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Part 11: Conqueror

“I don't care who we're waiting for," the mercenary said. “No amount of kheva is worth being stuck out here in this fucking blizzard." He shivered and huddled closer to the brazier. He then fiddled with his bolter, growling as his gloved fingers struggled with the mechanism.

The other, much taller mercenary guffawed. “Fine. In that case, can I have your Bralranian longsword?"

“What are- how did you know about-?" The shorter man cleared his throat and leered at his companion. “No. What in St. Dastor's name are you even talking about?"

“Sounds like you're planning to quit," the tall man said. “In that case, you'll be confronting Caeris."

“Uh-huh, and? I still don't follow."

“You honestly think she'll let you walk away when you could go join Tibor Darnaq? Knowing what we know? She'll gut you where you stand, so I want to know if I can have your fancy western blade after you're executed for treason."

The mercenary grabbed his colleague and pulled him face to face. “Very funny, you-"

With a wet splat, red blood and pink brain matter sprayed into the brazier with a sizzle. The pair fell away from each other. The short man convulsed, arched his back, then slumped and grew still, the hole in his head steaming in the frigid cold. The other gagged and clutched his throat, writhing in the snow as it turned into a dark slush with each frantic turn.

A large, armoured figure walked over the fallen pair, holding a bayoneted bolter. He stepped on the taller mercenary's head to pin him, then stabbed him in the heart. Finally he walked over to the other dead man, tapped him with his foot, then wiped the blood from his boot on the mercenary's cloak.

“See, Vinnie? Told you I could make the shot." Tibor pulled back the reload catch until it locked. A dull metallic hum filled the air. He pressed the heel of his palm, covered in thick felt, inside the recess and against the low droning coil within, muting the sound until it ceased.

“Drake-spit," Irven gasped and inspected the dead mercenaries with a grimace. “That's dangerous over-penetration. What if you don't want to kill the poor bastard behind your enemy?"

“Bah, relax," Tibor said and replaced the used bolt in the magazine. “Different bolts for different situations. We're fighting well armoured foes, so I've got especially hardened bolts for the fodder plus a magazine of star-steel tips for that bitch Caeris. If you're worried about the kobold, don't be; I aim for the head." He pushed a button by the trigger of his bolter with his thumb, and the reload catch snapped back into place with a satisfying click.

Irven sighed and stared at Jorsviek through the flurry of snow. Against the impenetrable darkening grey above, the central spire loomed and almost reached the clouds as a great, black column. It was surrounded by a halo of spotlights on the walls and spire which made it seem bigger and even more imposing than he remembered. Irven then looked back down at the dead mercenaries at his feet.

These were to be his foes. Other humans. Sure, Irven had killed before; he remembered running one of his pursuers through and impaling the man against the wall of the cave when he first met Kayl, but to openly be the aggressor?

He gulped, but nonetheless took Heun to hand. The drenda's form coiled away from the keen blade and wrapped around his arm.

Tibor sighed, rolled his shoulders and said, “well, we're past their scouts and there's no time like the present. Do you remember the plan? No shame if the nerves have made your mind go blank."

Irven nodded. “I know. I sneak up to the wall while you try to lure them out, then strike when the opportunity arises. I'm just worried about you drawing all the attention, not to mention deviating from what Kayl knows to expect."

“I'm sure you trust your kobold friend, but it never hurts to make our own attempt at breaching the walls. If she's half the assassin you both seem to suggest, she should be quick to adapt. Stick with me, lad, and we'll succeed, no matter what happens. I'll protect you." Tibor chortled, then squeezed Irven's shoulder. “I don't mean to coddle, lad, but you're the one going into your first open battle in the dark."

“I can see in the dark, we might as well take advantage of that. Just promise me, uncle." Irven turned and stared at Tibor. “I know you believe your armour will protect you, but you have to realise Caeris has access to star-steel as well. This is... was Brevshket's home."

A flicker of thought made Irven's brow twitch. A thought not his own...

Her blades are star-steel, fifty percent purity, as is her armour. Tibor's is forty percent. Her swords will cut through it with a solid strike. Caeris will be aware of this. I bet she's even used some of my star-metal stockpile to fashion bolter rounds.

Tibor shrugged and said, “be that as it may, I won't waste this opportunity. Arbachol's old bodyguard has been a thorn in all of our sides for too long. But enough, let us raise a ruckus the likes that will awaken St. Vanterre from the grave! Tonight shall go to the conquerors, and tomorrow, the conquered go to the worms!"

“I said it to Kayl, so I'll say it to you." Irven put a hand on Tibor's shoulder. “If we get separated, don't fight Caeris alone."

“I'll pop a hole between her eyes before she has the chance!"

He slapped Irven's back and stepped away, and pulled a long brass horn over his shoulder, which was attached to a mechanism on his back, then he pulled out a lever from the device.

The thicker section on his back, hiding the music box, crackled to life, and the dulcet tones of an orchestral score began. He then stepped straight down the road towards Jorsviek until he was in the light of the sconces before the drawbridge.

“All-Dragon protect you, uncle," Irven said under his breath, and jogged off the path and through the woods until the music grew distant.

He reached the moat, frozen over and gathering snow. There were semi-spherical, mirror-backed coil driven lamps strewn about the wall, each filling the far bank with plenty of light as they moved in lazy circles over the moat. He just had to wait for a long enough for an opening between the dancing lights as he listened to music as it turned to operatic song.

“Oh fickle fates of our fine men,

Our lot is to believe~

On chance they will return to us,

Or else ours is to grieve~.

Beloved, oh, beloved, mine,

T'is more sour than peasant wine,

On winter wing, please hear me sing,

I wait as the stars shine!

Beloved, oh, beloved, please,

Ride over plains, sail 'cross the seas,

Be it tender kiss, or ill news you bring,

On gale or gentle breeze!

On gale or gentle breeze!"

The mournful lyrics gave to the harsh roar of Tibor.

His challenge, as booming as a dragon, rang out, “Caeris, you old, well travelled, loose and unshaven vegaic! Stand forth! We settle this here and now!"

Even above the howl of the wind and Tibor's music, the sound of metal armour clanking, wooden spear shafts and shields rang out as the enemy within roused to act. Some of the spotlights stopped moving.

This was really happening. Irven felt his heart race as he gripped his sword ever tighter and darted out of the treeline.

No fear, Irven. These are mere men and women. They are beneath you. Take the advantage, reach the wall while you can. Act decisively, without hesitation, and the night will be yours.

Irven hated that the words gave him courage as he stepped out onto the ice. Solid steps, plodding but firm footed. No unnecessary movement to cause slipping. Just as Kayl had taught him.

“Who the fuck are you?" a male voice called from above the gate. “You're gonna get one chance to get lost before we fill ya full of arrows, you- wait, Tibor?"

Tibor roared with laughter. “The one and only! The Death-kneller! The keenest shot in all of Vliechov! I am Kreshger, the indomitable! Have any of you the balls to try me?"

“A months pay to whoever takes him down!"

There was a low creak of wood, the distant hum of taut bowstrings in motion. Then the metallic clang of metal on metal.

Tibor cheered out, “hahaaa! I am arrowproof!!"

This time there was a low ringing tone that made Irven's teeth tingle. Tibor's bolter was in use, and a single pained cry echoed through growing cacophony.

“You pawns stand no chance," Tibor yelled. “Send Caeris! Where is the coward!? How many of your dicks has she sucked to earn your loyalty, and how many of you were so flaccid by the end that you sided with her out of shame of her revealing your impotency!?"

The Jorsviek mercenary leader yelled, “Vanterre's breath, I'm not listening to this fucker all night. Get everyone a bolter and star-metal ammunition!"

“Damn it, uncle," Irven mumbled as he reached the bank, looked across at the raised drawbridge, then Tibor.

What are you thinking, boy? Your mind is currently unclear to me.

Irven snorted, then whispered, “I'm surprised you can't just read everything I'm contemplating, but that's not important right now. I want a bigger distraction than just fighting beside Tibor and exposing both of us to a drawn out conflict. Something that will bring the enemy to their knees."

Theatrical and bombastic? Yes, I concur. The quicker and more succinct your victory, the less resources will be consumed. You simply need to show some ingenuity.

There was no clear way to get involved beyond a straight fight. Irven then examined the impenetrable walls of Jorsviek. High and smooth, with cowled crenelations

“No. Not this way."

Bah. Far from it. If it can be built, it can be destroyed. Consider the load-bearing stones before you, the weights, the friction of each massive brick as it supports one another. It is simply a matter of the right amount of lift and force in the correct locations.

“Of course, you're right, you miserable bastard," Irven mumbled. He stared at the wall. One specific brick, some four feet tall and six wide, surrounded by dense mortar. No doubt four feet deep too. Thousands of tons of stone between here and the inside of the great fortress.

So he began to feel out with his magic. He wreathed one brick with his telekinesis, and then tried to pull it.

Faint traces of dust fell loose, but little else.

Delay and the kobold and Tibor die. This is exactly why I always expected better. You have the power within you! Now, hurry! Isolate one, lift the others, then pull!

“Always fucking right..." Irven growled through his teeth, and tried again.

* *

Kayl plunged beneath the clouds. Jorsviek was in sight, but so were the modern spotlights, poised high and moving in slow circles; they had always anticipated an attack by air. Brevshket left so few openings, Kayl couldn't help but be impressed. Every time the fiend had left Jorsviek, he went with plenty of protection, but Irven's escape was so unexpected that he finally left himself exposed. Her mate was the only reason she had succeeded in assassinating the bastard.

It was just as it had always been when Kayl was in exile; the reason she knew such an approach was suicide. One glance of the light, and she would no doubt be shot out of the air with a hail of bolts.

With a pull of more snow-dense air, she climbed back into the clouds for the final approach. She had to trust Tibor and Irven's distraction was enough. The roof would be slippery and she couldn't risk crash-landing the star-sail; if it fell into the castle they would know of a kobold intruder and potentially ruin the plan.

That meant a risky, rapid and treacherous drop off was the best option.

Kayl counted the seconds before her final descent and dived once more. She plunged beneath the clouds and directly at the spire, pulled back on the handle as hard as she could, then pulled her legs and tail free from the rudder. Kayl then released the glider and drew more magic toward it with a final flurry of snow, pushing the glider up and away as it spiralled beyond the wall. She landed hard, bounced, and began to slide down the slope towards a sheer drop.

She clawed at the slate panels, fruitlessly seeking purchase, then swung Paet's pick-head above her and into the roof. Snow scattered and a few tiles were pulled loose, but she stopped with her feet dangling off the precipice. Kayl sighed with relief and watched her glider continue back up into the blizzard's dense and imposing clouds.

The sound of a distant bell rang out, raised voices and the air-piercing mechanical click of bolter use. Then a creak of a metal hinge and, in overcaver tongue, a male voice mumbled, “what was that?"

Kayl grimaced, rolled onto her front and peered over the edge.

A helmeted figure peered from upper window and glanced around, down, then up.

Kayl remained still. The darkness and thick snow would mask her motionless form against the black sky. He was in a lit room, it would take time for his eyes to adjust.

Another voice drew the human's attention as it said, “what are you doing? We're needed at the gates!"

“Then go," the human said, peering over his shoulder. “It might be a kobold, like Caeris said."

“She's a lunatic, Haldic. Kobolds can't fly. But fine, whatever, I won't draw her ire by being late during a call to arms, and if you're smart, you won't either."

A door closed as the human continued looking out the window and mumbled, “if they can't fly, why did the Provost build all the lights? Fucking moron..."

Kayl shuffled over the edge as far as she could, took a deep breath as she raised Paet over her head, then swung down. The pick crunched through the soldier's helmet, into his eye-socket, and he slumped as Paet's tendrils coiled around his head.

She let herself slip off the edge, down past the window, and landed against the wall. She then climbed up Paet's shaft, into the window and heaved the human's corpse inside.

As her eyes adjusted to the modern lighting, she heard nothing and smelled lamp oil and unfamiliar chemicals. Sacks of assorted powders, cases of bolter ammunition, crates of parts for various machines. She rifled through the human's pockets and found a key but he had little else of value to her beside a few kheva coins. Kayl pocketed the key, invoked her telekinesis to lift a few of the lighter sacks and piled them onto the corpse. Kayl then peered out of the door.

The way was clear, and any sounds of movement were distant. Kayl found her way down several flights of stairs, passing by only a couple of rooms, filled with similar apparatus and supplies, before exiting into a huge circular chamber, all supported by a single, massive column in the middle with metal struts spread out like a tree.

There it was, connected to the column. The Arcus cannon.

A gigantic bronze coloured metal tube some thirty feet long, open at one end, with the other, more bulbous end surrounded by several spring coil mechanisms, levers and gears. The whole room was a circular metal platform for the weapon, barring a series of steel support beams on the outer edge. With a loud rattle, the walls suddenly began to fold out, exposing the floor to the blizzard outside, and the room lurched, then began turning.

Kayl took a quick tally, and spotted five humans were operating the whole thing by a couple of control panels filled with steel levers and brass buttons.

“Is it ready?" said one.

“Firing coils are almost fully wound. We're just narrowing in on Werchid now."

“Take your time," said a female voice, “Tibor will lose everything, then he will lose his life." A sixth figure appeared from a doorway.

Kayl froze and narrowed her gaze; she wore star-steel. Could it be her?

One of the mercenaries asked, “why not just kill him now?"

The woman grabbed the man by the shoulder. “Do as I say," she ordered. “Make no mistake, he dies tonight, but he may know of Irven's whereabouts."

Kayl bared her teeth. It was definitely her. Caeris. Kayl had never seen her outside of her unmasked so she committed her foe to memory. Every movement, every habit. Anything that could give Kayl an advantage if they crossed blades again.

An older human woman with wrinkled features and grey hair, cut short. Her armour was in the same brigandine style that lined Irven's coat, and a sabre on each hip, as well as something that looked like a lamp on her belt.

It was strange and distinct enough to make Kayl stare at it for a moment; it had no openings or glass, just a solid set of metal panels. It made her feel uneasy.

Kayl refocused. Caeris moved with precise steps. Quiet, smooth and steady. Her eyes were sharp and she frequently glanced at the doors of the room. She even glanced upward, forcing Kayl to lay flat on the stairs to ensure she wasn't spotted, so she instead considered her options.

While she swore not to attack Caeris, Kayl couldn't help but feel compelled to save Tibor's people, if only because of Irven's clear fondness for the brute. She didn't understand how the cannon worked, but perhaps a closer look would offer some means of sabotage.

The room stopped turning and one of the humans operated some levers. The cannon rattled and clanked as it tilted down, now aiming into the darkness beyond.

“She's set on Werchid's coordinates and ready, ma'am." The man held his hand over a large, brass button.

Caeris folded her arms and chewed her lip, then shook her head. “Let me go see that fat fool. When you hear my chime, fire."

He withdrew his hand. “Yes, ma'am."

Caeris pulled up a star-metal chain lined cloak and hood, then a mask backed with plates of the same material. The very same as she wore when Kayl was defeated before. Pure, smooth white beside six painted eyes beneath the eye-slits evenly spread down the cheeks. Then she left.

Kayl took a long breath and got to work. She climbed the guard rail of the stairs and leapt over to the support struts. The humans below weren't well spaced, and even the outliers could see one another. They were all armed and dressed for the cold, no doubt armoured too, but Kayl could see the snow fluttering from the open space beyond the platform and watched the dancing flakes with a grin. She had all the tools she needed, she just needed an opportunity.

One man was looking over the ledge, where Kayl could hear the unmistakable bellow of Tibor's voice. Not far from him was two others, quietly talking. She moved above them.

A female mercenary snapped, “Pock, get away from the edge, you idiot!"

“It's fine! I just want to see how the fight is going."

“Leave him," said one of the others. “If he wants to fall to his death, so be it. More kheva to share for the rest of us. Although that might be in question. I thought we couldn't risk firing on Werchid? Without them, who but St. Valarie's least favoured would bother trading with us? There's no other towns for a hundred miles besides some hamlets and backwaters! We'll starve!"

The other mercenary, a female, replied, “you didn't hear this from me, but I've heard Caeris has had dealings with the Council of Vliechov."

“The oligarchy? Really?"

The woman covered the man's mouth. “Shh!" She looked around, and the man looking over the edge gave them a glance, then shook his head and resumed staring down at the gates. She continued, “we may be finally rejoining the rest of Vliechov, with our weaponry as the peace offering."

“What about Praevadi?"

The woman laughed. “What about that old, draconic whore? She's going to be dead soon, and if not from old age, then we use Vliechov's help, alongside the cannon, to lay siege on Havsglas mountain and put an end to her once and for all. Plus, without Tibor, Caeris will be the most powerful woman in Sodrascouden, and we can move away from this frigid shithole. Maybe somewhere warmer, like Goshev."

Kayl got into position overhead, hooked her tail on the strut, raised her arms and enacted her plan.

She cast her palms downward and slowly brought them together until they overlapped. The settled snow melted around the open ledge, then flowed and gathered behind the lookout, forming into a solid sheet of ice. Then Kayl brought her hands apart, then back together as if holding a cup.

Or strangling someone.

Liquid formed around the hood of the lookout, and began to constrict. Snow fluttered up and around his face as he coughed, then choked and pulled chunks of ice from around his neck, yet more continued to form.

The woman peered at the frantic lookout and said, “Pock? What's wrong?"

She approached, then almost slipped on the ice.

“What the fu-"

Kayl dropped, landed on the innermost human's shoulders and plunged the spear-tip into his skull. Before he could even begin to fall, she leapt at and drop-kicked the woman as she struggled to keep her footing.

The impact caused her skid into Pock, who plummeted over the side with a choking scream.

Kayl hopped to her feet, her foot-claws raking the ice for grip, and climbed onto the fallen woman's back as the human struggled to get to her knees. Kayl then used the scythe-like blade of her cross-spear to slice the human's neck with a wet hiss of blood and air.

“Oh shit," gasped one of the other humans. “Kobold! Help!"

Kayl bared her teeth and hurled Paet at the man, but his armour stopped the spear from digging too deep. She then sprinted at him.

The man drew his own weapon but became coiled in Paet as he sprouted thorned vines, which writhed and constricted around him.

As he struggled to remain standing, Kayl threw herself at his knee, snapping it backwards and brought him down with a cry of pain. She then kick-flipped up onto her feet, drew her sword and hacked at his throat.

The man managed to get an arm free and fended off the blade, which dug into his forearm over and over with small only superficial cuts to his padded armour.

Kayl growled at the wasted seconds, rolled over his body, reversed her grip on her sword and stabbed his inner thigh. It pierced the thin material and skin and she gouged out a pouring, gushing wound. He wouldn't live long.

The last human charged at her, blade set to swing.

Kayl raised her weapon to guard and hopped with the swing to absorb the blow. The mighty cut clashed against her sword and flung her to the side in a tumbling sprawl. She rolled with the momentum and found her feet, then stood as he pressed the advantage. Kayl withdrew, fending off more attacks as the man lashed out with fierce yet skilled cuts and thrusts that left her no chance to counter. Each clash sent painful shocks up her arms as she staggered from each impact and lured him towards the edge, whipped around with her hand across the wet floor and sent a scattering of hailstones up at her attacker.

He sputtered and closed his eyes, so Kayl lunged, but he threw out a reflexive kick that caught her square in the chest. She was sent tumbling back and crashed into a table. It took the air out of her lungs and the blade clattering from her grip.

“Got you," he sneered and went for the finishing blow.

Kayl drew deep from her magic, clenched her fists and swung them toward the man. She summoned all the water she could from the blizzard outside. It poured in like a great arctic tendril and slammed into the man, soaking and slowing him as he fought through the deluge to reach her

With a final push, Kayl rolled and thrust her hands the other way. Her magic pulled at his wet clothes and tugged him toward the ledge. He struggled, fighting the invisible force, but then plunged off the platform.

Kayl stood, then staggered. She was light headed and her vision flushed white; she had used a lot of mana. Too much, too quickly. She took a flask of magic rich healing poultice and, wincing prematurely at the taste, gulped down half. Improper use for a topical treatment, but a scout trick older than even Kayl's former mentor.

Kayl collected her sword and grimaced at the chipped blade. It was ruined. She tossed it aside once more. Then she approached Paet, who had released the now unconscious, dying human, and took a sheathed dagger from his belt and fitted it onto herself.

“Come along, Paet. Let's get to the gatehouse." Kayl took her drenda in hand, then looked at the cannon, the controls, then the ledge. Finally back at the door.

“Damn it," she whispered, and jogged to the control panel.

* *

Irven was bathed in sweat, despite the cold. His head throbbed with pain as he pulled at the massive stone brick. The mortar around it was worn down and a few fragments pulled free, but it just wouldn't come loose.

A voice called from the wall, “distribute the bolts!"

Time is up.

“Not yet," Irven growled.

Assist Tibor.

The growing whine of coil-springs. The mechanical click of bolter loading mechanisms. The ongoing, crackly wail of the opera from Tibor's device.

It was a good idea, but cut your losses! We have not come this far for you to compromise our chances of success with your stubbornness! If you won't do as I tell you, I shall force you.

Irven's fingers wriggled as an almost electrical tingle ran up his whole arm, which soon began to spasm and twist as it spun him towards the drawbridge.

The kobold is taking too long. Try to snap the counterweight links on the drawbridge or attempt to 'feel' the bridge lever, then regroup with Tibor and protect him as you advance into the castle.

The tingle stopped, and Irven fell back on old instincts: Obey. Succeed. Do not anger his mentor.

Tibor had taken refuge behind a copse of trees. As good as his armour was, the impact of bolter rounds on the more supple joints must still hurt, and the trees were as pincushions against the onslaught.

But with star-steel bolts, it would only take one solid shot. He was pinned.

“Load!"

A series of clicks...

“Take aim!"

Irven took a few breaths to recover, then jogged toward the drawbridge. He raised his hand and tried to form a wide barrier across the battlements, but he doubted he could muster enough force to block all the shots.

“Cease the attack," a female voice called out.

Irven stopped and listened.

The voice continued, “is that truly you out there, Tibor? Finally mustered the guts underneath all that fat to face me?"

Caeris...

Irven's head reeled as Brevshket's psyche pulsed and overtook his own; a human female form filled Irven's mind. His hands, clawed and now covered in green scales, caressed her athletic, powerful body. All that strength, yet he dominated her. Made Caeris his.

“Fuck, stop," Irven hissed, and crept closer to listen as the visions abated.

“About time!" Tibor yelled back and cut off his music. “I wondered how many of your men's cocks you were sucking to take this long to meet my challenge, but I lost count."

“As vulgar as always, you imbecile," Caeris shouted. “To what do I owe the displeasure?"

“I've come to take back what is rightfully mine," Tibor said. “Jorsviek, the land, the Arcus cannon... Bach would have given them to me, and you know it!"

Irven paused and squinted at Tibor. “Was he supposed to inherit this place?"

Brevshket remained silent.

“Don't flatter yourself! I was his protector, you were but a footsoldier."

Tibor bellowed in laughter. “Yes, the very protector that let him be assassinated by a single kobold! Even if you were in line to inherit the land, your failure would be enough to put an end to that!"

Caeris snarled. “Where is he!? Where is Irven!?"

Tibor hesitated, then answered, “I have no idea what you're-"

“Don't," she snapped. “There was only one witness to that fight. One survivor! Where is he?"

Irven gritted his teeth and paused; should he expose himself? Perhaps he could play against Caeris more directly, use her obvious desire to find him to his favour.

But then what?

Tibor lacked an answer as well, and kept quiet.

“If you won't answer, Werchid will bear the brunt of your idiocy," Caeris continued. “You have five seconds! Four..."

“Oh shit," Irven whispered, and ran toward Tibor. He went to yell, only he slipped on the frozen moat and gasped.

“Three," she continued.

There was the snap of a single bolter shot. Tibor's bolter. There was a loud ping, and Irven watched with wonder as a star-steel bolt landed in the snow near him. She'd deflected the shot.

“So be it," Caeris said with a chuckle.

Irven suddenly felt as though a spike had lodged itself in his head, his heart... every organ. His muscles failed him, a great void opened in his mind.

Then he heard it; the sound of a gentle chime, yet it stabbed his head. He could see rings of energy in the air emerging from the top of the wall, but the snow fluttered through their movement undeterred. Yet as every wave passed over him, Irven felt a resounding sting like a spray of acid that cut through his whole body.

Then came a deep, heart-stopping thump, so low and terrible, it was as if the very sky itself screamed in pain. A flash of light overhead, a sphere of raw, white hot magic with a streak red light behind it, like a comet. Each snowflake hissed, popped and turned to rain in sequence, then vaporised before it could fall before a waft of heat slammed down on Irven.

The ice beneath Irven cracked and shattered. He fell into the shallow, frigid water and scrambled back to the shore nearest the castle as he watched an immense red explosion light up the night and the ground shook. Tree limbs, rocks and clumps of earth skipped and bounced into the castle walls, along with a wave of dust that turned the air as warm as a summer's day.

The Arcus cannon had been fired.

Irven felt the conflicting heat and cold, both as the magic blast faded but also as the last remnants of the chime ceased, and a dense fog dropped over the area from all the snap-evaporated liquid. It was dark and silent once more, and the blanket of fog at least meant Tibor was safe from their bolters for now.

Just one voice called out, hushed yet audible in the deep, dead air, as Caeris stammered, “what... where were you aiming?" She suddenly yelled, “intruder! You, with me! The rest of you, try to take Tibor alive! Send out the pavisades!"

“Kayl," Irven mumbled as his blood ran as cold as the air.

… enough gawking. Can you hear me, Irven!? Act! The drawbridge is coming down!

Irven felt an equilibrium within himself; body and mind, muscle and magic coalesced into a single purpose. All doubts suppressed.

Kayl's training filled his thoughts. Actions, predictions, likely outcomes. A plan formed. Backups plans were forged.

He just counted his breaths as the drawbridge mechanism engaged. The bridge began to lower as a row of soldiers, carrying huge shields, each lined with star-metal, formed up.

Tibor roared, “I'll take you all! Come get me!" His music-box ramped up in volume.

The drawbridge didn't drop all the way, but the soldiers began to march, and Irven considered his next move.

Success and failure dependant on split seconds. One action flowed into the next. Causality, momentary glimpses of the riverbed through the ripples. Experience taught the watcher to anticipate the most likely outcome A disturbance, a stone tossed in front of a fish to draw it into the net. Act with the prediction of the next move, and execute. Just as Kayl had taught him.

Now Kayd's instructions filled his mind as he cleared his mind. The plan made manifest by his brawn, technique and magic.

Irven nodded and took a final breath, long breath as the first mercenaries crested the bridge, and Tibor launched three bolts, three distinct snaps in the air and three dull thuds as the bolts struck the pavise line but bounced off harmlessly.

So Irven brought forth his magic. He lifted one of the shields with the raising of his hand.

The soldier yelped in panic as he held on, his feet elevated off the ground.

With Irven's other hand, he pinched the air; it warped, forming a distorted disk, and he pushed it forward. The projectile darted through the air as swiftly as a bird of prey on the hunt.

It cleaved the soldiers arms off at the elbows so cleanly he likely didn't feel the pain until he hit the ground.

The other soldiers screamed in shock as blood sprayed over the fallen man.

One down.

Irven clenched his fist, and the shield he still held spun so fast it was a blur. He brought it across the shield line with a swing of his arm, battering their staggered defensive line with a clatter of metal and wood, and knocked them off balance.

As if Tibor had seen it all before, and certainly had as Brevshket's ally, he let his bolter sing twice. Two men took steel through their skulls, a third took a penetrating bolt in the shoulder.

“Mage on the flank!"

The mercenaries adjusted their formation. Some mended the staggered front, some plugged the gateway. Three turned and saw Irven as he approached from the side, their shields raised to block any of Tibor's as their swords shone in the glow of the castle lights. They charged at Irven.

He pushed back with one hand, blade ready in the other as Heun slithered around his arm. He let one soldier draw near.

They were slower than he expected. A kobold struck with frantic speed, but this man only had strength on his side. Strength that didn't need challenging. A waste of effort. Irven hopped back, his foe's sword swooped through the air, and he returned with a thrust.

Heun took his sabre beyond Irven's natural reach and through the soldier's neck. He twisted the blade then drew across the throat, and withdrew back into his master's hand in a single, serpentine strike.

Two.

Irven was able to focus on punching the second soldier's shield with his magic so hard it knocked him flat on his back, so he challenged the third mercenary. He deflected one with a clash of steel, then another, and caught the third in a bind. Irven stepped in and grabbed the mercenary by his other arm.

Heun then reached and coiled around the mercenary's neck and into his helmet, and began to sprout thorns. The mercenary gasped, then cried out in muffled pain as his nose and mouth were filled with Heun's reaching tendrils.

Irven then shoved the mercenary back with a blast of raw force and forced him to strain against Heun's grip, which scratched and gashed the man's throat and nose from the inside, then pulled the whole helmet free. Irven then chopped at the man's brow. One clean blow, and he was dead before he hit the ground.

Three.

The remaining mercenary threw his sword at Irven, who gritted his teeth and put his hand up, the air compressing and warping as the sword stopped dead in the air, and fell with a dull thud.

The mercenary gasped as he scrambled back, and whimpered, “a monster! A fucking monster!" He pulled a black, metallic sphere and a matchstick from his belt.

A grenade. Irven gasped, then as the man struck the match, growled, “don't."

The mercenary hesitated, but an errant spark caught the chemically combustible fuse. They both stared at the grenade for a second in disbelief.

Irven tutted, sighed and, with a flick of his wrist, tossed the man and his grenade into the deepest part of the moat with a wave of force. A second later, a subdued explosion, and a geyser of water.

No points for uncertain kills. Three would have to do. He looked across the hazy moat at Tibor as he faced down a four man shield wall.

He reloaded his bolter in one smooth, flowing sequence and, as his attackers drew near, he suddenly pulled open the bolt catch. A high, unnatural drone sounded from the springs that caused all of them to stop and resist the magical bombardment, only for Tibor to a knee and switch off his music box.

Without the rhythmic interference, the coil spring seemed to sing even louder. Even Irven felt feverish at the sound from this distance, but at their proximity the mercenaries all staggered, dropped their guard and struggled to stay upright. They leaned on their shields. One even vomited in his helmet from the disorientation.

Tibor screamed in fury, forced himself to his feet shoulder charged one man. He knocked the soldier back enough to expose the next mercenary in the shield wall as they recovered from the shock of the coil whine. Tibor thrust his bayonet into the next man's chest, plucked the weapon free, and fired a bolt into the third mercenary as he withdrew and switched the dampening music back on.

As the first mercenary found his feet, Tibor pushed the soft, padded palm of his armoured glove into the receiver space and the sound was muffled, then he closed the breach and took aim, seeking an opening around the pavise. His arms were shaking and unsure from too much exposure to the coil whine.

Irven compressed more of his magic into a single spike and launched it at the soldier's back It soared through the air straight and true, and cut through armour, skin and bone with ease.

Irven yelled, “uncle, to me!"

One of the remaining soldiers on the drawbridge called out, “withdraw and regroup!" They rushed back into the castle, and with a low rattle of chains, the drawbridge climbed.

Irven formed another blade of force and threw it at the chains. It chipped the first, but the damaged link soon drew onto the spool.

Don't be foolish, boy! The chain's too thick!

With a growl, Irven drew on his telekinesis, picked up the fallen soldier's swords into a cluster and jammed them into one of the chain links. They struck the wall and the air grew thick with a metallic squeal. The blades bent, one blade even snapped, but they held until there was an ugly crash of metal and wood. The drawbridge crashed back down, and way was open.

Tibor reached the drawbridge just as bolter fire resumed from the battlements.

Irven used one hand to shield them both, and Tibor pulled them both closer to the castle, out of reach of their attacks. Tibor patted Irven's shoulder and said, “good thinking, Vinnie!"

Irven replied, “are you alright? And why'd you attack Caeris? Why risk Werchid like that?"

Tibor chuckled as he caught his breath. “I'll be alright. It's not the first time I used that coil drone trick." He then pointed up. “And I saw the cannon suddenly change position, away from my town. Your little friend just saved eight hundred lives! Come, let us press the advantage."

With a nod, Irven followed Tibor as they stormed into the castle.

* *

Kayl clutched her hands together over her stomach to keep them still as she trembled. Her blood felt like it had almost boiled, her head throbbed and, despite the urgency of the mission, she had spent the last few minutes prone on the floor in meditation to try and bring her body under control. A scout trained to control their physical state but, while it was now fading, she felt enfeebled.

Even from this distance, Caeris' charm had made her bones ache and her magic impaired. She had tampered with the controls and changed the direction of the blast, and fired it on the chime to try and keep the foe guessing, but Kayl doubted it worked. The world blurred at the chime, she hit the button, then the cannon's blast made her collapse from the violent surge, then absence of magic in the air.

Both devices used the same idea; magic pulled from the air via sound. It called to mind the legendary wingless dragons from far to the north-west, in the Vhakram Republic. Their dragons could simply speak to cast spells, or scream to emit a force that could pulverise stone and steel into dust.

One thing made her feel better. She had heard the ensuing fight outside. The cries of a mage, the call to withdraw...

Her dragon was truly remarkable.

She shook off the last of the tremors from the magic disruption, stood, then looked outside. A loud, mechanical din had emerged from the gatehouse, then a loud wooden slam before the shield-carrying man-kin had run back inside in retreat, clamouring for a defensive line.

The plan had changed; Kayl no longer needed to open the drawbridge, but that gave rise to the next big issue: keeping the mercenaries and Caeris from using the Arcus cannon again.

Kayl looked at the monstrous weapon for some means of sabotage. They were powered by four mechanisms around the base, a series of gears, levers and clamps all housed in a mesh cage. She could even see where the four coil batteries were within, but they were sealed in place by some sort of keyless lock. She did locate a chest filled with coil batteries, so she took a moment to look one over.

She had only been given a brief overview, but she knew how these coil batteries worked; a long, flat piece of star-metal wound into an extremely tight spiral, with an assortment of gears and a driveshaft designed to transfer the tension from the spring into other devices. Even a fraction of an inch of release over a long duration from the best grade coil springs could spin an electrical turbine to power a light for hours. The batteries were generic in design, with the devices powered featuring all the unique linkages.

All bolters, even Tibor's more advanced weapons, worked on the same principle; a battery spring could power the weapon for around fifty bolts, even if his magazines only held five. The wielder pulled the charging handle, the mechanism fed a bolt into the barrel, as well as transferring power from the battery spring into a lesser spring which, when triggered, would launch the bolt.

The batteries could be recharged by nesdena cores, a perpetually turning rod of almost pure grade star-steel held connected to winding stations, typically kept in important, central town structures. Kayl saw no such device here, but knowing Brevshket, no doubt one was in the castle.

There was one thing she spotted. A little button, inside a recess on one corner, with a sign reading 'emergency discharge.' Kayl pocketed a battery in case she found some other device that needed power, and threw the others off the tower. She then looked at the cannon's batteries and saw the same button, had Paet form a long, narrow thorn, and prodded the button..

The coil shrieked and whined, and forced Kayl to plug her ears as the sharp noise rattled her senses, but ended quickly and the battery coil was slack.

“That works," Kayl said with a smirk.

Paet tapped her arm, and bent towards the door.

“I know, it's taking a while," she whispered. “But I can't just leave this thing to be used again. They should be fine. They've both got star-metal armour."

She made her way to the next spring mechanism, placed Paet against it, plugged her ears and drained that battery, then did the same for the third.

When she reached for the final one, the door Caeris exited earlier opened. Kayl dropped low and scampered to cover.

“Shit..." a male voice mumbled, “what happened here?"

“Kobold intruders, it must be," said another. “Spread out and-"

“Fool," Caeris said. “That's how they'll get you."

Kayl bared her teeth and reached for Paet, yet he flexed away from her grasp. “Fine," she whispered, then slinked towards the darkness of platform's edge.

Caeris continued, “secure the cannon, Recharge, aim and fire on Werchid as soon as it's ready. Stick together; three men watch, the other works on the coils. Call out if you see anything out of the ordinary."

A different female voice asked, “what about you, ma'am?"

Footfalls... precise and measured. They grew closer, then became muffled. Cautious, stepping from the ball of the foot to the heel. Slow and smooth. A practised stalker.

The mercenary repeated, “ma'am?"

“Forget it," said the first man. “Just follow your orders."

Kayl watched the mercenaries as they reached the cannon and began their work, and once clear of the door, she made her move in a wide circle around them, staying in the darkness.

“Coil two is spent.... shit, coil one is half spent as well."

“Three and four are both spent! What in Dastor's name's gone on here?"

“Get some fresh batteries."

“Sure let me- it's empty! The storage is empty!"

Kayl reached the far edge of the platform and began moving for the door, only for a white hot pain to surge through her that numbed her senses. The damned chime.

She stumbled and fell to her knees.

“I know you're here, drakelings," Caeris said in draconic, muffled through the pain and drone of the chime.

Kayl dragged herself to the ledge. Even Paet just writhed around Kayl's body as he, too, was affected by the chime.

“First, I'll cut off your claws. Then I'll tear off your scales, one by one. Then I'll bore holes through your horns in a way that, when my chime rings, it makes your little heads rattle. The sounds you'll make are really quite something; you won't be able to quite scream in full, instead you make this shaky, almost musical trill. I admit, it's been some time since I had some little drakelings to play with. Oh, there you are!"

Kayl glanced behind her, and the eight-eyed mask stared down at her as Caeris approached.

“And here I thought there was a team, yet... I recognise you from back then... resilient little beast."

The chime on Caeris's belt had dulled enough that Kayl summoned all her magic, clenched a fist, collected and threw the hardest lump of ice she could conjure.

A snowball smacked Caeris in the face, but she didn't flinch. She just huffed and swept a finger into the eye-holes of her mask to clear out the slush.

“Well, aren't you adorable," she said as she drew a sword and kicked Kayl onto her back. Caeris then stood on her chest and pushed the tip of her blade into Kayl's shoulder.

It cut so cleanly, Kayl almost didn't feel it until she tried to move. Then came the sting, like a burn. Kayl heard the slow, wet sound like slicing meat as Caeris pushed slowly deeper. Kayl resisted crying out until the blade hit bone and she felt a creak run through her body, finally forcing a yelp as the agony raged through her shoulder and into her chest. Then Caeris stopped.

Kayl took a steady breath and dug deep into her training; pain was nothing but an instinct to conquer. She would earn nothing by thrashing but making the wound worse and give her foe the satisfaction of her suffering.

Caeris growled, in overcave tongue, “where are my coil batteries?"

Kayl just grunted and remained still.

“Fine."

Caeris squeezed Kayl's chest underfoot, causing her to grunt and cough out all her air, as Caeris then pulled her blade free and brought it down at Kayl's face.

Kayl took out the battery and put in the way of the sword.

Caeris stopped the blade an inch from the coil. “... curious. What do you hope to-"

Kayl shoved the coil onto the blade tip. As it cut the spring, a blinding shower of sparks and an intense squeal of grinding metal rang out, and they both cried out as a strong vibration shot up their arms.

Caeris stumbled off of Kayl as she tried to hold her sword, but it tore free from her grip and skittered about on the floor like a frightened insect as a rising whine filled the air. She gasped and turned away from the jittering, sparking carnage.

Kayl forced herself onto her feet, bolted to the ledge and leapt as a metallic scream filled the air.

* * *