Rothen tried to stay calm as he and Dannyl carefully loaded the wooden crate with the volatile material he and ten other Alchemists had been creating all night. "Careful – send more power to the containment sphere," he muttered.
"I know, I know," Dannyl replied, a little of his usual good-natured impatience breaking through the otherwise tense atmosphere in the room. "I didn't forget how to be a magician, you know, just because I've been sitting around drinking wine at Elyne socials."
"You sure about that, Lord Dannyl? Your robes do look a little tight around the middle," said Lord Toren, who was holding the crate steady.
The younger Alchemists tittered, but quickly schooled their expressions when Rothen threw them a stern look. "This is not the time nor place."
"A little morale is exactly what we need, Rothen," Dannyl muttered quietly for his ears alone. "With all the Warriors flexing their new moves and the Healers poised to be our saviours, they need to feel like they're playing their part. The Guild is home to us all."
Rothen's gaze softened and he gave a brief nod. They moved on to the other three crates, placing inside them the volatile gas, each contained in a strong shield designed to be punctured by a firestrike.
"Ready, Lord Balkan," Rothen called out to the Head of Warriors, who was standing in the doorway, speaking to Lord Sarrin in hushed tones. Balkan gave a brisk gesture to two young Warriors who were hovering nearby, their faces serious. They levitated two crates each and carried them away, to be loaded onto a donkey cart. Rothen did not know the details of where they would be taken to be detonated – he had only been told to manufacture them. Wherever they're for, please, please let them work, he thought.
As the Alchemists cleared up the work benches and took their tools back to the store cupboard, Dannyl approached Rothen, frowning at the Head of Warriors and Head of Alchemists still deep in conversation at the door. "Is it just me, or is the High Lord nowhere to be found? He seemed to be hovering over all the preparations until yesterday afternoon, then nothing. Sonea, too."
Rothen lowered his voice. "Yes, I've noticed, too. If he has taken up a position in the City, though, that's hardly going to be announced to all of us. We have to assume he is playing his part, and that only the Heads of Disciplines and the Administrator know what that is."
"Let's hope so," Dannyl said, not sounding convinced. "But why take Sonea with him? She's got more wits than the average Warrior, I'll give her that, and I know firsthand that she can handle a knife… but it's still too dangerous."
A pained look entered Rothen's eyes, and Dannyl regretted making his old mentor worry. "I'm sure she's safe with him, of course…" he added quickly.
"No, you're right," Rothen released a shaky sigh. "She may have defeated Regin in the arena, but she is still a novice. From what I've come to see… I do believe he cares for her. I think he will protect her. But I don't think that's the reason he hasn't let her out of his sight since the South Pass fell."
"Oh?" Dannyl raised an eyebrow, his curiosity for gossip piqued.
Rothen moved away from the doorway and pretended to busy himself with the chemicals at the worktable. Dannyl took the hint and moved with him, then leaned in to hear Rothen's whispered words. "I believe he uses her as a power source. A willing one, perhaps, but still."
Dannyl considered what he said. "I hung about the Arena yesterday and saw the Warriors practicing in that way, too. In groups of four, with one striking and three providing power. Maybe this is the kind of tactic that works against the Ichani?"
Rothen was almost about the share what he really suspected – that black magic was involved – but he swallowed his words. There was no point in Dannyl knowing, and it would only complicate things rather than help Sonea. He gave a strained smile and a nod. "You're probably right. I'm just overthinking it."
Dannyl smiled sympathetically and rested a hand on his mentor's shoulder. "We're all anxious to see this through, old friend."
"Lord Rothen!" barked Lord Balkan, making the Alchemist jump slightly. "I thank you for the efforts of your team." Rothen bowed slightly in acknowledgement. "I would like you to accompany my Warriors and I to our positions in the city. We need an Alchemist at hand to oversee the weapons and ensure they safely reach their designated locations."
Rothen's eyes widened as he exchanged a quick glance with Dannyl. He hadn't expected to be in the midst of the action unless, the Eye forbid, the battle came to the Guild itself. But it looked like he would have little choice in the matter. "Yes, Lord Balkan," he replied.
The man nodded briefly and made for the door. "We leave in ten minutes."
—-
– Balkan just left with four crates of the alchemic weapon, Lorlen sent through the blood gem link. He has thirty Warriors with him, an Alchemist, and two Healers.
– Too large a contingent not to draw attention. The three remaining Ichani are still at the Palace, but one scouts the entrance every half hour. He'll see Balkan approach, came Akkarin's reply, the thoughts tinged with disapproval.
– Three? Well that's good news, Lorlen said with relief. We heard a building collapsed onto one of them, but what happened to the other?
– Our friends in the underworld set another successful trap yesterday, Akkarin replied. Lorlen could sense the smile in his friend's mental voice.
– Well, how fortunate, and embarrassing, for us magicians! Lorlen said. I'm glad you have kept friends in… unlikely places.
If Akkarin could sense the unspoken apology in Lorlen's mind about doubting his friend at the trial, he graciously didn't point it out.
A pause, then Akkarin sent,
– They need to place at least two weapons near the entrance of the palace without being seen. Then a diversion needs to draw the Ichani out, close enough to be killed by the impact of the explosions. But if they fail, an open confrontation will follow. There would be too many casualties.
– Do you want me to send someone after them with a message? They must still be making their way through the Inner Circle, Lorlen asked.
– Thank you, Lorlen. No. Leave it to me, Akkarin sent. Lorlen tried to sense the feelings behind the words through the blood gem, but it felt like Akkarin had shielded his mind and moved on his attention.
– Akkarin, you're not going to try to be this diversion, are you?
No reply came. Lorlen stepped away from the window of his office, where he had watched the contingent load up the carts and leave. He rubbed his temples in exhaustion and worry.
—-
Rothen wiped the sweat off his brow as he held on to the reins of the donkey beside him with his other hand. It wasn't just the heat of the sun that had risen an hour ago, and was now climbing to the top of the clear blue sky. He tried to ignore how his hand on the reins were trembling, and how much the wooden crate in the cart was shaking.
For what felt like the hundredth time, he sent out his senses magically to the contents of the crate to check that the shield around the volatile air inside was secure. I should have done some tests to see if all this vigorous shaking would effect the compound…
It was too late now. He saw Balkan, who was walking at the front of their contingent in a grey cloak – like all of them – silently raise a hand to tell everyone to halt.
This is it, Rothen thought, his heart pounding. They stood at the outer gates of the Palace, which were wide open. The grand courtyard beyond it, with a fountain at its centre, was completely empty and silent. Beyond it, Rothen could make out the Palace, its imposing and heavily decorated double doors shut.
The group waited for a moment. The birds chirped. It was eerie how peaceful, sunny, and deserted the scene was.
Then Balkan sharply gestured to his right. Four Warriors levitated one of the crates of alchemic compound, swiftly and silently taking a position on the right side of the colonnaded outer gate. Balkan gestured to the left, and four Warriors took a second crate with them and moved into position to the left of the gate.
Balkan was just about to give a third silent command with his raised arm when a rumbling sound came from the Palace. The heavy double doors were slowly opening inward, groaning like they were rarely used. A figure appeared in the doorway, but he was too far away for Rothen to make out. But he could see the arrogance and calm in his body language as he sauntered lazily through the courtyard, around the fountain and up to the outer gates.
Balkan closed his right hand into a fist. Everyone created one large collective shield around the whole group. Rothen hastily sent out his own power to add to it, feeling a little safer as he sensed the protective bubble they were now inside.
The man had his black hair tied in a high bun. An old battle scar ran from his golden-brown forehead down to his left cheek, cutting through an eyebrow. He had on a gold necklace and wore flowing, amber robes that hung in a style Rothen had never seen in Kyralia before.
His face stretched into a cruel, lazy grin. When he reached the outer gates, Balkan stepped forward to face him, and the Ichani stopped.
"Thank you for bringing me refreshments, Guild magician. They're all weak, but I'll enjoy taking what little power they have," the Ichani grinned.
"By order of the Magician's Guild of Kyralia, leave the Allied Lands now and do not return," Balkan spoke in a commanding voice.
"Ha!" The Ichani let out a sharp bark of laughter. Despite his nonchalance, Rothen could sense he had a shield around himself.
"I do not take orders from the likes of you. Who would have thought the mighty Guild does not even know higher magic? Something our children learn as soon as they are old enough to sit with men," the Ichani sneered at Balkan.
Balkan's face remained inexpressive. "This is your final warning. Four of your companions are dead. Surrender now and we shall let you three leave under escort."
"Did you not hear me, Guild magician?" The Ichani's voice now lost some of its laziness, betraying a simmering anger underneath. Suddenly, Rothen felt something like a mental punch. Judging by everyone's gasp, the Ichani had just sent an invisible and extremely strong forcestrike at their group shield.
"Hold!" Balkan barked, and Rothen felt the Warriors restrengthen their collective shield with fresh magic. The Ichani sent two more frighteningly powerful forcestrikes, this time curving them to hit their group from either side. Luckily, they had created a shield that was strong from every angle. But that also means we are wasting much more power shielding than the Ichani is striking, Rothen thought worriedly.
"Four and two!" Balkan commanded. Rothen had no idea what was going on, but his Warriors clearly did. One of the more experienced ones in the group, Lord Sento, stepped a little forward and three Warriors placed their hands on his shoulder. The air crackled in front of him as he sent a complicated array of forcestrikes at the Ichani.
The Ichani looked immensely pleased. He deflected the forcestrikes with ease, barking with laughter. But then his brows furrowed and he scowled, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he realised there were heatstrikes and stunstrikes of varying strengths hidden behind the forcestrikes. Instead of adjusting his shield to conserve his power, he had to keep one up that was as strong as the strongest strike coming his way. He snarled when he saw them vanish before they touched his shield, meaning he had wasted power making it so strong. Lord Sento smiled grimly.
With a sound of fury, the Ichani let out a massive stunstrike straight at the Warrior. The three Warriors lending Lord Sento their power grimaced in pain as they strengthened their collective shield just in time. Yes! Rothen thought as he saw the Ichani's stunstrike bounce off Lord Sento's shield. But then his eyes widened in horror as the strike darted to their left, hitting one of the crates of volatile air.
White light blinded Rothen as he felt a massive force hit his left side, smashing him to the floor. Screams. Crackles, like wood burning. The horrific smell of burnt flesh.
Get up! Get away! His mind was screaming at him, but his legs wouldn't move, and his sight was blinded from the blast. Arms. Use your arms. He was relieved to find he could move his arms and hands.
Still half-blinded by the light and dust, Rothen felt for the ground and dug his fingernails into the soft dirt. He dragged his body an inch. He reached out and dug his hands in again. And another drag. And again.
Slowly, his sight returned, but it wasn't much help. There was dust and particles of wood hanging in the air.
He could see the bodies of Warriors lying still on the ground, their cloaks and red robes brown with dust. Some of their faces were horribly burned and they weren't moving. Some were groaning and dragging themselves along the ground like Rothen was. But the most horrific sight of all were the scraps of red robes and charred ground, where Warriors killed from the blast had been consumed at the moment of death by their own remaining power.
How many dead? Did the blast kill the Ichani too? It was too chaotic to tell.
For a second, Rothen thought he imagined it, but out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw something moving. A black shape darting from doorway to doorway, slowly approaching the palace gates. Then dust flew into his eyes again and by the time Rothen coughed and blinked, the dark shape was gone.
"I should have known you would use others to save your own skin!"
Rothen froze as he heard the Ichani's voice, some distance away, over the groans of injured magicians.
"You thought wrong, Takiro," the reply came: cold, cultured, calculating. Only one man Rothen knew had that voice. "Get back to your master."
"Kariko is no master of mine! I am Ichani. I have no master. But I will enjoy killing you, deserter!"
Deserter? Akkarin? But before he could think, blinding lights flashed before Rothen's eyes. He flattened himself closer to the ground, only raising his head high enough to blearily see the battle going on. Akkarin stood at the palace outer gates, his threadbare grey cloak parting to reveal his black robes from the force of the strikes whipping up the air between him and the Ichani.
Rothen had never seen Akkarin in battle before, not even in mock duels in the Arena. The rumours about his powers were true. His strikes were the same strength as the Ichani's, and much stronger than anything an ordinary Guild magician possessed.
But Takiro looked like he had the upper hand. The force of his strikes were forcing Akkarin to take steps back into the courtyard of the palace. The Ichani had an ugly sneer on his face; Akkarin's eyes were like a pair of flashing black coals in a face set with determination. He continued to step back as his shield was battered relentlessly. Takiro's grin widened as he began to take longer strides towards Akkarin.
It all happened in a heartbeat. A strike on Takiro's back – it was Balkan, covered in dust but alive. Takiro's shield did not waver from Balkan's strike, but his concentration broke for a second as he glanced back quickly to see where the new assault had come from. In that instant, Rothen saw the crate at the other end of the gate, which was still intact, levitate up and hurtle towards the Ichani. Just as Takiro turned back to face Akkarin, the High Lord stopped striking the Ichani and struck the crate in front of them instead.
Rothen had a split second to draw enough power to shield himself and close his eyes as a second explosion ripped through the air in front of the outer gate. He heard the Ichani's horrific scream and the nauseating smell of burnt flesh assaulted his nose a second time.
He opened his eyes in time to see Akkarin run out of the gates in a swirl of black robes and back into the streets of the Inner Circle, disappearing around a corner.
Rothen coughed and looked around. The gates were partly melted from the blast, and the pale marble of the fountain beyond was blackened. Where Takiro had stood was bits of splintered wood and bloodied rags that had once been the Ichani's robes.
"Retreat!" He heard Balkan's voice through the high ringing in his ear. A hand reached down and grabbed Rothen's arm roughly; the last thing he saw before he passed out was a blur of green Healer's robes in front of his face. And then came the sensation of being levitated and transported away.