*****
The pair arrived at the posh manor before long, and Kelvin couldn’t believe what he saw. If Thoro’s directions were correct, that meant Jerrod Bodan wasn’t a down-on-his-luck despot who was forced to resort to crime. No, the so-called Magician, the up-and-coming leader of the Brotherhood, was a nobleman.
“This can’t be right,” the disguised prince said. “You’re telling me the scourge of my city, the same man who caused all these problems with the Arcanax Compendium, lives this close to our castle?”
“It would seem so,” Rowan said. The man still wore no earthen armor nor wings of stone. Both peered at the luxurious home through the iron fence, perched behind limestone pillars. “It would explain how he was so easily able to gain access to the secret treasury where they found the relic.”
Kelvin clicked his tongue. “There isn’t even a noble family called Bodan in Argos. I can’t place whose manor this is, though.”
Before his eyes, Rowan gave into necessity. His armored shell came into being around him, stones appearing from nowhere and striking his body with extreme force, thrusting him backward from his secluded spot. After only a few moments, he was as whole as the Watcher, even his wings spread wide behind him.
“Are you ready for this?” he said, his voice deepened by the new composition of his body.
“Like I said, we’re not killing anybody,” the prince pushed. “Just point me out to the Magician, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Rowan peered over the pillar, the color of his body blending into the limestone. “I can’t see from here,” he confessed. “But you can. Look through the windows; they’re large and gaudy enough. You should be able to see the man we’re looking for. I’ll describe him to you.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Kelvin insisted. He leaned over and scanned the house through the iron fence. Sure enough, there was a man at the head of a long dining table, surrounded by many of his peers. That fellow sat with some level of prosperity, as though he was familiar with playing the role of a statesman. “Thick eyebrows, thin beard along the jawline, and a pointed bit at the chin?”
“That’ll be him,” Rowan said. “That’s the one that shot the flames at Thoro.”
The tension in the crook of the bow resounded as the lad in red took aim. “Time to let him know we’re watching.”
At once, the arrow shrieked across the property, sailing through the mist produced by the fountain ahead of the grand entrance. A crash echoed into the night as the glass in the impressive window buckled and shattered under the force of the missile.
Shouts and screams followed, but as the arrow quivered in the back of one of those chairs, one man remained silent. Jerrod lowered his arm when he was certain the glass would no longer harm him and looked outside, spotting the silhouette of an interloper.
“Did you get him?” Rowan asked.
A subtle shake was the only reply the Watcher received. Kelvin reached for another arrow as a chair soared through the window, smashing aside any of the remaining glass.
“We have intruders, lads!” a voice called out. “Let’s show them what we do to fools like that.”
“Definitely wasn’t expecting that,” the prince said as he worked to nock another arrow to his bow.
That stone-armored fellow rose in time to see Jerrod leaping out of the window. He swept his arms out to his sides in a quick display. When they locked into place, extended beside his waist, two wavering flames sat upon his skin.
“I think you should have killed him,” Rowan said.
The Magician blasted forth with both spells. One ripped through the air, splashing through the fountain, while the other rotated around the larger of the two. With every revolution, it fed its power into the greater one, enlarging it.
Rowan reached out and heaved the younger fellow away before leaping back from the fence. The larger ball of fire collided there against the strips of iron, sending a blast of heat through the area. The Watcher kept his place, despite the rapid expansion of that flame.
He wasn’t prepared for the smaller ball of flame to soar through a gap in the bars. To his credit, the stone creature remained on two feet, but the blast from even that smaller fireball had him twisting backward. Even in that form, he couldn’t ignore the pain.
As the flames diminished, Kelvin looked to his uncanny ally. A small crack was present in Rowan’s husk—a scar that neither was certain would heal. The Watcher breathed out a pained sigh, and a wisp of smoke rose from his wound, with another escaping his lips.
The prince furrowed his brow and rose, swinging back over the iron fence and taking aim. The golden circles surrounded his pupils, and his vision drew in toward that building. Even with his enhanced sight, he couldn’t spot Jerrod. The Magician was gone, but his henchmen were still present.
Another arrow flew, striking an oncoming brigand in the shoulder. That missile hit him hard enough to send him spinning, and he landed on the stone path as he twisted from his feet.
Rowan leapt into the air, using the limestone pillar to give him a post. He spread his bat-like wings wide, and those members of the Brotherhood who dared to rush at him gasped.
While his ally set to work attacking the men there with fear, the disguised prince ducked back into his hiding place and gathered another arrow from his quiver. He spun back the other way, looking for any other members of the Brotherhood who may have tried to flank him.
He growled, realizing just how bad the odds were, and considered if they had invited more danger than they could manage. As long as their plan unfolded the way they expected, though, it would have all been worth it.
The rest was up to Thoro.
*****
A creak announced the opening of the door, and the excommunicated member of the Brotherhood was overwhelmed by the darkness inside. Usually there was a torch in a sconce on a side wall, but nothing appeared to be present to indicate such a light source at that late hour.
Heggins wasn’t present behind the bar, Thoro knew. Even in that darkness, he was certain the man couldn’t do it all on his own. And with them losing a bartender who worked with the brigands down below…
Thoro couldn’t bear to think about it any longer. While he had intended on entering his former hideout with some measure of caution, his emotions had him stomping forward into the lion’s den. He swept his fingers down his waist until they landed on the handle of the dagger he kept on his hip.
The cabinet on the opposite side of the room protested when he tried to slide it out of the way. When the young man put his weight against it, a wave of pain rushed up through his injured legs. As it subsided and his adrenaline passed through him, he wondered if he could believe anything anymore. His entire world had changed in a matter of days. He was allied with the Silver Serpent, ostracized from the underground society he had always felt a part of, and he was alone. Was he lost as well?
He dismissed that notion, tugging the blade from his belt. At once, he circled to the other side of the furniture and jabbed the dagger into place, prying out with it. Twice, small objects rattled to the ground. Then, the cabinet finally relented, sliding out of place. The door behind it gave no protest either, and there was some light present at the bottom of those steps.
Thoro saw two nails on the ground and narrowed his eyes as he considered their appearance.
Expelling a sharp sigh, he ventured into the basement, favoring his injured leg with every step. The dagger was still in his hand, and he was ready to use it at any moment. Who was to say whether the Crimson Cobra—or the Emerald Adder or whatever he was calling himself—would even come through for him? If he had to take things into his own hands, Thoro was certain he’d perform well enough on his own.
That room in the basement—even illuminated as it was—felt oddly empty and foreign. He froze when he saw the closed door across the way. No light poured out from the slit beneath it, reminding him the light was gone from his life as well. Brielle would never again see that ro
om, and he would never again see Brielle.
He squeezed the handle of the dagger until the muscles in his hand protested. The expelled brigand couldn’t dare to look at that door for much longer, however. As he averted his gaze, he looked instead to the other door in that room. That was his target, he reminded himself. That was where the Magician kept the artifact that had ruined everything about the place he called home.
Though the door was pulled shut, a light poured from the cracks there. The leaders were likely inside, Thoro knew, but there was no other choice. He would have to liberate the Arcanax Compendium from them. Jerrod could never be permitted to use it again.
Once more, his steps were muted. After the gamut of emotions he had gone through, he was left feeling hollow again. It was for the best, he reminded himself. Emotions were a distraction, and he could not afford them if he meant to find a victory that night. As he drew up next to the door, he flipped the dagger over in his hand and blew out one last, deep breath, his free hand hovering over the doorknob.
At once, he slammed his way into the room, moving at a feverish pace to its center. Everything seemed to come into focus at a slow pace. He realized he had never been in that room before, and there was much to take into account. An empty table was on his right side, against the wall that bordered Brielle’s. Across the way, another door led deeper into the hideout, much to his surprise. Thoro hadn’t a single notion there was more to the Brotherhood’s hideout than those few rooms. The fact the door was somewhat ajar only added to the newfound anxiety.
On his left, he found what he ventured to his old stomping grounds for. The Arcanax Compendium sat atop another narrow table, just before the leaders of the Brotherhood.
A chill went up his spine as Thoro looked in that direction. There was no telling just how long the three older members of the group had been dead. They sat posed in a way that almost looked as if they were still considering how best to drive the Brotherhood forward.
Of course, Jerrod had murdered them. That was how he gained the power in the first place. That was how the Magician—nobody before the old relic was pilfered—wrested control of the Brotherhood.
He shuddered again. All those times Jerrod walked into the room and spoke to the three fathers of the Brotherhood, he spoke at them as if they were still there. But it was clear from their wrinkled skin and the state of their decay they had been dead far longer than two fortnights.
It was not as though Thoro had never seen a dead body. He had been trying to make one out of the Silver Serpent for some time. But seeing those three corpses sitting against the wall there felt so unnerving. Though they were strangers to him in all but title, their deaths struck close to home.
The former member of the Brotherhood shook his head. No, it wasn’t his home anymore, he reminded himself.
He let that unease drift away. Every second spent in that basement was one more he couldn’t afford to delay. Thoro inched closer to the relic. There was no telling whether his unexpected allies were able to distract his nemesis. He couldn’t spare any time to chance.
“Welcome back,” a voice rasped behind him. When he turned, he saw Ciara, the Banshee, just before that door to the unfamiliar room. “Jerrod said you would come.”
There was something different about her, Thoro considered. She carried herself with an air of confidence. But there was something beyond that. Ciara no longer seemed like the person he had whisked away from the back room of that tavern.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “We should both be running from here, right this instant.”
An impish grin appeared on the woman’s face, and she shook her head. “I’m right where I want to be.”
“These people are dangerous,” Thoro protested, sweeping his arms wide toward the table beside him, where the dead leaders of the Brotherhood sat. “Can’t you see that?”
“They didn’t have the vision the Magician has. It’s the very same thing you lack,” she croaked.
“Enough of this,” Thoro said, growling as he spun on his wounded leg. He reached for the relic.
“No!” Ciara screamed.
That single utterance sent the former member of the guild teetering to his side. His eyes widened when he spun around and saw the madness etched into the woman’s features.
“What have they done to you?” he spat. Though he had meant to spare the Banshee from the Brotherhood, it seemed she had already cast her lot with them. “To hell with you. They need both of you, but they won’t have the Arcanax Compendium.”
Before he could lunge for the relic, she screamed again, the power overwhelming. He was thrust into the wall, where he could already feel the air growing thin. As terrifying as that notion was, he was more shocked by the sound of that scream. It wasn’t a formless shout, he realized.
She was calling for Jerrod.
*****
The house seemed quieter than it had in some time. It was only a few hours before dawn, but there was still a silence there she couldn’t enjoy. She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, picturing what lay just above her. When she wasn’t imagining the sword in the loft, she was drifting back to the pier where the Lockspark moored.
She remembered gazing at the Naiad’s Gift, which had docked some time before. Marin meant to congratulate her young protégé on sparing that vessel from any damage. Every crewmember that sailed aboard one of Volpe’s ships and made it back to Argos owed the prince their lives, even if they didn’t know who saved them. The encounter with Liam Black was harrowing, but his quick thinking and keen eyes saved more than just one ship that day.
At that moment, waiting on the pier as the rest of the sailors from the Lockspark moved along, Marin understood why the lad hadn’t waited for her. Those same keen eyes had witnessed her taking a dark turn. Though she knew it was justice that compelled her actions, she was aware Kelvin would not see it as honest work.
She grumbled as she rose from the bed, finding it colder that night than usual. Once again in her silken nightgown, she made her way out of her room. Without thought, she ascended the ladder in the hallway and found herself in the loft, where a soft ray of moonlight splashed through the window, shimmering on the edge of that sword.
Marin danced across the beams, no longer favoring a wounded limb. She arrived at Lasho’s sword and fell to her knees before it.
“I fear I’ve lost my way, my love,” she spoke. “And worse, I think I may have misled a young man who could have made something of himself.”
The weary vigilante tipped over to her side, smoothing out her gown when she leaned her thigh against the wood. Her fingertips glided over the blade as if it was fine crystal. She would have sworn she heard a metallic thrum.
Marin cast her gaze out the window, watching the moon slide into position above the harbor. There was no innocence out there on the sea or anywhere on Tellest. It was a trick of the stars, a hope a parent could shield their child from the harshness ever present in the world. Kelvin was still young, but he would come to see that eventually. It would be a bitter realization, but it was what separated foolish boys from wise men.
The Silver Serpent bowed her head, content and comfortable in her new position beside the sword of her beloved.
That comfort was not meant to stay. A haunting cry echoed across the city, like a wail upon the very wind itself. Marin jerked upright, and the hairs on her arm rose as if they were willed by the static of a storm. She waited to hear if that noise would repeat, but it grew silent once more.
A sigh shook her frame. She leaned forward and planted a kiss upon the blade before rising to her feet again. Balancing across those beams, she reached the ladder. At the edge of that loft, she paused and looked back to Lasho’s sword.
“I still see you some days,” she whispered. “When I close my eyes, you’re always there, but lately, I swear I look into a crowd and see you there. You’re watching me, and even when I’m most afraid, it gives me comfort.”
Marin’s lips separated as she mea
nt to tell her lost love more of her feelings, but another sound echoed instead. Another scream rang across the area north of her home—that one more human and filled with terror.
A subtle nod was all she afforded herself. The Silver Serpent leapt down the ladder and prepared to take action.
*****
Arrows flew across the courtyard of the manor house, and a great winged being dove amongst the brigands who had taken up shelter there. None of those members of the Brotherhood could pass the reaches of the fountain—not while the lad in red shot off one missile after another.
Kelvin reached up for another arrow and gnashed his teeth together at the simple touch. That volley would go on no longer, he knew. Only one arrow remained, and he meant to keep it for Jerrod, if only he would show his face again.
“Watcher!” he called out to warn Rowan.
But that stone-shrouded man landed amongst some of the Magician’s allies. He whipped one man aside with his wings and delivered a stunning hook to another.
A fierce crack resounded, and his body shuddered, though he remained on his feet. Rowan turned aside and noticed another person there. They didn’t look as crude as the rest of the Brotherhood. That man held a halberd in his hand, and when the Watcher cast his gaze at him, it teetered from his fingers. More than likely a guard employed to watch over the manor, his body went rigid as the man of stone stomped toward him.
Rowan placed his palm on the fellow’s face and shoved him away.
The members of the Brotherhood knew they were beaten and by only two opponents. They looked at one another, wondering if there was any way they could hold up against the Watcher and the man in red, especially since Jerrod seemed to be nowhere in sight.
Though there were a few more cracks in the Watcher’s armor than he would have preferred, he stood proud, ready to face down those odds.
Everyone in attendance at that manor froze when an ethereal scream rang through the area. It was as if the wind had found a way to make an attempt at language, though the only word it knew was the Magician’s name.
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