Call of the Hero

by Robert J. Crane

  He ran down the wall, madly, furiously. The feeling that had settled on him like a pall, unknowable, was now known.

  And Curatio, knowing it, felt fear.

  There was no reason for Sanctuary to have run feelings of unease to them via its connection. It was situated safely out of the battle, far enough that even cannonade should not find its facade, and no army should camp in its yard.

  Still, something was causing it to send concerns through their shared connection. Cyrus, Vara, Vaste – undoubtedly they felt it, too, wherever they all were.

  Curatio reached the corner of the wall, now, and beyond it a street wide as two or three buildings, empty space he could not merely cross over.

  Yet, with the aid of spell, he did.

  Falcon's Essence might not have been what it once was, but it held him aloft for the thirty or so steps that he needed to carry him to the next rooftop. The next was easier crossed still, the first wide avenue a defensive measure to keep agitators from besieging the dockyard walls.

  Soon. He would be at Sanctuary soon. Then, perhaps, he could discover what this infernal distraction was about, put it squarely behind them, and be on about the business of fighting the battles at hand rather than chasing these shadows.

  Chapter 94

  Guy

  It was a funny thing to see a man running across a street. Even funnier when he did it from rooftop to rooftop some hundred feet over the street.

  The white robes gave him away. It was that Curatio bloke. Straight arrow elf, that one.

  Guy watched him, wondering what the hell would possess the man to run from rooftop to rooftop like that. It almost reminded him of that Cyrus Davidon impersonator shooting across the sky, except Curatio was running across it.

  There was an intersection ahead, a street off the wall that ringed Reikonos. Guy had planned to follow it, past the mouldering buildings that filled this part of the city. It'd take him hours to follow his planned path, but it'd be less dangerous than hiking through the city interior or taking the crosstown train.

  Still...a man running across the sky like that? Something had to be up. The battle? Had it already gone bad?

  No. Curatio didn't strike him as the sort to run away.

  “Bloody curiosity,” Guy muttered, wanting to follow his planned course but wanting to know, too. His eyes strayed from the path, betrayed his plan. There was an alley there that'd lead in the direction Curatio was going. He could follow it for a block then pick up the road he'd planned to walk.

  Yeah. Why not? It wasn't like taking a peek would be the worst idea he'd ever had. And they were far enough from the dockyards by now to avoid any of the mess of the fight, so...

  Might as well satiate his curiosity. He was going to stick his head in the ground for a good, long time after this, after all. Better get it out of his system now. Then he could just bury himself in his hidey hole, and let the world pass him by.

  Chapter 95

  Cyrus

  There was no fighting his way through the twenty or thirty whirling, clanking, troll-sized clockworks that filled Reikonos Square. Not before the one nearest to Baynvyn tore his son apart.

  But then, Cyrus hadn't actually planned on fighting his way through the square to begin with.

  A cool wind blew through as Cyrus stuck his left hand behind him, wrapping it around the grip of Epalette, the Point of Atonement–

  And promptly disappeared.

  The clockworks, grinding and clanking into motion a moment earlier, came to an abrupt and clattering stop, their heads sweeping the space where Cyrus had stood, their mechanical faces showing no hint of mystification, though that was surely what they were experiencing, in machine form.

  Cyrus cleaved through the first, ripping its leg off with Rodanthar unseen, then darted left and around as the clockwork tumbled into the one next to it. That one fell like a domino into two others, taking one down with it and knocking the next off balance. It set off a chain reaction of stumbling machines, madly off-kilter.

  Cyrus, for his part, ran.

  Unseen, he found it simple to skirt the edge of the mass of them, leaping around the last to the one looking toward Baynvyn with ill intent. He shot toward it, the curious sensation of weightless flight easier than when he had but Rodanthar in hand. It was a feeling he'd gotten quite accustomed to when carrying both Praelior and Ferocis, that feeling of speed piled upon speed, strength added to already prodigious strength, a seeming compounding effect that made the world nearly stand still when he had two blades in hand.

  The clockwork that had channeled Malpravus's voice fell, head cleaved off by Rodanthar and its torso ripped asunder by Epalette. Cyrus was already behind Baynvyn, sawing at his bonds before the clockwork had even hit the ground. A cloud of dust was kicked up by its fall, drawing the attention of every other clockwork in the square.

  “That's going to bring them all down on us!” Baynvyn said. His hands were free, and he was pulling the bonds loose.

  “Oh, shut up,” Cyrus said, “a minute ago you were strapped to a pole with nothing to do but call me an idiot for coming to rescue you. Look how wrong you were then, and imagine how wrong you'll be in another minute.”

  A thunderous boom echoed through the square, and the top of the post where Baynvyn had been tied exploded in a shower of splinters that Cyrus only avoided by lowering his head at the last moment. He shoved Baynvyn behind him as a rain of wood fragments peppered his armor and helm like tiny wooden hailstones.

  “You were saying?” Baynvyn's voice was calm, but clear in its unhappiness.

  For when Cyrus looked up, he saw what his son feared.

  The clockworks were recovered, all that had fallen, even the headless ones.

  And every one of them pointed hands with black holes in their centers at him. Him and Baynvyn.

  Gun barrels, dark and ominous, and just as Cyrus broke to run, the thunderous volleys began.

  Chapter 96

  Vaste

  “Here comes trouble,” Vaste said, looking over the barricades into the gaping maw of the army screaming toward them. It was a flood of men; men in the black coats of the Machine, sporting their curious armbands. More men, garbed in the livery of the City Watch, not loyal to Cyrus and with spears raised and shouting. “I think we should shoot first.”

  “Volley!” Birissa shouted, and the defenders did that, a long, cascading series of booms that had stolen Vaste's hearing before they had finished. They made him feel as though he'd been dunked underwater for an extended period, watching the flashing of the gun barrels singing out, but unable to hear the chorus.

  Men fell over those barricades, trodden under the coming charge. More Watchmen and Machine thugs leapt over them with barely a notice that they had even gone.

  And with that, their arms and ammunition were spent.

  “Make ready!” Birissa shouted, and though muffled by Vaste's deafness, she made herself heard. She really was an admirable woman, though he didn't feel he should distract her by saying so just now. She seemed to sense it, though, and looked back at him. “What?” she mouthed, considerably quieter than her shouted command.

  “Just taking a moment to be impressed by you,” he said.

  “What?” she mouthed again.

  He leaned forward and kissed her, then smiled goofily and shook his head.

  She smiled back. Then it disappeared as she turned her attention back to the charge. There was a battle to be fought, after all.

  Chapter 97

  Alaric

  “Yes, yes, fire whatever you have at them,” Alaric said, not bothering to hide his disgust. It was clear the enemy had no honor, so why hold back? A blast of thunderous gunfire came in the next seconds, and then, Alaric suspected, the guns were emptied. It was a problem that Cyrus had mentioned during the battle planning, but that Alaric had paid little heed to. He hated the damned guns, after all, and cared little for the idea of deploying them. One went off just down the wall from him and he glared at it as though by
doing so he could erase them all from existence and go back to more honorable combat.

  It did not work.

  “Lord Alaric,” someone shouted, coming up the staircase. It was a man in the clothes of a yard worker. “The shipmasters are storming the offices, begging to have us release them to depart!”

  Alaric only gave it a moment's thought. “Have the workers release as many as possible,” he said. No point in trapping panicked captains and crews within these walls as they fought. Might as well get some of these uncooperative bastards out of here. He'd been personally yelled at by a few of them, in tongues that did not permit the foggiest understanding save for that they were quite hacked off.

  That uneasy feeling persisted, though, and it had nothing to do with the cannon that sounded a mighty blast just over the wall. Something crashed below him, sounding like cracking, splintering wood, and he wondered how hard the gate had just been hit. The worry of that replaced the worry of Sanctuary, and soon enough Alaric was on to the next thing, ignoring that uneasy feeling that seeped over him like fog on a sleepy moor.

  Chapter 98

  Curatio

  The last street before Sanctuary was as dead as the previous, and Curatio descended with purpose. He dropped down into the yard, past the team of horses reined to the wagon just outside the doors, and took the steps two at a time.

  Why was the door ajar? Curatio cursed mildly, then checked; the gate was closed. Not barred, but closed. So why...?

  Stepping into the foyer provided a most curious sensation. Like a little tingle of lightning too small to cause damage washed over his skin, played over the little hairs there. Shadows hung in every corner and the doors stirred as if in wind–

  But there was no wind.

  Shadows reigned over the foyer, and into the Great Hall. Not a sconce was lit, and the fires of the hearth were down to embers. Had that ever happened, in all the days he'd been here?

  “I see you answered my summons.”

  Malpravus's silky voice came from out of the darkness, and that tingling feeling upon Curatio's skin became much more electric, and cold, in an instant.

  Chapter 99

  Guy

  Down and over the street Curatio had gone. Guy had seen as he'd broken 'round the corner. Over the wall of that chapel, and disappeared behind it. It looked a little like one of the temples to Davidon that were scattered around the city. Guy had seldom paid them much mind, because there was little of interest to him in a temple of Davidon.

  Except this was exactly like the building where that impersonator had brought him when he'd first joined Sanctuary. Just like the one on the other side of the city, down to the tower and the spires. Curious, that; he'd thought every temple to Davidon had striven to be a unique and special thing. Alaric had said it had moved, by magic, but that was ludicrous.

  Still, architectural curiosities aside, Curatio had gone in there. In a bloody rush, too. Ignoring the cool wind that suddenly came rushing down that street – weird omen, that – Guy found himself walking along toward the gate, figuring he'd just take a quick look – that's all, just a glimpse. Why not? Curiosity sated, he could just move on...

  Chapter 100

  Curatio

  “How did you find this place?” Curatio asked, his mouth and voice wishing to freeze just as did his body, chill rolling like frigid winds down his back and limbs, prickling his skin like a wintry morn.

  Malpravus's skeletal face stared at him from the dark recesses of the doorway to the Great Hall, a leering smile perched on his nearly non-existent lips. “The wonders of this age are open to me, Curatio. Surely you have noted the march of progress. The airships. The guns. And the most curious devices...called clockworks.” The smile grew wider. “I have the services of a gnome from a far-away land called Azwill. Wondrous implements, these clockworks. Some are the size of trolls and fight your friend Cyrus even now. Some are big as hawks, and troubled your witless troll friend earlier. But some...” His hands came together until his long fingers were nearly together, roughly the size of a small chalice. “...Well, they're barely noticeable as they fly along behind you. Or Alaric, as the case was this time.”

  Curatio steeled himself, ignoring that cold sensation running down his body.

  Malpravus was here.

  In their home.

  Curatio had very little magic left, but what he had he drew upon instantly, hurling invective, fury, and a fiery spell at the damnable necromancer even as he swept Praelior into his clutching grasp. Drawing from the sword – and his anger – Curatio attacked with a fury born of fear he'd seldom felt in his twenty thousand plus years.

  Chapter 101

  Guy

  He was almost to the gate when he heard the sound of something terrible. It was loud and rushing, and bore a wave of heat like an open hearth, blowing out onto the street. It stirred his hair, even his eyebrows, and left Guy pushing through the gate and around the corner to see what was what.

  The door to the building was open – barely. Flashing light was coming from within, noise, too. Voices, raised, but drowned every now and again by a sound that came with the light. Thunder? Fire? It was something.

  Did he really want to be in this? Guy had his own questions, he did.

  But that curiosity pulled him on, and in the gate he went, but slowly, listening, as whatever was going on inside got louder and louder.

  Chapter 102

  Curatio

  The crash of a bolt of azure blue lightning to his side sent Curatio flipping to the side. He released a blast of flame as green as an emerald in reprisal, and it lit the foyer of Sanctuary to every dark corner.

  Coming down on Falcon's Essence, Curatio sprinted to the side at a forty-five-degree angle. He didn't want to charge directly at Malpravus, but he wanted to get closer. This was a battle of spellcraft, thus far.

  But as had already been proven in the Citadel, Curatio knew he was no match for the necromancer in this sort of fight. No, better to turn the tables, take the battle to him with blade and fist, combating him in a way that Malpravus was not, perhaps, prepared for.

  The necromancer – sorcerer, now, though, wasn't he? – was floating above the Great Hall door, his cloak expanded out in all directions, flapping like a series of flags in the wind, coming out from the central point of his body. It was magic, of course, a fearful illusion. Curatio had seen its like and worse in the course of his days. Tendrils of magical darkness reached out from the sorcerer's body like insect's legs.

  “No!” Curatio chopped them off as they came for him. One by one, he cut them, though more and more seemed to grow out of the sorcerer with every moment that passed. A blast of green, again, and Malpravus was forced back. The spell hit the stone above the Great Hall and blew it clear, a dramatic hit that Malpravus only just avoided.

  That was the game, then, wasn't it? Of course the bastard wouldn't want to face the might of Praelior, nor a swordsman with all the experience Curatio had. He would dodge, dodge until he landed a spell upon Curatio. It would be like cat and mouse – if the mouse could destroy a man with one incantation.

  “I think not!” Curatio said, and sent a blast spiraling to Malpravus's left. It was wider, like a blade of magic, and sent the sorcerer skittering back toward the damaged archway. At the same time, Curatio muttered Falcon's Essence again, sprinted up the air, blade in hand–

  He would end this plague, once and for all. After all, what was experience for if not to destroy where destruction was warranted? And Malpravus's destruction was well warranted by now.

  Chapter 103

  Guy

  He wanted to look, but he didn't want to.

  Guy stood at the top of the small stairs of the temple. The blackness in the gap between the doors was only inches, and being lit every few seconds by a flash of green or blue or some other bright color. Not a fire, that was for sure. Nor a lantern, either.

  How could he be this torn? Wanting to look, but not wanting to? A cold dread had built up in Guy's guts.<
br />
  Checking his belt produced his dagger, sure enough. Little good it would do against whatever sort of magic was going on within, but...

  Hells.

  Curiosity had gotten him into this mess. Why was it he couldn't leave well enough alone and just walk away?

  But he couldn't. So instead he spent a few moments watching the flashes, trying to work up the courage to take a closer look. And then get the hell out.

  Chapter 104

  Curatio

  This was it.

  How many years had this feud gone on? How many years had the snake Malpravus bobbed his scaled head, flicked his forked tongue with his poison words?

  How long had he stung at Sanctuary's heel?

  A hard sprint, with the aid of the Falcon's Essence spell carried Curatio forward, through the air. The sorcerer hung there, the coruscating fibers of blackest magic protruding from him in all directions, his cloak and cowl blowing gently around him. His chest was there, feet away, and Curatio was moving faster than the lich could hope to, Praelior in his hand–

  “I have waited too long for this,” Curatio said under his breath, anticipating, pushing the blade forward. It lined up with the heart of the dark elven sorcerer, ready to pierce his wickedness, to drink deep of the bastard's blood–