Author's Note: Ok, here you go guys, the climax of Book II. It's about to get a bit crazy. Also, just wanted to mention, I just got the professional cover for Saga of the Jewels through, and it looks awesome! I paid for it entirely using money I earned from writing fiction :) If you want to see it, head to SagaoftheJewels DOT susbtack DOT com. You can also get a free bonus short story prologue to the Saga by subscribing to it there (and of course you then just unsubscribe immediately and just keep reading it through fanfiction)! Peace, and Happy Christmas, Faenon
For a moment Huld could only stand dumb and rooted to the spot, his fist still clenched around the Earth Emerald, his mouth hanging open.
Heavy rain pummelled him from the dark sky, so hard it hurt his burned and bruised skin, and through the clouds, through the downpour, dozens of black Imperial airships were descending.
So many he lost count.
The Governor. The thought echoed loudly in his mind, drowning out everything else.
He must protect the Governor.
He dived forwards into the stocky man who had still been standing next to him, pushing him over onto the floor and covering him with his burned and bruised body, which ached in complaint, even as an explosion of impact from a cannonball went up nearby, rattling them where they landed. Huld found he had just enough mana left to raise up a stone encasement around the pair of them to shield them where they lay.
"What are you doing, you fool?" his Lord Governor screamed inches away from Huld's face inside the darkness of their new stone cocoon. "We're being attacked by a whole Morekemian fleet! We won't be safe in here! I can protect myself! Get up! Get out! Fight! Defend your country, you fool!"
Huld blinked. He had acted on pure instinct without thinking about what he was doing. "Y-yes, Lord Governor," he stammered. "Of course, Lord Governor."
He got up, breaking their stone covering, and helped the Governor up too, who immediately started running towards his viewing platform and screaming "MONKS! FIGHTING MONKS OF FARR! WE ARE BEING INVADED! DEFEND YOUR COUNTRY, DAMN YOU!"
Huld looked around at the scene unfolding before him, his legs quaking.
The noise of cannonfire tore through the air, barely indistinguishable from the periodic rolls of thunder, and shards of stone and wood fountained upwards as cannonballs from the airships smashed into the arena, into its tiled floor, its viewing area, its raised platform.
Farrians ran from them in blind panic, jostling and stumbling over each other to escape, or flying into the air themselves when a cannonball hit near them and falling to the ground, tossed like rag-dolls, their screams of terror and pain filling any gaps in the noise of thunder and cannonfire.
Lightning lashed, and lit the black metal hulls of the Imperial airships, still blasting their cannons, still flying closer and closer through the pouring rain.
How could this happen? How had the Morekemians managed to fly this far into their country unhindered, and to strike at exactly the same time as this storm?
Huld shook his head clear, or as clear as he could get it. That didn't matter now. What mattered was that it was happening, and that he needed to fight back.
That was when Huld saw multiple earthen pillars rising up from the ground towards the airships, dimly green figures stood atop them with upraised hands.
His fellow fighting monks, the ones who had been guarding the Governor on his viewing platform or deployed to keep the crowd in check during the tournament. He squinted, and recognised Fei, Qartak, Ezlon and Chun, among others.
It wasn't just Huld who had been gifted with earth projection! The Governor must have touched his brothers with the Emerald too, before offering it as the prize for the tournament!
And there was the Governor himself nearby, riding a swiftly rising pillar of stone from the arena floor up towards the nearest Imperial airship.
Huld watched amidst the raging rain as a monk reached an airship atop his pillar and leapt from it, landed on the ship's deck and began to set upon the soldiers who were there.
A cannonball ripped through another monk's pillar, toppling him from it and sending him screeching to the ground, arms flailing wildly, hitting it with a bone-crunching smack that made Huld wince.
But most monks found their targets and leapt aboard airships, as did the Governor.
Huld realised that this was what he must do too, and called the earth, willing the stone underneath him upwards.
It lifted by about a foot, but then his whole body throbbed with pain and the stone sagged back down.
I'm out of energy, he thought, so weary he could barely think it coherently.
A hand grabbed his arm. Huld spun with straining effort, his reaction speed much slower than usual.
The old foreigner, 'Cid', frowning at him through the drenching rain.
"You need healing," the old man said, over the noise of the destruction. "I hardly have any mana left myself, but here, drink this." He had fumbled a stoppered bottle of clear liquid out of his satchel, which he handed to Huld.
The monk still had the wherewithal to narrow his eyes at the foreigner in suspicion.
"Don't worry!" the old man said urgently. "Come on, we've fought alongside each another enough before! It's a rare elixir. I don't have many of them. It will restore your vitality and your mana in one drink."
Another cannon-blast shook the earth, sending screams and debris into the air.
That was good enough for Huld. He stowed the Emerald safely within the folds of his robes, unstoppered the bottle and tipped the liquid down his throat, warm and sweet.
The warmth immediately spread from his throat through the rest of his body, all the way to his fingertips and his toes, and he was revived. He felt as if he had just woken from a very good night's sleep and eaten a hearty meal. His earth-sense returned, all the stronger, and through his legs he felt the vibrations of thousands of feet running to get out of the arena.
"Thank you," Huld breathed, and pressed the bottle back into the foreigner's hand, then willed the stone underneath him upwards once more.
Now he shot up into the air, carried by a rising pillar of stone, which he angled towards the nearest airship as it lifted him through sheets of rain.
He gained its prow, and halted the pillar's growth with a thought, so that he was launched from it. His momentum carried him up, higher into the air, and he somersaulted, then came down on the airship's deck, landing in the crouch of monkey stance.
Imperial soldiers, encased in their black carapaces and horizontally-slitted helmets, brandishing swords and crossbows.
There was no earth or stone to manipulate on this metal ship, but Huld didn't need it. He was a fighting monk of Farr, and his strength had been restored.
He stepped to the side as a soldier loosed a crossbow bolt at him, and the bolt went wide. He ran forwards before the man could reload and kicked him so hard in the chest he flew back into another soldier.
Huld set among the Imperials, ducking and dodging and punching and kicking, unleashing the skill acquired from a lifetime of training upon them.
And then something smashed into him, a jet-stream of water moving impossibly horizontal through the air.
Pain blossomed in Huld's stomach as he was lifted from his feet by the torrent and carried backwards until he smashed into the side of the ship and the jet ceased. He landed on his backside, his head resounding and his whole body already aching again.
Dazed, he just about managed to get his bearings and look up to see who had attacked him.
Some way from him, across the rain-slicked deck, a weaponless Imperial soldier stood, two palms still extended in Huld's direction.
Eto save us, the monk thought.
They have water projection.
Earth is weak to water.
"They have water projection!" Cid was shouting at the top of his lungs over the noise of cannons and thunder. "They have water projection!"
"What's so bad about that?" Ryn yelled back at him. He knew it was bad for him with his fire-alignment, but he didn't know why else. The raindrops felt physically painful to him as they hammered on his skin.
"Earth is weak to water in the elemental schema!" Cid replied. "The monks will stand no chance, even if they have been touched by the Emerald!"
"That's stupid!" shouted Elrann. "Why is earth weak to water as well?"
"Don't ask me," yelled Cid, "it's just the way it is! It's just the way the One made it!"
"But earth and plants need water to grow!" yelled Ryn.
"I don't know! It's just what we found when we experimented with different Jewel-alignments!"
"Well what is water weak to, then?! What's effective against water-aligned people?!"
"Wind has some effect!" said Cid. "But most of all, lightning! Lightning is super effective against water!"
They all looked at Nuthea.
"Don't look at me!" the princess protested. "I'm still blocked!"
"Please, Nuthea, try!" Ryn implored her.
"What do you think I've been doing all this time, Ryn? I have been trying!"
An almighty boom sounded as a cannonball struck somewhere nearby, and they all ducked their heads down instinctively.
Ryn peeked his head out to survey the battle. From where they had taken temporary cover in the mouth of the tunnel that led to the dugout under the arena he could see multiple hulking black Imperial airships bearing down on them, firing cannonballs. Aboard them, black-armoured Imperial soldiers projected jets of water from their hands, overpowering the Farrian monks who had earth-projected themselves up to their decks. Rain fell in sheets and lightning lanced across the sky. It was like a scene from a nightmare. It was like a scene from one of his nightmares, only with the fire in them replaced by water. His head swam, and the scene started to spin.
"What do we do?" he cried, of Cid, of Nuthea, of the world in general.
"We need to protect the Emerald from the Imperials!" said Nuthea.
"I saw monk-man boarding that airship!" said Elrann, pointing to the nearest vessel that loomed directly over the centre of the arena, bombarding the city. "I think he still had it!"
"No!" Nuthea wailed. "If he's vulnerable to water, he'll surely be overpowered, and they'll take it!"
"We need to rescue him," said Cid.
"But how?" asked Ryn.
"Sagar!" said Nuthea. "If wind has some effect on water-alignment, we need to find Sagar! Where is he?!"
Ryn looked around manically. Nuthea, Cid, Elrann, Vish, and the newcomers Quel and Riss were all with them, but no Sagar.
Another cannonball rocked the earth they stood on, and Ryn steadied himself. "Where did Sagar go?"
"I think," volunteered Riss, "he went off with the lady he fought in his match." The girl's eyes were wide and her skin shone pale. She looked even more terrified than usual. Understandably.
"Kufe it!" Ryn swore. Stupid Sagar! "Alright, we'll just have to find him! He can't have gone far. Split up! Whoever finds Sagar first, get him to fly up onto that ship and get back the Emerald! Go, go!"
"WAIT!" cried Cid, halting Ryn in his tracks. "Not so fast! Ryn, with their water projection you'll be useless against them. You should stay here with me, Nuthea and Riss for protection. Young man Vish, young lady Elrann, you try to find Sagar."
"Will you give me poppy if I do?" asked Vish.
"Yes, you'll get your damn poppy!" Cid shouted at him. Ryn had never seen him take charge or lose his temper like this.
"What about you, Quel?" Ryn asked, suddenly remembering that the bard himself possessed water projection. "You should go with them, too!"
The lutist turned his eyes on Ryn slowly, as if drawn from a daydream, even among the carnage that was taking place all around them.
"They have water projection…" Quel said, so quietly Ryn almost didn't hear him over the sounds of the storm and battle. "That means they found the Water Sapphire… That means…"
Instead of finishing his sentence, he turned and sprinted off towards the airships.
"Follow him, you two!" Ryn yelled to Vish and Elrann, and they ran off as well. "Find Sagar, and get the Emerald back!"
"I do not need that blustering idiot," yelled Vish. "I will go straight for the Jewel and retrieve it myself, if that is what you are most interested in." He ran off.
"Well, you find Sagar then!" Ryn said to Elrann.
She nodded, and ran off herself.
Ryn turned back to Cid. "What do we do now, then?"
"This way!" said Cid, urgently beckoning him, Nuthea and Riss into the tunnel that led down to the dugout. "We can take shelter in here for now!"
"But what are we going to do?" Ryn asked, frustrated at being unable to fight.
"What we're going to do," said Cid as they ran down the tunnel, "is try to get Granddaughter here unblocked."
Elrann ran through the storm clutching the cold steel grip of her pistol in one hand and the leather handle of her whip in the other, heart hammering in her head, rain soaking her hair, wind clawing at her eyes, weaving her way around the craters left by the impact of cannonfire, trying to stay away from the crowds of fleeing Farrians that the Imperials might target next, trying to see, trying to think straight, trying to stay alive.
She had never been so scared in her life.
Except for when the Empire had invaded Ast, of course. This was just like that, only worse, because she didn't have Sagar to lead her to safety.
Damn pirate-man! He just had to go and think with his willy, as usual! He just had to go off with some Farrian girl right at the crucial moment when the Empire found them and decided to attack them again! If he had gone and got himself killed, and with him her chances of ever tracking down her father, she would never forgive him!
"Aghhh!" Elrann screamed as another cannonball tore into the closest clump of Farrians, throwing several of them and their body parts into the air.
Think, Elrann! she demanded of herself. If I was a swaggering skypirate trying to bed a hot foreigner babe, where would I go?
Then the answer came to her, clear as a pistol-shot in her mind.
A tavern.
Where else? The same place that he had taken her when he had thought he had had a chance of bedding her. Though not exactly the same place. He would have made for the nearest tavern to the arena.
And that was what Elrann must do now.
She altered her course, now making directly for the largest group of fleeing Farrians, because they were running away from the arena, just where she needed to go. Riskier, but she had to chance it if she was going to have a hope of finding pirate-man. She pelted over the hard earth to catch up to the backs of their robes and tunics and flicking feet and sandals, then immersed herself among them, beginning to jostle and elbow and shove her way through, keeping her fingers off the trigger of her pistols so that she didn't accidentally shoot anybody, praying to Yntrik that because she was in among a bigger group of Farrians a cannonball would be less likely to hit her.
Tenkachi's arena was at the centre of the city, and amidst the hurrying crush of people eventually the earthen floor of the arena's huge viewing area gave way to hard stone cobbles under her boots. The Farrians who had survived this far spread out as the circle of the viewing area opened up into the city proper, dispersing and no doubt running to find their homes and locate their loved ones, if they weren't with them already. Elrann made sure to stay away from any new groups of people that formed, not wanting to become a target for cannonfire, and for now the thundering impact of cannonballs remained distant behind her.
She began to scan the buildings of the city for what she was looking for as she ran, now describing a wide circle around the perimeter of the arena viewing area to sort through the buildings at its lip. She had to hug them closely to make them out through the cloud-dark and the rain, and barge her way past more Farrians running away from the arena, who swore and called curses after her. Conical buildings of earth, wood and stone. Squat houses with brick chimneys. Shops with shuttered fronts left open to the elements, abandoned in the chaos. A building with a wooden sign above its door, swinging and creaking in the wind, with a tankard of ale painted on it.
There.
"Oof!"
Someone had run into Elrann, knocking her to the ground. Someone running towards the arena, not away from it.
She looked up. I knew it! A rain-drenched pirate-man in his trademark leather coat, and the athletic, green-garbed form of his new short-haired Farrian girlfriend, whom Elrann now silently dubbed fighter-girl.
"Sagar!" she spat, fumbling for her dropped pistol and rushing to get up. He had stopped when he had seen who he had run into. "The Empire are attacking!"
"Yeah, I can see that, woman!"
Even with the 'woman' in the crisis and the storm. Yeesh.
"Who's this?" asked fighter-girl.
"Just a friend," Sagar said at once to her. "Actually, possibly my sister. Never mind–I'll explain later!"
"Sagar!" Elrann repeated, forcing her way back into their dumb-ass dialogue. "Ya don't understand! The Empire are attacking and they have the Emerald and they have water-projection! They can shoot water outta their hands and stuff! Farmboy and monk-man are useless against them, and princess-girl's still unable to use her lightning! But pops says wind will do them some damage! We need you!"
Sagar's face froze, pale and serious, as Elrann had never seen it. He looked to fighter-girl, then back to Elrann, then back to fighter-girl again, desperate conflict playing across his expression.
"Well what are you waiting for?!" broke out fighter-girl. "My people are being attacked! She says that you have the key to defending them!"
Sagar nodded. "Right. Don't know what came over me." He turned back to Elrann. "Show me where to go, woman. Hiuna, you get yourself to safety. I'll come pick you up in my airship from Tenkachi's airport once all this is over." Of course he would have told her all about his airship. His big shiny airship.
Fighter-girl frowned like he'd just taken a dump in her noodle soup. "What do you mean, 'get yourself to safety'?! I can fight too! I'm coming with you!"
"No you're kufeing not!" said Sagar. "It's too dangerous!"
"Don't give me that poodoo," said fighter-girl. "If you think you can tell me what to do then you had better re-think this whole courtship thing!"
Hey, I like her, Elrann thought.
"Grrrr," growled Sagar. "There's no godsdamn time for this! Alright…come on then!"
A fight on their first date, thought Elrann as she started to run back towards the arena, leading them against the flow of the fleeing Farrians. Pretty impressive. Though I guess we are in the middle of a cataclysmic battle and stuff. That can get in the way of romance sometimes.
Vish sprinted across the wet arena-stone towards the nearest airship.
A flagship, from its size and the many cannons issuing bright flashes from its sides.
He didn't need that arrogant wind-blowing boy to lift him up to it. He was a trained Shadowfinger, by the Emperor himself.
He skidded to a splashing stop, judged the distance to that black blimp, crouched, coiling himself up like a spring…
…and jumped.
Wind and rain rushed over him as he soared upwards through the air, reaching behind his head to grip the hilt of his sword in its sheath on his back where he had taken to wearing it.
He had judged his jump perfectly. He came down right in the gap between the ship's blimp and its deck, drawing his black blade as he did and bringing it down with him in a deadly glinting arc, so hard into the helmet of the nearest soldier that it bit through the metal and into his head.
The soldier died instantly, and Vish yanked the blade free and kicked the corpse away, turning to greet his first foolish challenger with a parry and a counter-thrust that punctured the man's heart.
In, out, went his black blade and Vish found his flow, stepping forwards to block the sword-swing of the next fool who came at him and slicing into the fleshy space between his helmet and breastplate before the poor bastard knew what was happening.
The thrill took him. His movements became automatic. The only thing that even came close to the ecstasy of a poppy hit was the thrill of fighting a worthy opponent or an overwhelming number of weaker opponents. It didn't come that close, but it was still something, he reflected as he danced among the soldiers. And if he did this, he would be rewarded with more poppy seed. The old man had said so.
He looked about as he fought, and spotted the Farrian who had won the Earth Jewel, sitting slumped unconscious against the rail of the ship. An unarmed soldier was walking towards the monk purposefully.
Vish despatched his latest opponent with a quick stab into his helmet-slit, then ran to intercept the Farrian's assailant.
Another soldier called out a warning, and the unarmed man turned to see Vish coming. The man thrust his hands forward and a jet of water as wide as their span burst from them, right at Vish, who dropped and rolled on his shoulder out of its way.
As Vish came up, he saw the soldier moving his hands round to keep the water jet-stream aimed at him, but Vish was faster. He fell flat into a skid along the rain-slick deck, feet gliding along it as he pulled his body back, and at the same time threw his sword, which went spinning parallel to the floor and stuck in the man's leg.
The man cried out immediately and ceased his water-spouting, and in a moment Vish was up again and upon him, retrieving his sword and finishing the job he had started with a downward thrust, impaling the man through his chestplate.
So what if some of the Imperial soldiers, his former colleagues, had 'water projection'? They were still no more than rank-and-file grunts with little more than basic training and their meagre wits to serve them in the face of an elite highly-trained Shadowfinger assassin.
The Farrian lay nearby. This was Vish's moment to retrieve what the girl and the old man wanted before the other soldiers caught up to him. The Farrian must have the Jewel somewhere about his person.
Just as he was about to bend down to look for it, something freezing and solid constricted around Vish's torso, pinning his arms against his sides.
The Shadowfinger looked down. He had been trapped in a tight ring of thick, shining white ice that had spontaneously appeared from nowhere.
Damn, Vish thought.
He pushed his arms against it, trying to break free, but his muscles only strained uselessly against their new frozen binding, the pain of cold starting to seep into them.
"Damn," Vish whispered, the word barely audible over the sounds of storm and slaughter.
Without other options, he rotated slowly where he stood.
Walking towards him from among the soldiers, through the wake of dead that Vish had left, was a man also in black Imperial armour, only with no helmet, and wearing a white cape that flapped in the wind.
He had a boyishly handsome face and short-cropped dark hair, atop a tall, lean frame which he carried with impeccable posture, even in the middle of a battle in a storm. Vish recognised him from his time with the Empire.
Now Vish's blood turned to ice as well.
General Ulthis.
One of Vorr's equals, and the man who had been tasked with leading the Umbar campaign.
"Damn," Vish said.
Quel raced across the sodden stones amidst the falling rain, eyes sifting the sky as thunder rumbled loud and close.
Its lightning came quickly, striking a corner-post of the Governor's viewing-platform, and as it struck it illuminated the nearest airship, and for a moment Quel spotted a spout of water being projected by a soldier across its deck into the figure of a Farrian monk.
His throat tightened and his breath caught in it. He froze where he stood.
It's true.
They have water projection.
They have the Water Sapphire.
How?
Had they stolen it from his people in Umbar? Had his Chieftain finally given in to the political pressure and ceded it to the Morekemians? No, Veers would never do that, he reassured himself. But then…has something worse happened?
He must find out.
And in order to do that, he must survive this battle.
Soldiers were jumping from the airships. Not the nearest one, which the black-clad Aibarian known to Quel's new companions was jumping onto himself, but the others–silvery specks leaping from their decks and, before they hit the ground, calling spouts of water to fountain up from underneath them and safely slow their descent. Their technique was ugly, unrefined, and they landed clumsily, staggering and stumbling about in the fountains, but there was no doubt about it–they were Sapphire-touched.
Quel's jaw clenched. How dare they even touch the Sacred Stone of my people!
As they landed, the soldiers began to pursue the many Farrians who still fled in chaotic panic from the Imperial assault. Some ran towards him.
Quel slung his lute case round on its strap from under his cloak to his front, then snapped it open. He snatched the instrument up, shoved the case back round behind him, and found the frets and strings with his fingers.
By the One, I'm not going to let them get away with this.
He began to play his lute, fingerpicking with dextrous fury, finding the first open chords that came to him, a simple sequence that he ran through and the came back round to again.
As the strings hummed and buzzed, hardly audible over the noise of the storm and the Imperial assault, he began a low chant in his chest, willing his throat to loosen and forcing himself to find his voice.
The soldiers were nearly on him now, one pulling back his hands ready to launch a water attack at him.
His base rhythm and sequence set, Quel began to sing, and as he sang he manipulated water around his song.
The approaching soldier's hands flew out, and with them a jet of rushing water shot right through the rain at Quel.
The bard nudged it to the side, so that it went past him, then brought it around behind him and straight back at the soldier.
The water-jet crashed into its original projector in a spray, knocking him from his feet with a surprised shout and pushing him back across the arena the way he had come.
The other nearby soldiers saw what had happened and halted in their running. They didn't hurl more water at him. Instead they drew short, sharp swords.
Quel smiled as he sang.
As the soldiers advanced, he began to catch the falling raindrops, holding them in place with his music, and a bubble of dry air formed around him. More and more rain collected around him where he held it, and soon he had stacked up a whole shimmering shell of water to play with. A simple way to conserve his energy rather than have to create new water for each attack, and one of which apparently the Morekemians did not know.
The soldiers stopped in place where they were, too bewildered–or perhaps too smart–to attack him.
All the while, Quel kept up his song. It came out as wordless glossolalia, an ever lilting and shifting melody that rose and fell in counterpoint to his chord sequence, which he knew as hand movements more than sound. His focus was on the water that he projected and manipulated, the automatic luteplay and spontaneous song only means to channel his concentration and keep him in the battle-trance.
His melody rose, and he lashed out with the water he had collected, sending it out in streams towards each soldier he saw, then freezing each stream into a sharpened spear of ice before it connected.
The ice-spears impaled the soldiers' flimsy armour, and they hit the ground, the glistening sculptures still stuck through them.
Quel ceased his song and stowed his lute. His air-bubble collapsed, the remaining rain-shell splashing over him.
He took his bearings.
All around him in the rain was chaos. Water-wielding Imperials chased after screaming Farrians, bowling them over with projected waves and sticking swords into them. Above and in the distance, the black airships hovered in place, blasting cannonballs into the crowds that the soldiers had not yet reached. Quel quivered. It was truly horrible.
At least he had dispatched his own little contingent of soldiers without being spotted or his own water-projection being detected by anyone else–yet. As far as he was aware, nobody was coming specifically for him.
There were too many of the Imperials for him to fight them all alone, though. He was just one man against a whole invading army.
He must find an Imperial who might know about the Sapphire and Umbar.
A war-leader. A 'general'.
Where they would be?
They would no doubt be with that which the Empire were seeking in coming here: The Earth Emerald.
They would be with the Farrian who had won the tournament.
Quel looked around above him, searching for his target in the maelstrom.
There.
The Imperial flagship, massive and imposing, still hovering above the centre of the fighting arena like a bird above its prey.
Quel ran towards it, clearing the space he needed to across the arena, then jumped and projected water upwards from underneath him.
The fountaining water caught his body and carried him through the air, through the rain, towards the Imperial airship which loomed up before him.
He had to stick his hands out to catch the bottom of the blimp and swing himself in underneath it, but he landed on his feet on the deck with a thump and cast around to see what was happening.
The Farrian was slumped over to one side against the side of the ship, eyes closed. The Aibarian stood next to him, only he was encased in a thick ring of ice.
Quel reached out for the ice with his mind and found its stiff, brittle presence. He relaxed it, willing it to become liquid again, and the ice melted into water that dropped to the Aibarian's feet in a puddle.
A helmetless Imperial who had had his back to Quel rounded on him, crying "Who did that?! How dare–"
He stopped when he saw Quel. He had lank dark hair and wore a ridiculous flapping white cape. This was a leader, or a general.
"How did you learn water manipulation?!" Quel shouted at the Imperial. He was not used to shouting and almost never did it, but he was so angry and concerned for his homeland that he couldn't help himself. "Where is the Water Sapphire?!"
The Imperial only smirked at him across the deck. "Curious," he said. "A Sapphire-touched traveller from Umbar, where we've just come from!"
"What did you do there?!" Quel demanded, dizzy from rising panic. "What did you do?!"
The Imperial flung his head back to flick his fringe out of his eyes and laugh. "Ha! Wouldn't you like to know!" He stretched out a claw-tipped gauntlet and projected a jet of water at Quel which hardened to a shining point on its way.
Quel got his hands up and arrested the ice-spear mid-flight, then caused it to melt back into water, which washed over the deck harmlessly. The Imperial had used the same attack that Quel had just used on the soldiers below, but it was one easily countered by another watershaper.
"You have skill," the Imperial said, actually dipping his head in acknowledgement. "But no matter. Deal with him, Elpis."
Sharp pain raked Quel's back through his cloak. Something metal and curved bit into him, and he gasped as it was yanked out of him again, pulling him around to face his new attacker.
The bard dropped to one knee. His back blazed with pain and he could feel blood starting to drip down the inside of his shirt.
Across the deck in front of him stood another Shadowfinger dressed all in black, swinging a curved blade on the end of a large metal chain, and wearing a ceramic mask on which was painted the face of a made-up lady.
Sagar hurtled through the wind and rain, Hiuna and Elrann on either side of him.
They broke through the latest collection of Farrians fleeing in the other direction and found Imperial soldiers running towards them.
"Windaaaaraah!" Sagar shouted, sweeping his hand across the air in front of him, and it gusted forwards, scattering the black-armoured men before them like ten-pins.
The trio ran on past them, back towards the arena, and Elrann yelled "That one!" pointing up at the largest of the black airships hovering above.
"Right!" acknowledged Sagar. He waited until they were almost underneath it, level with its starboard side, and then stuck out his arms and said "Both of you, hold on to me!"
Hiuna and Elrann each grabbed onto one of his arms with both hands, gripping tightly.
"Jump on 'three'!" Sagar said. "One, two, three!"
He jumped too, and summoned the wind, and the air beneath them shot upwards in a whooshing rush, rippling over their clothing, catching them and bearing them aloft. Sagar's stomach dropped out beneath him as he tried to steer the three of them as the airship above got rapidly closer, but it was difficult with two people hanging on to you and his control was clumsy and oh poodoo he was going to overshoot–
They hit the blimp of the airship, which had just enough give to cushion their impact with a soft thump, then broke apart from one another as Sagar ceased the wind blast and fell down and landed on the deck on his side. He staggered up.
Baldy lay nearby, passed out. Next to him stood the scumsucker. Some ways away across the deck was another scumsucker, wearing a painted-lady mask like the one they had fought in Manolia had worn. In front of him, or her, knelt the Umbarian lutist they had found in the inn in Shun-Pei, evidently wounded. And on the near side of him, closer to Sagar, stood a handsome Imperial officer with long dark hair who turned to regard them now.
"More irritants," the Imperial said when he saw them. "Where do you keep coming from?" His gaze landed on Sagar. "You I recognise from the bounty lists; a wanted Imfisi pirate." A warm glow of pride momentarily filled Sagar's head, even amidst the danger. "But you two I do not know." He nodded at Elrann and Hiuna.
"Girls," Sagar said to his companions, ignoring the Imperial's prattle, "get to baldy and find the Emerald. I'll deal with this poser."
The Imperial's eyes bulged, and he flung out his hand, from which issued a jet of rushing water that came straight at Sagar.
But the skypirate was ready. He threw up his own hands and wind rushed from them, pushing the Imperial's water attack back into his own face and making him stumble backwards with an enraged shout.
Behind him the Umbarian braced himself against the wind, and beyond him the scumsucker did the same.
It's handy that the Umbarian is kneeling down… Sagar suddenly thought.
Making a snap decision, he bit down and increased the force of the wind-blast coming from his outstretched hands to the strength of a gale, betting it all on this attack, involuntary grunts of effort escaping from his mouth as pain wracked his arms. The gale grew so violent that he heard the howl of it over the noise of the storm.
The Imperial held up his arms and tried to shield himself from it and hold his ground, but it was too strong, and in a moment it lifted him from his feet and sent him tumbling heels-over-head through the air over the deck, before he crashed into the rail on the far side of the ship. The Shadowfinger lost her footing too and almost went tumbling over the ship's rail, but managed to stick out a hand to grab it and hold on.
In front of them, the Umbarian had been pushed across the deck, but already having been kneeling down and curling up into a ball meant that he hadn't taken the full brunt of it.
Sagar exhaled and ended the attack, then dashed forwards with a strain to get to the Umbarian while he had some time. He knelt down next to him and pulled the man's arm up and over his shoulder.
"Come on," Sagar said to him. "The princess thinks you'll be useful in finding more of the Jewels. That's good enough for me."
The Umbarian only groaned.
Sagar hoisted him up, and the pair of them hastily limped back over to the women and the scumsucker.
The baldy had woken up too, but he was very pale and his eyes were barely in focus–he looked like total poodoo.
"Did you get the Emerald?" Sagar asked Elrann urgently.
"Monk-man still has it!" she said.
"Well, what are you waiting for?! Grab it and let's go!"
Elrann shot him a cold stare. "We can't just leave him here like this!"
"But–"
"I'm not leaving him," Elrann said with finality, and lightning streaked across the sky, thunder following, lending further gravitas to her words.
Sagar tightened his jaw. "Rrrrrr. Fine. Whatever. But I don't know if I can slow us all down if we jump from this ship–especially him. I used up a lot of my energy on that last attack..."
"I can help," the Umbarian said unexpectedly beside him, one arm still slung over Sagar's shoulder. "I am hurt, but I think I can still project. I can raise a fountain to cushion our landing too."
"Alright," said Sagar. "Do it."
"Watch out!" yelled Hiuna.
Sagar turned at her words to see the female Shadowfinger sprinting back at them across the deck, the Imperial General not far behind. They recovered so quickly from my attack… Sagar thought, deflating with despair.
"I'll deal with her," said Hiuna, stepping forwards.
"What?" said Sagar. "You can't–"
"I'll deal with her!" Hiuna repeated, "Go and protect your gem!" and then she grabbed him by the scruff of his coat and shoved him overboard, over the ship's rail.
Damn, but she's surprisingly strong, Sagar thought, not for the first time, as he plummeted towards the stony arena floor.
He called the wind again and it rose to slow them down, and Quel must have called water too because a fountain bubbled up with the wind as well and washed over them, soaking them even more than they were already and arresting their descent.
But Sagar was tired, and Quel was hurt, and their projections were sloppy, haphazard, and while the gust-fountain slowed them down it didn't catch them completely, so in a moment pain flashed in Sagar's legs as he hit the stones and broke apart from Quel, then rolled to convert the momentum of his fall.
He came to a stop, but there was no time to rest and still kneeling he raised his hands and kept up the same gust that had cushioned his fall, as Elrann, Vish and Huld fell down from the airship and into it and Quel's bubbling water-fountain too, landing in the same clumsy fashion.
But not Hiuna.
Sagar let the wind cease.
"Why didn't you stay up there and help her?!" he shouted at Vish as soon as the Shadowfinger had recovered from his landing.
Vish blinked at him through the rain. "The command was to retrieve the monk and the stone. Also, that Imperial General is too strong for me. I have met him before."
"Never mind that now!" Elrann cried. "Make her actions worth something, Sagar! Come on! We've got to find the others and get out of here!"
Sagar didn't need to think. He had already made his decision.
"No," he said. "You go and find the others. I'm going back for Hiuna."
He crouched low, ignoring Elrann's cries of protest, and found he had the strength left for one more wind-assisted leap back up to the airship.
Cid's pulse pounded so hard he could feel it thumping between his ears.
He wasn't used to being this anxious. But everything he had achieved so far, his finding of the Ruby and the Crystal, his assembly of a band of people around them who would be able to find the other Jewels, his chance at saving Mid from the schemes of the Emperor, was in jeopardy from this Sapphire-assisted assault.
If they were to survive this he needed to help Granddaughter Nutheanna to get unblocked, and he needed to do it fast.
One God, please give me wisdom.
"Are you sure that you've forgiven everyone you can think of?" he asked her again where he, she, Ryn and Riss stood in the earthen-walled arena dugout, sheltering from the attack and the storm outside.
A boom punctuated the end of his question from overhead, shaking the chamber. It wasn't possible to tell what was thunder and what was cannonfire any more.
"Yes!" Nuthea squealed. "I've forgiven everyone multiple times! The Emperor! Vorr! The soldiers who attacked Orma and killed my mother! Even Ryn for being such an intolerable oaf when he found out what happened between me and Vorr! It hasn't worked! I'm still blocked!"
"Well," said Ryn, who had scrunched up his mouth a bit at the mention of his name, "forgiving is what worked to get me sort of 'unblocked' and help me find the power to defeat Vorr. And I only tried it because you suggested it."
"Yes," said Nuthea, "but it hasn't worked for me!"
Another boom. The amber lights flickered and some dust fell down from the ceiling. Riss hunched her shoulders and put up her hands like she was afraid it was going to cave in. That one was definitely a cannonball, Cid thought.
"I've tried everything I know of!" he continued thinking aloud. "You've tried forgiving; I've given you some ekko root; you had a rest after we came back from the Earth Temple instead of fighting in the tournament; we've tried praying, meditating and visualising, and now we've tried affirmations, manifestations and evocations as well! I can't think of anything else!"
"What else could there be?" asked Ryn.
Many shouts from outside, not far from the dugout.
"All we know is that you became blocked after your mother was killed!" Cid repeated yet again. "It may just be that you're blocked because of your grief for her! And the only way to get unblocked from that is to go through the grief and let it run its course!"
"But isn't there any way of speeding that up?" said Ryn.
"No!" said Cid. "Unless you're quite sure that you've forgiven yourself, Granddaughter?"
"Yes!" Nuthea said again. "I've forgiven myself for telling Vorr about the Jewel, for unwittingly leading him to my mother, everything! I've taken it all to the One! Done business with him!"
"Then I just don't–"
Cid fell silent as some people ran into the dugout through the tunnel entrance that came from the arena.
Young lady Elrann, followed by young man Vish, a half-limping young man Quel…
…and Huld.
"Quickly!" said Elrann as she sprinted over to them. "We got monk-man and the Emerald back! But I think they saw us come down here! We've got to get out of here and get away from this place!"
"Where's Sagar?!" asked Ryn.
"He went back for his girlfriend! Come on! They're coming!"
In confirmation of her words, black-armoured soldiers appeared at the entrance behind her and began to pour into the dugout, coming straight for them.
With her spirit-sight Riss saw the Morekemian soldiers rushing into the underground space all tinged blue, a tidal wave charging in to overwhelm them. Water-aligned.
Blank terror held her to the spot. The adults were yelling to run. Someone grabbed her hand and pulled her away. The brown-haired boy. Ryn.
She ran with him away from the soldiers towards the back of the earthen dugout where she hoped there was another exit. In her spirit-sight he had a red glow. Fire-aligned, as she had seen before. She could project from him, she thought, but it would be no use against water-alignment.
More soldiers were waiting for them at the back exit of the dugout, coming down the steps to it, filling all the available space, blue-tinged too.
Riss came to a halt with the others.
Shouting. Swords.
The adults had said that lightning was 'effective' against water-alignment. She could see a faint yellow glowing ball shut up in the heart of the blonde lady, which kept brightening a little as the lady kept putting out her hands and desperately trying to project it, but then winking back to dimness after each failed attempt.
Riss reached out for the glowing ball with her mind, and it tickled at her senses, but it was no use. The lady truly was 'blocked'. Something was disconnecting her from her elemental alignment.
The soldiers were close now, approaching them slowly from both entrances to the dugout, telling them to put down their weapons, which so far the party had refused to do.
The old man called Cid next to her was filled with light. She sensed a renewing energy there, but not one she could convert into a very offensive spirit-animal. One that could heal, perhaps, but not an attacker.
The new arrival, the green-robed Farrian monk, had the brown tinge to him of earth-alignment, which she had also just learned was not very effective against the Water Jewel.
That left the purple-haired lady, Elrann, and the black-clad Aibarian. Vish.
Elrann had no elemental alignment that Riss could see, though she did have a bright and fierce natural heart Riss could use to anchor a projection.
But Vish. Vish's had something she had never seen before. She hadn't noticed it when she had used her sight when she had first met him when he stumbled back into the manse in Shun-Pei drunk on poppy-seed, or perhaps it had been hidden by that temporarily: His aura was entirely black. Not only were his garments black, but a thick, coiling black shadow stalked his movements, not trailing him but part of him, inside him, and it appeared to have its own elemental energy.
Riss could use that.
The soldiers were advancing towards them even more slowly now, barking something about the party being caught from both sides and not to do anything stupid.
Well, Riss decided, it's time to do something stupid.
Riss concentrated on Vish's shadow-aura, took a step forward towards the nearest group of soldiers, stuck out her hands, and spirit-projected.
Everything went dark for a heartbeat.
When the room returned, a massive black nightmare shadow creature filled the dugout in the space between Riss and the advancing soldiers.
The soldiers screamed, and Riss herself gasped, but she managed to keep up the projection.
The summon had manifested as a human-shaped creature with two legs, two arms and a head, so tall that it touched the ceiling of the dugout. But that was where its similarity to a human ended. Its unclothed, featureless body was black as ink, as deepest night, as death. Its huge hands each ended in four long, pointed claws. Riss could not see the front of its head because she was standing behind it, but from her imagination she knew it had no eyes, nor nose, but only a wide, grinning mouth filled with multiple rows of white knife-like glinting fangs.
Some of the soldiers turned and fled back up the steps screaming.
Riss willed the summon forwards, and it reached down, snatched up some soldiers with its clawed hands, and put them into its mouth, crunching them up as they cried.
Now all the remaining soldiers broke and fled before the shadow-summon; to Riss's spirit-sight a rush of running water flowing backwards up a stepped hill.
"Go!" Riss managed to say to her startled new companions, and they walked with her in the wake of the shadow-summon as it roved after the soldiers, swiping at them with its claws and knocking them aside into the dugout walls or picking up more and eating them.
Riss's body strained with each following step. It took a colossal effort to keep such a powerful spirit-projection manifest for so long, and she wasn't sure how long she could keep this up.
They came to the top of the steps, following the shadow-summon which chased the soldiers outside, and re-emerged into the battering rain and wind, and Riss's strength finally gave out.
She gave a gasp of exhaustion and the shadow-summon in front of them disappeared.
The bodies of the soldiers it had been digesting in whatever went on inside it fell to the ground, a mangled heap of acid-coated armour that Riss had to look away from.
Riss swayed and almost fell over, but the old man put out a hand and caught her by the shoulder.
"Steady, young lady."
Riss had over-exerted herself, but they had made it out of the dugout and into the cannonball-cratered remains of the combatants' viewing area that made up this part of the arena.
The only problem was that there were hundreds more black-armoured Imperial soldiers out here too, and now that her summon had faded, they began to advance towards Riss and the companions again.
Above them, black airships hovered in the storm like massive metal birds brooding over their prey.
Riss and her new companions had escaped from the dugout only to find themselves completely surrounded.
Nuthea stood at the top of the dugout's steps with the others in the raging storm.
Hundreds more Imperial soldiers stood waiting for them, encircling the exit to the dugout.
In their black body-armour glistening with rainwater, they looked like hundreds of copies of one another, the only differences between them being how tall or broad they stood, the particular dents and blemishes on their helmets and breastplates, and whether they carried a sword or a crossbow.
Most of those in the front rank carried crossbows, and they had them levelled at Nuthea and her companions, cocked and ready to shoot.
She heard footsteps coming up behind them from the stairs they had just climbed.
She turned. More soldiers, who had gone down through the dugout's other entrance and come out this way. They came through the exit and fanned out in front of it, blocking any escape route back down into the dugout.
Surrounded.
For all her lore and learning, Nuthea didn't see how they were going to get out of this one. Not with her still being blocked.
"Don't try anything!" shouted a soldier in the first row of the crowd that stood before them over the noise of the storm. "Take out any precious gems you're carrying and put them on the ground in front of you!"
Just the sound of rain and thunder.
None of the companions moved, Nuthea included.
"Do it!" barked the soldier, his voice cracking and going slightly high.
"Out of the way, you imbeciles!" a well-spoken voice called from somewhere back amidst the ranks of soldiers.
A hubbub of confusion rose for a few moments, joining the hammering of the rain and the rolling of the thunder, and the ranks of soldiers parted to reveal a proud, unhelmeted Morekemian General with a boyish face and lank, wet hair, and a Shadowfinger wearing a painted-lady mask next to him.
Didn't we fight one like this before? Nuthea thought. Is it the same one?
The Shadowfinger was carrying two bodies, one slung over each shoulder.
"I believe these belong to you," the General said scornfully when he reached the front row.
The Shadowfinger threw the two bodies down from her shoulders in front of the companions, where they landed on their backs and lay still.
Sagar! And Hiuna, the woman he had fought in the tournament. Their eyes were closed. Nuthea could not make out whether they were breathing or not.
"Now," said the General with calm authority, "for some reason the Emperor wants us to take you alive if possible, but we are permitted to kill you if you resist, which as you can see we are quite capable of doing."
Had they killed Sagar and the Farrian woman?
No.
"So," the General continued, "if you would please hand over the Farrian Emerald and any other magical Jewels in your possession, I would be most obliged, and this will go a lot more smoothly before you."
Lightning struck somewhere nearby and lit the General's face for a moment. He wore a perfectly relaxed, even benevolent smile, as though he was welcoming children to a nursery.
"I think we have to surrender to them, Granddaughter," Cid whispered at Nuthea's side. "We are too tired, too depleted… Although…he does not seem to know that lightning is effective against water, or else he would not be so confident… Unless he is bluffing… If you could just find a way to somehow access your lightning…"
"Silence!" yelled the Morekemian General when he saw Cid whispering to her. "Do not confer! Give me the damned Jewels, now, or I will stick you full of crossbow-bolts!"
Pressure. Nuthea couldn't think straight. Not with all these soldiers bearing down on them. Not with Sagar dead on the ground in front of her. Not with this terrible pressure pushing on her temples, the pressure of the storm, the pressure to surrender, the pressure to somehow become unblocked so she could fend off the Imperials.
This is all my fault. It's all my fault. I've got to make things right.
Dumbly, not really thinking about it all, she reached down the front of her rain-soaked dress and clasped the Lightning Crystal where it sat there on its chain, then brought it out to offer it to the Imperial in surrender.
The General stepped forwards past Sagar and Hiuna's bodies, licking his lips, eyes bright with greed, stretching out his hand towards her Crystal.
"No!" yelled Ryn of a sudden, "Stay away from her!" He sprang forwards at the General, lighting himself on fire.
A jet of water burst from the General's hand, smashing straight into Ryn, who cried out in pain and went skidding back the way he had come. He crashed into a soldier standing in the group behind them and fell to the ground with a whimper, his fire extinguished. He did not get up.
Nuthea's throat tightened.
"So be it, then," said the Imperial General, sliding a sword from a sheath at his side. "I have hundreds of witnesses here that you made the first move. The Emperor will understand that we were forced to bring you back dead rather than alive."
No no no. This was all going wrong. Nuthea was too young to die. There were still things she wanted to do. Like gathering all the Jewels together and saving the world, for one. Like returning to her homeland and looking after it to make up for all the trouble she had caused. Like settling down with a man and having children, she realised for the first time with strange clarity. Who? Perhaps the one who had just sacrificed himself for her… But maybe he was dead, now, too…
She watched as though from behind glass and in a dream–no, a nightmare—as Huld ran forwards at the General too and was knocked back by another jet of water. Elrann followed, flinging out her whip at him, which the General caught in a gauntleted hand and ripped from her, before overwhelming her with another torrent of water. Cid darted forwards to Sagar and knelt beside him, managing to get a hand on his neck, but a soldier loosed an arrow from a crossbow and it punctured Cid's shoulder. The old man went over on his side, clutching at the wound and crying out in pain. Vish stepped towards the General, but the lady Shadowfinger jumped in front of him and knocked him to the ground in a single vicious punch, then stood over him, her foot finding his neck. The Umbarian musician, Quel, had fainted, blood puddling around him where he lay for some wound he had already sustained in the battle. The Surian girl, Riss, could only cower curled up into a ball on the ground, too terrified or exhausted to fight any more.
That left only Nuthea, the last of the companions still standing.
The General, only temporarily rebuffed by the pitiful last-ditch assault, advanced towards her again, smiling with satisfaction.
Nuthea held up her hands to the sky in surrender, fear and shame making her arms go rigid, not knowing what else to do.
"Well done, young lady," said the General. "At least you see some sense and know enough not to challenge the might of the Empire."
As the General closed on her she tried desperately to project lightning, but no lightning came. Not even the faintest fizzle or tingle from her fingertips. It was as though she had only imagined ever being able to do it at all, once upon a time.
If only she hadn't gotten blocked when her stupid mother had died! Her stupid birthmother who had never let her meet her blood-father even though she had asked to do so so many times, her stupid birth-mother who had arranged for her to be married to a woman in the Manolian custom even though Nuthea hadn't wanted to do that, her stupid birthmother who had gone and gotten herself killed just when Nuthea had needed her the most!
And then it struck her, like a lightning bolt.
She couldn't have forgiven her mother properly yet because she hadn't realised just how angry she had been with her.
Lightning struck Nuthea, and she screamed.
A huge jagged white bolt split the sky and reached down to connect with her, hitting her head first and sending all-consuming shock throughout her body.
She felt the lightning sizzle in her core, so powerful that for a missed heartbeat she thought she might explode.
And then the lightning raced up and along her arms as she redirected it, and leapt out from her fingertips and into the Imperial General in front of her.
Her scream continued, coming out raw and primal, the energy coursing through her so immense she couldn't even form a focus word with her mouth, and the lightning continued leaping from her hands, countless zigzagging lines of white-hot electricity shifting and dancing and lighting up the storm with their light as they ran between her and the General, and then the Shadowfinger, and then another soldier nearby, and then another soldier, and another and another and another.
She saw the world through white lenses as sparks sprang from her eyes. A yellow aura of electricity crackled and popped around her body. Her golden hair all stood up on end.
The lightning jumped from metal-encased soldier to soldier, crackling and popping, hizzing and fizzing, dancing out across them and spreading back through their ranks, frying them, scorching them, killing them.
And then her scream gave out and she sagged a little where she stood, yet still surrounded by her golden-aura, the lightning dance ceasing.
For now.
As one, the soldiers crumpled and fell to the floor, cooked raw in their now steaming suits of armour.
Terrible groans and screams joined the sound of the earth-shaking thunder and the noise of cannons that rumbled through the air.
Cannons?
Nuthea had eliminated the attacking footsoldiers with the chain lightning, but many Imperial airships still besmirched the dark sky overhead with their evil, aggressive, invading presence.
How dare the Emperor invade this land as well? She thought with cold calm, vaguely aware but not caring that she had entered some trance-like state fuelled by fury. How dare he seek to take the Jewels for his own evil purposes? How dare my response to his wicked deeds block me and hold me back?
"One God, give me STRENGTH!" she prayed in a furious shout, lifting her arms to the heavens. "I forgive my stupid mother!"
A lightning bolt from the storm struck her again, and this time she did not merely accept it as happy chance but called it down into herself as divine providence, and now not only one bolt from the tremoring, fitting clouds but two, three, many more, she lost count, went into her and she gathered their power into her body and felt every nerve and fibre of it tingle and cry out and sing as she thrust her hands out extending her arms fully and on instinct pointing them at the two nearest Imperial airships so that the lightning jumped to them and she stuck her hands out again and shot the lightning out at every airship she could see and she span round and round on her feet as she broke her limit and sought out every airship in sight and sent lightning spiking out into them until there were no more airships left to hit and her body could take no more–