Ethan Wright and the Alchemist's Order, (Book 2)

by Kimbro West

  “He is in hiding, my Lord. Most likely in the city somewhere,” answered the Castellan.

  The King looked at the two as if they were complete idiots. “You mean to tell me that you have a confessed murderer on the loose, and you’re watching a SWORD CONTEST?!” The King was livid.

  “I have … mm … my best men looking for him, Sire,” stuttered the Castellan. “And for the sake of appearances—”

  “Besides General Lodbrok, isn’t Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa your best man?” The King waited for an answer, but none came. “Yet here he stands.”

  Heinrich remained silent in his fancy armor. The King sighed as he thought of what orders he should give, or if he should step in and handle the matter himself. He scrutinized the Captain of Tirguard, who stood at unease. “You will bring in Edison Rupert … unharmed — he is, after all, only an old man. You are not to interrogate him — I will speak to him myself. Understand?” asked the King.

  “Perfectly, Sire,” answered Heinrich. He turned and started to head for the High Perch’s archway.

  “Oh, and Heinrich,” added the King. Heinrich turned around, waiting for additional instruction. “You may still go down and give that ‘pep talk’ to your student — the Castellan and I have an outstanding wager that needs to be addressed — for the sake of appearances, that is. We wouldn’t want Renkins deprived of his best chance for success, would we?”

  “I understand, my Lord … thank you, my Lord,” stated Heinrich as he turned on a heel and, led by his nose, took his leave.

  ***

  The clamor of clanking armor filled the Stadion’s field of young champions. Availia calmly sheathed a thin dull blade that was allowed in events such as the Summer Sword. Stanley firmly tightened a strap that had loosened on the back of her chest plate.

  “You’re doing fantastic!” said Stanley, enthused. He had found another loose strap and was struggling with it. He sat Availia down, jammed his foot to her back and yanked the strap tight.

  “Ow!” complained Availia at the tightened armor. “It’s only been one match — nothing to get excited about yet,” she added, stretching her arms to ensure she still had proper movement.

  “Pish, lassie, ah hink yer daein’ a tremedoos job against these idiots,” chortled Keavy.

  The brawny man handed Availia a leather bottle of water, which she took and gulped down. She wiped the dribbles from her chin and caught her breath, knowing she only had a short break before her next match. She gazed upward at the Stadion’s High Perch. “Wonder if they can hear us from all the way up there,” mumbled Availia.

  “Don’t know,” answered Stanley. “I did see Heinrich and Marcus Grenwise up there a moment ago — talking to the King.”

  “Keavy, isn’t Marcus supposed to be with Ethan and Auren?” inquired Availia, handing the bottle back to the burly man.

  “Aye … ‘at was th’ Castellan’s instructions,” he answered.

  “I wonder if something happened — or if they’re back already,” said Stanley. “Guess it doesn’t matter at the moment — we have a contest to win. Back on your feet, Availia,” ordered Stanley with a motivating smile. He offered his hand to pull her off the ground.

  Availia stepped to the line against her next opponent, who was a bulky mass of a boy. Magnus quickly started the match. She flipped the visor down on her helmet and the boy immediately lunged with his sword, recoiled the blade in an obvious fake and cocked the sword back for a competition-ending shot. He was much too slow. Availia avoided the blow, spun to the side and took out the large boy’s leg with the flat side of her sword. He fell back on his rear with a thud. With accuracy, she quickly advanced on her downed opponent, landing a controlled strike to his helmet.

  “Three points awarded — winner … Availia Tanbe!” shouted Magnus, raising Availia’s hand in the air.

  She nodded to Magnus, flipped up her visor, and headed back to Stanley. The VonHaven boy grabbed her sword and helmet, squeezed a leather bottle of water on Availia’s face to cool her down and ensured her armor was adjusted properly.

  Match after match, the tiny girl took out one opponent after another, with more grace and accuracy than any member of the youth Guard. The crowd was enthralled, and started chanting ‘TINY TANBE’ as they applauded the trader’s daughter. Even senior members of the Guard took notice of her speed and control over the blade. Keavy ended up serving as crowd control for patrons attempting to enter the field to get a closer glimpse of Availia in action.

  Stanley kept his cool and gave Availia tactical advice on upcoming opponents, or those he saw as strong in the competition. And one after another the number of contestants lessoned, until only two remained.

  “This is it, Availia — one left,” said Stanley confidently. He checked her weapon for any damage and handed it to her.

  As she focused on her final preparations before stepping to the line, Magnus approached. He wore customary Stadion armor which was rather plain, yet he managed to make it look dashing with his handsome appearance. Availia heard some of the girls in the audience swooning over the Castellan’s son as he approached her. She ignored the hooting and focused her attention on Magnus’ instructions.

  “Looks like they want to do something special before they kick off the final match — something about Red making a ‘ground-shaking’ announcement,” said Magnus. He shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “Sounds familiar, huh?”

  Availia refused to smile and stayed focused. “Yeah — sounds like him alright. Just let me know when you’re ready for me to compete.”

  Magnus was about to reply but was cut short by the bellowing of Red from the High Perch.

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! I stand before you, honored by King and Castellan today!” The short red-haired man leaned over the end of the Perch to easily be seen by all. He spoke into a portable copper funnel device that was strapped over his shoulder. Although more compact than what he was accustomed to using, the device sent his voice booming across the Stadion with similar effect. “In today’s much anticipated SuuuuuuuMMER SWORD, we had an outstanding show of—”

  BANG! A loud explosion could be heard outside the Stadion, interrupting Red’s well-rehearsed speech. It shook the ground. The rumble was felt throughout the stands and even in the High Perch. Red fell backwards and grabbed the King’s armrest to prevent himself from toppling over. The crowd was in disarray as a commotion broke out, stirring up a contagious panic. Billows of black smoke polluted the horizon, looming over Tirguard.

  As the mass of people started to rush for the exits, the King leapt from his seat and put his lips up to the copper device still strapped to Red.

  “EVERYONE STAY CALM!” ordered the King. “Please go back and take your seats until we are finished investigating the disturbance. You will be safe inside the Stadion walls — I swear to you.”

  The people started to calm, although a commotion of voices could still be heard. Most attendees, however, slowly made their way to seated positions throughout the Stadion.

  “Castellan, create a perimeter around the Stadion — your number one priority is to protect these people,” ordered King Basileus. “They need reassurances — do not fail them.”

  “Yy … yes, my Lord,” stuttered the Castellan.

  “I will take my Royal Guard and investigate—”

  “But, my Lord…,” protested the Castellan.

  “I won’t have any arguments — now carry out your orders.”

  As the smoke rose far above the city, the King seized his sword from one of his personal guards and headed through the archway.

  Chapter 11

  Odin the Mighty

  Odin paced back and forth, occasionally pretending to hold the sword which was still stuck in the floor. He stepped over a chunk of wood that he had earlier removed from the corner of the table. The Oroborus was out of its silk bag. It seemed rather alert, even though its eyelids were closed. Odin walked up to the creature while scratching his head.

  “I’ll bet yo
u couldn’t foresee me binding with you, creature — such a man as me? I’ll bet you are purposefully holding my sword to the floor of this shack — aren’t you? Wouldn’t want to see me unleash my full potential — my greatness could challenge your reputation….”

  He walked back to the sword and grabbed the handle with both hands and pulled as hard as he could. The sword remained firm in the floor. He grunted and heaved again, to no avail.

  “BRIGAND!” he yelled, his voice echoing into the streets of the market district.

  He sat and rested for a moment. But soon his patience wore thin and he stood again, determined to remove his sword from the floor of the alchemy hut.

  “I will not rest, you infernal creature!” yelled Odin, pointing his finger across the room at the scaly Oroborus. “I am a great warrior — no challenge is too great for Odin the Mighty!” he boomed.

  He rolled up his sleeves, revealing his crippled hand, which he spat on. He rubbed his hands together and took his best grip on the handle of the sword. With all his might he heaved and pulled. For a moment he thought the sword was starting to come out of the floor, but it was his own grip faltering. As the handle slipped through his hands, he careened backwards, crashing through the front door of the hut. He landed on his rear end on the front stoop, the door bouncing back to slam shut with a crash. The people in the streets stopped to stare at the commotion.

  Embarrassed, Odin grabbed the railing and pulled himself up with a grunt. “BE QUIET OUT HERE! CAN’T YOU SEE I’M TRYING TO CONCENTRATE!” he groused as he pulled the door back open. He stared out at the mass of people, some of whom were now chuckling at his expense.

  Suddenly a hooded man emerged from the crowd, stepped up the staircase and came face to face with Odin. Half his brow was covered with a mask. Odin gasped as he saw a hint of blue glowing from the side of the mask that was not held tight to the figure’s face.

  “You…,” whispered Odin in disbelief, “are not supposed to be here.”

  “Indeed,” replied the Mitan. He grabbed Odin’s robe and pushed him into the hut. Odin stumbled backward, crashing into the table next to the sword that remained fixed in the floor. He landed again on his backside but immediately pulled himself up as the Mitan drew back his hood. With long hair draping over part of his mask, the Mitan’s eyes were brilliant through the eyeholes that pressed against his face. He opened his black robe and pulled out a small, slim dagger.

  “Challenge accepted,” said Odin, boldly. As he got to his feet he put one hand on the grip of his sword, pretending that he could easily remove it at any time. “But I will say, how very brave you must be to attack an alchemist who’s bound to the Oroborus — brave or incredibly stupid….”

  “I see,” said the Mitan, pulling off his mask. A bold blue glow revealed the Mitan’s identity to Odin. “Then you know I don’t fear an old man with a sword — especially a man who pretends to be an alchemist, a man bound to the creature temporarily because no other option was available, a man who is not strong enough to remove his sword lodged in the floor. But I do confide — I respect your courage, and if you are strong enough to end my suffering, then I welcome it with all my heart.”

  “You’re….” stuttered Odin, recognizing the Mitan’s face.

  “I am,” replied the Mitan.

  Odin jerked the sword back and forth to try and remove it from the floor as quickly as his arms could move. The Mitan cocked back his arm, aiming to throw the dagger at his opponent. With deadly accuracy, the Mitan’s swift throw cut through the air. Odin stumbled backward into the wall of the hut. The dagger came within millimeters of flesh, piercing his robe and fastening Odin to the wall. The Mitan was in disbelief that Odin was nimble enough to dodge his throw. Odin awkwardly began to remove the dagger from his robe. The Mitan charged across the room, violently grabbing Odin’s throat with one hand and reaching for the dagger with the other.

  “You’re the first in many years to dodge one of my attacks,” grunted the Mitan as he clamped down on Odin’s throat. “Know that I give you respect as you slip into darkness. But you are an old man after all and you’ve had … enough time, in my world.”

  With his throat collapsing, Odin panicked as he struggled for breath. He reached around to the side and felt a hard object resting on the table. He desperately got a firm grip, unable to see what the item was. He squirmed and choked as his face turned red, but was able to force out a few words. “If I recall … you’re much older than I.” He slammed the object into the Mitan’s head, sending glass shattering everywhere. The Mitan’s eyes were slathered with green goop. He released his grip on Odin’s throat but pulled the dagger from the wall at the same time. He took several steps backward, wiping the mystery paste from his eyes.

  Odin grabbed his sword handle with one hand and it instantly released from the floor. He started toward the Mitan and, with his best form, took a mighty swing.

  ***

  Auren and Abbey desperately carried Ethan through the city, with the chubby feline following hastily behind. Ethan had regained some consciousness as they made their way. Sideways glimpses of the city rushed past him. He saw a large gaping hole blown through the city’s great wall, with piles of rubble scattered inward. Members of the Guard lay injured in the streets, blood trickling from their wounds and futile weapons lying abandoned. The debris-filled square was in utter chaos. Sounds of broken screaming filled the courtyard; the stench of charred wood and burning flesh filled the streets.

  Tears streamed from the Orobori’s face as images of injured guardsmen, women and children struggled to help themselves. Ethan knew of only one power that could obliterate such a great stone wall without regard for possible innocent victims that it may protect. And there was only one item that Ethan could think of that would tempt Xivon into the great stone city — the Mortuus Manus bracelet. He wanted to get up and find Xivon; he wanted to prevent the villain from ever hurting Tirguard’s people again. He struggled to move. His efforts were so weak that Auren did not even notice the Orobori’s attempt.

  As seething smoke smoldered from multiple parts of the city, Auren and Abbey continued to march toward the hut. The group hurried into the market district and pushed through the panicked crowds. “MOVE IT!” yelled Auren impatiently as he used his great strength to force a way through the chaos.

  Ethan’s body trembled. He opened his eyes and saw the market district. The Lippy’s sign flashed before him. They stopped for a moment and Ethan realized his hearing had been gone for some time. He felt his body jerk as Auren reaffirmed his grip in preparation to bring Ethan inside the hut.

  Two bright flashes streaked out the windows of MacArthur’s hut. Ethan felt the sensation of stumbling backward, as if he were fading away. He tried to grab hold of Auren, tried to hold onto life. He struggled to hold his eyes open as he felt himself slipping away.

  A pale young girl was kneeling outside the window. Her face looked sad, welled up with tears, yet calm. One eye was a beautiful hazel color that drew Ethan in, while the other was glazed-over, colorless and surrounded by a dark tattoo-like mark. Snowflakes rested in her short dark hair as her breath fogged up the window. Although she appeared to be Ethan’s age, she looked as if she knew something that Ethan did not. Fingers extended from her pale hand; she placed them on the surface of the window. Frost formed and crackled around her fingertips.

  Ethan approached the window cautiously. His hearing seemed muffled. He momentarily looked down at his hands, wondering if he was in a dream or vision. His right hand had a hole in the middle of his alchemy symbol, where the arrow had passed through. The wound was black; the darkness seemed to course through his veins and up his wrist. He hesitantly reached the wounded hand forward and put it on the window. The girl mouthed a scream, but no sound came from her lips. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as the frost that had formed on the window rapidly turned black. Ethan recoiled as if he had done something wrong. The window turned completely black, followed by the entire room. The young
tattoo-eyed girl disappeared into darkness.

  Chapter 12

  A New Wegnel

  “What in the Oroborus is goin’ on in here?” grumbled Abbey, perturbed. She pushed her way through the door to see a spectacle. Chairs were broken, green goop was splattered on the floor, books were tossed about, and an overall disaster had twisted its way through the hut.

  “And who are you to ask me such questions?!” groused Odin in a tiff. “I just took care of one assassin — I can certainly take on more! Brigand!” he yelled.

  Abbey motioned her hands, signaling Odin to calm himself. “Now just hold on — these things can get confusing — splitting yourself in two can be tricky business. You did a fine job binding with Dimon and filling in for Wegnel — I’m here to replace you.” She stepped over the clutter and tilted a chair upright.

  “I don’t know you, lady … and I don’t trust anyone further than I can spit,” stated Odin, raising his sword.

  “Well if you won’t believe me, then believe them,” she replied as Auren shouldered Ethan through the door and set him in the chair.

  Odin threw down his sword and ran over to Ethan. “What happened? He alright?”

  Auren shook his head. “Dunno — I mean, we think it’s poison.”

  Ethan cracked opened his eyes. He saw Odin briefly and mouthed his name. The Orobori then started to mumble incoherently.

  “Odin, listen very carefully — my name is Abbey Valisa. Ethan and Auren came and got me to replace you. You are currently aging thirty times faster on this side of the Oroborus. If you go much longer, you could die soon. Your mental capacity is not prepared — the sooner you merge back with yourself, the better chance you have — understand?”

  “Good — sooner I get unbound to this creature, the sooner I can go track down this Xivon fella and close the book on this whole mess,” stated Odin bluntly.

  Abbey thought for a moment. “Excellent,” she replied. She walked Odin over to the Oroborus, who was still out of its bag. “If you could, Dimon … on this side please?”