by Eric Vall
“Godsdamnit,” I cursed. “Okay, that makes sense. But the propelling end will have a separate rune that works … outwardly to create enough force behind the rocket in order to propel it forward?”
Dragir grinned and glanced over. “Correct.”
“Fuck yeah,” I said with a matching grin. “I’ve got this.”
Dragir snorted and continued drawing.
“What’s that degree?” I asked eagerly as Dragir began to thicken one of his lines.
“The forty-third degree,” he replied. “It is responsible for controlling the amount of energy this other line harnesses. You need to counter your own lines if you’re working with erratic forces like lightning.”
“You’re harnessing lightning?” I asked as my eyes widened.
“You said you needed a spark of energy,” Dragir explained. “Lightning will do, as long as I counter it with earth to ground the more unpredictable facets of the element. This will allow us to harness its energy in a controlled fashion. How dense the earth line is will control how much power comes through.”
I raised my brows and considered the complexity of a single line in rune magic, and then I glanced at the elf beside me. “You know a lot about runes …” I said.
“Yes,” he agreed as he drew.
“If the head of House Syru had the elven scrolls and found a way to decipher them, he could have known even more than you,” I continued uneasily, and my gut began to sink at the idea.
Dragir shrugged. “He most likely did,” he allowed. “The head of House Syru was a very powerful elf. I believe he was nearing his seven-hundredth year when you killed him. He certainly had more than enough time to learn.”
“Shoshanne actually killed him,” I corrected.
Dragir grinned. “You surround yourself with rather deadly women.”
“Of course, I do.” I grinned back.
Then an unsettling thought occurred to me, and my grin fell as I looked at the many degrees marked on the page.
“The Master could know all of this already,” I considered and scruffed my beard as I realized how fucked I was.
“That is less likely,” Dragir said. “You do not know who he is or how long he has lived, right?”
I nodded.
“But you can surmise quite a lot by what you know of his tactics so far,” the elf continued, and he began to thicken a line that ran perpendicular to the others. “The Master needed the head of House Syru’s guidance, so he is not very old. No elf of substantial years would ask for guidance from his peers. It is too degrading.”
“What makes you so sure he’s an elf?” I asked.
“Deya told me.” He shrugged.
“She what?” I demanded. My pulse began to thrum as my confusion peaked, but when Dragir spoke, I immediately relaxed.
“Deya said he has a plot to bring the ten Houses of Nalnora to their knees, yes?” he asked.
I nodded again, and Dragir sent me a wry smirk.
“This is a very elven threat to make,” he informed me, and I couldn’t help but chuckle as he continued. “The Master most likely had House Syru’s leader create his rune for him as well, and if this is the case, he did not study long enough to learn the full extent of what I know. He also remains hidden and allows others from various regions and species to do his bidding for him. So, he is either busy, lazy, or … he fears his personal abilities are lacking. My guess would be this Master of yours is both young and greedy, but not necessarily superior in power.”
I stared. “Holy shit,” I breathed. “You’re right.”
“No, I am not,” Dragir countered. “These are guesses.”
I nodded my agreement. “But they’re pretty good guesses,” I pointed out. “He’s not showing his face, he needs help to wield runes, and so far, he only seems to have the one at his disposal. Plus, he’s obsessed with trying to kill me, which obviously means he fears my own powers will outweigh his own.”
Dragir nodded once more and sighed as he drew another X over his rune.
“What’s wrong with that one?” I asked curiously.
“I used the thirty-third degree rather than the thirty-fourth,” he said in irritation, and as he began mapping degrees once more, he furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “An imbalance of power is not something to rely on. Your power is growing, as you said. The Master’s certainly is as well. For all you know, he could remain hidden because his ultimate goals do not require the level of power he is capable of yet. These endeavors of his could be far beneath him.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, that’s been my biggest concern.”
I let the elf work in silence as he hunched only a couple inches from his parchment, and it was like watching a mad scientist at work. Every line was a different length and thickness than the others, and they were placed so precisely that if his pen wavered even slightly from the degree he worked along, the entire rune would be scrapped and started over.
I was watching carefully when, out of nowhere, Dragir suddenly said, “We’re in here,” in a voice no louder than a mumble.
A minute later, Deya and Aurora came in with two platefuls of food.
Aurora’s eyes went wide as she saw what we were up to, and she sent me a giddy smile as she peeked at Dragir’s work.
“You’re using runes on the bazooka?” she asked eagerly.
I grinned. “Hell yeah we are,” I told the half-elf. “Dragir’s rigging the whole damn thing, I only had to make the frame.”
“That’s going to work?” Aurora asked, and she sounded about as convinced as I had.
I chuckled. “Honestly, I’m starting to think it might. Runes are no bullshit. Every one of those degrees represents--”
Dragir sighed and sent me a pointed look. “This is why no one in Nalnora would teach you about runes,” he explained. “This is sacred and ancient knowledge, but you begin sharing this knowledge as if you are discussing the weather.”
I tried not to laugh at the look on his face and nodded. “Deal, sorry,” I mumbled.
Aurora raised her brows and worked to hide her smile. “We’ll just leave you to it then,” she muttered and leaned in for a kiss before she left.
Dragir shifted the plate Deya left for him aside while he continued drawing, and I shook my head as I shoveled a chunk of what tasted like mango into my mouth.
“Sorry about that,” I told him again.
Dragir shrugged. “It is principle. Although, I do not think Defender Solana requires runic knowledge. She’s more dangerous than many elves I know who do wield runes.”
“You know, she can’t even be burned?” I chuckled. “I’ve watched her walk straight through flames and just stay there. They’re comforting to her.”
“That is terrifying.”
“Rhys said the same thing.”
“Speaking of which,” Dragir replied, and he folded his slip of parchment, “Rhys is here.”
I paused in my chewing. “Seriously?”
Dragir nodded. “Yes, he just arrived in the entrance hall and is telling Deya she looks more beautiful every day. And … now he is kissing her hand.”
“What the fuck,” I growled and dropped the plate to the iron table as I turned for the door.
Dragir snorted. “You do not need to be concerned about Rhys. His wife is infinitely more beautiful than Deya.”
I paused at the door and seriously doubted the claim. “You sure about that?” I asked.
Dragir raised his brows, and a glint came to his serpentine eyes.
“Infinitely,” he assured me. Then he stowed his parchment in his pocket and stood up. “Rhys would be an idiot to be interested in Deya. When House Fehryn has their turn, it will likely be his son who breeds with her.”
The statement caught me completely off guard, and I ground my jaw as the elf’s words hit me in the gut. “He will not.”
Dragir looked up and considered me closely. “For your sakes, I hope you are correct,” was all he said, and he brushed past me to make his way back along th
e hall.
I remained where I was for a moment and wondered if Dragir had been bullshitting about Rhys’ wife. I kinda liked the guy, and it would be much less concerning to me if he had a smoking hot wife of his own somewhere. I grinned as my imagination went wild with curiosity, and I turned from the small room to go meet Rhys as well.
I found Dragir and him speaking alone in the vaulted chamber when I arrived.
“Mason Flynt,” Rhys said with a broad grin, and he offered his hand just as he’d done before the battle against the Master’s army.
“How are things?” I asked him as I shook his hand.
“Things could be better,” Rhys admitted, and he exchanged a glance with Dragir.
“House Fehryn is considering evacuating,” Dragir explained.
I furrowed my brow. “What happened?”
“My scouts have been watching House Syru,” Rhys replied in a low voice. “One hundred soldiers and counting.”
I stared. “Already?”
Rhys nodded in response.
“Well … fuck.”
Chapter 5
Dragir led Rhys and me back to the chamber we’d been working in, and I pulled an extra stool out of the stonework for Rhys as we filed in. His amber eyes darted straight to the bazooka laid out on the iron table, and within two seconds, it was in his hands.
“This is the weapon you wish to use against the Master’s army?”
“Yeah, but we’re still working out the details,” I explained. “This is the prototype.”
“How many will we have?” Rhys asked.
“Six,” Dragir replied, and he seemed to be studying the green-haired elf’s expression carefully.
“That’s not nearly enough,” Rhys muttered and trailed his fingers along the trigger. “We would be better off with twenty, maybe thirty, yes?”
“They’re more powerful than you’d expect,” I assured him. “Six will be plenty.”
Rhys shrugged and returned the bazooka to the table, and then he took the plate of food Dragir had shoved aside. He sent Dragir a grin as he began eating his way through the roasted fish the women had prepared, and while he chewed, he mumbled between his bites.
“With enough of these weapons on hand, we could sidestep the Elven Council and handle this Master ourselves.”
“Defeating his army won’t defeat him,” I clarified, “but between your two armies, the bazookas, and our mage powers, we should have a decent chance at obliterating his entire troop. I figure, if every branded soldier is killed, he won’t have enough minions to regroup so fast.”
Rhys nodded. “I would estimate the same,” he agreed. “The only way he could have built another troop as quickly is by sending the last of his soldiers out to brand anyone they came across.”
I furrowed my brow. “You think he’s abducting his recruits?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Rhys said with a shrug. “He doesn’t need followers if he has enough soldiers. House Syru are a brawny lot to begin with, and if this Master is branding his runes, he only needs to be sure it’s done properly. I’m sure some of his army don’t mind his ideals at all, but the majority of the elves I know would hear one word of his plan and decide they’d rather kill him and carry out the deed themselves.”
I scruffed my beard as I considered this for a minute. “That gives me nothing to go off of,” I muttered.
Dragir must have known where my mind was at. “I would not worry about who this Master is,” he advised. “Right now, all that matters is that he does not succeed. When the time comes, you can only be as prepared as you are and hope that it is enough.”
Rhys cocked a brow. “You’re taking him on yourself?” he asked uneasily.
“Someone’s gotta do it,” I told him, “and I don’t see anyone else stepping up to the plate. I’m assuming you’re more interested in defending House Fehryn than all of Nalnora and the other nations as well?”
I held the elf’s gaze steadily, and I couldn’t help but chuckle as he wavered and looked away.
“Fuck that,” Rhys said with a grin. “I only just found out about the guy. You’re the one who’s chasing him all over the place. You do it.”
“That’s what I figured,” I replied. “So, where will your village evacuate to?”
“We have a fortress in Orebane,” Rhys explained as he shoveled the last of the food in his mouth.
“How is that possible?” I asked with a frown. “I thought the dwarves hated the elves.”
“Not as much as the elves hate the dwarves,” Rhys countered proudly, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes as he continued. “No one knows about the place, of course, and it’ll stay that way. How soon will you have the weapons ready for battle?”
Dragir shrugged. “It is too early to tell. We are still in the production phase.” Then he turned to me. “You might be leaving for the north soon, as well, yes?”
“Shit,” I sighed. “I forgot about House Orrel.”
Rhys lowered his plate and looked at me. “Why are you going to House Orrel?”
“Dragir said their army’s unparalleled,” I told him, and the elf’s eyes widened.
“Not the Wendigo,” he muttered. “Don’t bring those crazy bastards down here.”
I chuckled. “I’m not too excited about the idea either.”
“They’re well in hand,” Dragir replied, but then he furrowed his brow. “I think.”
“Like hell they are,” Rhys countered. “They’re ravenous. Besides, why would the head of House Orrel take the time to talk to a … mage?” The elf’s tone was condescending as he said this, and he glanced at me with a half-apologetic expression. “You know what I mean.”
“Unfortunately I do, yeah … ”
“He will meet with Mason Flynt,” Dragir assured the elf. “My sister will be with him.”
Rhys snorted. “That’ll do it,” he allowed, “but I’d tread carefully with the head of House Orrel if I were you.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“He’s not what he seems,” Rhys warned. “Don’t let your guard down while you’re there and stay strict to your business around him. Don’t mention my name or House Fehryn’s concerns, either. It’s none of his business.”
I tried not to grin. “You’re about to be attacked by a possessed army,” I pointed out. “Word is going to get out eventually.”
Rhys sounded insulted as he responded. “House Fehryn has never required the assistance of the Elite,” he shot back. “I would not have House Natyr or any other get word that a mage is running messages to the Elite on behalf of my House. This is your war, Mason Flynt, I am only caught in the middle of it.”
I sighed, but before I could respond, Dragir cut in.
“We will send a guard to House Fehryn when the weapons are ready,” he told him, and he pulled his folded parchment from his pocket to get back to work.
Rhys nodded and stood to leave.
“I’ll be leading the majority of my village to the north for the next few days,” he said, “but I’ll be back in the south to ready my men as soon as … ”
The elf trailed off, and his eyes flared at the sight of the runes on the parchment. Then Rhys’ gaze whipped between me and Dragir, and I jumped as he erupted in a tirade of angry Elvish.
At first, Dragir responded flatly and continued his work, but when Rhys wrenched him to his feet by the collar of his shirt, the two began a heated argument I honestly didn’t see coming.
Within seconds, they were yelling over one another as they gestured wildly, and I casually shifted my stool back a ways as I eyed the daggers on their hips.
I’d kind of gotten used to Rhys being a friendly guy, but seeing his reaction reminded me that the first time I’d met him, he was in a murderous battle with Onym and his men, which he’d won.
Rhys suddenly shoved Dragir and spit in his face, and whatever his next word meant, it caused Dragir to swiftly punch him square in the nose.
Rhys staggered backward and mopped the bloo
d from his lip, and I cringed as things inevitably escalated between the two elves.
Suddenly, they were locked together as they pummeled each other around the room between words, and their skulls were rammed against the walls of the cave here and there as they went.
I figured I’d let the two work it out amongst themselves since I couldn’t understand a damn thing they were saying anyway, but around the time Rhys locked Dragir in a choke hold to crush him with full force against the wall, I realized I might have to step in on this one.
I’d just stood up when Dragir’s free arm caught the corner of an iron table, and I jumped out of range as he whipped it around to Rhys’ back.
Rhys’ spine let out a hollow crack as the metal collided with it, and he immediately dropped his hold on Dragir. He was clearly having trouble breathing, and by the looks of it, he couldn’t even stand up straight at the moment, but Dragir picked up the argument where they’d left off with his arm hanging limp from the socket.
Both elves had split lips, battered noses, and blood dripping from their skulls through their hair, but I didn’t doubt more than a couple ribs had snapped with the stonework playing a part in it all as well.
Still, I thought Dragir must be making some headway since Rhys finally shut up and listened for a bit.
Until the green-haired elf pulled his dagger and leveled his opponent with a deadly glare. He spoke only three words in a menacing tone, and Dragir narrowed his eyes as he fell silent.
My magic was already sparking in my veins as I prepared to stop the dagger if it went flying, and the tension in the air was stifling while I waited at the ready.
Then Dragir suddenly moved, and within seconds, it was all over.
Rhys hurled his dagger the moment Dragir grabbed for a table, and before I had time to move a muscle, the iron table smashed into Rhys’ face.
Dragir snorted at the elf splayed beneath the overturned table.
Rhys wheezed as he fought for his breath for a while, but eventually, he shifted and shoved the table off himself, and he wiped some blood from his lips before he tried to talk. His voice sounded strained against the pain of his injuries, but his volume was more controlled, and he argued with tense restraint from the floor for a couple more minutes.