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Chapter 14

The Messenger

The sun sets in the West, turning the skies into a sea of orange shades as darkness begins swallowing the last of the day. A heavy wind scrapes along the grass and branches of the distant trees, sending foliage skipping across the open space.

Lying prone on the edge of an overlooking hill, the pair survey a bandit camp with a decently fortified defense in an impromptu site.

"That's rather organized for a band of brigands that just happened to get lucky," Ephrial says, taking note of the patrolling watchmen.

"It's not every day they manage to successfully intercept anything associated with the Institute. They're just being careful."

"Relics are one thing…but an actual summoner? I know the woman said she didn't witness the whole event, but the Institute must be in very bad shape to send out such an ill-suited convoy to protect their own."

"We can ask him for the details, if he's still alive," Riven watches the sun relinquish the last of its hold on the day.

"He's alive. There's no doubt about that."

"What makes you so sure?"

"No one would waste all that time preparing defenses for a dead man. They're waiting for something…or someone."

"A ransom…? That's suicide! No one in their right minds would openly declare any form of offense against the Institute. It would only result in their own destruction by the elite summoners sent to respond to the incident."

"Exactly. Which brings only two conclusions to mind: Either the Institute is in that desperate of a situation, where gangs are confident it can't afford to take care of such matters, or…"

Waiting for an answer, "Or what, Ephrial?"

"Or, this is meant to be a quiet matter, in which they are waiting for whomever is behind the assault on the Institute itself. Perhaps an arrangement of some sort."

"How should we proceed? Wait for them to show up to see who's responsible?"

Taking another moment to analyze the varying courses of actions and their consequences. "…No. The risk is too great, and the time we have to spare, too little. They could be interrogating the summoner for sensitive information as we speak."

"Then I hope you have a plan for getting us in," she looks at the walls built of freshly-cut tree trunks. "It isn't like we can go through the front door."

The mercenary-knight takes another careful scan at the encampment, searching for a vulnerability to exploit. He watches as a sleepy patrolman begins dozing off at his post on an upper corner of the wall. A sly grin carves its way onto his face as he recalls an old mission he had embarked during his beginning days as a lone mercenary.

"Why not? That's exactly what we're going to do."

"…Even I don't think that's a good idea."

"I once took on a contract with a distressed local in one of Demacia's outer cities, just West of the Marshes of Kaladoun. A miner's daughter was conned out of a painting worth more than their house; the last of her mother's works before she fell to disease. They didn't know it at the time, but the paint used to conceive the piece was a made with a rare set of flowers from the highest peaks of Freljord, said only to bloom once every decade. Apparently, it was received as a gift from a stranger they had sheltered after finding him unconscious in an alley."

Ephrial motions for Riven to follow him as they begin to run to the newly formed blind spot, taking careful strides across the grassy field under the cover of night.

"The father sought aid from the local authorities and mercenaries in the area to no avail. There were no legal actions the city's representatives could take, as the transaction was technically completed upon a mutual agreement. Of course, no mercenary is going to take on a job without real pay, much less pit their services against nobles; or anyone with deeper pockets than a miner, for that matter. After catching wind of his situation, I figured I would lend a hand. Turns out, that con artist was the paranoid type—the kind of constant suspicion that comes with being the most prominent man in the city, just gnawing away at him. He always kept himself surrounded by guards, but his distrust never actually let them inside of his mansion. They stayed on the outside, patrolling close to the walls and windows."

Both warriors charge for the timber wall, hands colliding with the obstruction to halt their momentum, while keeping noise down to a minimum. With their backs pressing against the barrier, the Exile follows the mercenary as they sneak along the splintery fortification.

Now whispering, "A divided length of rope, some carefully-tied lumps of flint and steel, and one stray dog later, all of the guards began chasing a barking little terror as it started lighting small fires in the courtyard. As they all panicked, I snuck in, grabbed the painting, and ran out."

"That's a very…intriguing story, but how is it of any use to us?" losing patience after approaching the enemy without any apparent plan. "It's not like we have any stray animals to rig with incendiary devices," closing her eyes and shaking her head, trying to imagine a small, playful dog triggering sparks as flinted ropes skip on the ground behind it.

Turning that cunning grin to Riven, "No, but it did teach me that fire is a valuable resource with many uses. Now, having a limitless supply of it…"

"Just what do you plan on igniting?"

The mercenary-knight responds by brandishing his blade and pressing it along the bark of the wall beside them. A row of tree trunks catches ablaze, and with aid from the wind, the flames begin to spread and rise quickly to the top, just below the slumbering watchman.

"What are you doing!? We're trying to get in unnoticed!" Riven exclaims in a whispering yell, struggling to keep her vexation as hushed as possible.

"Right. Once they notice the fire on their fortress, they'll split into teams with buckets of water. One trying to douse the flames up top, and another to stop the spreading down below, right here. Those will be the ones so nice as to open the front door for us."

"I see…and with their attention divided, we walk in and grab the summoner. Clever."

"Alright, let's go. We have to get to the other side before they notice the fire."

With careful and precise steps, the partners shuffle along the wall, keeping wary of the other guard pacing just above their heads. They reach the door, and crouch beside it, waiting for the next phase to begin.

The snoozing guard remains blissfully unaware of the growing orange glow behind his post. A tongue of flame creeps its way to the very top, and begins stretching up and over the wall. A lick at the man's sleeve causes it to ignite, and a brief moment of burning sensation later, the guard jolts awake in horror. A yelp, followed by frantic cursing, catches the attention of the other watches.

"Fire!" several men inside the small fortress can be heard calling out.

Sounds of scramble and orders being issued rise almost immediately. The distinct noise of splashing buckets diving into a basin of water paints a messy picture of a hasty and clumsy response. Within moments, the swordmasters hear the heavy bar holding the gate closed being lifted and removed. They ready themselves, and use the door for cover as it swings outward toward them, completely concealing the two as the makeshift fire brigade rushes to the scene; their buckets spilling portions of their contents with every urgent step.

Now's their chance. With enchanted swords at the ready, the pair dash around the door, and quickly survey their new surroundings. It looks far bigger on the outside than it does on the inside. Various tents clutter a portion of the ground. Unmarked crates of supplies and worn weapon racks, barely stocked, all fill a disorganized space within the entrenched ground.

"Hey, who the he—" swift strikes make quick work of the brigand caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Where's the summoner?" Riven turns her head in search for a sign.

Ephrial takes a scrutinizing gaze over the tents. One habit among bandits, and society in general, is that the leader always gets the biggest housing. In this case, an indigo tent, easily double the size of the rest, makes it easy to pick out. He gestures toward the suspected area, and both weave past the portable shelters, staying out of sight as the men tending to the fire come back for a refill.

With a quick pull, the entrance of the tent is thrown aside, and a flaming sword leads the way inward with its illuminating element. A figure shrouded in purple sits at the opposite end, looking frightened at the crescendo of commotion outside. Ephrial slowly approaches, sheathing his blade and gesturing his intent as a harmless one. As the surroundings surrender to the dim light of a small lamp already inside the portable shelter, and the orange ambient flaring in the distant background, Riven notices a silhouette come to vision. It raises a weapon up high, poising to blindside the mercenary-knight from behind the woven wall.

"Get down!" Riven calls out, dashing into action.

The Blazing Swordsman responds by ducking low, letting the Exile unleash a heavy swing over his head. A sundered blade slashes through the fabric and the assailant, leaving the man to collapse over himself as his body drags the resulting tear in the tent into a larger hole. The main door is brought into view, and the two know it is only a matter of moments before the remaining bandits return to see the intrusion.

"We don't have much time," she presumes.

Ephrial nods in agreement. Turning to the summoner, and releasing his binds "Are you okay? Will you be able to walk?"

"Y-yes…" he stutters with exhaustion.

He helps the young mage rise to his feet, then joins the former Noxian soldier by the opening of the ruined tent. "There can't be more than a dozen left. Four on the wall that haven't noticed us yet, and about eight outside ready to return at any moment."

"The doors, then?"

"The doors."

They both reach the same conclusion on how to play their tactics, and rush to the doorway. Riven closes only one of the large timber constructs, and Ephrial lifts a crudely-cut log into place, locking it shut. With their swords at the ready, they stand side-to-side, preparing to cut down the onslaught in their favor. The aim is simple: bottleneck the enemy through the only open way inside, and create a quick outcome.

"Intruders! Kill them!" the previously-napping guard calls attention to them from above.

"The day just isn't complete without someone threatening to kill me," Ephrial says in dry humor.

"Spoken like a true champion of the League," Riven adds to it.

"Heh. You know we'll need at least one of them alive to question, right?"

"I'll try to go easy on them."

"No you won't."

They both exchange a glance and a grin before returning their focus on the imminent battle. The lack of a well-organized response to the fire has allowed it to spin into a full blaze, engulfing the whole wall. A bright, red-orange light holds back the devouring darkness of the night, illuminating the battlefield in its graceful destruction. The summoner watches from the safe distance of the indigo shade, and shouting amidst the sound of rustling gear signals the return of the rest of the brigands.

"I'll handle those up top," Noxus' former poster child dashes to meet the men approaching from the side.

"Works for me. I have a little surprise for the rest…" the half-blood switches stances, gripping the sword with both hands.

He dives into his past, and the reasons he fights. Why he is, who he is, and what he is, letting it fuel his drive, and in turn, the ardent flames on his blade. It doesn't take long, as everything put into it is something he lives every day. Somewhere between fury and serenity, the flames dance in a harmonious display, just begging to be unleashed.

The scrambling men return together, and stop in front of him. Their faces, a clear sign of being caught off guard, freeze in shock. Before they can react, Ephrial swings his blade overhead, as if cutting through an invisible foe. Will full-force, the weapon crashes into the ground, and releases a sudden torrent of fire streaking in their direction. Four men, unfortunate enough to be at the front, are sent flying backward with a direct hit. The remaining bandits stumble back to their feet, dropping worn buckets in exchange for their weapons.

Riven dashes to his side again. "Done with them already?" he glances at her blade, the edge dripping a glistening red.

"You were right. I didn't go easy on them." She turns her sights to the aftermath of a heavily charged strike. "What happened here…?"

The previously closed door now hangs a crooked mess, partially swung open with splinters of a shattered bar. Small patches of fire trail along a blackened path of charred grass and earth, marking signs of a volatile explosion. Armed men rush through with the utmost hesitation, knowing they are clearly outmatched. With a sense of confusion and discord, one decides to take the initiative, and charges in, only to find himself impaled by the broken blade. The last three men surrender themselves, dropping their weapons and lowering to their knees.

"A wise decision. Now, who wants to be the first to tell me what your plans were with this summoner?" Ephrial nears.

The men look at each other in fear, hoping one of the others would take the lead. Something seems off, as if their true trepidation lies with a different outcome than the predicament they have been caught in. Further intrigued by their intentions, he approaches further to press for answers.

"Your chances of ending up like them can only diminish if you start talking," he gestures to their fallen comrades.

"They said this would turn out differently," one of the men begins to crack, and the others shrink away.

"Just who are 'they'?" The Blazing Swordsman locks eyes with the kidnapper.

"She's—!" he gulps out before freezing up. His eyes suddenly widen, the anxiousness spiking drastically to panic.

The mercenary-knight traces his gaze to be looking past him, and quick reflexes dive out of the way of a flashing bolt whizzing by. A total of three blasts, one for each enemy, kicks dirt and dust into the air.

Ephrial swiftly rises to his feet, waving the airborne debris out of his face. "Are you okay?" he asks the coughing Exile.

"Yes…" rubbing dirt off of her cheek. She turns to the source of the magical attack. "What did you do!?"

"I—I'm sorry," the summoner shakes out.

"We needed them alive for answers. Surely a summoner such as yourself can appreciate the value of gathering intelligence," Ephrial follows.

"I-I just wanted them to pay for capturing me," the young man pleads for understanding.

The two sword-wielding allies exchange looks and sigh, knowing what's done is done.

"I suppose we'll just have to stay the course then. You've been here for about two days, correct? Is there anything you can tell us of why these men have been keeping you here?"

"They…they said something about selling me off to some guys that wouldn't reveal their allegiance. I don't know anything more than that…"

"I see. So we're back to having no definite leads again. Though, a question still remains… Why are you so far from the Institute, summoner?"

"The Institute…!" he perks up with anxiousness. "The High Councilor issued an order for a team of summoners to spread the word to any champions of the League we can find!"

"So we're not the only ones that were teleported…" Ephrial surmises.

"Word of what?" Riven asks.

"Instead of returning to the Institute of War, you are needed immediately to rendezvous at Kalamanda."

"Kalamanda…you mean the field you call 'The Crystal Scar'?" the mercenary-knight grows curious.

"Yes! We need to hold onto the last remaining nexuses that remain operational."

The Exile maps out the topography in her mind. "I see… It's not too far South from the Institute itself, so we are still heading in the right direction."

"Right…but why just us champions?" Ephrial inquires. "Why not enlist the full aid of an army like Demacia's?"

"I don't know…I think the Elite summoners want to keep this incident as quiet as possible for as long as they can, in order to prevent a chaotic instability between political agreements."

The half-blood falls silent, contemplating the information he has taken in this day.

"I have to keep going!" the young summoner starts out of the burning fortress with a growing sense of urgency.

"You're not coming with us?" the Noxian exile stops him. "You were just captured!"

"I'm needed out there! You two are needed in Kalamanda! We all have our roles to play!" he breaks his sleeve free in a hurry, and disappears out into the night.

Riven turns to Ephrial, noticing how he began neglecting their rescued captive "Is there something wrong?"

"I can't say for certain…" his arms crossed in deep thought. "Those men…that summoner was able to decimate three of them in a split second. Yet, his whole escort, however small, were killed, and he captured, without taking a single one of them down?"

"Our source told us they were taken by surprise…but you do have a point. Summoners are well-versed in magic. Even a novice summoner can outclass the average battle-mage…"

"Hm…"

"Where do you think we should go?"

"I would like to see the state of the Institute for myself… However, if what that summoner said is true, the nexuses have to take priority. Let's head to Kalamanda. Once we sort that out, the Institute won't be very far away."

"Agreed."

The walls on the far side of the camp, where they had formed their distraction, collapses inward, and embers are sent flying over them before fading into nothingness.

"I suppose that's our cue to get going."

The two walk out of the timber doorway and begin resuming their path to the West. A quiet walk leaves the burning mess behind, out of sight, save for the rising smoke barely noticeable in the cloudy night.

"…Thanks for saving me earlier, by the way," Ephrial recalls the moment in the indigo tent.

"I owed you one."

"Keeping track, are we?" he titters.

"Perhaps," a tone difficult to discern between playful or being concerned with Noxian honor.

Attempting to keep things lighthearted, whichever scenario it happens to be, "Heh…well, if that's the case, then you owe me one more."

Riven gives him an odd look.

"The wolves?" he responds, thinking back to their first encounter.

"You're really going to count that?"

"Were you hoping I would forget?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't remind me," a faint smile.

"Now, where would the fun be in that?"

The two share a short-lived chuckle before the silence dissolves the air again. Crickets play their songs, a slow and even pace between chirps, in accordance to the cool air of the late hour. Curiosity itches at Riven's mind, and she decides to extend her promise of cooperation to being less reclusive, causing her to bring up her inquiry directly.

"…You never told me what happened to the family in your story."

"Oh, the miner and his daughter? Well, there's not much more to say, really. They got their painting back, sold it, and started living happily ever after with their new dog."

"Didn't you technically steal the painting back?"

"I prefer to think I…equalized the transaction. Laws and such are meant to create a fair ground between citizens of all classes, yet they wind up protecting only those of more privileged means than anything, even in Demacian territory. I'm sure you're quite familiar with that concept, seeing as Noxus is a prime example of such iniquity."

"What exactly made it 'equal' if you took the painting?"

"I left him the frame." He turns to meet Riven's perusing gaze. "What? You get what you pay for, right?" he smirks.

She turns away, concealing a slight grin from the infectious humor that finds its way in Ephrial's demeanor. "You must have reaped quite a handsome reward."

The half-blooded swordsman takes a moment to think back. "Yeah, I guess it was a rather memorable stew."

"…Stew? They didn't pay you for your trouble?" hit with bemusement.

"That was the payment. I know I'm considered a "mercenary" to quite a few, and it's not an inaccurate conception. However, as my aim was never about money, I never really sought out for pouches of gold in my travels. The only times I would really accept such is when escorting a merchant from one town to another. Anyone else that had insisted on paying me back in some form, I would merely accept only a meal and a place for the one night. If they were able accommodate such, that is."

"Is that how the 'knight' part of your title came into it?"

"Most likely. People probably couldn't decide what to label me as, so I suppose they just wound up combining both terms into one."

"I see…"

A few silent moments pass, and Riven realizes she had cut off the conversation with an interrupting chain of thoughts. She raises her head to see the mercenary-knight with the same contemplating expression on his face.

"Are you still bothered by today's events?" she asks, not taking him for the easily-distracted type.

"I don't know…didn't things seem to be a bit…off?"

"You mean how that summoner got caught by amateurs with shabby weaponry and even more shameful skill?"

"That, but more… Why would an organization, so daring as to attack the Institute, place their trust in capturing summoners to weak gangs like that…?"

"Hm… Perhaps because they are cheap, and their ties cannot be traced back to them nearly as easily as using a reputable band of sellswords."

"Yes, that is a rather superlative hypothesis. Hm…one thing is for certain, though. If they have already organized a bounty for summoners amidst Valoran's undesirables, that must mean that whomever is involved in the attacks is still within the League's walls. It's the only way they could catch word of the summoners' next moves so quickly."

"Shouldn't we be heading toward the Institute, then?"

"No. Whatever the case might be, the Institute's interest in securing the nexuses at the Crystal Scar is the most reasonable objective that we can safely assume to be true. If our mystery group has already learned of the defense forming in Kalamanda, then there may very well be a plan of attack in motion. We have to head there to warn them of what we know. Then, we take the fight back to the Institute."

Riven silently agrees to the course of action, and the pair resume their travels in another contemplative silence. She notes the degree of certainty her partner has, even when faced with questions that only beg further questions. Perhaps she sees a fragment of her former self within him; a solid conviction, only that of a leader rather than a follower. A blind follower…

The recollection of herself stings, but it's a necessary reminder of who she is now, why she is, and what she must do. At least she has company to distract her mind from the constant battle she relives, over and over. A few lighthearted moments here and there provide a temporary relief of those scars. Could this be…enjoyment? No…such a concept has not been available to her since the day she had lost her unit in Ionia, then decided to cut ties with her friends, family, and Noxus altogether.

Still, the road now seems far less…unforgiving than before.