“Lover of naps, a pain to the self-entitled, scholar, philosopher, ex-Elder of a tiny village.” The helmet came off fully, and a massive familiar smile beamed at them. “And proud father of two very much living and healthy boys, who have grown up to become men in my absence. Hello, my sons.”
He bit back his emotions as best he could, but the helmet slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground as tears ran down his still smiling face. Eyes squinted; he extended his arms towards them. “How I have missed you both.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Neither Tychus nor Grimaldus knew what to say. The words were stuck in their throats, as if they were choking on coconuts. Grimaldus felt his mind race and seize up, failing to grasp what he saw. The memories in his head screamed at him, overburdened him. In front of him was the face of a man that should have died well over a decade ago. Though his memories were hazy, the elder looked exactly as his child-mind remembered. “But you’re dead?”
Tychus had no such hiccup. The moment he saw the elder’s face, his face fell forward, and his fists clenched so hard that his knuckles turned white. He took a step toward the old man, and blared out a howl of twisted emotions. He was both excruciatingly happy, and profoundly sad all at the same time. Not knowing how to reconcile the two, the mountain just scooped up his elder like a child would lift their oldest teddy bear. He mashed the side of his face against Artorian, and squeezed for all he was worth as tears streamed down his face.
Artorian was spun as fast as his cultivation technique when his now largest son refused to let him go. He didn’t mind for the moment, glad to squeeze the giant lug. He was certain Tychus was trying to talk to him, but the words came out as malformed bleating. When his massive son carried him over to Grimaldus to show off his find like it was an animal he caught in the wild, Grim snapped from his mental stupor.
He didn’t know when he’d started crying, but only now did he feel the contortions on his face as the elder wrapped his arms around his dark cloak. “B… but how?”
Artorian sniffled, not having a sleeve to wipe his face with. “Honestly, I gave you many clues! Did I need to make some kind of quip about choosing the worst cup, or have you been banging your head against the same hard rock your brother looks like he’s been lifting for the past decade? I even named myself Mr. Fringe for this stupid arena just to get your attention!”
That’s not what Grimaldus had meant, but he no longer cared. His fears that this was yet another loyalty test faded. This was very much the same Elder from all those years ago; nobody else would know about that stupid cup. He had loved that dumb cup. “I just… you… you can’t be here!”
He silenced himself and melted into the embrace. He just didn’t know how to process this situation. Tychus couldn’t bear to be left out, so he scooped them both up in a bear hug. Artorian’s voice cracked, but he finally got two proper words out. “Family, get!”
The trio needed a minute. Surprise reunions were taxing, and heavy on mental energy costs. When Tychus finally put them back down, their Elder didn’t waste a second filling them in on crucial details. “I’ve missed my boys. You’re the last two I’ve come to fetch. I’m so, so sorry it took me so long to get to you.”
Grimaldus wiped his face clean with his sleeve, but let his Elder borrow it for the same purpose as he immediately slid in with the questions. “Last two? So when we lost contact with Astrea, it was…?”
Artorian fiercely nodded. “I’ve got her, she’s safely in one of the regions I’ve made secure. You wouldn’t believe the firepower that’s defending that place. Wuxius and Lunella are home in the Fringe, rebuilding.”
Tychus screeched in delight, a massive smile broadly plastered on his face. The mountain used Grim’s robe to wipe his face, though his brother was far more grumbly and reluctant about it. “They’re fine! I thought it was down to just us!”
Their Elder squeezed them both by the wrists. “Safe and accounted for. I did promise, after all.”
Artorian was shoulder nudged by his non-humongous son. He was elated about the harmless little punch, glad to see that tiny touch still lived. Grimaldus straightened himself, already thinking about the problems that were going to come next. The fight still needed a winner, and he was being tracked. “I’d love to get out of the Ziggurat region, and especially the Mistress’s grasp, but these make that difficult.”
The necromancer extended his left arm, a bone bracelet sliding down to his wrist where it stopped and remained in place. A tiny opal connected the molded carbon together. He was about to explain, but the concerned and calculating expression on his Elder’s face told him that he didn’t need to do so. He filled in answers to questions he thought someone would ask if they were to see these for the first time.
“Can’t crush it. Not for lack of trying, but it marks you for removal. There’s always someone stronger, so crushing your own bracelet just turns everyone against you. It tracks my position so long as the person it is keyed to has… I’m not sure about that part, but I’d bet my favorite humerus that it would end if the person it is keyed to died. Mine is keyed to The Mistress, Ty’s is keyed to the Vizier. We can’t leave the Z region without them knowing, and while you seem to be on par with our Vizier, the Mistress is… something else entirely.”
His son was quick on the uptake, but still Artorian ruminated. The new information was added, and he could finally squeeze a hand down his beard to think it over. After two hours of repetitive one-on-one fights, he was glad for the small, soothing comfort. “Ah, yes, my son. She’s a Mage bound to a Law that has something to do with flesh-sculpting, I’m aware of the problem. Tell me more about this Vizier, is he a good person?”
Grimaldus froze, having just heard terms he’d never encountered before dropped completely nonchalantly on a problem he’d been struggling with for years. “She’s a what? Never mind. I’ll figure it out. No, he is not. The Vizier is an absolute scumbag and entirely responsible for dragging Astrea, Tychus, and me all the way over here from the Fringe. There used to be two advisors, but it’s believed one is dead already. So the Vizier now oversees operations in the room at the top of the Ziggurat. On that note, please tell me this bubble we’re in is soundproof?”
The wily academic winked, and shoved a thumb over his shoulder. “Can you hear the crowd? Because they can’t hear or see you. Thought that was fairly clear with the calm spot of space we’re in. Upholding the compound effects are more costly than I’d like. So let’s not dally. I can’t knock the Mage down a peg, but this Vizier fellow is free game. I’m feeling warmed up and vengeful. Let’s put a plan together.”
Uferiel returned with a stiff upper lip and a heart full of rage. A small horde of raiders were at his back and disposal. Nobody breaks arena rules. He arrived at the main dais only to see a large dark orb taking up a good chunk of it. Many people were on the arena, poking and prodding at the semisolid… thing. This was all sorts of not allowed! “What happened here?”
The stylish coordinator stomped up the steps with guards in tow, and people who knew they weren’t supposed to be there quickly made themselves scarce. Uferiel wasn’t interested in appearing any weaker than he already did, and dropped a hand towards the runners. Several raiders took off after the fleeing rule breakers. They’d be caught, and they’d be publicly punished. Keeping order was paramount. He leveled his gloved digit at another coordinator that had aided him earlier. “You! Answer my question.”
The aide jogged towards the head coordinator. Something was in his hand, and Uferiel recognized it as half of a femur. The middle of it was goopy, melting, and… unpleasant. He didn’t want to touch it as the aide launched into a hasty explanation.
“My lord, after your leave, number three was skewered through the head by a spear. His body is… over there. We haven’t touched it. The top two fighters were then swallowed by the shadowy, swirling orb. Skeletons ran into it at a certain point, but we know they didn’t get very far. This is what we’ve recovered.”
/> Uferiel just waved off the offer of personally inspecting the half-molten bone. He got the gist. “Continue.”
The bone was haphazardly tossed away. “Since we saw what happened to the bone, we haven’t wanted to try very hard in breaching that swirling dark mass. The Didact and the Mountain are both inside, along with Mr. Fringe. We’re half guessing the thing will eventually go away, and we’re just waiting for that to happen.”
Uferiel waited a moment. Things like that tended to be said with a coinciding event occurring. The universe was jinxed like that. The aide looked over his shoulder, not certain what his superior was looking for, because nothing happened. The stylish man sighed, rubbed at his lips, and spoke.
He didn’t get a word out before the ball dropped and the orb whisked away. Fans cheered and fights broke out in the stands. Uferiel pushed the aide out of the way to get a look. He saw the Mountain sitting on his butt, the Didact standing tall, and Mr. Fringe lying on the ground in the full armor he remembered seeing last.
Grimaldus punched his fist into the sky. “Victory for the Ziggurat!”
Tychus picked up the seemingly fallen Mr. Fringe, hoisting him over the shoulder as the raiders Uferiel brought stopped onlookers from storming the stage. Tychus was glad for it. No more surprise hugging… especially when Grim’s protective skeleton circle wasn’t available. He grumbled under his breath to his brother, raring to go. “Ready.”
Grimaldus threw his dark cloak across himself with a dramatic flaunt, flouncing out of there with effortful self-important superiority. The coordinator hustled to keep pace next to them as they waltzed past him without a second thought. Incomprehensible happy noises surrounded them, and Ufieriel gladly held his tongue until they were ascending the Ziggurat steps. “My Lords, I can deduce that you were victorious. Will the contestant be… returning?”
Grimaldus shot the man some side-eye. “We’re taking him to the Grand Vizier for evaluation. We will not make decisions that do not belong to us, coordinator. Would you like to come with us for the audience?”
Uferiel turned on a heel and descended the steps without a second thought. “A lovely day to you, my lords!”
Artorian mumbled softly once the man was out of earshot. “About time.”
Tychus hushed back, groaning unpleasantly at his brother. “This is a terrible plan. We should try something else.”
“Brother, relax.” Grimaldus nudged the large bruiser. “It’s a good plan, just because you didn’t get to trade fists with our Elder doesn’t mean I can’t tell he’s on par with the Vizier. Stick to the plan. You just keep the door sealed with all you’ve got; I’ll keep the help away from the commotion. Remember that you need to play stupid if anyone comes asking. Tell them the Vizier told you to do it.”
The mountain huffed. “Only matters if the Vizier dies…”
His elder giggled lightly, “My boy, you think I won’t win?”
Tychus had momentarily forgotten he was carrying the person in question, and looked away. “No, I mean… sorry, Elder. I’ve gotten floored by that oversized snake rather often. All I’m good at is packing a lot of power into my fists. I can dish out, but I’m surprisingly brittle and cannot take. The infernal Essence we can use is strange, I don’t understand it well. That’s more Grim’s thing. Just don’t get hit by the venom he can spit. Stuff’s nasty, eats right through stone.”
The Mountain staggered as his ear got flicked by shaped Essence. “I’m not the Elder of the Fringe anymore. Lunella has the robes now. Call me grandfather, but you’re welcome to drop the grand. Or, Artorian as I’ve already stated. We’re going to get everyone together one way or another… even if I don’t agree that we should wait for future plans to develop.”
Grimaldus shook his head, but his features bled into a massive smile. The son of the Fringe liked the idea of having a dad again. He said nothing about Ty’s trembling lower lip as the sniffling giant tried to keep quiet. “I would go insane without Tychus to keep me company. I too want to leave, but it would be folly so long as we’re being tracked. I will try and usurp the Vizier after his death, and attempt to veer problems away from certain places. If I can sneak information to Skyspear, I will. Don’t blast the person in lapis robes, I think I know how to get my hands on some. I have many questions… father. Yet, it can wait until we are secure, and not tiptoeing around a noose.”
Artorian beamed proudly under his helm. Yes. Excellent… his boys were still his boys. Though, he worried about leaving them here longer. The knowledge he’d come get them if they couldn’t get themselves out of this was crucial, so he’d just have to trust his lads to hold down the fort. Darn Mages! They complicated life for the little guy. How dare.
“I’ll be more than glad to engage in lengthy conversations of philosophy and wit, when we’re all settled. Just secure me a place to confine the Vizier, and kill as many lights and torches as you can on the way. There are many people on my list. I so look forward to crossing this new one off.”
Tychus just smirked. He also enjoyed the idea of that smug snake getting its fangs cracked. “My fist-sense is tingling.”
His brother laughed, relishing in the freedom to do so as they ascended the Ziggurat’s stairs without any people around to stifle them. He exhaled, and a light lime-green light flickered in the back of his throat. “I so look forward to that monster being crossed off as well…”
Chapter Forty-Four
Deep within the Ziggurat, Amon slithered back and forth in his private chambers. Something was wrong. He’d temporarily lost track of where the mountain had been, only for him to reappear at the spot he’d vanished. The tracking sense now told him that particular servant was almost to his door, but the event unsettled him still. He’d never lost track of a servant before, no opal bone bracelet just blipped in its function and stopped working for a while.
He’d question the Emerald Eyes soon. A different nearby servant bowed, vermillion scales coating patches of her upper arms. “The mountain requests audience, my Vizier. He says your will has been done, and the upstart is being delivered. The mountain says he is worthy, and had his catch not been knocked out, was already willing to join your fold.”
Amon hissed in delight, the pressure relieving as stress rolled off his lengthy tail. Yes. Of course. There was no reason for concern. Of course it was another victory just waiting to come to him. The curse of the Emerald Eyes was lifted after the death of the swan princess. Everything had gone smoothly since, though he vividly recalled the peculiar way things had always seemed to go unexpectedly awry. A concern of the past!
“I grant this audience…” Bronze doors parted to reveal Tychus, prize draped over his shoulder. The Vizier saw the mountain clasp wrists with his brother and share a nod before the two parted ways.
“My Vizier, I have brought the upstart, as you desired.”
A wrist motion directed the mountain to place his winnings down next to a pillar, and Tychus moved to do so as Amon finger-steepled his usual pyramid. He was delighted! Such an interesting specimen. What flawless, smooth armor! It spoke to his aesthetic, and his eyes flicked across the slumped man’s features. Oh, he couldn’t wait to begin interrogations!
“Leave us; you have done well.” Tychus bowed, and motioned for the aides in the room to come with him. Amon didn’t stop the request; the mountain had successfully guessed that he wanted prized alone time. In fact, it pleased him greatly! Even the lime-green Favor in the room slid from its seat and noncommittally bounced out of his chambers! He so needed time away from those bothersome moths. Hearing the metal clang as the door closed, the massive serpent slithered close, coming face to face with the slumped helmet.
“So what have we here…? Greetings, little specimen. Gack!” Amon choked as the suit of armor snapped its grip upwards, clamping thoroughly on the front of his throat where part of his airway forcibly collapsed shut. The silver lines mistaken as eye-holes flared bright red, and the helmet tilted up slowly to regard a surprised Vizier.
; “Hello.”
The Vizier’s eyes opened wide, vertical eye-slits focusing as infernal Essence coursed between his fingers. His steeple broke as he stirred from the moment of surprise, preparing to bathe the entire area before him in deadly swaths of disintegrating energy. He was interrupted as the hand clamping his throat shut pulled him closer with enough force to crack-slam his face against the pillar.
Artorian was up with the swift whistle of wind, twisting out of the way as he connected pillar to face while setting his feet into a stable stance. He was already launching forward to plant a second Essence powered fist into the side of Amon’s face as the cloud of caustic energy sputtered from the cobra’s digits. The Vizier snarled in a seething hiss, the blow to his face stifling his ability to see from his right side.
The lights in Amon’s chambers extinguished as he slithered back, and only his own glowing eyes, and only the four red eye-lines remained visible in the room a moment later before they too vanished. Amon felt alone in the chamber of darkness. What was ordinarily a comfort was now a confusing, enraging, insufferable insult. Luckily, he did not rely on his eyes to see. Forked tongue flicking from his muzzle, he tasted the air and… tasted his enemy immediately. Everywhere.
How could someone be everywhere? He, Grand Vizier Amon, was the one whose Presence should be everywhere! Covering the world in his magnanimous might!
Artorian silently stepped around behind another pillar. Sound absorbed by his extended Presence as he built up power to begin an entire circus of effects. It had taxed him when he’d fought Cataphron that first time. This time, the burden of multiple effects would not be so taxing. Throwing his voice, he made the sound appear behind the Vizier’s head. “Your people came to the Fringe.”
Amon twisted into a coil, surrounding himself with a defensive cloud as a disintegrating infernal effect coated the massive serpent as if it were an extra layer of skin. Even in the pitch-black dark, his energy swirled about. Creating a visible outline as a powerful tail slam brutalized his own throne. Flattening and destroying the entire area in a swath behind him as the remains disintegrated while latent effects dissolved materials away.
Artorian's Archives Omnibus Page 108