by Andrew Rowe
The darkness around them cracked.
When Venlyra’s vision cleared, they stood not in the darkness, but atop a mountainside.
Lydia was lying on the ground, her right arm badly burned, and her chest still bleeding from the terrible wound she had suffered.
And standing above her, with a black dagger raised, was a hideous mockery of Tysus. His face was burned half-away, showing a blackened skull beneath. Black fluid dribbled from a massive hole in his chest, but even now, his body was beginning to repair itself.
“You...you have harmed me...” The false Tysus shuddered, the skull-half of his face hideously contorting along with his skin. “But I will end this. I will end you, in the same way that it all began.”
He brought his dagger down to strike.
But as his hand descended, an arm grabbed him from behind.
Venora.
Venlyra had never seen her spring aspect in person before, only in images drawn by others. Her skin was the color of bark, and her hair a mixture of green and brown.
And more importantly, her fists were currently glowing with green light. “You will not harm her.”
Venora’s fist slammed into the Tysus, cracking his unnatural jaw. He stumbled backward from the strength of the blow, but quickly righted himself.
“You are a fool to show yourself here,” he hissed. “I will take you as well.”
“No.”
Spears of ice shot up from the ground, piercing the shadow’s legs. Venlyra stepped forward. “You imprisoned me.” She raised a hand, conjuring a wall of ice to surround the cage. “Suppressed me.”
The cage began to fill with water. “Stole my body.”
Inside, the trapped form of Tysus bashed against the wall of ice, making wide cracks.
“Stole my life.” She propelled herself forward as the cage finished filling with water, then pressed a hand against the cracked icy wall. “Now, face your punishment. Stop. Forever.”
The water inside the cage froze.
And within it, the shadow stilled.
Venora stepped to the side of the frozen cage, placing a hand on it. A wall of stone formed around the ice, then a layer of wood formed and hardened around the stone.
Venlyra looked to Venora. “It is done, then.”
Venora nodded. “It is. Save for one thing.”
Then they walked to Lydia’s wounded form and knelt beside her.
She lay unmoving in a still-growing puddle of blood.
“She has given too much for us. Her mind, spirit, and essence are in tatters.”
They placed their hands on her together, then nodded to each other.
“We will repay our debt.”
And with that, they began to work in unison.
Chapter XIX – Jonan V – Wounded by a Thorn
Jonan was a few hundred yards away from the Crescent Thorn when Velas appeared in front of him, just as expected.
He caught her as she stumbled, careful not to impale himself on the Heartlance in the process.
Velas trembled for a moment, then pulled free from his grasp. “Kestrian.” She stumbled away from him, then caught herself with the spear. “We need to get back there. Now.”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “No.”
Velas spun around, batting away his hand with her only functional one. “Rialla. She’s badly hurt. We need to go.”
Jonan shook his head, reaching up to tap the earring he was wearing. “Heard the whole thing. We’re leaving. You’re in no shape to fight, and I’m not a fighter.”
“No, no, no.” Velas shook her head. “She took a knife to the chest, Kestrian. She’s dying. We need to go now.” Velas took a step away from him, turned, and started heading back toward the building. She leaned heavily on the Heartlance, careful not to put any pressure on her injured ankle.
“You’re insane.” Jonan walked in front of her. “Stop. You’ll just get us both killed, too.”
“She wasn’t dead, Jonan!” Velas snarled. “If we go now, we might...”
“What are you going to do, bleed on the other Silk?” Jonan folded his arms.
“Do not press me right now, Kestrian. I am not in a pleasant mood.” She tilted her head down and gave him her best glower, but it was somewhat less intimidating than usual, given that she could barely stay on her feet.
“If the Shrouded One wants her dead, she’ll be dead long before we get there. If she wants her alive, we’re just presenting extra targets right now. We stand no chance. Come with me, we’ll get you healed, and we’ll go rescue her together. Later.”
“I...” Velas stared toward the Crescent Thorn, wavering. “I...I can’t just leave her like this. She saved me, Jonan. She...”
Velas bit her lip, turning away. “I thought she was the other Silk. I didn’t trust her. I didn’t talk to her. If I’d believed in her, if I’d shared my plans...if we’d gone together from the start, maybe...”
She looked like she was on the verge of tears. Jonan was momentarily stymied by that, given that he’d never seen her with extreme emotions of the kind, and also because he was generally awful with people.
After a moment, he reached over, patted her on the cheek, and said. “Please don’t get me killed with sentiment.”
Velas stared at him incredulously for a moment, then snorted. “You...never change, do you?”
“Dying would constitute a change. An unwanted change. Can we go?”
She took one ragged breath, then nodded. “Right. We’re going now.”
He put an arm under her other shoulder, grimacing at the look of her broken wrist, and helped her limp toward the nearest alley.
From there, it was a very long, painful walk to the blacksmith shop where help was hopefully waiting.
***
“Oh, dear.” Aladir took one look at Velas, grimaced, and then gestured at the floor. “You can lie her down. I’ll need to get to work immediately.”
“What, I don’t even get a chair? What sort of doctor are you?” Velas grumbled.
“It’s much harder to work on you while you’re sitting. I do wish I’d prepared a better environment for this, but...” He gave her a sheepish look. “It is what it is.”
Mairead Caelan sat nearby, in the one and only chair within the shop, sitting next to a line of weapons. An excellent position, in Jonan’s judgement, for grabbing something to murder them all while they were in a vulnerable position on the floor.
Jonan went and leaned up against the wall near the weapons. “Where’s your commanding officer?”
He knew better than to use Taer’vys name when non-Thornguard were present. Aladir was nominally working with them at the moment, but that didn’t mean they were going to share everything with him.
“Busy.” Mariead offered him a strained smile. “Mind explaining all this?”
“Perhaps later.” Jonan smiled. “For now, let’s let the doctor work in peace.”
“No, no, it’s quite alright. Talk away.” Aladir was inspecting Velas’ wrist. “I won’t be bothered.”
Jonan was not an expert on healing, but he was reasonably certain that you weren’t supposed to distract someone while they were working.
Is he trying to get us to say something while he’s around? How uncharacteristically sneaky for a paladin. No wonder he’s Lydia’s partner.
After several minutes which were mostly filled with Aladir talking to himself, Jonan came to the conclusion that while Aladir was probably being sneaky, he was also just extremely talkative.
“Touch of Life.” Aladir’s hands glowed green as he touched Velas’ wrist. He’d already physically adjusted the bones in her wrist, then used a different spell to force them to begin mending more quickly. Jonan hadn’t watched — the sight was a little too disturbing. “...That should be it for the wrist for the moment. Don’t use it, of course. I’ll need to clean this off, then work on your ankle and burns.”
Velas groaned. “Hurry. I need to get back out there.”
“Ab
solutely not. You shouldn’t be fighting again for at least three days.”
Jonan suspected they’d be lucky to keep Velas from rushing out for three more minutes if they didn’t do something to placate her. While she was clearly hurting more now that the adrenaline of battle had fled, there was no chance she would be willing to just sit around and wait while her friend was in danger.
“How many paladins do we have available, Aladir?” She asked.
Mairead raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Not...many, in this city, I’m afraid. Lydia could call on more, but she’s heading toward,” he glanced at Mairead and Jonan, then back to Velas, “that other place, now.”
“Get her back here. We have our target.”
Mairead’s look of concern intensified, but again, she remained silent.
“You can tell me all about it in the morning, after you’ve rested.”
“No. Tonight. Now. Get Lydia back here, before it’s too late.”
Aladir frowned, finishing cleaning her wrist and moving down to work on her leg. “I have no way of doing that.”
“I can send Lydia a message,” Jonan offered.
Aladir gave him a look. “One that I provide?”
“Certainly. I believe we all have the same goal.”
He was absolutely not certain that they had the same goal. In fact, he was rapidly having to evaluate if he even knew his own goal.
The conversation between Velas and the Shrouded One had been interesting. Interesting in the sense that it was awful, even more so than he’d anticipated.
There’s zero chance that Aayara didn’t already know the Shrouded One’s identity. That means she deliberately pitted her two current apprentices against her old one.
She’d probably planned for some of us to die in that conflict. I’m not sure who she expected to lose, or if she even cared.
He continued to worry about that for the next hour, while Aladir finished his work.
After that, Aladir wrote a letter, which Jonan sent to Lydia via mirror, and they parted ways for the night.
“Mairead, I’ll fill you in tomorrow. Velas, let’s get you somewhere safe.”
“Should you be moving anywhere tonight?” Mairead asked. “You can just sleep here. It’s not comfortable, but it might be safer.”
Jonan shook his head. “Can’t. We have places to be. Resources to work on. Thank you, though.”
Mairead nodded. “Be safe, then.”
Velas gave Mairead an odd look, then nodded in return. “You as well. Thanks for the shelter.”
With that, Jonan and Velas left the shop, and headed back out into the night.
***
“We’re going for Rialla now.”
“No, we’re not.”
This argument continued while they headed to a different safe house that Jonan had prepared, just in case they were being followed. He hid them while they walked with both invisibility and illusionary duplicates, but if the Shrouded One was following them directly, he knew it wouldn’t be effective.
Eventually, they made it to the safe house, and Jonan opened it up and let them inside.
They checked through the building, insuring it was actually unoccupied, before Jonan finally dismissed his illusions, sighed, and sat down on yet another dusty and long-abandoned couch.
“You’re awfully reticent to help someone who needs us.”
Jonan folded his arms. “You’re injured. I’m useless. We’re waiting for help.”
“What sort of help?” Velas sat down on the floor, wincing. Life sorcery was accelerating her healing process, but it hadn’t fixed all of the damage.
“I requested some assistance from Velthryn a few days ago.”
“Velthryn? That could take weeks!”
Jonan shook his head. “It’s been expedited, and it should be ready soon. And it’ll be useful. I have a plan to get us close to the Shrouded One without raising too many suspicions.”
“She knows me now, it’s a little late for that.”
He shook his head. “No, this will probably work, unless she knows me on sight.”
Velas frowned. “She very well might. She knew who I was. She said she’d killed a Velas Jaldin before, whatever that means.”
“Any mysterious grandmothers missing in your family history?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I didn’t think I was named after any predecessor. And,” she hesitated for a moment, “I’m not really a Jaldin, anyway. I was adopted.”
That’s...awkward. Was Velas’ name in those books...? I don’t remember seeing her in there. Hm.
Jonan shrugged. “So was I, if you count Aayara’s pulling me out of a burning home. Do you think what she said had some significance?”
“Don’t know. Might have just been a simple intimidation trick.” She frowned. “But one way or another, it shows she had an information source about me. She both knew my name and she knew to be waiting there for me. Who could have told her?”
“It wasn’t me, before you ask.” He frowned. “And I doubt it was Lydia or Aladir.”
“Mairead, then?”
Jonan nodded. “A likely suspect. Or her commanding officer, Taer’vys. But I don’t necessarily think someone told her. Not in the sense we’re thinking.”
“You’re talking about those books you’ve been reading. The ones that mention the future.”
“It may sound absurd, but if the leader of this cult is a vae’kes — and she had another vae’kes working for her — the plausibility of someone who can accurately foresee the future being involved is vastly higher than I would have thought before.”
“You think there’s something as minute as my position on a rooftop in those books?”
“Not in the books, but if someone — like the Shrouded One herself — can see the future, they might be able to catch glimpses of things like that. Your paladin friend can do things like that, can’t she?”
“Asphodel’s predictive abilities were unreliable when I was training with her. She also used to have trouble seeing me with her future sight at all, but maybe that’s changed. I’ve heard she’s gotten better. And I suppose if a vae’kes has that ability, and she’s been training for hundreds of years...” Velas sighed. “How do you beat someone like that? How can we even try? She could be years ahead of us in planning.”
“I don’t think so.” Jonan shook his head. “I mean, maybe she’s planned for some things that far out, but the moment-to-moment actually sounds harder. You seemed to hurt her at some point somehow.”
Velas frowned. “Yeah...I’m going to be honest, I’m not sure exactly what happened there.”
“Start from the beginning. I heard a lot, but tell me in your own words. We should gather everything we can about the fight so we can strategize.”
“Right.” Velas nodded, winced again, and then steeled herself. “So, first, I landed on the rooftop...”
***
They met with Aladir again the next morning at a different house, judging that moving frequently was wise now that the older Silk was aware of Velas being present in the city.
“I’ve sent the message you requested, Aladir, but she hasn’t replied.”
Aladir gave a nod. “Her current task could take some time.”
Velas tightened her jaw. “We’re going without her, then. I’m not waiting any longer to get Rialla out of there.”
Jonan glanced at Velas, considering before he replied. “Ordinarily, I’d urge us to wait...but Lydia wouldn’t be able to help with my current plan, anyway. And I don’t think it’s worth waiting for any other approach.”
More honestly, he couldn’t take the risk of Taelien and Lydia retrieving the mask from Kyestri before he finished his own assignment. While discovering that the Shrouded One was the original Silk was something, it wasn’t a complete answer.
Aayara would want a name, and he didn’t have that.
That meant he was, unfortunately, going to have to take a risk. Failing Aayara was simply no
t an option.
Rescuing Rialla quickly would be an added bonus, if it was possible. But while Jonan had many illusions, believing it was likely Rialla had survived was not among them.
Fortunately, his preparations were finally complete. He hadn’t heard from Lydia, but he had received a different message in the morning.
It’s done. Both deaths have been confirmed.
-Scour
Jonan’s contact in Velthryn had finished his assignment, and it was time to move on to the next phase of the plan.
Aladir looked to Jonan, then to Velas. “You should wait here. I’ll accompany Master Kestrian for whatever this...plan, is.”
Velas snorted. “Not likely. I’m itching for a rematch.”
“You’re not in any shape for one. Even after my healing, you’ve only had one night of rest.”
“What, and you think you’d do any better? You’re a medic.” Velas scowled.
“I’m a paladin. A paladin who happens to have life sorcery, in addition to other skills.” He raised his hand, and the thin wooden bracelet on his wrist glowed. A moment later, a gleaming sword appeared in his right hand, the hilt designed to look like the trunk of a tree. “We knew we might be running into a va’ekes up here. We came prepared for Sterling, but I suspect this will work equally well against a different one. And Rialla is my friend, too.”
“A fancy dominion bonded sword isn’t going to help you if you can’t see her move. I’m handling this.” Velas leaned forward.
“That’s enough bickering.” Jonan interjected.
Velas blinked in surprise.
“I have roles for you both to play.”
Aladir frowned. “Go on. I’ll listen to your idea, at least. But you’re not my commanding officer.”
Jonan nodded. “I’ll explain the plan. I think you’ll find the odds are better than a direct assault, but there are some risks...”
***
An hour later, Jonan and Aladir arrived at the back entrance of the Crescent Thorn, dragging a large cart. The cart carried two coffins, one of which was abnormally large.
A pair of guards stopped them at the door, of course. It was broad daylight, and they weren’t concealing their movements. “Who goes?”