Rowan’s body trembled, and he felt the air around him escaping before he could take a breath. Through those tears, he understood why Thoro could not aid him. As members of the Brotherhood scaled the bluff, their former comrade-in-arms made them regret that ascent. Even defeated as he was, Rowan let a grin creep to his face but grew weary, his vision fading.
All sound seemed to stop as he fell to the ground.
The Watcher’s thoughts spun in his head, but they had not yet left him. He knew if the Banshee still screamed, his body could not have tipped forward.
Struggling to open his eyes, Rowan tilted back his head. There, he saw the large man before him, lifting the woman into the air.
Ciara kicked in protest, but Marcus cared not. Though she opened her mouth to let loose a fearsome shout, his grip was strong enough that she couldn’t breathe. The woman’s face turned red as he squeezed harder, and before long, she could no longer hold herself aloft on his sturdy forearm. All at once, her body went limp, and he threw her to the ground.
Thoro wiped the perspiration from his brow when he heard that petite body roll across the stone, and when he looked back, he was surprised to see the new trio there. Marcus looked at that familiar fellow, recalling the last time he saw the excommunicated member of the Brotherhood.
He thought to defend himself to that big man, to remark he was no longer with that organization. His sight shifted to another member of that group, though. The lad in green pulled back on the bowstring and took aim at Thoro.
“Who would have thought it’d be him betraying me?” the former brigand muttered.
When Kelvin’s arrow flung out, though, it didn’t meet Thoro. A loud clang reported as it collided against one last grappling hook and sent it sliding off the bluff. The man who climbed it let out a scream as he tumbled down the hill.
“We may come to blows yet,” the prince said, “but it won’t be today. Not when there are other things to focus on.”
Thoro nodded and blew out a weary sigh. “We’ve solved one piece of this puzzle, but there’s still the matter of Jerrod. Even if Ciara isn’t a threat, he still has the compendium. I doubt this will stop him.”
“And we need to get our hands on it,” Marin insisted. “It’s the only way to rid him of his dangerous powers and bring safety back to this city.”
Flicking the dagger into a spin in his palm, Thoro clicked his tongue. “I can think of one other way we can rid him of his powers.”
Chapter Eight: The Coming of the Aether
He circled that solidified hunk of cement that was once their power-mad constable. A quick motion to his belt left an object in his hand, and he meant to use it.
The fellow narrowed his eye as though he was aiming with a bow, but it was a small, brown ball of leather he held in his hand. He set a path for his projectile to the center of that encroaching crowd, even as his companions threw their own explosives. More than one of those leather containers burst in close proximity to the indoctrinated citizens. The contents weren’t terribly volatile, but as near as they landed, the explosions sent those unwary fools flying.
He had another target lined up. While the misled citizens were the closer threat, he knew that man with the fiery hand was the real danger. He let a steadying breath part from his lips and heaved his grenade into the crowd. With a watchful eye, he saw Jerrod Bodan look down at his feet, just as the flash of light reported the blast.
The Magician flew into the air, and when he dropped, he did so with a loud crack reporting his landing.
The man who launched that projectile leapt into the air, raising his fist in cheer. He proclaimed himself the reason for their victory, turning to his nearest companions to determine if they had seen his endeavor.
“Uncle Edmund, did you see that?” the lad shouted. “Did you see what I just did?” He whistled when his question went unanswered, shaking his head, though that smile never left his face. Though the crowd of citizens kept pressing ever onward, his mirth was unshakable.
He tugged another leather container from his belt, tossing it into the air just above his hand. He bounced it there for a few moments, waiting to see a target worthy of his attention.
His brow furrowed when he understood his last target had not been so soundly stopped. Jerrod climbed to his feet, seething and frothing from his mouth like a rabid beast. He said something, but from that distance and beneath the buzz of the crowd, it couldn’t be heard.
Whatever it was, it came with a counterattack. Jerrod heaved his own missile, a ball of fire that recoiled off the cobblestone, resonating with a bright orange glow at every bounce.
The lad who believed himself the savior of Argos ducked out of the way as that fireball sailed forth. It collided with another solid object, and the resulting explosion cast over the evading fellow. The heat rose over him, but his heart stopped racing when a cool breeze fell over the area only a moment later.
Standing up and brushing himself off, he hadn’t bothered to see what else had been affected by Jerrod’s concussive spell.
But he did notice his uncle’s widened eyes, and his arm hairs stood up. When he turned, the hunk of cement stood in a few pieces. Cracks had been carved into Riptide’s body, and a pulsing beat of water was on display just beneath his chest.
“Nerian!” the old advisor called out.
But it was too late.
Riptide, freed from that mixture, lunged forward—a little slower than usual, but quick enough to wrap his hand around the leather-wrapped concoction in the lad’s hand.
That time, he felt the violent blast, and he could not escape it.
*****
“I don’t mean to be insensitive, but is there any chance you can just stuff her back into that trunk again until this is all over?” Kelvin wondered. “Am I the only one who thinks that might be a good idea? Who is to say if she wakes up whether she’ll still be under Jerrod’s spell?”
Everyone atop that cliff heard the otherworldly roar, as if a dam had burst and let all its water loose. When they looked to the west, none expected that aqueous man to be hovering in the sky. Trails of water and steam resonated from his base, and he soared through the area as quick as one of Kelvin’s arrows. While there were others on that hill, his focus remained on the largest of them who towered over the defeated Banshee. That fierce roar echoed through the area once more before he collided against the Titan.
Marcus fought to stay upright, and every few moments, he sent a punch toward his wild foe. It never made a difference. Riptide moved quicker than they had seen before, empowered by rage. With his ally’s plan in tatters, he pushed beyond his limits. When the Titan did land one of those punches, it went through his opponent without inflicting any damage.
If there was any trace of humanity left in Riptide, none could see it. His body no longer appeared to be in the shape of a person, limbs and faces appearing at random throughout the torrents of water.
The Titan’s allies stood in shock, wondering how they could be effective if their large companion could not.
That hesitation was all the watery combatant needed to seal his victory. A flurry of punches from a dozen directions pushed Marcus farther back, until he wobbled on his heels. Bloodied and bruised, the Titan couldn’t catch his breath. Weary as he was, he kept throwing dizzying haymakers that would have crushed another foe’s skull.
Riptide was no banal opponent. Every one of those punches missed as the man contorted and reshaped himself.
With a grunt, Marcus lunged forward with another jab and felt the displacement of water as his fist crashed through Riptide’s chest. A wave of relief washed over him, for he believed himself worthy of a brief respite.
But when his foe returned to a human shape—still in that shade of blue—he saw the manic smile he wore.
The water around his wrist closed in like a vice and wrenched his arm around. The rotation was so fierce and quick, he was surprised to still have his arm attached. Marcus let out a cry that surprised him, but no more
than watching all that water pull away in the next moment.
He panted as he grabbed his arm, but he realized the worst was yet to come. Mere feet away, all that water consolidated into a large sphere that pulsed and grew. The air surrounding everyone on the hill grew dry, and they watched as the watery orb roiled, like a storm brewing in a perfectly round cloud.
The Titan let fly a defeated sigh, standing straight as he awaited the end.
All that water erupted from the orb in a constant stream then. Marcus fought to keep his feet rooted, but he could only withstand that power for a moment before he was lifted off the ground. With his resistance gone, he was thrown from the cliff like a rag doll.
Not all his companions stood by idly. The man made of stone, injured as he was, raced from where he stood, passing Thoro, and leapt into the air. His grounded friends watched as he teetered on those damaged wings. Despite those cracks and fissures in his body, he pushed forward as fast as he could. Screaming through gnashed teeth, he reached his plummeting ally and grabbed hold of a wrist. Thoro, the closest to the ledge, lost sight of them as they plunged toward the ground.
Another sound caught his attention, like a splash rolled back in time. He turned, watching as that watery being reconstituted into a humanoid shape. That tremendous power did not come without exertion, and when Riptide was whole again, his body took on those flesh-colored tones once more. The villainous fellow fought to catch his breath, and Thoro wasn’t sure if the gleam on his brow was perspiration or leftover water.
He could not consider that for long, though. Seizing the opportunity, the Silver Serpent charged forth, rapier in hand. She was quiet, but when she cut across with that first swing, Riptide felt the danger approaching. He threw himself to the ground, the blade singing just beyond his ears.
Marin pursued at once, letting her sword dance in circles. Desperation grasped Riptide, though. He rolled and swung his legs about until he reached one of the fallen Brotherhood members. Marin lunged forth with her rapier, sure she was about to deliver a killing blow to the man who remained a thorn in their sides.
The metal clang was the only reason she knew she had failed.
As Riptide found his balance, that momentum shifted. He pressed back against the Silver Serpent, and her protégé could tell by her grimace she was aware of the change. Kelvin moved to swing his bow over his shoulder and grasp for his sword when his other remaining ally upon that hill crashed upon Riptide, his jeweled dagger in hand.
The man who was once comprised of water recoiled and drew his hand back, displaying the bright streak of blood there. That injury inspired Marin and Thoro to move faster and closer.
As that song of steel played atop the lookout, the archer spun around to look at their greater foe. Below, Jerrod reached the incline, his confused flock pressing back on Edmund and his hired hands. The Magician took up position beside the ramp, and from above, Kelvin saw the golden letters etched into the open book in the man’s hand.
The wooden bow protested with a creak as he nocked an arrow to the string and drew it back. Those golden rings were summoned to the lad’s eyes as well, and as he drew a focus toward his target, he realized not all was well for him and his allies. Jerrod’s indoctrinated mob was splitting off in several directions. Some fought off Edmund and his men, while others crowded the ramp. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the pinnacle of that lookout and he and his allies were overwhelmed again.
Furrowing his brow, the prince blew out the last of his breath and drew back the bowstring farther.
A mighty roar echoed behind him, and he found he couldn’t ignore it. Kelvin blinked away his enhanced vision and turned before his sight returned to him. Thoro flung himself at Riptide, outpacing his every move repeatedly. Even Marin had to fight to catch up to their foe. In time, they had him caught between them. With one sword in his hand, there was no hope for Riptide to outmatch his opponents.
Kelvin inched toward the battle, his hand again slipping toward his hip—though that time it landed on a leather pouch of flash powder he and his mentor were so fond of.
He didn’t have time to use it, though. With one last growl, Thoro spun around an odd parry and drove his dagger into Riptide’s stomach. His sword dropped from his hand and clattered onto the stone.
But something wasn’t right. The dagger cut too deep. It pushed in past the handles before Thoro felt a body’s protest.
The former member of the Brotherhood looked up at his foe. Riptide did not wear the visage of someone in pain. A wicked smile was upon his face instead, and it was then he allowed the color to fade from his body. A ripple formed where Thoro struck with that dagger, and as it turned to a watery color, he saw what he had done.
He had plunged his blade into the Silver Serpent’s abdomen.
That aqueous being stepped toward the former brigand, and a sickening slurp reported as the blade was pulled from Marin’s belly. She shuddered back, sliding her hand across the wound. There was more blood than she expected, and at once, a chill ran up her spine.
Distracted as he was, Thoro wasn’t ready for the heavy blow that came across his face. Riptide’s watery fist might as well have been a club, for the man could barely keep his wits about him. Another swing hammered into his stomach, and he gasped for air, though it fled from his lips.
Despite it all, he clung to that jeweled dagger. His vision returned to him just in time for him to see another liquid fist coming up under his jaw.
Thoro soared toward the edge of the hill. Kelvin lunged for his former adversary, but he was just out of reach. Thoro slid off the stone, too weary to catch hold.
The disguised prince stared off that ledge, aghast at how things could go so wrong so quickly. While he gazed in that direction, though, an array of light radiated into the heavens. Shades of green and pink and purple rolled like a wave, and Kelvin was reminded of that night those months ago when he first saw the aurora cast across the sky toward his window in the keep.
“Now which one of you fools is next?” Riptide gurgled.
Kelvin had never been so conflicted. He turned from his foe to the ledge and back again, seeing his wounded mentor bringing her sword to bear behind Riptide.
The prince knew, though, what was at stake if he let that book’s magic continue to flow unabated. He resigned to reach the ledge and nocked that arrow one last time, taking aim below.
The commotion on the bluff was lost to the man below who held the compendium. Jerrod swung his attention toward the hill on instinct alone.
It was not the lad in green who he focused on, however. Once Kelvin realized he was not the one being watched, he looked down.
Against all odds, Thoro held firm to his dagger embedded in the dirt. Still too far to reach the Magician, he was defenseless there upon the cliff.
As fire coated Jerrod’s hand once more, Kelvin knew he could wait no longer.
The constant movements of his vision from somewhere close to far away left him with on the edge of vertigo. He blinked away those golden rings from his eyes and took a breath, gazing at the insane arcanist with clear vision. He loosed his missile, listening to it whistle through the air. It reported with a loud thud, and at once, the fire on the Magician’s hand died out. He clutched the feathered shaft that vibrated in his chest, too distracted to notice as his former compatriot slid down the cliff.
Thoro leapt away from the wall, kicking off the ramp until he landed before Jerrod. With one last lunge, he drove the dagger into the leader of the Brotherhood’s abdomen.
The Arcanax Compendium dropped from Jerrod’s other hand, landing on the ground and shutting at once. The aurora dissipated, and the world seemed to grow quiet around the two men who stood before the book.
Injured beyond reprieve, the Magician fell to his knees.
“This wasn’t how this was supposed to go,” he said, licking the blood off his teeth. He spit on the ground and fought to withhold a cough. “I made a promise.”
*****
&nbs
p; He sped along the battlement, never missing a step as he skipped across those merlons. The cadence of his breath was in line with every footfall. Beneath that, he heard the confused chatter of the guards below.
Someone had stolen from the royal bank of Argos, and they were trying to find out who could be so brazen and skilled enough to pull off such a heist.
Jerrod smiled as he considered his luck. While the search was on outside the front of the bank, none would suspect the thieves to be circling around the roof of that extravagant building.
The young bandit smiled as his companion worked at keeping his pace. His breaths were more ragged, but he kept silent otherwise, his steps soft and practiced.
Jerrod leapt over the battlement, sliding down the incline on the rear end of the bank. He made his way forth without any pause, skidding to a stop only when he reached the narrow, flat end of the building below.
He chuckled when his compatriot uttered a word of worry. As that lad slid down, Jerrod turned and caught hold of him, stopping him before he could lose his balance.
“Thanks,” the younger fellow said, flicking his head back to send that mop of dirty-blond hair out of his eyes.
Clapping that lad on the front of his shoulder, Jerrod grinned and fell to his rump atop the building. He reached into his shirt and pulled out the small leather pouch he tucked away there.
The other bandit fell down as well, a little harder and with a pronounced sigh announcing his weariness.
“You know, as the younger brother, you’re supposed to be the one with a little more stamina,” Jerrod teased. “You sound like you’ve run the perimeter of Argos without stopping.”
The lad grumbled. “That’s not why my breaths are so heavy. We just stole from the most protected building in the southern seas like it was nothing. And all we made off with was that little trinket.”
“Come now,” Jerrod said. “This was never about how much it was worth. It was about whether it was possible.”
“We come from one of the wealthiest families in the city. We’ve been rich for generations. Surely there’s something else we could be doing to get a sense of adventure.”
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