by Jeff Kish
Jem retrieves the remaining half of the water monster rune and shoves it into his arms. “There! I’d say this will shut you up, but I think your brain lacks that function.”
Ospif eyes the half-disc suspiciously but proceeds to study it intently. Era witnesses the same series of reactions he saw on the dean, as the student’s expression moves from doubt to fascination and awe. “How is this…? This is a runoid!?”
“Your dean is the one who called it that,” Era reminds him. “All I know is that we fought and killed it. It was a giant water monster! Very scary.”
Ospif can’t hide his delight at caressing such a treasure. “Now I understand why my professors sold me for this. I’d have done the same!”
“You people don’t have souls,” Jem says, her words dripping with contempt as she snatches it from him. “Di had some real losers as her role models.”
Ospif glares at Jem as she pockets the prize. “So, that is your reason for hunting Corpit? All this because you wish to know more about the runoid?”
“What’s it to you?” she challenges. “Era, tell this oaf where the Academy is so he can start hiking.”
“Let’s see…” he mumbles as he runs his finger along the map. “Actually, it’s twenty miles past Luk’s town. Maybe we should travel together after all?”
Jem wrinkles her nose. “I’m not traveling with this stuck-up, half-witted buffoon!”
“How dare you call me a half-witted buffoon, you power-hungry, money-loving brigand!”
“I am not a brigand!”
“Then you prefer villain and thief?”
“I’m none of those things!”
Era sighs, longing for the old dysfunction they had with Di and Fire. Their relationship with Ospif is far less entertaining. Still, wanting to keep the peace, he offers, “The trip to Stayltin is only three days. If we can tolerate each other that long, there’s something to be said about safety in numbers.”
“Yeah? Safety in numbers?” Jem asks. “What good is this guy in a fight?”
“Perhaps I’d have value if you were to return my Crystalblade,” Ospif sneers.
“Return what, now?”
“He means this,” Era says as he withdraws the rune from his pocket and activates it, forming the razor-sharp blade of shaped air. “Apparently the Academy folks like to name their runes.”
“Era, why the heck are you just showing this to me now!?” Jem practically shrieks as she snatches it, her eyes filled with desire.
“Crystalblade would make me quite formidable,” Ospif brags. “No one stands a chance against it.”
“Except Fire,” Era reminds him.
“That is hardly fair. I doubt there exists a creature alive which could contain that heartless cur,” he argues. “Though, admittedly, I’m still trying to determine how she outright cut through it. It must be more fragile than our tests suggested.”
“Okay, so if we travel together and get in a rough spot, we can give that thing to Ospif,” Era suggests.
“Forget that!” Jem says as she pokes it into the ground, thrilled with how effectively it slices. “He can have my broken dagger. I’ll use Crystalknife.”
“Crystalblade,” Ospif corrects.
“Crystalsword?”
“Crystalblade!”
“Crystalcutter?” Jem asks smugly. “That’s right, it’s called Crystalcutter.”
Ospif sighs, lamenting his fortunes yet again. “I don’t think I can handle three days of this,” he complains as he begins his march to the south.
Jem embraces her treasure with satisfaction. “I’m gathering quite the rune collection, aren’t I?”
Era politely smiles until he fully processes her words. “Wait… do I count as part of your collection?”
“No comment!” she exclaims as she trots after Ospif, already mercilessly hacking away at invisible opponents.
* * *
Galen descends the desolate hillside, and the horror laid before him is even more disturbing than what he had witnessed back in Grasis. The sheer number of dead is unnerving. Whoever took out their encampment was a formidable foe.
The commander removes his cap and wipes his brow from the heat of the sun as he greets his peer with trembling voice. “Commander Fayna, tell me what we know.”
“Not much,” Fayna reluctantly admits. “We haven’t found a soldier yet who survived… whatever happened here. Captain Hamil and his men, they’re all…”
Galen swallows hard. “And Bowen?”
“No body yet,” he offers with a hint of hope. “If the townsfolk are to be believed, he made a heroic effort to set them free. Plus there are several toasted unfriendlies lying out here. Seems he mustered a worthy fight.”
“I would expect nothing less from him,” he says with a dejected sense of pride. “His skills are on par with any of us commanders.” Looking to the caverns lying past him, he asks, “And the underground bunker?”
Fayna bites his lip. “Only one barrier remains lit. They have a runic.”
Galen stomps his foot against the clay ground. He jabs a finger toward a fallen intruder and snarls, “Tell me we have leads on the identities of these fiends.”
“Not yet, but…” In a low voice, he says, “They’re Valvorans, Galen. This attack came from within our borders.”
This only further feeds the fire shaper’s welling fury. “Just who would have the gall and the means to declare war against the military?” A shiver runs down his spine as he realizes there can be only one answer. “Could it be… the guild?”
“We may be able to confirm that,” a soft voice says from behind Fayna, and they turn to find Commander Marmela standing in his shadow. “I believe I have found Lieutenant Commander Bowen.”
Galen’s eyes widen. “He’s alive?”
“Unknown,” she says as she leads them to the base of the ridge. Coming to a gaping hole in the ground, she beckons within and says, “We haven’t found his body yet, so he may be trapped here.”
Fayna and Galen both peer into the dark abyss. Perplexed, Galen asks, “You’re suggesting that, after taking out nearly thirty armed mercenaries, he fell into this hole?”
“Strange happenings are afoot here, Commander,” Marmela asserts. “Most of our soldiers were electrocuted. The ground beneath them was damp when we arrived, and yet the surrounding land was dry.”
Despite not yet understanding, Galen kneels and bellows, “Bowen, are you down there?” The commander is met only with silence, so he cries out again, “BOWEN! ANSWER ME!”
Fayna grimaces. “Marmela, are you sure about this? I think you’re grasping at straws.”
“The action ended here,” she suggests while pointing to the footsteps in the dust. “You must learn to observe, Commander Fayna.”
“H-Hey,” he complains, “don’t underestimate the observational prowess of a Fayna.” He studies the footprints and says, “I mean, there was clearly a skirmish here, but we can’t know whether-”
“What is that?” Galen interrupts. A faint, glowing light flickers from deep within the abyss, then disappears. He jumps to his feet and cries out, “He’s down there! Bring all our ropes!”
As her peers scramble, Marmela squats and runs her slender hand along the unnaturally-shaped ridge. “It’s as if…” she whispers to herself with eyes closed as she pieces together the puzzle. Quietly, she slips away from the chaos of the soldiers swarming the hole to save their comrade.
Chapter 9
“Angal Rohe?” King Haran gasps.
“Yes, sire,” Graff states confidently. “Lieutenant Commander Bowen survived the encounter, and he confirmed it was one of Rohe’s three lieutenants, Sreya, who led the strike against us at Grasis. Many of their fallen have also been identified as having guild ties.”
Haran paces the rustic meeting chamber, his hand to his chin as he processes this report. His golden, five-point crown shimmers from the light of the lanterns illuminating the space.
The general waits patiently for h
is monarch to deal with this betrayal. At the very least, the guild’s actions will disrupt the military’s supply chains. However, at its worst, it could well mean a conflict on the scale of a civil war. He clenches his fists, knowing his enemy on the other side of the border would not let such an opportunity go to waste.
“What of his numbers?” Haran asks, still pacing.
“They have over one hundred blacksmiths,” Graff says, “and we are now hearing rumblings that certain sections of the populace are declaring quiet fealty to the conspirator. Based on what we know, I believe he could muster a force of several thousand if he desired to do so.”
“Is that all? Our military is sixty thousand strong! What does he hope to accomplish?”
“I’m afraid there is more to it,” says the general. “The guild combatants fought with advanced weaponry. Rune-based tools that created earthquakes, blinding lights, and deadly electrical currents.” After a pause, he adds, “Negation as well.”
Haran’s eyes widen. “Negation? That’s impossible for a rune. Are you certain?”
“The guild warrior used a blade that attracted and absorbed the fireballs of Lieutenant Commander Bowen,” Graff informs him. “She also wielded a rune that formed an abyss at his feet, which is ultimately how he failed to defeat the guild.”
“Negation is so rarely used on the battlefield, and by a rune, no less,” Haran marvels. “It’s such a powerful technique. If they have managed to harness this power into a rune…”
The general clears his throat and says, “What started as an extension of goodwill has caused Angal to become drunk with power. He must have determined to challenge your authority.” He glances at the symbol on his palm and suggests, “The runics are a game changer. Between these ancient weapons and his advanced runes, he believes he has found a way to overcome otherwise insurmountable odds.”
Haran restrains his anxious movements and forcefully faces his general. “I don’t know his intentions, but we have two runics to his one, and he cannot throw sixty thousand soldiers into pits. We will strike hard and fast to preserve this kingdom’s strength.”
“Agreed, Your Majesty. Diamond and Opal are already on their way to his headquarters in Maaman, and I have sent scouts to the guild repository in Hensi,” he says. “This may yet end positively for us. If Rohe found himself a runic, it will be in our hands soon enough.”
“But how did Rohe make the discovery?” the king wonders aloud. “Did our informant sell that information to him? Who else knows about these Third Kingdom weapons?”
“All good questions, my liege. Unfortunately, we still don’t know that snake’s motivations,” Graff says, his words dripping with disdain for Ares, who remains the sole source of their intelligence. “Money, favors, power… He has been coy since he first presented himself before us. I wouldn’t put it past him to have sold the information simply to toy with me.”
The idea further frustrates Haran. “Arrest him the moment he reappears.”
“Nothing would make me happier, your excellence,” Graff replies.
Haran approaches Graff’s meeting table, one of four reserved for the members of the council, and his eyes fall to the thick report Graff just presented. “That accursed guild… Why have I let them grow like this? I should have squelched that upstart as soon as we had the power to do so.”
“It is not the king’s fault,” says the general. “You did as you saw fit to bring this nation to full recovery. You allowed the guild to form to make amends for the sins of your father. You could not have seen this level of betrayal coming.”
Haran meets Graff with regret. “That may be true, but, General, your advice was to put a swift end to that union. Had I trusted you instead of Nagel we would not be facing this crisis.”
Graff holds back a smile while crossing his hands behind his back. “The finance minister meant well, Your Majesty. This betrayal is Rohe’s, not his.”
“So what do you now advise?” Haran asks. “We could suffocate him by taking the smiths into custody, but that could also serve to unify the people against us. It may be exactly what he desires.”
Graff taps the report and says, “My proposal is laid out within. With Rohe in hiding, he will have a shadow of his former reach. My advice is to send diplomats to the key smiths in Maaman and Drynga. Inform them of his actions and seek their assistance. Let us be the ones to seed distrust. Let his ranks be where loyalty falters.”
“And then?”
“Perhaps nothing. The people will spread the word of his villainy,” he suggests. “He will be powerless if he cannot conscript, even with the runic.”
“Very well. I will read your report in detail, but bring me an update as soon as possible,” Haran orders. “I will not rest well until we have found the missing runic. We must not let Rohe sell it to the Allerians, or use it to start a rebellion, or whatever he is planning! We need those weapons to enforce the treaty we have worked so hard to maintain.”
Graff hides his ire; the king always seems to find a way to emphasize the importance of his truce. “Yes, Sire. By your leave.”
When he exits the meeting room, the elderly captain of the guard approaches. “Words do not escape the chamber, but the king’s demeanor is impossible to hide. He is in great distress.”
The general plants a hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “Indeed he is, Captain Larimar. As am I.”
“Is it the Allerians?”
“Not the Allerians, but a threat from within our borders,” he answers. “The situation just became complicated.”
“Complicated?” he asks. “Things are much simpler when we have but one enemy before us, eh?”
“It doesn’t matter. I will destroy all who threaten our great land,” Graff declares. “I will preserve the might of this military and be ready to strike down the Allerians the moment they invade.”
“You sound just like the late king.”
Graff can’t help but raise his chin ever so slightly. “Your words humble me, Captain.”
“They were meant to give you pause, Worren,” Larimar says. “Mind the lessons of the former monarch. The son is not his father, and that may be his greatest strength. Enhance that strength and this nation will find much needed rest.”
The general politely bows his head. “I will heed your words, Captain. Thank you as always for your wisdom.”
He salutes and says, “Blessings be on Valvoren and her peoples.” Softly, he adds, “And let peace be the protection we so desperately need.”
Graff returns the salute and exits the outer chamber, heading into the stone hallways that lead to the attached military barracks. He marches at an accelerated pace while collecting his thoughts. Of all things, among his top concerns is Ares’ apparent lie that only nobles can control runics, given Bowen’s report that an Avalan has seized one. He shivers at the thought of a Valvoran-Allerian half-breed being deemed worthy by any kind of ancient authority.
However, his most pressing concern is how much faith the king has in the treaty he signed, as Graff knows that any agreement with the Allerians will be short-lived. The only option is to soundly defeat them, and, with the runics, an opportunity to do so is within his grasp. He vows to finds Angal Rohe, rip his runic away, and add it to his growing collection of Allerian extermination tools.
* * *
“Oh, ho ho!” the portly Angal Rohe bellows as he slaps his knee. “Another one eats dirt, eh Malof?”
“Fascinating,” his lanky subordinate agrees. “Angal, this girl really is a gold mine!”
As the unconscious victim is dragged away, Pearl falls to her knees and grasps the sides of her head. Dizziness overwhelms her, be it from the liquor-drenched air or the adrenaline rush of battle. She pulls at the tight leather tunic she was given to wear, desperate to catch a breath. She contemplates removing the armor, which has so far remained untouched and unnecessary.
Illuminated by the warmth of a dozen wall sconces, the banquet hall plays host to the hefty leader of the Smit
h’s Hammer guild and his direct reports as they enjoy a fattening meal while delighting in gladiatorial entertainment. Pearl eyes Sreya, who sits at Rohe’s right hand as she reaches for more meat. The gluttony on display is as repugnant to her as the drunkenness.
“I want to see another!” Rohe crows as he tears into yet another leg of lamb. “Who’s next?” Of the cluster of strongmen positioned on the far side of the room, not one dares to volunteer, which brings ecstasy on their leader. “No one wants to fight her after only seeing her in action twice? She’s but a maiden! Are none of you hardy enough to stand against her?”
The comment strikes a nerve with one of the warriors, who draws his sword and steps into the miniature arena. Pearl is awestruck by the brawler who must be twice her body mass in pure muscle. Yet she feels no fear, as this new power has proven more than capable of dealing with such brutes. Despite her circumstances, the opportunity to further test her limits brings a faint smile to her lips.
“As with the others, if you can defeat her then you will receive a strong reward from my pocketbook.” Rohe slides his pudgy arm around Sreya’s shoulders and leans close. “Would you do the honor, my dear Sreya?”
His lieutenant exhibits no emotion as she extends her palm outward once again. The symbol on her hand glows as she orders, “Pearl, incapacitate your opponent.”
The identical symbol glows and fades on the back of Pearl’s hands, confirming the order was received, and she takes aim at her opponent with an open palm. Having already seen her in action, the combatant anticipates a strong blast of wind is coming, and he dashes around the air maker in an attempt to dodge. Strangely, her hand remains where it is while she eyes him passively. Though he briefly wonders if the runic stopped fighting, he opts to take advantage and strike her across the back of the head with the broad side of his blade.