It was a half-mark later when they reached the site, Kir surprised to find the Guard in a holding pattern with the forced conscripts, but he spotted the constructs and Levin-bolts flying and sighed. It appeared mages were more active against Valdemar. It made sense, as Valdemar had no true counter to mages beyond what they worked out with their witch-powers, but added some complexity to his normal strategies.
Who was he kidding? His strategies could be summed up in the motto of the Firestarter Order, "Set them on fire!"
"I really shouldn't have practiced so much today," Griffon sighed, going distant eyed and a few moments later one of the constructs burst into flame. Kir shuddered at the force Griffon was putting into it, detectable even for him: he was putting far, far too much energy into it. If he ever got to Kir's standard of control he would be truly unstoppable.
He asked, "Mages?"
Griffon grimaced, "Sometimes, I'm trying. But they're starting to learn to block it, and the constructs are more immediately dangerous and they take me long enough as it is."
"Ah. Shielding from firestarting. Ingenious," he muttered, a practiced glance towards the construct setting its head aflame, heat and fire soon spreading to the rest of the corpse. He watched calmly as it toppled into the Hardornens and he prodded at the fire, urging it to spread from body to body until he reached the point where Valdemaran's were at risk, where he crushed it to embers, choked off screams fading quickly. He could put out the remains of his fires completely when it was over.
Both Herald's shuddered and Kir sighed, sliding off Aelius' back. "I will find point to deal with mages," he informed them both, walking away before they could object.
It truly was a small batch of Hardornens, Kir mused, heading around the edges of the battled clearing. There were maybe fifty men total, around a third dead now, far fewer than Ancar usually threw even against Karse at one time. He could not determine the benefit of this, unless it was simply to distract Valdemar and constantly bleed them and their resources, but even then he must be losing so very many of his people at this point, he'd bleed his own land dry before he won at this rate.
But maybe he was counting on the Valdemaran's lack of mages and unwillingness to be similarly brutal and self-destructive, he reflected, glaring at one of the soldiers who got too close and setting him alight. He swooped down and picked up the rough-hewn sword, it was a poor piece of steel but would work for his purposes.
He let his gaze slip into mage-sight with the ease of long practice. It was useless in determining witch-powers at a glance, but it let him easily locate the power center of the mage group. He frowned, eyeing strings binding every one of the soldiers to some point far behind the border. He had read about these sorts of enchantments, but had not seen them before in person. With no mages immune to distance burning going against Karse, he had no reason to examine the Hardornen forces with mage-sight.
The feeling of being watched returned and he grimaced. The Witch-horses again. Probably watching at their Herald's behest this time, but he could do without the distractions.
Blood-magic. It explained why these soldiers were throwing their lives away so easily – it was not just terror for what was left behind, they were probably unable to even think of it, bound solely to the power-holder's will. Disgusting. This was the reason for a Purifying Flame. This was the sort of witch he had sworn to burn. And they were out of his reach.
But some threads were bound to the mages with the squad, the three of them in the back near the unbound officers. And even were there not, working with a blood-mage willingly tarred them with the same brush, as it was doubtful they had not at least tasted that stolen power. Time to follow his Oaths.
"By the Will of Vkandis," he intoned, running his hand over the metal of the blade he had grabbed and heating it to the point it was faintly glowing, he flexed his hand over the thin insulation of the leather wrapped grip and exhaled slowly, eyeing the formation around the mages (focused on the Valdemarans fighting their way towards them and Griffon, who had continued pursuing the constructs).
One mage glanced briefly over to him, the witch freezing as they locked gazes, and Kir smirked. Drama, while out of place in heated battle, was a key part of witch-hunting. So much of it was an imposition of will that the art of dramatic timing was a valuable one to know.
Charging forward, he kept their eyes locked and just smiled, using the heated metal of the sword to increase the temperature of the air with his swing, making it easier to ignite in blasts of flame that seared the lungs of those unfortunate enough to get in his way. The witch was weak-willed, or overcome with shock at opposition, and only opened his mouth to call an alert when Kir was within reach of heated air.
Having that physical medium transferring elevated heat meant he was not blocked by the anti-witch-powers warding they had constructed. The medium being something as life-giving as air meant it was not blocked by their protections against physical weapons.
The witch burned, shadow in the flame twisting into a soundless howl, air burned from their lungs so he heard no screams. The boundary could not block people either, as that would keep their bodyguards and blood-power sources in the form of soldiers from reaching them, so Kir was able to pass through and split the flame pillar from the burned witch now that he was within the warding and sent them roaring around the boundary's edges. The second mage was quickly consumed and had been the only one left holding the barrier, leaving him with the master mage, woman's eyes wild as she shrieked, blood-bound slaves responding to her like she held their reins and turning away from their current fights to focus on him.
It left many dead, as the Valdemarans quickly took advantage and killed their now essentially disarmed opponents, but enough were able to run towards him to be an inconvenience.
It was what he was unsure of how to explain to Griffon – living creatures had enough energy within them that the effort it took to ignite them was fairly minimal. Humans, with their constant elevated activity he held was part of the soul, had an exceptionally low ignition point. It was not something one learned innocently.
A focused swirl of the still heated blade gave enough momentum to his energy transfer to flare the still burning corpses' flames into those approaching. It still left some pursuing him, but they were not his concern, as the Valdemaran guard had quickly realized their opponent's purpose and were taking them down single-mindedly. He did not want to set his recent allies alight.
He also knew better than to let a mage speak – they often needed some form of invocation, particularly for blood magic, and the time it took to speak was all they might need to work a spell. Instead, he had reached for her heat-core, located in the abdomen, and twisted.
She went rigid, eyes widening and genuine fear appearing, and he dispassionately let her realize her death before flaring, flames igniting so quickly that they did not actually burn through her skin before they expanded up her throat, igniting the air in her mouth as she froze with her head thrown back in the rictus of a scream. He let it settle, the unnatural flame vanishing without him prodding it into life, and the almost unmarred corpse hit the ground.
"Witch," he spat at the corpse, turning to the Hardornen soldiers. Though the woman ordering them was dead, they were still enthralled by the power behind the border, continuing their last orders in a doomed effort. There were only six left alive, all subdued by the guards but still struggling. It was probably more of an effort to keep them alive at this point, with how they were willing to throw themselves on blades to get to him.
"Enthralled, they are," he said in Valdemaran, "Holder of thrall behind border. Nothing to be done."
"Herald?" one of the Guard asked, looking over Kir's shoulder. Aelius picked his way among the corpses to stand by him, Anur looking down and asking, "Nothing, Kir?"
"If you took them prisoner, locked them in stone cells with nothing but their clothes and fed them gruel and water twice a day by your Fetching, they would bash their own brains against the walls in an effort to break through the wall to obey their last orders, which were to kill me and defend the dead mage," Kir informed him bluntly in Karsite. "The one holding them under such orders is behind the border a significant distance. With multiple days I could possibly find them and possibly kill them, at great risk to myself and very low chance of success."
Anur closed his eyes briefly, probably giving some quiet prayer of his own, before turning to the guard and saying roughly, "There is truly nothing to be done."
"Very well," the guard nodded, and ceased their efforts to keep the Hardornen's alive. They immediately skewered themselves trying to get past the wall of guardsmen to reach Kir.
"How could they do that?" Anur asked in Valdemaran, "What sort of magic is that?"
"Witchcraft, the type my order was formed to fight," Kir said with a heavy sigh in Karsite, recalling the old history he had dredged up in Sunhame libraries' forgotten and ill-attended sections. He tried not to think on it too much, even when his attention was not taken up by war. It was simply depressing, to see how far the priesthood, his own Order especially, had fallen.
"All right, you and Herald Griffon are?" he asked in Valdemaran, to cut down on misunderstandings amongst the guardsmen now listening.
"Neither of us got very involved in the fighting," Anur shrugged, "Griffon was taking care of the constructs, I was making sure nothing go through to him. Are you all right? No injuries?"
"He set them all on fire too fast!" one of the guards said, and Kir nodded with a slight smile, "I am fine Herald. Assistance, in body disposal, I offer."
Anur got a distant look and Kir ignored the mind conversation, turning back to the mage's corpse and examining it with mage-sight. There were a few tokens of power he didn't want to touch, they were that rusty red color of blood magic.
"Touch the mages, do not. Traps they may have set," he informed them, using his now cooled sword to drag the talismans of power away from the body. Hers at least should be searched for useful information. He went to all the mages, dragging the talismans away into a neat pile with his sword. The head-mage had the most, unsurprisingly, the other three only had five between them, while she had six of her own.
Humming reflective hymns, he dragged the bodies away from the talismans and waved the guard and Heralds clear of the circle, lighting them on fire from a safe distance and pleasantly surprised when they all simply burned normally without any evidence of trapping.
"Clear now, of mage traps," he informed the guard, dropping the now-useless sword. The group expertly searched the higher ranked corpses for letters and intelligence and stripped all of them for useful weapons (very few) before making piles.
Griffon finally rode up, swaying slightly in his seat and looking pasty in a way which wasn't fully accounted for by exhaustion, Kir watching him in concern. He shook his head and said, "Rest, you will. I can burn pyres."
The redhead nodded faintly, Anur still deep in his silent conversation. Kir turned to a nearby guard and asked, "Standard pyres, you have? Ah – "
"How do we want the pyres burned?" the guard he asked translated with a slight smile, "We make piles and, depending on how tired Herald Griffon is, we either build them up with wood and set them alight the old-fashioned way, or we do whatever we can to make it easier on Herald Griffon. As you are the firestarter, how would you like the pyres set up?"
Kir followed the accented speech with some difficulty, but managed to get the point, nodding and saying, "Fuel beyond bodies, wood, grasses, whatever available, preferred. Two to one, with bodies, is fine, but more appreciated."
"Right," the man nodded, looking over at someone with a slightly nicer uniform and engaging in rapid Valdemaran, too rapid for Kir to follow beyond guess-work. Whatever he said, it resulted in the group of able-bodied not tending to wounded splitting, half continuing with the corpses and the other half scrounging for fuel. Kir went to help with the fuel gatherers, not sure what exactly the Valdemarans were looking for in corpse-looting and not wanting to risk the appearance of stealing military secrets the Valdemarans might have found otherwise.
He soon stopped to help in building the actual pyres, Anur finally out of his conversation and helping with corpse carrying. Griffon was sitting under a tree with the two witch-horses standing over him, the unit's medic currently checking him over and plying him with fluids.
***===***pagebreak***===***
Anur was trying very, very hard not to think about the casual way Kir had devastated the small Hardornen force with his flames, and trying even harder to not think of the spat, "Witch" directed at the dead woman. He knew Kir considered her a different type of witch from the kind the Heralds were considered, but the word, said in that hateful, burning tone brought up memories he was still struggling to work through.
And the way she had just died, mouth shooting out flames and collapsing – he shuddered even as he dropped another corpse into the second pyre being built. It had been fast, he'd give it that, no anticipation or tortured screaming, but the unmarked body, just dying when Kir had made a simple gesture, was highly disturbing.
"Sir, just who is that?" one of the guard, who he had worked with before, asked in a low voice as they briskly searched the next body and lifted it by shoulders and feet.
"My friend," Anur said firmly, before offering a weak smile, "Just haven't seen his gifts in violent action before. He's Kir Dinesh, saved my life more than once."
:How's Griffon doing?: he asked Aelius, the corpses finally done being sorted and fuel-gathering gaining speed.
:Tired, he's going to have a bad headache later, he's developing one now,: Aelius sighed, :He and Kir have the same Gift, but very different focus. Kir has developed to be very precise and efficient, Griffon is still at the overpowering strength stage so he tires faster.:
:And it's worked for now,: Anur acknowledged, seeking out Kir in the crowd. He was easily found, slightly faded red-robes easy to pick out in Valdemaran blue. :The relief crew on their way?:
:Healers, Heralds and soldiers,: Aelius confirmed, :Very nearly here, ten minutes at most. Harevis wants to get some willowbark into Griffon before trying to take him back to the station.:
:Right,: Anur said, making his way over to where Kir was examining the first pyre critically.
"Relief force of Healers, Heralds and soldiers are within minutes," he said, loudly enough that the guard could hear too and the news spread quickly. "This one ready to burn?"
Kir shrugged, before casting Anur a wary look that hurt a little, to see directed at him, "Yes. Few words, I can say?"
That took a while to work through even Anur's decent botched-Valdemaran translator, but he got it and said, "I don't mind."
Kir nodded and turned to the pyre, keeping his voice low and speaking Karsite, "May you be welcomed into the next life and find peace. Rest easy in the knowledge those who condemned you will be crushed."
The first pyre very quickly caught alight, flames licking up the sides and burning only slightly faster than a normally set pyre would. Anur actually felt his lips twitching at the prayer, and he joked, "Not set on fire?"
Kir snorted, "Never promise a death that might not happen. Set on fire is too specific, crushed can mean different things, so long as they suffer or die, it is fulfilled."
Before the second pyre was finished, the relief force arrived, the small force of Healers immediately heading for the rough infirmary along with helpers, while others headed for the majority of the standing group and took up their job in gathering fuel, sending those who had fought to rest. With the refreshed numbers, the second and last pyre was built up quickly and Kir shooed the builders back, lighting it with a similarly murmured prayer.
"Return, to barracks we must?" Kir asked and Anur nodded, leading the way back to Griffon. "I gave a basic rundown when I checked on the relief force's location," he explained, "But Griffon overextended himself with practice and this unexpected clash, so he needs to get back."
Kir eyed the weakly protesting Herald as a Healer fussed over him, asking, "Stay on horse, can he?"
"Probably not," Anur acknowledged, asking Aelius, :Can you take Kir? Is that all right?:
:He is no great burden,: Aelius assured him, :He is a friend, and has ridden me before.:
:That was an emergency,: Anur felt obliged to point out, :So I thought I might as well ask.:
:Well thank you Chosen, but if I was going to be picky I wouldn't have let him ride behind you either,: Aelius replied with amusement.
"I'll be riding with him on Harevis, Aelius will carry you," Anur relayed, Kir only nodding at the information. "But I could probably use your help getting him up there," he said, watching as Griffon struggled to stand without swaying.
Kir chuckled and strode forward, catching Griffon around the waist and nodding at the Healer, who released the Herald with a sigh and shake of his head, walking away now that he knew someone was there to watch over the hard-headed Herald. "Can walk," Griffon mumbled, Anur snorting.
Kir and he lifted Griffon up onto Harevis' back over his protests of capability, Kir steadying him while Anur leapt up behind, wrapping an arm around Griffon's waist and tangling his fingers in Harevis' mane. "Will witch-horse's tack not switch?" Kir asked, Anur shaking his head, not feeling like explaining that it wasn't just the size difference to be concerned with. It wasn't any great hardship to ride a Companion bareback anyway, they wouldn't be racing. The priest shrugged and went over to the waiting Aelius, mounting up easily.
Anur sighed, Harevis leading the way back to the compound. He had just wanted to see the differences between Kir and Griffon's capabilities in combat, and this conveniently-timed alert had seemed a good way to do so. He hadn't expected the results to be anything which would alarm him and drive a wedge between himself and Kir.
Griffon had finally faded into sleep, slumped against Anur and snoring slightly, when he finally broke the silence they'd been riding in. "Kir?"
"Yes?" Kir replied in Valdemaran, sounding tired.
"Do you… what do you mean, when you call someone a witch?" Anur asked, mouth dry as he waited for an answer, not looking at his friend for a moment.
Harevis stopped and Aelius sidestepped so Kir could reach over and rest a hand on his shoulder, Anur looking over at him and meeting worried grey eyes. "Ach, I'm sorry Herald," he said in Karsite, "I forgot you would have heard such a curse before. She was a blood-mage, using the power of others gained in bloodshed and pain to make up for her own weakness rather than using what the Sunlord gave her. They gain their strength from torture, death, and blood-sacrifice, mostly unwilling. That is what I mean, when I say she is the witch my order was meant to burn."
Anur shuddered, eyes shutting briefly and surprised to find Kir pulling his head in so their foreheads rested against each other as he had earlier in the day. He kept his eyes shut and let Kir's words wash over him, conviction clear in his voice as he said, "You, friend, are in no way a witch. You are a Herald, a pillar of virtuous justice you once said, and shall never be worthy of putting to the flames."
There was a brief pause, before Kir continued dryly, "And I say witch-horse with utmost respect and affection."
Aelius and Anur both snorted at that, Anur opening his eyes and smiling, pulling away to straighten on Harevis' back and Kir resettling in Aelius' saddle, a small smile on his own face. They sat in an easy silence now, before Anur chuckled, "Pillar of virtuous justice? That was the sheep story, wasn't it."
"Quite," Kir replied, the two of them sharing a reminiscent laugh as the Companions started jogging towards the barracks again.
They reached the barracks and all conscious members of the party sighed in relief. "Is it really still three marks till sunset?" Kir muttered, "This day has felt much, much longer."
Anur eyed the lowering sun incredulously, "That it has," he agreed. "Wow. Did you really only arrive this morning?"
"Chaos follows you, Herald. Never restful day when around," Kir concluded in Valdemaran, the Companions taking them all the way to the doors of the building holding the Heralds quarters. He dismounted first and helped Anur get down with Griffon, waving him away saying, "I will tend to witch-horse and Companion, if no objection."
The two Companions both snorted and bobbed their heads, leading the way to the loose-boxes set aside in the stables for them. Hostlers handed him grooming equipment and took Aelius' tack from him since he didn't know where it went, but left him to briskly brush down the Companions, both leaning into the strokes happily. He returned the brushes and left the stables, feeling the day's length start to wear on him. He managed to find Anur's room without having to ask for directions and opened the door to find the Herald stretched out on his bed, boots off and arm flung over his eyes.
At the sound of the door opening, one eye peered out from under a dusty sleeve and he waved at him idly, "Kick your boots off and get over here. Bed's not that small, and if I'm tired you must be exhausted."
Kir nodded wearily, draping his robe over the chair he had sat in earlier that day, removing his light-weight scouting armor before sitting down on the bed to wrestle his boots off. He stretched out next to Anur with a sigh, lacing his fingers together on his stomach and staring up at the ceiling.
"Nice Sun-in-Glory," Anur commented drowsily, "Thought you'd set that horsehair on fire, honestly."
"Too nice to burn," Kir yawned, "Didn't get struck by lightning when I finished it, so figured it was fine."
Anur snickered, silence falling as they both drifted out of consciousness, last conscious thoughts running along very similar lines: wishes for a calmer tomorrow.