It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)
Episode 20: Slaying
By Sulia Serafine
[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.
E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw.
Note: I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.
Rating of this episode: R for confrontation, violence, and drrrrama (yes, roll that R!)
~~
Inness had been running a long time. At least, he had been trying to run. It was difficult to do so while dragging his half-conscious brother through the fray. He could no longer see where his sister had fled, several soldiers chasing after her. The moon was climbing in the sky, but a thick fog was rolling in from the mountaintops, effectively blocking any light that the lunar messenger had to give.
He set his brother leaning against the side of a supply wagon, heaving with the effort. Conal groaned, the side of his face showing signs of bruising from where their sister had punched him. Inness noticed and patted his brother's cheek. His little brother groaned again, tossing his head.
"Little sister sure does pack a wallop, doesn't she?" he muttered. He wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve and glanced around him.
It seemed like the fight was coming closer. It was still too dark, but the flashes of fire from torches and wizards were indication of where the fighting had spread.
"If you can hear me, stay put. I'm going to find us some weapons or… or something." He made sure Conal was comfortable before darting away, intent on his task. Of course, when spending the last few years of your life studying anthropology, one doesn't necessarily pick up the skills needed to survive in hostile territory. He found it even more difficult when the fog fell even heavier over the valley.
A little later, Keladry began to circle back to look for her brothers. She had lost most of the men on her trail. Those who had caught up with her had been unfortunate enough to receive mind-scrambling blows that would leave them with the mother of all headaches in the morning. The DJPF winced as she shifted her weight too much onto her wounded leg. She had torn off some of her own sleeve to tie around her leg, but she could tell that the cloth was already dark and wet with her own blood.
She could barely see a foot in front of her with the fog now rushing in. Keladry felt a shiver tingle her spine as she crouched low to avoid being an easy target—not that anyone could do much targeting with the lack of visibility. But she wouldn't put it past one of the wizards to remedy that handicap.
Keladry briefly considered increasing the flare of her energy glaive, but instead extinguished it. She'd be better off not attracting anyone with her light source. The handle of Joren's dagger was suddenly in her hand and she was surprised to realize that she had been clutching it spastically after throwing herself into the blackness of night.
A sound off to her left caused her to suck in her breath and hold in. She could barely hear it, but she identified it as a man cursing and shuffling around while trying to find his way in the fog. What if it was one of her brothers? What if it wasn't?
She took a step backward. The gravel under her foot scraped against the bottom of her boot, making a lot more noise than she intended. Keladry cringed and tightened her grip on the dagger's handle at her waist.
A knife flew out of the fog straight at Keladry. She almost didn't see it in time and jerked to the side, only to have the blade graze her cheek. Her hand flew to her face as she reacted, throwing her own dagger and running parallel to her attacker in a millisecond of fluid motions.
She heard the man cry out in pain. A few moments later, there was a heavy thud. Keladry breathed a sigh of relief and continued to run to the best of her ability. Her leg was troubling her, but she had to concentrate on finding her brothers now. Hopefully, no more knife throwers or archers would be stumbling in the fog anywhere near her. She only had her glaive now, and that meant close range fighting.
"What I wouldn't give for infrared goggles right about now," she mumbled, opening her eyes wide to be alert. "I hate this! How am I ever going to find them?"
The entire time, she had also been refusing to acknowledge the fact that a dragon was roaring not too far away—roaring and screaming for her. It was her mistress that Keladry had killed. Keladry didn't want to remember, but she couldn't forget. The monster's wail was deafening. She refused to succumb to it. Not just yet.
~~
Joren sneered. "Perhaps the most powerful mafia don in the whole world with his own secret kingdom full of rubies and pearls… and you're telling me there are no Uzi's? What kind of place are you running here, Irons? An ice cream parlor?"
"You'll have to excuse our master from not anticipating that a legendary dragon would awake with the sole intent of the City's destruction," Liam hissed, glaring back at the blond. He picked up two rifles and handed one to Joren. "There is a broad arsenal, Stone. And besides, beggars cannot be choosers."
"Not even a grenade launcher," Joren muttered, ruefully shaking his head.
"I'll be sure to put it on the shopping list next time."
"Don't forget the plastique."
Liam's eye twitched. "Of course."
They armed themselves with more contemporary firepower, hastily collecting what they could. A sudden boom sounded from outside, causing the very foundations of the castle to shake. Both men dropped what they were holding and grabbed onto the nearest racks, steadying themselves in the aftershock. Joren ran to the high window, listening carefully to the din outside.
"Those magical shields or whatever they are won't hold for much longer."
Liam slung a pack full of ammunition over his shoulder. "Then we haven't much time, have we?"
They ran through the armory and up the stone steps. As they made their way back to the battlements, another blast sounded from outside. They fought to stay upright, throwing themselves against the walls to brace themselves. Joren risked a glance out the window. He cursed vehemently when he saw liquid fire dropping from a watch post where one of the wizard's attacks had penetrated the shield.
"Let's go, let's go!" he yelled.
By the time they were back on the outside, another volley of archers were sent up behind them. Joren shoved past them, Liam trailing not too far behind. A few wizards and archers lay injured against the defenses, struck my magical attack or arrow.
The battle on the ground was not fairing any better. The line had fallen back, almost to the castle walls themselves. Joren cocked his gun and pointed it at a random enemy soldier. Then he pulled back, realizing that he'd better not waste precious bullets. His eyes searched through the fray, trying to pick out significant officers or perhaps the wizards who were breaking through the shields.
To his right, Liam had nestled into a niche, resting his rifle barrel between two jutting rocks on the wall's edge. He crouched into position, both eyes squinting. The hit man took aim and squeezed the trigger. Joren's head jerked to see what the other man had been shooting for. Joren could pick out men standing on horseback, shouting orders. There was a space, almost like a bubble, contained with no chaos. It was here that Joren could barely make out Maggur, his arms upraised toward the sky. Joren averted his gaze. Then he was reminded of the real threat.
The dragon.
Suddenly, the dragon seemed a great deal closer than before they had gone down to the armory. And that was when Joren realized that the reptilian beast was pushing back the magical barrier, not breaking it. It was slowly pushing the barrier toward the castle. Soon, the barrier wouldn't matter.
The massive dragon's tail swung back and forth, striking down not only soldiers of Enishijirou, but of the Black City as well. It had ceased to act with any semblance of alliance with its mistress murdered. Instead, it lashed out at everyone around it.
A deafening roar caused Joren to stumble and cover his ears desperately with his hands. Around him, the soldiers and archers also cried out in pain as their eardrums were shattered as well. Pain seemed to ripple through the air. The sound of the dragon was causing all the magically unprotected men to fall to their knees.
Joren screamed as loud as he could, trying to cancel out the sensation. He clawed at his own ears. The pain was unbearable. Then, he found he had lost his footing, and was toppling over the side of the castle. He could feel someone trying to grab his tunic—haul him back over, but it was too late. Joren's eyelids fluttered, and his gaze found Enishi at a distance, standing silently above the chaos. It was as if the noise, the horrible dragon scream had no effect on him.
In all the commotion, Joren suddenly found his breath again. His eyes widened as he realized that there was no steady floor beneath him. In fact, he was upside down. He arched his back wildly and stared at the ground.
"No!" he shouted.
His hands groped in the air. Someone's fingers were tangled in the bottom of his tunic and his belt. He reached for help, but only grasped the edge of a sleeve… then a banner that was hanging down the side of the wall. The strange grip on his tunic was lost—there was the sound of a leather strap snapping back—and Joren found himself clinging for dear life to the banner. His body flipped over and his knees hit the wall hard.
He gritted his teeth in pain. "Ah!"
His hands were slipping out of his torn gloves. Joren found he could not hold onto the banner. He glanced below him. If he was going to do this, there was no other time. This was it.
Joren let go, arms wind-milling as he crashed down with an anguished cry on top of two men. They collapsed beneath him. Every part of his body was consumed by bright blinding pain. He rolled off the unfortunate soldiers beneath him. Luckily, they weren't even Enishi's men.
That means… he thought. He crawled out of the way just in time to avoid both a double-headed axe and a broad sword that were swung his way. The defensive line had broken in that one spot while it held strong in other places, even repulsing more of the Maggur's men back to the emerald fields.
Pain shot up through his bones. He'd fallen harder than he thought. His legs could barely hold him up, let alone allow him to run. Joren reached for the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. He fired at whichever enemies had gotten past the line. Bang. Bang. Two men down. Bang. Ricocheted shot off someone's shield. Joren limped through the fray, gun in one hand and sword in the other. His progress was agonizingly slow, considering his injury and the thickness of the fight where he was. He was forced to parry close range attacks from more Black City soldiers before he could empty more lead into them.
He reflexively squeezed the trigger again, to find his magazine empty. He let the magazine fall and reached for another on his belt, only to find that his belt had been torn off in the fall. The blond operative cursed, and reached into his boot for his Desert Eagle.
A few feet away, a man charged at him with a piercing battle cry. Joren sucked in his breath, and pointed his trademark weapon at the attacker.
Click.
And Yahiko's words came rushing back to him from the first day they'd met in the library. Guns would not work inside the City unless they had been magically tampered with.
Joren gasped for breath as he brought up his sword just in time to meet his assailant. The clang of metal on metal sent a jolt up the bones in his forearms. He gripped the hilt of the sword in both hands and tried to force the man back. They were locked in combat, so close to each other that they could smell each other's sweat and feel the fear spread itself equally over all. Not just fear… pure animalistic rage. Primal desire. Bloodlust.
The second blow, Joren met again, but he was overpowered. His legs could barely hold him up, let alone brace himself against the blow. His arms were still reasonably strong and he jerked his shoulder toward his enemy so that the attack glanced off to the side. Nevertheless, a head butt caught him off guard. His back slammed against the castle walls. The sword fell from his hand. His hand—he couldn't even feel his hand anymore, or any part of his body for that matter. His heart was pounding in his chest, ready to burst at any moment. Had this been a street brawl in Tortall, or a shoot out in Tusaine, he would have been able to handle it.
No. He was in a war from legend.
A shot rang through the air. Joren almost didn't hear it, his ears still ringing from the frequent roars of the dragon. He saw a cloud of smoke in front of him that had not been there before. And he realized then that it was gun smoke. Nothing had ever smelled more beautiful.
"Get up! Come on! The orders have been to fall back! Enishi's finally done gathering his power. He and the other wizards are launching a counterattack. Get up!" Liam shouted, grabbing Joren roughly under his armpits and hauling him up.
Joren grimaced. "My legs. I can't…" He let loose a throaty growl of frustration and humiliation. "Ah!"
Liam guided Joren's arm over his shoulders while holding the other man up by the waist. "Just hold on! We have to get out of here—"
He did not get a chance to finish, because the sky was suddenly filled with blue fire—the brightest blue that Joren had ever seen. It was not like the bright blue flame at the tip of a welder's torch. This was the blue-white of a star's core. Joren knew it. He looked away, but already the image was burned into the back of his eyes forever: a humongous tiger in the sky, made of smoke and flame.
The ground rumbled and shook. It sent the two men crashing to the ground together, as did many of the men on the field. Liam got up again, dragging Joren to his feet and moving the both of them toward the castle gate.
The fire tiger launched itself through the air at the dragon. The two mythical beasts met claw for claw. The tiger was perhaps a fourth the size of the dragon, but all the men on the field ran away from it just the same.
Drops of blood stung Joren's eyes. He let his tears wash it out and squinted at his unlikely comrade. There was a long bloody gash down Liam's shoulder, the one holding him up under Joren's own shoulder. It looked like a deep wound, frighteningly deep.
"We're almost there. Here, take this," Liam yelled over the ferocious roars of both dragon and fire tiger. He handed Joren a shotgun, already loaded. The soldiers around them still fought, trying to keep any enemy soldiers from pursuing them to the castle gates.
Joren turned halfway around as they half ran, half limped to their safety. He fired at a fanged demon whose humanoid form sprouted slimy horns from arms and back. The first shot struck its arm, but it still charged at them. Joren squeezed his arm around Liam, urging him to stop and turn around with him so he could get a proper shot.
He fired again, this time catching the monster in the face. Joren sagged in relief. One arm still over Liam's shoulders, he emptied the shells from the cropped shotgun and tucked it through a strap around his thigh. Liam reached his free hand into his pocket for more ammunition, but found none.
"No good! I'm out. It's sword and knife from here on out, unless you know any magic," he shouted, still moving them clumsily toward the gates. They were within fifty feet of their goal when another thunderous roar filled the air.
"Magic," Joren muttered, gritting his teeth. "We don't need magic. We need a fucking miracle."
"You called?" a voice said from behind them.
An enemy soldier was flung screaming over their heads. The two men turned, wide-eyed to see Neal on the back of his large wolf, beating men back with his staff and short sword. To his right and left were more men on wolves and horses, riding through the bedlam and cutting down all their foes.
"Come on!" Neal whistled. Another man leaped off his horse and guided it toward them.
"Queenscove! She's still out there!" Joren yelled as Liam pulled him up into the saddle in front of him.
Neal reared around, his face a little paler. "What do you mean she's still out there?"
"Somewhere near the end of the valley—where the supply lines are. Damn it, I should be…"
A bright torrent of bright orange red flame filled the sky above them. The dragon hit the ground on its back, wings sweeping out soldiers from beneath it and tail lashing at whoever was unfortunate enough to be near. Neal spurred his wolf away toward the other end of the valley. Liam and Joren watched for a few moments.
"Figures. Neither of us will be the ones to rescue her," Liam muttered. They galloped toward the castle gates, where the defensive line was still strong.
Joren snorted. "Whoever said she needed rescuing? This is Mindelan we're talking about."
"Yeah, yeah. I know."
The ground in their wake was soaked with mud and blood. In the middle of it all, two beasts of flame and magic grappled with each other, searing the ground with their deadly fire and filling the air with acrid smoke.
Atop the castle battlements, with an aura that spread out a distance in many directions, Enishi stood calmly, brow knitted in concentration. Beside him, Selirithel touched his arm.
"My royal kinsman... Both your dear ones are inside now. They are safe."
The white haired king smiled slightly. His eyes were closed, but he rested his hand on Selirithel's shoulder without faltering. A strange cooling sensation spread through the dark robed wizard. It flowed outwards toward all the other wizards and mages gathered around him. They suddenly found their strength renewed, as if they had just woken up fresh and anew.
"Well then," Enishi breathed. "Time to end this."
Out in the scorched valley, the tiger suddenly grew in size. It bared its fire teeth at the dragon and leaped at it, claws outstretched. The dragon, blinded by instinct, moved forward to strike as well. But as soon as it did, the tiger disappeared. The large animal that had been made entirely of flame had vanished.
The reptilian beast roared, thumping its massive tail on the ground. As it did this, a circle of white light surrounded it. It started at the ground. Those men and beasts nearby, ally and enemy, knew the telltale signs and ran for cover. Slowly, the circle extended upwards, until the dragon was completely trapped in a cylinder of flawless light.
The light became so bright and alive that it filled everything. Until no one could see… until all were paralyzed because they believed that they had just crossed into the afterlife. From where Neal was on the field, he could no longer feel the wolf beneath him or the sturdy wood of his staff. From the castle gates, Joren could no longer feel the pain in his kneecaps and shins. Even Liam felt he was floating, floating somewhere that was not real—was not in the plane of Life.
And then the Great Nothing disappeared. As did the dragon.
Enishi let out his held breath, eyes opening to see a ruined valley in front of him, a battered castle around him, dead men and creatures everywhere on both. The dark sky was still filled with smoke, but the fog had departed so that the moon could shed some light for pity. The King of Enishijirou sighed and shook his head. Then without further ado, he slumped into the arms of his exhausted wizards.
Selirithel lowered his monarch to the flagstones slowly, being sure to pillow the white crowned head as gently as possible.
"None of you shall speak of this, to each other or anyone else," he warned his fellow magi. "Our king is ill. He has tired for our sake."
~~
Cleon looked up when the door to the infirmary opened. He had pressed himself into the corner of the room. His knees were drawn up and his head was in his hands. He stared at the two newcomers for a few moments, almost as if he couldn't recognize them. Finally, he awkwardly stood up and nodded to them.
"Well. Stone's in an intimate embrace with his girlfriend's ex. I see I missed more than I originally thought," he grinned, regaining his cheery demeanor instantly.
"Kennan," Joren glared. "You're already inside the infirmary. Don't tempt me to give you a reason to be here indefinitely."
Liam eased his threatening companion onto the nearest bed. Joren tenderly tested the muscles in his legs, bending his knees as much as he dared. He was well aware that any other normal human being would have broken his legs. Despite the two bodies breaking his fall, Joren had still dropped an unhealthily long distance.
This also prompted him to take another sidelong glance at his unlikely partner. The wound around Liam's neck and shoulder had already begun to close. It looked as if it had stopped bleeding. By all rights, the man should have been on the floor, dying from loss of blood.
"Looking a bit pale there, aren't we?" Joren narrowed his eyes.
Liam smirked. "You're not the only special one around here, Stone." He turned to Cleon. "And you. I have a job for you."
Cleon gulped. "M-me?"
The hit man gestured toward the door. "The fight isn't over yet. Our men are driving back the surviving forces of the Black City, though, so it is only a matter of time."
The redhead shook his head vigorously. He worriedly looked to his friend's unconscious form on the infirmary bed. "Well, that's great, but I can't do it. I'm not good at jobs! Stone will tell you!" He held his hand out to Joren. "Tell him, dude! I suck at jobs."
Joren considered it. He shrugged. "True."
"Nonsense," Liam smiled crookedly. "There's a long range rifle waiting for you at the gate. And it's meant for just one person. You know who."
"I don't like where this is going."
"Oh, but you will," he assured. He walked slowly toward the sharpshooter, his toothy grin gleaming in the light of the candles. "He's trying to regroup for one last attack. A magical one, I bet, to strike us while we're still vulnerable. Enishi's powers have waned for the moment. The shields are down. Our magic is exhausted."
"A-and?"
Joren interrupted. "Just spit it out already, Irons."
Liam placed an encouraging hand on Cleon's shoulder. "You know who it's for. Your old buddy, of course! Maggur…"
"Oh," Cleon croaked. He looked to Faleron. His body stopped its trembling. Meeting Liam's intense gaze, Cleon nodded. Because they all knew—all three of them—that even the most pacifist of men, like a certain redheaded clown, could give in to the sadistically sweet thought of revenge.
~~
Neal and his wolf had taken cover behind a mound of dead soldiers. It had reeked at first, pressing his face to the ground where everything smelled of death. He'd almost vomited because he knew what surrounded him and what could happen to him if the cover was not protection enough. With one hand clutching the fur of his faithful mount, he'd weathered the bright vicious light that had consumed the dragon and had sent it into oblivion. Neal had come out of the counterattack just fine.
He couldn't say the same for everyone else. Now as he regained orientation of his surroundings, he mounted again and surveyed the scene. More soldiers were rising to pick up where they had left off, though it was obvious that the magical attack had weakened them.
Weakened, except one man. Neal peered into the distance to see what man dared to stand so erect and proud.
It was Maggur. Neal recalled everything Cleon had told him when they had found each other in the caverns of the far eastern mountains. The Black City chamberlain had been responsible for ordering Faleron's shooting and had claimed full authority over the fulfilling of the wretched prophecy. This was the man.
Maggur was surrounded by several other men. Wizards and bodyguards, he suspected. Neal cursed. He gripped his staff tightly. Kel could wait. After all, she was a big girl. Neal had no doubt in his mind that a few more minutes would mean nothing to her. It would never sit well with him if he had let this monster of a man escape unscathed.
You're willing to be the hero? A voice in his head laughed. You? Who were once content to be the sidekick? Now you want to strike out on your own and make something of yourself?
He hadn't seen Faleron since the former thief had been injured. But just then, Neal could swear he could picture Faleron's face, fixed still in sleep but deeply troubled by nightmares. It made his blood boil. What if that had happened to Kel or her brothers? Cleon and Joren?
Shinkokami.
Neal's eyes blurred with tears. It had happened. And he would never let it happen again.
He drew his only gun from his belt, one he had retrieved from the spot where Joren had fallen. For all the magic in the world, he would bet all this money that wizards had never anticipated making their spells bullet proof.
"Now!" he yelled. The wolf beast beneath him stirred, leaping forward in great bursts of energy. The adrenalin in Neal's veins was singing. He gritted his teeth as he held his arm out in front of him, aiming for the black robed men less than forty feet away.
Three shots rang out. Two of the men around Maggur suddenly jerked, falling to the ground moaning and bleeding. The chamberlain turned to see who had attacked. Neal shouted hoarsely, goading the wolf beneath him as fast as it could take him.
He fired another three shots. He was closer now, close enough that he was sure he couldn't have missed. Yet as he came within jumping range of the man, Neal was shocked to see Maggur still standing as if nothing had gone near him. In fact, the dark robed chamberlain was… smiling?
"I see you," he hissed.
Neal tightened his legs around his mount, but every other part of him was paralyzed. His eyes locked on Maggur's, his mouth open in a silent scream. He yelled at himself to move, to do anything to prevent the inevitable collision. Why couldn't he move? The dark emptiness of Maggur's eyes suddenly flared bright red.
The wolf howled in pain. It bucked suddenly, loosening any hold that its rider had. Then it tossed Neal directly into Maggur's waiting hands.
Bright red spots dotted Neal's vision. Can't… can't breathe… He screwed his eyes shut and feebly tried to push away the hands that were closed around his neck.
"How dare you delay me!" Maggur bellowed. Then he paused. "Wait. Even better. I'll drain you of your energy to strengthen my attack on the bastard king." He held Neal off the ground with superhuman strength so the officer's feet were dangling. Neal tried to kick, to strike out at anything he could, but all his muscles felt like they were stone. Unmoving.
His eyes opened slowly. The moment they did, he stared into the bright inhuman red eyes of Maggur. The chamberlain chanted under his breath. His skin began to glow an eerie green. He held Neal up with one hand around his neck now, pointing his other toward the castle. The chanting continued. Neal could barely hear it, but the wounded dark wizards on the ground were chanting as well.
Meanwhile in the castle, the unconscious king of Enishijirou screamed in his sleep. His back arched off the bed, his hands clawing at the sheets beneath him. Beads of sweat dotted his face. Those watching him nearly fainted when they realized that flecks of blood were on their king's lips. Selirithel roused himself from his weary rest on the other side of the room. He whistled to one of the other wizards at the window.
"Hurry! Whoever still has enough power left, raise a shield! Raise any shield! We… we cannot let them—" he cried out in pain and began gasping for breath. He reached into his deep pockets for the right stone. His hand closed around a small opal and his fingers squeezed.
~~
Liam's hand reached into his pocket to touch his own opal, which pulsed with a strange sickness. His other hand clutched the fabric of his shirt. He coughed and sputtered. Dizziness threatened to overtake him. And then, he began swaying on his feet. A rough hand steadied him. Joren frowned.
"What's wrong?"
Liam pushed him away. "Your friend doesn't have much time. If he doesn't hurry, we may lose this battle after all."
Joren cursed. He limped to the window, trying to spot the familiar head of bright red hair on horseback. His knuckles became white as he tightened his grip on the windowsill.
"He'll succeed. He doesn't have any other choice."
~~
He was flanked on either side by two other cavalrymen who were charged with protecting him as he completed his mission. A million random things were running through his mind. Would he be able to get a clear shot? What of the rifle? Would it do the job?
The cavalrymen brought him to an outcropping of rock at the southern side of the valley. The warhorses remained calm and trotted behind the rock as they were trained to stay out of the way. One of the cavalrymen strung a bow and readied to fire upon whoever dared approach them while the other climbed the rock with Cleon. The redhead shakily began loading the rifle and attaching the scope.
"Where is he?" he asked the cavalryman, who was busy holding up a round metal shield to protect them.
The man pointed to a spot far away on the fields. Cleon cursed when he saw the distance. He looked at the equipment that Liam had provided for him.
"High power long range rifle. Swords, axes, staffs, magic, dragons, and a freaking high power rifle!" he shouted out of nervous tension. The man beside him gave him an odd look. Cleon muttered an apology and continued his task.
"How far does that look to you? At least five hundred yards?"
The cavalryman nodded. "It couldn't be much more than that, Your Highness."
Cleon flinched. "What did you just call me?"
"We were told that you were—"
He held up his hand and growled. "Stop there. Just… stop there."
When everything was ready, Cleon stilled himself. Even the most focused observer could not even notice any movement to indicate that the sharpshooter was breathing, thus the depth of his concentration. Cleon had never been much for sniping. He actually hated it. He was much better at fancy show shooting than something that required him to be absolutely still and far away.
When he finally found his target, he was dismayed to see a living obstacle in front of it. Cleon pulled his eyes away from the scope lens. His mouth was fixed in a small 'o'.
"Neal. He's doing something to Neal! He's all glowing and… and…" he sighed hopelessly. "Neal's in the way. I can't get a clear shot—" Cleon stopped short. He gazed through the scope again, thinking absently about crosshairs and handicap. He glanced sideways at the cavalryman and groaned. "This bastard Maggur has some sort of sick pleasure out of torturing my best friends."
"So what will you do?"
Cleon gnawed on his lower lip. "Feed Neal breakfast in bed for the next ten years at this rate. He's going to kill me."
A small smile graced his features. He squeezed the trigger.
~~
Neal had been on the edge of consciousness. His hands were still clamped around Maggur's wrist, but what use was it? He could feel his very life draining from his body and into the evil chamberlain of the Black City. His eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth opened for one last anguished cry.
The piercing pain through his forearm brought him out of his death spell. His eyes opened wide. The gnarled hand wrapped around his neck suddenly disappeared. Neal yelped as he hit the ground hard on his wounded side. He frantically looked around him.
Maggur was on his back, a telltale bullet hole in his forehead. A dark rivulet of blood trickled down the chamberlain's face. His limbs twitched momentarily before staying completely still. The bullet that had ripped through Neal's arm had obviously been meant for Maggur. It had more or less hit its mark without interference. Neal closed his eyes and rolled away from the sight.
He nearly jumped into the air, however, when the bullets whizzing around him struck the other wizards on the ground. They had started to get up to see what had happened to their leader and why the enchantment had suddenly ceased. Neal weakly sat up after a few moments, no longer afraid that a strange bullet would come out of nowhere and kill him. He kicked angrily at the injured, moaning wizards that tried to grab onto him.
"Kennan, you asshole!" he screamed into the distance. It didn't take him but a few seconds to realize what had happened. He cradled his wounded arm. "You know I'll be back on disability leave again! Besides the fucking fact that a damn wolf already chewed on this SAME arm!"
~~
From where Cleon watched through his scope five hundred yards away, he could see Neal angrily shaking his fist in the air toward him. He winced and laughed nervously.
"Gee. I was hoping he would blame it on Stone."
~~
It was morning when Keladry saw Neal walk toward her, his arm in a sling. By dawn, the battle had been won. She had helped the advancing soldiers of Enishijirou's army round up the last of the Black City army's survivors for arrest. Her leg had ceased to bother her as much as it should have. Perhaps it had been the mind numbing fear for her brother's safety that had driven the pain from her mind.
Neal smiled. "Well, at least you're still in one piece."
"Barely," she replied. She looked at his arm. "Hey. You know, you could get a desk job this time. I've been telling you—"
"Yeah, yeah. I know. I'll stay at the station for a few weeks, Mother. Just for you."
Keladry nodded. She cleared her throat. "How is… where are…"
"They're all alive and kicking," he assured her. "Faleron and Cleon are in the infirmary, where I should be. Stone is out here somewhere, I think, still looking for your brothers. I'm sure he's found them by now. Let's go to the castle." He put his uninjured arm over her shoulders and squeezed. They began walking toward the City. "I think you'll like the place. Automatic flushing toilets."
"What?"
"Aw, you'll see. Come on."
Meanwhile, on the other side of the valley, Joren sat down beside Inness. The older Mindelan was kneeling on the grass beside a still form covered with a black cloak. He glanced at Joren, trying to keep his face down turned so as to hide the tears that were streaming down his face still after so many hours.
Joren peered at the cloak as if he could see right through it. He folded his arms across his chest and sighed regretfully. "What happened?"
Inness sniffled. "I left him just for a few minutes! I was trying to get help, but when I returned… he was a few feet away from where I had left him. I think he'd been trying to get back to Maggur and the other advisors and… and…"
"It's okay. Take your time," Joren told him quietly.
The grieving young man picked up a bloodied weapon from the grass beside his knee. He handed the dagger to Joren.
"I found this in his chest."
No.
Joren stared at the dagger. It couldn't have been the same one. No. Not the same one that he had… No. He wouldn't believe it. Trying not to meet Inness' eyes, he wiped the blade on the grass and slid it into a leather sheath too big for it so the surviving Mindelan brother would not have to look at it any longer.
He laid an apprehensive hand on Inness' shoulder and urged him to stand up. "Go back to the castle and see your sister. I'll take care of this."
"I don't want to leave him. I feel… it was my fault," he protested.
The DJPF officer shook his head solemnly. "No, this isn't your fault." He let his gaze stray to Conal's dead body under the coarse black cloth. "No, this isn't anyone's fault. Believe me. Go to the castle."
"Alright. If you say so." Inness turned slightly to walk away, but stopped. He awkwardly threw his arms around Joren and briefly embraced him. Joren closed his eyes and grimaced. He hated himself for being rude because he wanted to push him away, for he knew that Inness was grieving.
Keladry would be grieving, too. Would he feel the same aversion to comforting her as he did at that moment with her brother? Would he tell her the truth? Joren lowered his head and cursed all the gods that had dared to watch the morbid events unfold. But past this, a part of him that panicked inside—a part of him that he would never admit existed—begged like a little helpless boy for someone to fix this… someone with aquamarine eyes that would put the true gods in the heavens to shame.
~~
Author's note:
Happy holidays! Happy winter holidays, whatever they may be! I've been watching nothing but action and adventure movies for the last few days while conveniently forgetting all the projects that my teachers had assigned over the winter vacation. Screw 'em.
I hope you enjoyed this episode. One more before the end of the season. Hanging off the edge of your seat yet?
Thanks for reading! Review or email, I'll take all comments and criticisms! Have fun! Be safe! Don't drink too much eggnog and stay away from those oddly colored candy canes! (Trust me. Bad experience…)
Love all,
Sulia Serafine