The man drew a knife and lunged at the pair of them, the blade aimed at Vann. Then there was a whistling noise, and the man's hand went flying one way while he crashed to the ground in a heap.
“Quite an interesting development,” Eckert said, stepping imperiously around them. He flicked his sword, and a line of blood spattered on the grass near Vann's hands. “Where were you hiding on the Seraph, little stowaway?”
“Kiss my ass!” the soldier yelled, rolling around on the ground and cradling the bloody stump of his wrist.
“You're not really my type,” Eckert said, idly twirling his sword in a circle by his side. There was something different about his smile now – it was deeper, more sinister - and Jazana realized that as scary as Eckert was normally, there was something even darker lurking in there somewhere. He looked over at MacAngus. “What would you have me do with this one, Bosie?”
Vann made a face as Janaza snorted a laugh. “Bosie?”
MacAngus's fingers rubbed back and forth on the haft of his bell-mace. In that moment Janaza realized that there was nothing between her, Vann, and the business end of the instrument, and one of those scything wind spells could be headed their way with almost no room to dodge. She edged her body in front of Vann.
“Eckert, check the other one,” MacAngus said. “The one the orc threw her weapon into.”
The Avatarian strutted over to the body, bent over and pried the helmet off the head. “Recognize this one, Mister Fyfe?”
Vann swallowed, clearly a little uncomfortable at the sight of the dead man's glassy eyes. “Aye. He's another one of the palace guard.”
MacAngus turned his head towards the edge of the plaza. Yilon stood there watching the whole scene take place, his face tight. “Did you know about this?” MacAngus accused him.
Yilon shook his head. “No! I had no idea!”
Arielle's omnichord whipped through the open air at Eckert. The Avatarian scurried away, moving back to MacAngus's side while dragging the wounded stowaway with him. The remainder of MacAngus's soldiers gathered around their Lord, many of them dragging their wounded with them. Vann and Janaza stood up as Arielle, Ori and Cel stepped up next to them.
Marebaas joined them, his fists raised. “Let us at them, Vann! We'll trample them before they can get away!”
Vann looked back and forth between the two sides. Many of MacAngus's men were too injured to fight, to say nothing of those that they'd slain. The only two real threats left were MacAngus himself and Eckert, although Vann knew that if they attacked at once there was no way the two men could hold them off for long. Yilon stood between the two groups, his own head whipping back and forth wildy, stopping for a moment at the sight of the bare-chested Janaza and Cel.
Rorzan floated down next to him. “Well? What are you waiting for?”
He felt the harmonic connection with Janaza crackling between them. It would the matter of a moment to add Arielle, Cel, and Ori to it and bring all the power crashing down upon their attackers' heads. The guitar felt warm in his hands, the strings pliable, easily able to summon forth whatever power he wanted. How long would they be able to stand against it? Could they even?
Vann hooked the strap over his shoulder, letting the guitar hang by his side, his fingers hovering over the strings. He held out his other arm across Marebaas's chest, holding the satyr back. “You have one chance, Lord MacAngus. Leave now...” He held out his arm and pointed a finger at the big northerner. “Or make a stand.”
Eckert took a step forward. “You've got some balls, lad.”
“Eckert, wait.”
MacAngus stared levelly at Vann. Vann met his gaze, forcing himself not to blink. “It appears as though there's more going on here than we first realized,” MacAngus said. “And I will not pass up an offer of leniency from a worthy opponent.” He inclined his head. “We will leave. Eckert?”
Eckert waited a moment, as if expecting some sudden reversal of the command. Then he sighed and turned that cocky smile back on Vann. “Well, Mister Fyfe, it's been a pleasure. I'm certain we'll meet again sometime in the near future.”
His sword sang through the air, opening up a swirling dark portal. The soldiers quickly retreated through it, Eckert tossing the handless stowaway through like a sack of potatoes. MacAngus himself was the last to leave, keeping his eyes on them as he backed through the portal and disappeared into the darkness. A moment later, the portal closed with a pop.
Vann sagged, falling to his knees and breathing heavily. “Oh thank the First Gods he left, I didn't think that would actually work.”
Janaza laughed and hugged him around the shoulders, her breasts swelling against his shoulder. “Never underestimate the effectiveness of bluffing, Vann!” She rubbed her cheek against the top of his head, inhaling the sweaty scent of his hair.
“How many injured?” Arielle asked Marebaas.
“Not sure,” the satyr said, turning around. “Fan out! Get a head count! Healers, stand ready!”
“I should go help,” Janaza murmured to Vann. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, go,” he murmured, sitting down on the ground. His whole body was shaking as the adrenaline of fighting left him, sapping him of the rush of strength it brought with it.
“Are you sure?”
He lifted his head and offered her a small smile. “Yeah.”
Janaza ruffled his hair, then grabbed her bass and turned to help as the wounded satyrs came forward. As she did, she caught a glimpse of Rorzan, hovering apart from the group. He was staring down at them, particularly Vann.
His expression was tight, and full of rage.
***
“How many did we lose, Eckert?”
The Avatarian rubbed the wet cloth along his arms, washing dirt and grit off his skin. “About half a dozen, give or take. It was mostly that orc. Branna mentioned her but I underestimated her fire.”
MacAngus folded his hands over the end of his bell-mace and rested his chin on them. He cast his eyes over the fallen forms of his men, covered by thick blankets.
He didn't blame Vann and his allies for defending themselves. He blamed himself for not seeing through Branna, for allowing himself to be suckered into chasing a young man across half the world who seemed to just want to be left alone. If he hadn't given chase, if he hadn't attempted to take Vann, what might have happened? MacAngus felt as though he could feel the track of history shifting, with him as the pivot point.
“If I may ask, Bosie...” Eckert said through the wet cloth he was dabbing at his face with. It came away streaked with black and white, and a little bit of red. He wiped a thumb across his nose, blowing away a droplet of water. “Why did we retreat? Whatever attack they sent at us I could have turned away.” He gestured to his sword, sheathed in it's cane by her side. “There was no scenario in which we could lose.”
Lord MacAngus closed his eyes. “Do you remember, Eckert, when you first came to our lands, and I told you of our history?”
Eckert leaned against the wall, his eyes far away. “Of course..”
In his mind's eye, clear as day, MacAngus pictured the last thing he'd seen before the darkness of Eckert's portal had swirled around him and spirited him back to the safety of the Seraph. The young man, Vann, standing in the center, that lacquered black guitar in his hand. To his side, an orc, topless and unashamed about it, looking as though she could move to attack them or defend him in moments. More non-human races beside him, a mass of satyrs behind him. As he held the image in his mind, it transformed, the forest behind them becoming the brown of worn paper, the figures shifting into others he'd seen in the pages of a book a long time ago. Vann became Rorzan Diavolo, the orc became Arielle Gamron, and the others became the members of Bonecarver.
“In that moment, I saw not them, but other figures, striding out of legend.” MacAngus slowly opened his eyes and looked at his friend and confidant. “It seems as though history has a refrain, Eckert. And they're it. You saw it too, right? The lad's eyes?”
; Eckert breathed a slow breath out through his nose. “I think so.”
“They weren't the eyes of a bloodthirsty conqueror, nor the gaze of a future despot. Those were the eyes of a man who's going to change everything.”
The Avatarian nodded. “All it takes to change the world is the will of a single man.” He smirked. “Even if he's still a bit wet behind the ears.”
MacAngus sighed. “Things are about to get very interesting, Eckert. Very interesting indeed.”
“Milord?” One of his men stuck his head into the room. “Helm wishes to know our heading.”
“Back to Papreon,” MacAngus said as he got to his feet. His jaw tightened. “I need to have a chat with Lord Branna.”
As he stomped out of the room, Eckert leaned against the wall, taking his cane into his lap. He ran his fingers over the thick pommel jewel. Faintly, the scrape of his nail along the stone made a humming noise, as if it was the rim of a wet wine glass. “Very interesting indeed...”
Chapter Eleven – What Happens Next
The Elders' Chamber in one of the large longhouses ringing the square had no seats, only cushions on the floor. Vann sat on one, Rorzan hovering over his shoulder like an attending vizier, as he faced the satyr Elders across from him on their own cushions. He back still ached from where the soldier's dagger had plunged in, but not nearly as much as it had when the blade was still in his flesh. The stab had clearly been aimed at his heart, but it seemed as though he hadn't gotten a proper angle. If he had, not even Janaza could have saved him.
“I think we can consider ourselves lucky none of our own perished today,” Marebaas said to one of his fellows.
“But he let them go!” one of the others said. “Even after our nose was bloodied, he still let them go. He cannot be the true Scion!”
Vann felt as though the remark was an attempt to get a rise out of him, but he was missing the context and merely arched an eyebrow.
“Mind yourself,” Marebaas said in a low voice. “You felt his power earlier too, didn't you? I didn't detect a hint of doubt then.” The other Elder who had spoken glowered at Marebaas, but didn't say anything further. “Now then, Vann. You wish to take Cel with you on your quest, correct?”
Vann looked up at Rorzan. The ghost's face was unusually sedate, not nearly as animated and peppy as it often was. He'd said barely a dozen words to Vann since the end of the fighting earlier that afternoon. “I'd like her along,” Vann said. “Rorzan?”
The ghost shrugged one shoulder. “She'll fit, and she's got the might behind her.” He managed a wry grin. “That makes one guy and four women, Vann. Becoming a player already.”
Vann felt his face redden. “Can you not?”
Marebaas nodded. “You are free to stay with us as long as you need to while you plan your next move and heal up. I had some of the bucks prepare a few rooms upstairs for you.”
“Thank you,” Vann nodded.
“Now if you'll excuse me, we five need to have a discussion.” The look on Marebaas's face made it clear that it was a discussion he was most definitely not looking forward to having.
Vann walked a ways away from the Elders' Chamber to give them and himself privacy before turning to Rorzan. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just thinking about things.” Rorzan floated down to his eye level. “We have a full band now, Vann. Two guitars, bass, drums, with Arielle filling in the gaps with whatever other flair we need. I may not have any of my senses left, but even I felt something shift when the lot of you jammed in the plaza.”
“There was so much power there,” Vann said, the memory of the weight of the magic pressing down on him making him feel both elated and terrified. “Like I could move mountains.”
“Maybe that's a stunt we can attempt once we've honed your skills and theirs a bit more, eh?” Rorzan punched him in the shoulder, his fist phasing through Vann's bicep. “I think Ori might benefit from you teaching her what you know from your time in Papreon. She's a good shredder, but she should probably learn a few more fundamentals. Once that's done, you two will be shining golden guitar gods.” He mimed playing a lick on an invisible instrument.
Vann nodded. “I'll talk to her. Do you have a plan for where we go from here?”
Rorzan made a face and looked out the window at the forest beyond, as if his answer lay hidden in the trees. “Look, I know you weren't entirely sold on this a few weeks ago, but I feel like I need to make this point again, especially given what happened today. They're not just going to leave you alone, Vann. The Lords will chase you across the world and back until you're no longer a threat.” He flew around Vann and gestured to the guitar. “You're a marked man so long as you carry this, and I'd like to think you've become a bit attached to it at this point, enough to not just huck it into the woods, change your name, and go live on the Dantrak Cliffs south of here for the rest of your life.” He paused. “I mean, Janaza might be down for that, but the rest of us...”
He wasn't saying anything Vann hadn't already thought of himself. He sighed. “You're right.”
Rorzan perked up. “I'm glad to hear you say that. Get some rest tonight, kiddo. Tomorrow we really start planning.”
The ghost left, flitting through the wall to go find Arielle, leaving Vann alone with his thoughts. Despite his hopes that the opposite would happen, a weight had settled on his shoulders, more acute than the guitar hanging off his back.
Had he just promised Rorzan he'd go fight a war for him?
Though he'd never been to Ibanz, he'd heard the stories. Voiceless, criminals, and all manner of other undesirables treated like little more than vermin as they toiled away deep in crystal mines to fuel Ibanz's ports, the only real thing of value that left the country's borders. It was as if the fates had conspired to punish the southern nation for playing host to Rorzan centuries prior. But even so, was he really prepared to fight as required to liberate such a place?
The clop of hooves on the floor behind him turned his head. Marebaas stomped out of the Elders' Chamber, shooting a dirty look over his shoulder at the inside of the room. He almost bumped right into Vann. “Oh! Apologies, lad.”
“Something the matter?”
Marebaas scowled. “Buncha small-stemmed soft-hooved cowards, that's what. We've been waiting for today for three centuries, and they just want to sit on their hands and do nothing to help you.” He trailed off into an incoherent series of grumbles.
Vann waited until he was done before speaking. “I have a question for you, Elder.”
“Ask away.”
Vann looked in the direction that Rorzan had gone through the wall for a moment. “You seem to be in the know about what Rorzan was like centuries ago. What were his plans were back then?”
Marebaas's eyes took on a proud glint. “Aye, quite the master of the long con Rorzan was, even back then. He knew that it wasn't guaranteed that his Rebellion would succeed, so he planted the seeds of long-term contingency plans that are only just now coming to fruition. Matter of fact, the night before that fateful final battle, he called his closest allies together, my father among them, to make sure the proper precautions were taken.”
Vann felt his heart quicken, a prickling sensation spreading along his shoulders. “Such as?”
“Well, for one thing, hiding instruments of power over here in the East so the Lords couldn't track them all down and destroy them.” Marebaas ticked off on his fingers. “The harpies got a guitar, we got the drumkit, the orcs got the bass, and he even said there's a few more hidden about. There are also some hidden caches in and around Ibanz, along with secret entrances to strategically important areas. Whether or not those are still there is obviously yet to be determined, but Rorzan was confident that those who came after him would seal the obvious ones and miss the more clever ones.”
“So Rorzan was planning even back then that one day he'd be back to wrest Ibanz from whoever held it?”
“That was the general gist of it all, yes. He even hinted at some plan he had to
cheat the headsman's axe, and well, you see him as he is now. Damned clever of him.”
“Yeah,” Vann said, feeling the weight on his shoulders double down. “Very clever.”
It took Vann a little bit of searching to find the rooms that the satyrs had prepared for them, but when he did, he propped his guitar up by the door and went to sit on the bed. It was low to the ground to accommodate the general height of the satyrs, and he almost fell backwards as he sat down. Then he realized that nobody was watching, and he let himself sink back onto the cushy mattress. It smelled of plants and the forest, and Vann pressed his nose into the sheets.
For the first time since he'd picked up the guitar in the hidden room underneath the Papreon palace library, he felt uncertain. Rorzan hadn't been entirely truthful with him, that much was evident, and the old Lord obviously had more foresight than he'd admitted to. What was his long-term goal? And how did Vann and the others fit into it?
His thoughts went around in circles for a long while as the world outside grew darker, the sun setting below the treeline. It filtered through the gaps in the oaks, a soft orange that faded to pink, and then to blue. At least, Vann thought, I've gotten to see some wonderful sights this past month.
Knuckles rapped on the door. “Vann?” Janaza's voice called. “You in here?”
Speaking of wonderful sights. “Aye, come in.”
The orc opened the door slowly. She'd managed to locate a blouse-like top to cover up her nudity, but it was comically undersized on her, the fabric straining to accommodate her large bust. She set her bass next to his guitar as she entered. “Been trying to track you down all afternoon,” she said.
“I've just been thinking,” Vann said, sitting up. “What do you need?”
Janaza smiled at him. “I want to take another look at your back, make sure I did a good job with the knife wound.”
“If you wanted me to take my shirt off, all you had to do was ask,” Vann said, hooking his fingers into the hem.
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