Like every other type of magic, any permanent creation with mana had a much higher cost than a temporary effort. It was why a water weaver could not easily create drinking water, as it needed to not revert to mist after a short period and therefore make drinking it useless. Nature mana was the same. As one of the biggest threats in the valley, her mother spoke of the power of the Dryads at length, and their ability to heal was one of their greatest strengths. But even the strongest Dryads were left completely exhausted after a single significant healing, as any effects needed to be permanent or they might make things worse in the long run.
“So, are you satisfied, Queen Trikk? Will you swear to me now?” the man asked.
Trikk couldn’t help but grin at being called that—and by an Ascended, no less! This outcome was not what she had expected, but it was certainly better than being annihilated. She would still be queen. She would still have the chance to grow into her queen’s body, a chance to have her own brood. In time, she might still even build her Arachne Empire, if she kept this Ascended happy. She could do that; she was queen, she could do anything.
She lowered her head to swear her fealty to this man. It would be the first time in history her race had worked with others, and an unexpected excitement colored her thoughts. This was a good thing, she told herself. “I, Queen Trikk of the Arachne, swear myself and my race…” she paused, as she realized she did not yet know his name.
The man’s eyes sparkled, appearing to realize the same thing. “Aziel,” he said.
“… swear myself to Aziel,” Trikk continued, before quickly correcting herself. “Lord Aziel.” She licked her lips. This was not going as smoothly as she hoped. “Let me try again,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I, Queen Trikk of the Arachne, swear myself and my race to Lord Aziel. I also swear to serve the…” Once again she paused, grimacing in frustration.
Aziel on the other hand, laughed aloud. “The Fallen,” he replied.
“I also swear to serve the Fallen,” Trikk quickly said, wanting this to be over. Gray runes formed before her and she let herself relax. At least she did not have to repeat the whole procedure again.
You have petitioned the Fallen for a place in their faction.
Faction leader Aziel has accepted your petition to join the Fallen.
The Arachne have joined the Fallen.
“I welcome you, Queen Trikk,” Aziel said, as with another wave of his hand, the rest of her cluster was freed from the vines. “Now, let’s discuss your role in the council of races.”
Trikk furrowed her brows. What council of races?
Chapter 13
“Lady Celia,” a distant voice called out to her. “It’s time to wake.”
“I’m… I’m not a lady,” Celia mumbled. “Master?”
“No, not master.” Someone chuckled. “Have you forgotten my voice already?”
Celia winced as she struggled to open her leaden eyelids, the light bright as suns in her sensitive state. Beside her sat a man in simple but clean white robes, and Celia stared at him until her vision began to clear.
“Duren?” she asked at last.
“Good, you remember. At least we know your mind is still intact.” Duren gave a happy clap of his hands, causing her to wince again. “You had the alchemist so scared he couldn’t keep his bowels under control! Or maybe it was because I threatened to hold him responsible if you didn’t wake up. Either way, success!”
“Where is Issac?” she mumbled, her voice still weak. The searing light was only soft candles, she saw now.
“Alive and well.”
Celia tried to sit up, but fell into a coughing fit instead.
“Here,” Duren said, holding a wooden cup to her lips. “It’s just water, drink up.”
She didn’t fight him; she took a tentative sip, then a thirsty gulp before letting out a relieved sigh. She rested her head against the bed’s backboard as she took in her surroundings. Other than the bed and the chair Duren was seated on, there was a simple cabinet and dresser to one side of the wooden walls, and a long counter on the other. There were no windows and the whole room was lit by the warm light of several candles.
“Where am I?” Celia asked.
“Fes, of course,” Duren chirped. “Where else would you be?”
Celia shook her head, then immediately regretted it as her head began to throb. “I don’t remember much…”
Duren chuckled. “Well, that is to be expected—you were a victim of powerful poison. Black Tronik, to be exact.”
“Black… what?”
“Black Tronik extract, harvested from the Black Tronik flower. It is the deadly poison of choice for certain high courts. I’ve used it myself on certain occasions.” Duren shook his head. “Interesting how something requiring such a delicate process to create could find its way to a nothing town like Fes, and into the hands of an angry man who somehow knew the proper dosage.” Duren placed both hands on his lap as he regarded her. “I tried Inspecting you,” he said, his tone more somber, before his smile returned and he gave a short shrug. “It failed, which is an interesting result in itself.”
Celia narrowed her eyes. “What were you hoping to find out?” she asked flatly, not trying to hide her displeasure.
Duren didn’t seem surprised by her reaction—but then again, Inspecting someone without their approval was rude and insulting, even hostile. Doing it while she was unconscious was even worse.
“I understand your consternation, I truly do,” he said. “But please appreciate my position.” He pointed a finger at her. “You shouldn’t be alive. As far as I know, no one has ever escaped the deadly grip of Black Tronik poisoning. You are either very highly leveled, or have a powerful ability to heal, perhaps both—though the ability to heal is not something I expect to find in a Succubus, even one as unique-looking as you.”
Celia remained silent. By “unique-looking” she was fairly certain he meant the gray color of her skin. If not for her Master and his soul mana, she would still have her original white skin and blonde hair, as a Succubus usually retained the physical traits of her former race. Usually, the only real changes were the golden eyes, horns and tail. All other physical alterations were more enhancements than anything else, a way to make it easier for her to lure someone and Siphon what she needed from them. Celia herself had benefitted from an ever-increasing list of traits as she went up the ranks. With her healthy, blemish-free skin, a slightly athletic and lean figure, as well as enlarged breasts, she was practically a dream come true for most human males.
Celia shifted on the bed as a low ache started in her stomach, reminding her of her close brush with death. Yet again, her Soul Link with her Master and his ability to heal her through it had saved her life. In fact, given how effective his abilities were, the fact that she still felt so weak and in pain was a testament to how powerful the poison must have been.
Duren seemed to misread her silence for offence. “Tell you what,” he said, in a more joyful tone, “as an apology and recompense for my unseemly behavior, go ahead and Inspect me. You do have the Inspection skill, yes? Detect Magic perhaps?”
“Just Inspection.” Celia watched him, not knowing what to make of this. The truth was, if he hadn’t told her about his failed Inspection attempt, then she would have never known about it. But why waste an opportunity when so readily given?
Duren shivered slightly as her Inspection began to work on him. Her mark warmed as gray runes manifested before her, which only her eyes could see.
You have successfully Inspected your target.
* * *
Name: Duren Killien
Race: Human/Elf Half-breed
Rank: Lesser Enlightened
Level: 19
* * *
This brief report was as she expected—with her Inspection skill only at level 4 and without supplementary skills such as Detect Magic, she wouldn’t have access to his skills, traits and mana total. Even so, one thing caught her attention. “Half-breed?”
Celia tried to control a smile in the face of such silliness. “Is that how she describes your father? A tree?” Then a realization came to her. Wasn’t Duren a noble? So that would make him a noble half-breed? Even Celia, with her lack of education in these things, knew nobles took race purity, blood, and ancestry seriously. She couldn’t imagine a half-breed being treated as an equal, or even close to it. She was about to ask more questions, but stopped herself—his mother’s possible infidelities were none of her business.
Besides, something else from her Inspection interested her.
While her experience with human and elf half-breeds was almost nonexistent, she couldn’t imagine Duren being much older than thirty-five, perhaps forty. This made his Level 19 far above average. There were only two possible paths he could have taken to achieve this.
The first was that, like her, he was a Champion, and an Ascended had empowered him—a highly unlikely, even impossible scenario. Her Master had only been able to do what he did due to the unique properties of soul mana and how it could grow a vessel directly. Even then, her Master had been clear that he did not desire to do it again, for anyone. He had not been very open about why, but he did imply the high cost such an action entailed, a fact which made her even more appreciative of his actions.
So that left only the second path, a path drowned in blood.
“You aren’t a normal priest, are you?” she asked.
Duren picked up the cup of water again. “Technically, I’m not even a priest anymore,” he said mildly. “I hope you are satisfied and will no longer hold my Inspecting you against me.”
Celia opened her mouth to ask another question, but Duren brought the cup closer to her lips.
“Here,” he said. “You need to stay hydrated. As I mentioned, you are lucky to be alive.”
Ignoring the cup, Celia frowned at him before letting out a low moan as that same ache in her stomach grew sharper. She rolled to one side and pulled her legs to her chest, trying to find a more comfortable position. “So, what now? Am I a prisoner?” she asked with closed eyes. “What happened after I fell?”
Duren’s laughter mixed with the sound of his chair creaking as he leaned back on it. “A prisoner? Of course not. Anyone with any connection to that cowardly attack is dead. The last of them were hung last night. Adrian, the son of Fes’s mayor, was given a hundred lashes before he was beheaded—on his father’s orders, no less. As you might imagine, the other mayors didn’t like being held in their rooms as he went about his devious plan. You should have heard him squeal,” he added with a chuckle. “I’ve heard Spotted Epra hogs sound less convincing.”
Celia was not interested in the suffering of a man who had tried to kill her. “So this was all one man’s doing?” She rolled onto her back again, the pain beginning to subside. “And you? How do you fit into all this?”
“Adrian certainly didn’t work alone. The poison and the crossbow he used against you leave little to the imagination. This has Jannatin Black Coats written all over it. As for me,” he said, his smile growing wider as he leaned back further in his chair, “I am the dashing savior in this tale, of course.”
“Black Coats?” Celia asked. She had never heard of anything of the sort, and she was originally from Jannatin.
Duren’s expression lost any humor as he planted all four legs of his chair on the floor and glanced at the nearby candle. “They are a chartered guild who work in the shadows. Assassination, sabotage and subterfuge are their tools. Finding so much evidence of their work here is very sloppy—too sloppy. It’s as if they didn’t care if you knew it was them, or very much wanted you to know.”
“A threat, then,” Celia said.
“It is likely the case,” Duren replied. “If the Black Coats are active here, then I fear the drums of war are going to beat far earlier than I expected.”
Celia wetted her dry lips as she took in the ominous tone of Duren’s words. “Maiv?”
Duren nodded. “The Jannatin have been ready to invade Maiv for a while now. Events in Ejan and among the other factions are lining up to allow them to do so without any intervention. Just as your master sent a message to the other factions with Whiteridge, the Jannatin Empire is sending a message to him through what happened here.”
“Hurting me is not the same as hurting my Master,” Celia said sharply, not liking where this conversation was going. “Or his other followers. If they think reaching me would stop him, then they are sorely mistaken.” But even as she said the words, she knew them to be false. She knew how protective her Master could be. He was more likely to halt or amend his plans if he felt she or anyone else he cared for was in danger.
Duren didn’t say anything, but Celia could tell he wasn’t convinced by her words either.
“You’re the savior then?” Celia asked, not wanting to dwell on the idea that she was the weak point her Master’s enemies had decided to exploit. “What, did you storm the town on your own?”
Duren shook his head just as the door to the room swung open and a Grauda female entered.
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “I’m not the fighting type. The people on the outside only needed a little push, though. Imagine their shock when they learned that the Fallen, the new faction that for weeks I had been saying was their only hope and salvation, had not only been deceived but were in the process of being murdered by those who had abused them and their children.” Duren shook his head. “They practically flew over the walls with rage. Of course,” he added, “a few hundred were killed during the frenzy and looting that occurred after the gates were torn down—but then again, true justice is often messy… bloody. Something was needed to balance the scales.”
Celia didn’t reply immediately, her stomach still aching. “And here I was trying my best not to harm the townsfolk. Is this what you meant by meeting earlier than I thought? You could simply have told me what they had planned.”
“And miss all the fun? Please, Lady Celia, as if a more detailed warning would have made a difference. I saw that glint in your eyes—you were looking forward to them trying something.” Duren leaned back on his chair again. “Too bad that something was too much for you to handle. Your efforts to not harm the innocent have not gone unnoticed, however. I intend to use it to bring the last of those who hold onto their prejudices against you and your faction in line.”
Celia sighed. “I told you, I’m not a lady.”
“Do you prefer Champion, then?”
Not wishing to move her aching body, Celia gave him a sideways look.
“Surprised? You shouldn’t be. I had my suspicions, but your look just now confirms it. I also know that Lord Aziel is an Ascended—then again, anyone who heard of what happened in Whiteridge and has any idea of how spell-weaving works could have figured that out.”
The female Grauda, who had remained silent until now, positioned herself on the other side of Celia’s bed. She had a vial full of a brown substance in her hand.
Celia watched the vial with trepidation and groaned. The liquid was thick and grimy, and the potent smell coming off it could easily be weaponized.
“I would drink that, if I were you,” Duren said. “It will help with the pain. I must admit these creatures’ abilities in Alchemy were a pleasant surprise. Even the alchemist here in Fes was impressed. They don’t talk much, though, or like to share how they do things.”
Celia opened her mouth to respond and the female Grauda, without warning, tipped the salty contents of the vial into it. Celia gagged as the liquid burned its way down her throat, and she glared at the Grauda. “You don’t have to be so rough,” she growled.
The female’s antennae twitched, but she seemed otherwise undisturbed by Celia�
�s death stare. “Twenty,” she said in that squeaky voice of theirs, then paused, her eyes looking at the farthest candle as her mandibles clicked. “Twenty…” she said again, this time dragging the word out as if trying to find something.
“Twenty-four,” Duren interceded. “Is that what you are trying to say?”
The Grauda pointed at him and nodded vigorously.
“Twenty-four what?” Celia asked, still confused by the whole scene unfolding in front of her.
“Well, if my assumptions are correct,” Duren said, “that would be the number of these creatures—the Grauda, I believe they are called—who survived the attack.”
The Grauda female nodded once more.
Celia sighed. That meant seventy-six dead, a massive blow to the forces her Master had entrusted to her to deal with the Wervins. She didn’t know how he would react when he found out they had died in what could only be called a side mission she had chosen to pursue. Perhaps even more troubling, though, how would Astrel react?
Celia relaxed as the potion’s surprisingly swift effects began to take hold. The throbbing in her head subsided, and the pinching pain in her stomach disappeared, but it didn’t do anything for the pit of despair which began to spread within her. How was she going to explain all of this?
Duren stood, causing Celia to raise her eyes. “Now that you’re feeling better,” he said, his boots knocking briskly against the hardwood floor as he made his way to the door, “perhaps it is time to get on with what you came here for.”
Celia watched him, confused, as he opened the door. Came here to do? What was he—oh, she realized, the meeting with the mayors. “They still want to meet?” she asked, skeptically.
Duren chuckled. “From how much some of them keep asking after your health, they seem quite anxious for it.”
Celia peeled the sheets away and rolled forward to sit on the edge of the bed, moving slowly so as to not aggravate any aches which might have lingered after the potion. Thankfully, all she was aware of was an underlying feeling of fatigue.
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