton thought for a moment, then nodded. “Good idea…so he can get a fair trial.”
Using linens Sigyn found near the laundry, Axeton bound Mo and Mari on their wrists and ankles before the firbolg carried both of them outside. By that point, the courtyard had settled down; while a few hired hands had been wounded and two were killed, all of Dorian’s house guards had been subdued. Sigyn stood in front of the large main doorway, holding each of the bound men up as a prize before throwing them to the cobblestones. Mo grunted in pain at the impact, which finally brought Mari back to consciousness.
The bloodied mob stood silent for a moment, looking down at the men, before erupting in a cheer. They then began drawing their weapons again.
“Hold, my friends!” Axeton shouted. To his surprise, the group obeyed. He continued.
“There’s something in the shadows going on here, and Corporal Mo had just so politely agreed to inform us of it,” he said, pointing his sword to the man on the ground. Sigyn approached the two men, repositioning them so they were sitting, facing the crowd.
Axeton began pacing in front of the two, the semicircle of hired hands backing up to give him room to walk.
“First question,” he began. “Is all this tax money for the king, or…someone else?”
Mo lowered his head. “S-someone else,” he muttered.
“Don’t say anything!” Mari spat. “He’ll kill us!”
“Shut up you wart,” Mo spat back. “We’re dead either way.”
Sigyn rocked back on her heels, her hands behind her back. “Maybe they’ll let you live…” she said in a sing-song tone.
“Second,” Axeton continued. “How long have you been doing this?”
Mo paled, his eyes frantically looking at the crowd, which was glaring at him, before exhaling dejectedly from his nose.
“Three months,” he answered. “The facility was set up over a year ago, but we only started bringing gold here three months ago.”
“Did you bribe the mayor?” a man near the front of the group asked. “He’s a good friend of mine…or was, until you lot came into town.”
Grunts of approval bubbled from the crowd behind him.
“He wouldn’t take a bribe,” Mo wailed. “We had to threaten him. Said we’d burn down the whole town with you all in it if he didn’t let us take over.”
The mob started to raise their voices in anger, before Axeton gestured with his hands for them to calm down. They obliged.
Axeton grabbed Mo’s binding, leaning in close so no one else could hear.
“Where is Estes, and Dorian?” Axeton whispered harshly. “And don’t make me ask you twice. I know Estes is here.”
Mo’s eyes went frantic, jerking back and forth. He settled on looking at Mari, who started shaking his head. Axeton backhand slapped Mo across the face.
“I’m getting close to asking again…look at me, not at him. Unless he tells me, then I’m done with you. And I’ll let my large blue friend give you to that mob.”
The man’s legs flailed, with limited movement thanks to the binding. “Okay, okay I’ll tell you. They’ll rip me apart…” he whined, his voice almost reaching a sob as he mentioned the angry crowd behind him.
“Estes is here!” he said, with panic in his voice. “He’s holed up in his bedroom. We lock him in there during our gold runs so he doesn’t try anything. Boss' orders.”
“So he is here…” Axeton muttered to himself. “And speaking of whom, where is Dorian?”
“How do you know his name?!” Mo stuttered.
“I’ve known him for a long time,” Axeton answered. “But he has something of mine he stole a few months ago, and I want it back.”
Mo sputtered a laugh, choking on the blood coming from his mouth at the same time. “If you want back something he stole, get in line. We ransacked some shithole town just before winter, and I was stationed here. Orders have been coming from Grenfield, but that doesn’t mean here’s there. I don’t know where he is now.”
Sigyn stepped up to Axeton. “We’ve been talking,” she began, gesturing to the crowd. “And everyone wants to know why, even though you’ve been leading people here for three months, why no one in town had ever reported back after the job.”
Mo sneered. “Check the forge,” he spat, then started chewing. With a crunch and a swallow, his mouth began to foam as his eyes rolled back, his body jerking and twitching. Axeton’s mouth gaped in shock at the sight.
“Poison in his teeth!” Sigyn cried, pointing to the man. “Heal him, quick!”
Axeton shook himself back to thinking clearly, then channeled energy through his hands and tried to pour it into Mo, but it was too late. He had some glory left, but the poison killed him too quickly. He couldn’t bring back the dead. Axeton lowered his head, breathing out through his nose dejectedly, cursing himself for not being fast enough.