Elliott pulled back one of the tattered drapes covering the windows that looked out onto the muddy street. A small crowd of wafer thin men and women had gathered with despairing eyes watching the hut. One or two had a glint of fight about them still, but the rest looked so hopeless, they might as well have already died.
He saw Rose watching him, curiosity written across her face. She was probably more comfortable in this cramped room than she was out there. She likely wouldn’t have seen anything like it back home, her privileged upbringing shielding her from the worst.
He, on the other hand, almost smiled. There was a familiar comfort about these muddied streets and its men and women looking for a way to survive. They were the closest thing to the Victorian world he grew up in. Surviving day by day with only his wit, a quick hand and more courage than sense. He doubted he’d ever looked as hopeless as this lot, and he had actually died!
He turned back around and found Daveran still waiting there, looking at him, the flickering flame in the oil lantern throwing shadows across his face. He raised an eyebrow in surprise. Was he losing his touch? He was sure he’d told the man that he wouldn’t be asking again. That would’ve normally been enough.
“I am the representative of my people. You talk to me.”
Elliott leant back against a rotting wooden wall, droplets of water dripping at its base. Maybe it wasn’t that he was losing his touch. These people just didn’t know who he was. Yet. He glanced down at the oil lantern on the floor in the centre of the room and smiled. That would work.
He cast [Sanctuary of the Flame] over Rose, Korin and himself, then held out his right hand, palm facing the lantern. It was totally unnecessary but there was nothing wrong with a bit of showmanship. He channelled mana towards the flame, wrapping it in a ball marked with the necessary sigils. The flame reshaped itself into a small ball of fire no bigger than his thumb, contained within the glass. For now.
His eyes locked onto Daveran’s as he channelled more mana into the sigils. The flame in the lantern expanded outwards, pressing against the glass cage until the lantern groaned under the pressure, the glass squealing as it struggled to contain the expanding flame. It fought for a second or two before finally caving, the glass melting away, leaving behind the warped metal shell of the lantern. The ball of fire continued to grow larger as Elliott raised it to the centre of the room.
“Would you like to see how large I can make this?” Elliott asked, the corners of his mouth curving upwards. “I think my personal best is something like three miles in diameter.”
“You wouldn’t,” Daveran said, though his voice suggested anything other than certainty. “You’ll kill us all?”
“Of course not!” Elliott replied. “Why would I kill myself?”
Rose gasped, drawing Elliott’s attention to her. Elsie lay asleep in her hand and Korin stood at her side, frowning like he regretted joining them. “Oh, you two are safe too.”
The ball continued to expand, though he didn’t want it to get too big, too soon. The room was quite cramped however, so he didn’t have much space to work with. Still, Daveran should be feeling the heat by now.
“You’re worse than the Bizaynians.”
“That’s rather harsh. You don’t even know me.”
“I thought you came to help.”
“I always find that’s where people go wrong,” Elliott replied. After Daveran’s confused look, Elliott cheerfully added, “Thinking.”
He continued expanding the ball of fire as slowly as he could, but not so slowly that it lost the effect he was wanting. He had no desire to kill these people. Not least because he knew he wouldn’t enjoy explaining it to Isabel. She’d asked him to save them – she always found these little miserable projects to aid – and she wouldn’t be happy if he wound up killing them. She’d accept his actions. She always did. But he knew that was just kicking the bucket down the street. There was only so much debt he could take on with her without paying it.
However, he wasn’t a man who liked to be played with. He didn’t care whether he was respected or feared. Just don’t treat him like a fool.
He knew Daveran wasn’t the leader here. Even before he’d knocked on the door, the three figures at the adjacent hut had caught his attention. A young man, and two older men with him, all huddled around the same doorway. At a glance, they looked no different from the rest with their tattered clothing, unshaven chins and the boy’s unkempt hair. But they lacked the empty look of despair in their eyes and the older men’s frames were muscular, lean, well-trained.
As the ball of flame grew to within an inch of Daveran’s face, he shielded his eyes as he began to skirt around it, pressing himself against the wall, shuffling closer to Korin and Rose.
“Enough,” a voice said behind the flame. Not Daveran. “You’ve made your point.”
Elliott dismissed the ball immediately, the flame shrinking into itself until it was nothing more than a humble flicker in the broken lantern. Only an amateur would push it further. The young man from next door had entered the room. He was a little shorter than Elliott, and his light skin didn’t sag like the people outside, nor did it have that dead sheen. He had a shaggy mop of blonde hair that looked in need of a cut and beneath that, Elliott could see a burning fervour in the man’s blue eyes. Purpose.
The two older men, swords in hand, entered to either side of the younger. They were of a height with Elliott, both with unshaven chins sporting flecks of white. The one on the left had a scar just beneath his black hair, from the top of his right ear to the side of his lip. His companion had greying red hair held in a ponytail. Both men scanned the room, eyes passing over Korin and Rose before settling on Elliott.
The two newcomers had that same fire in their eyes as the young man. They certainly hadn’t given up.
“You live up to your name,” the young man said.
“You know who I am?” Elliott replied.
The young man nodded. “I know they have a name for you on your world. Murderhobo?”
Elliott grinned. Isabel was always exceptional in her work when it came to tracking down information. She had never let him down.
The young man smiled back at him with a tilted nod. “I hope that suffices to prove that I have the information you want. I know you’re seeking the one who brought you here. But I’m giving you nothing more until you save our people, no matter how big a fireball you can make.”
“And what do they call you?” Elliott smiled. This was the kind of man he liked dealing with. No nonsense. Put their cards on the table. Let’s negotiate a mutually beneficial deal. And let’s not play games.
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
“Taalan,” the young man replied.
“And what do you have in mind for your people?”
“First, I want you to help us reach the forest to regroup with the army. These men and women haven’t eaten in days.”
“First?” Elliott raised an eyebrow at Taalan. The cheek of the kid.
“Once they’re fed and rested, I will need your help again. Then I’ll take you to where you can find the one who brought you here. But not until I get these people to safety.”
“Where’s safety?”
Taalan hesitated for a moment before he answered. “The Kingdom has allies to the south, beyond Bizayn borders.”
“Allies who didn’t want to help you in this war?”
“Allies who have their own people to protect.”
“Surely they should’ve helped the Rhianians before the conquerors were on their own doorstep?”
Taalan met Elliott’s eyes. “Who knows? They have their own reasons. But their offer to take us in holds.”
A murmur began outside the thin glass panes of the window. Elliott drew back the drape and saw Isabel weaving between the crowds, handing out loaves of bread from a sack on her back like she was Santa Claus dressed in a maid’s outfit. He almost sighed. In the midst of the mission he gave her, she found the time to steal some bread. He was going to save these people in a few minutes anyway! They’d be well fed shortly! Isabel looked up and noticed him staring at her. With a mortified look, she handed the sack to someone else as she rushed into the hut.
The two men with Taalan put their swords up, but Isabel didn’t have time for that. She grabbed the back of both men’s heads, knocked their skulls together with a dull thud and pushed them back to the walls. Both rubbed their foreheads as they stared at Isabel, that fire in their eyes a little more uncertain. Taalan had a small smile on his lips. Rose was covering hers.
“You got what I need?” Elliott asked Isabel, who simply nodded.
“Taalan. How many people are we talking?”
“Four hundred, give or take.”
Elliott nodded his head as he took in the size of the cramped room they were in. It could fit about four people between the walls.
“I need you to clear everyone from the surrounding huts. Five across. Five down. Do it now. Do it quick.”
The two men and Daveran looked to Taalan for his approval, which he gave and they scrambled out the door, grabbing some others in the streets and passing on the orders. The rest of them followed them out of the hut. As Elliott’s combat boots sank into the mud, he felt the small mana flow from Rose. It wasn’t lost on him that she valued keeping herself clean over saving her mana. This was the third or fourth time she’d done that. The girl truly had much to learn.
A few minutes later, the huts had been cleared, men and women surrounding them with confusion and curiosity in their eyes, mixed with a spark of hope. Elliott pressed his palm against the first hut and cast [Solar Core], the wooden walls and beams glowing white-hot. He controlled the spell, the white-hot glare spreading to devour exactly the five huts across and down that he needed. The crowd shielded their eyes as the structure started collapsing on itself, the outer corners and walls dissipating into the air. It took seconds until only a flat piece of dirt ground stood where twenty-five huts had been a moment ago. A ripple of excited wonder passed through the crowd.
“I need all these people inside this square,” Elliott said to Taalan and his men. “Then I want you to round up everyone you can and fit them in here as well. I don’t care how. This street needs to be clear. Taalan, you stay here.”
Daveran and the two men, along with the others sped off. Elliott turned to Rose. “Elsie,” he called to his sister as she slept in Rose’s palm. She slowly opened her eyes, blinked several times and looked him in the eye with a smile on her pink lips. She stretched out both of her tiny arms, before turning over. She tucked her legs in, put a hand over her face and went back to sleep.
Great! He knew she needed her rest but couldn’t she have picked a better time? With a sigh, he looked at Isabel. “Just you then. Do a perimeter sweep. Kill any guards who get too close but get back here before I do. You have about five minutes.”
With a nod, his trusted advisor ran down the street, unclasping Death’s Whisper from her back. The crowd in the street had done as asked, pushed to the far end of the square he had just made. He dropped a [Portal Node] in the street that stretched the length of the five huts he had cleared.
“Rose. Make sure this street stays clear. You, as well,” he said, taking in Korin. “We’ll be back here in a few minutes. Taalan. Hold my hand. Don’t get excited.”
The young man did as asked, grabbing hold of his palm with a surprisingly soft hand, like he’d had time for a manicure.
[Sanctuary of the Wind]
[Sentinel Blockade]
[Nullify Motion]
A few protective spells so they could handle what came next. Rose wouldn’t know what he had cast, so she wouldn’t be aware he could have done this when he took her to the mountains. He wasn’t going to use the same spell this time. He needed something faster and direct.
[Conceal]
[Fly]
The two of them shot into the air until they hovered several hundred metres above the town. Taalan’s eyes were wide with astonishment. Elliott gathered his bearings. He could see the mountains to the north where he had taken care of the Elemental Lords. It ran from the west to the east, where it met another range of mountains that ran from north to south. The Forest of Shadows sprawled across the base of both mountains, running miles to the south without end.
“Do you know where your army is from here?”
Taalan pointed towards the eastern mountain range, roughly fifteen miles away. They burst eastwards almost instantly, Elliott bringing them to a stop above the forest’s edge. Taalan scanned the area below, then pointed to a clearing that could be seen from their vantage point.
“There.”
An instant later, they hovered above the clearing, several hundred metres across, packed with soldiers, horses, tents and small campfires, smoke trailing into the air.
Elliott descended the few hundred metres slowly, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing, a putrid stench flowing in their direction from the forest behind them. Of course he had to land where they’d made their latrine.
“You lead the way,” Elliott whispered to Taalan.
The young man walked ahead, Elliott following, as they made their way between the tents, and soldiers sitting on logs around their campfires. At one edge of the clearing, the horses had been herded and tied to the trees, soldiers tending to them. In another spot, an eating area had been set up, men and women lining up, as a soldier ladled soup from a large pot into a bowl, while another tossed a small piece of bread on the side. A little beyond them, the carcasses of wild boars were being skinned and butchered.
“Over there,” Taalan pointed. It was a cluster of tents, all bigger than the others they had seen and the one in the middle bigger than the ones surrounding it. Elliott followed Taalan as they made their way to that tent, four soldiers guarding the entrance. The guards wore similar chainmail and leather armour as those back in Tarnov, though these ones wore a green tabard emblazoned with a side-on red lion standing on its hind feet, its front paws outstretched in a sideways V.
“Just go right through,” Elliott whispered. “They can’t see us.”
Taalan nodded, though he hesitated as they approached the guards, tentatively squeezing past them. Inside the tent, a large wooden table dominated the centre, with little models of what seemed to be mountains, forest and the town and the position of various forces. Around the edges of the tent, half a dozen men and women in full plate armour sat in cushioned chairs with high backs, being waited on by servants in simple white linens walking between them with goblets of drink, and plates of small nibbles.
Taalan led Elliott to the other side of the table, several metres away from a gentleman sat almost in the middle of the array of chairs, talking with a woman at his side. He was an older man, probably in his fifties, grey hair flowing down to his shoulders and a trimmed silver beard on his weathered face. The woman sat next to him was just as old, wrinkles under her brown eyes and on her rosy cheeks.
“You can drop…the spell,” Taalan said. Elliott did as he was asked and several gasps stirred through the tent.
“General Ibonek,” Taalan called out.
The old man turned to face them, along with the woman at his side. Others jumped out of their chairs, drawing their swords. Behind them, the guards entered, their boots muffled on the carpeted floor.
“How did you get in here?” Ibonek asked, black eyes narrowing at Taalan.
Taalan didn’t answer, instead fishing inside the lining of his tattered shorts, pulling out a signet ring that he offered to the general. The general nodded at one of the servants who passed off their plate of goblets to another before coming and taking the ring from Taalan and handing it to the general. He studied the ring, turning it over, checking the quality of the metal and then concentrating on the bezel itself. His eyes went through a mix of emotions. Confusion. Wonder. Sadness. Recognition. Then he turned to Taalan, the weathered skin on his face gleaming in a way that it hadn’t for a long time.
He stood from his chair and stepped forward a couple of metres, a look of joy and happiness on his face, with a beaming smile like that of a father. Then he surprised everyone but Taalan as he knelt on one knee, his arm resting on it as he bowed his head.
“Sire.”
Elliott glanced at the shaggy-mopped kid with his tattered clothing.
Sire? Sire?
What in the secret identity was going on here?
