Chapter 15: - The Great Deception

  Krovikosti was a card game ubiquitous amongst Bessmertnyy from all regions of the country. The rules were—well it didn’t really matter what the rules were, especially when Exia had no intention of following them.

  He was cheating—like all good gamblers did.

  For the past year now, he and Nav had made good fun hitting the various game houses littered around Lyubov with countless tricks, and made some good money while at it.

  The routine was simple—wait until everyone was asleep, use one of Father’s secret tunnels to sneak out of the palace in servant clothes, and squeeze money out of some gullible idiots.

  Nav didn’t like it at first—went on about how it was dishonest and what not—but even he couldn’t deny that there was a certain fun to the challenge, and together they were unstoppable.

  Today would of course be no different—Nav, sitting across from him, had already done his parts and fed Exia the cards he needed to win this thing, and it was almost time for him to watch a group of grown men cry as he took all of their money.

  Exia grinned and slammed his cards on the table. “Urazhda!” he exclaimed, and felt the joy of life, sunshine, and everything good hum within him as the men around collectively groaned in anguish.

  Six hands of Zcigmagus—the only thing that could beat that was his head, and that card was sitting handily in Navtej’s secret pocket.

  The losers showed their inferior cards in a symphony of sighs—Navtej’s was included of course, to keep up appearances.

  “Alright then gentlemen, I’d like to say you were worthy opponents, but that would be a lie.” He smirked. “Now, give me all your money!”

  “Urazhda!” A voice called out gingerly.

  Exia turned to see that it was a peasant girl grinning ear to ear that was responsible. “Uhm, it’s the victor who shouts that, girl.” Exia clarified. Poor things must have been simple between the ears, because Exia just saw her continue to grin at him.

  “Oh, I know.” She nodded emptily.

  “Then why are you—” Exia paused, looked down at her cards and found the grinning head of Zcigmagus staring up at him—gloating. That’s not…that’s not possible.

  He looked at Nav, who had a look of confusion that mirrored how Exia felt.

  “Urazhda!” she chimed again, and this time began grabbing all the money on the table—his money.

  “Wait! That’s not how this works, you don’t just get to—” he began, but she was already on her feet, plunging into the crowd. “Come back here!” Exia roared, jumped to his feet, and chased after the thief.

  He was jostled and shaken by the sea of adults, and yet the girl drifted between them like they were still as statues. Exia held his eyes on her as she slipped farther and farther away from him—red scarf, peasant-black hair, brown rags. Red scarf, peasant-black hair, brown rags. Red scarf. Red scarf. Red scarf. Red—

  He just barely emerged from the gaming house in time to see her turn a corner.

  He sprinted after her, turned as well, saw her walking, and raced towards the thief. “I said wait!” Exia growled, reached out, grabbed her by the shoulder, and ducked just in time to dodge an arc of something bright and glinting swinging through the air.

  A blade.

  Exia caught her by the blade-wielding wrist, pinned it against a wall and wrapped his hand around her throat. He hissed his words as he spoke them.“Listen to me, you whore—if you try to stab me again, I will ruin your face for your patrons.”

  The girl’s dark eyes did not yield—taking his words in and letting them break against her ineffectually. “Go ahead, I guess it’ll help me look like the only girls desperate enough to crawl into bed with you.”

  Huh…That was…unexpected.

  Rapid boots hit the ground, and he turned to see Navtej at the end of a run towards him. He frowned at the sight of Exia pinning the girl to the wall—as if he were somehow doing something questionable. “What in the name of khangil is going on here, Exi?”

  “She cheated.” Exia growled, turned his gaze back to the girl and glared. “Tell me how you did it,” he demanded.

  She grinned, stupidly, idiotically, and annoyingly. “What makes you think I cheated?”

  “Because I cheated, and you still somehow won.” Exia snapped.

  The girl pretended to give that a moment of thought. “Seems like you’re really bad at cheating.”

  “I am going to fucking kill you—”

  “No, he is not, no, he is not!” Navtej interrupted the interrogation, forcing Exia off of the enemy, and leaving her to scurry behind him. He locked eyes with Exia now. “Because killing people draws attention, and we are not looking to draw attention, now are we?”

  Damn it, the bastard could logic.

  Exia stiffly nodded, and did not cut open the thief.

  She kept a cautious eye on him—wise—but there was also something new too, suspicion. Her gaze shifted to Navtej, and then him. “Who are you two?”

  “Give me my money,” Exia demanded.

  The girl walked right over his words. “Your wears are too clean to be local workers. So you’re serving boys, yes, but from a very wealthy household,” her eyes were narrow now, and Exia found himself resisting the urge to take a step back as he felt her gaze pierce through him.

  She settled her eyes on Navtej now. “You’re new here, but you speak all upper class-like, but don’t say words like ‘can’t’ or ‘he’s’, you say ‘cannot’ and ‘he is.’ So you learnt yourself the tongue not from speaking, but from reading.”

  “That is…correct,” Navtej replied, and for some reason Exia thought he could see a hint of fascination in his friend’s eyes.

  “And you…” she set her eyes back on Exia, seeming almost bored. “Wells, you’re easy to figure out, a true, and blue native, grew up in a merchant or noble household, easy enough to tell when you ‘telk liqe tis,’” she said, doing a terrible imitation of a high Bessmertnyy accent.

  Exia scoffed. “I do not talk like that, I talk like this, like this!”

  Navtej laughed. “You, uh, you sort of do.”

  The girl laughed harder.

  Exia felt the muscles in his neck tense, his blood hiss like magma. He glared at the girl. “Why don’t you go back to mud slinging, handing out diseases like coin, and whatever else it is your people do in your pastime.”

  The smile faded from her lips in an instant, replaced with a glare as cold as the winter itself. “You what?” her voice came as soft as a whisper at first, and then it redoubled. She brandished her weapon. “Say that to me again, I dare you.”

  “Exi, I think you should apolo—”

  “No, no, no,” Exia grinned. “You heard the lady, ask, and it shall be delivered.” He cleared his throat, nearly laughed with giddy excitement, and pulled out a dagger from his pocket. “You and your mud slinging, shit eating, endlessly breeding relatives, should stop stinking up my air, and go back to where you came fr—” The girl moved, Exia moved.

  Interesting, he’d never beat up a girl before, he wondered how it’d feel. Very funny probably—they were supposed to be very weak.

  “Hey!” a voice barked, before they could collide, prompting Exia and the girl to stop in their tracks. He turned and saw a huge man—huge, heavy, and angry. Exia recognised him—from the game house. Oh bugger. “You’re the kids who tried to play me for a mug!”

  “Actually, it was her who—”

  The man struck, and Exia’s knees gave out. His face met the streets with a loud, heavy pounding in his head. The kind that made him realise Morozova must have been holding back every time he struck him. He tried to blink the whiteness out of his eyes, but it refused to leave him be.

  The world was a cacophony of distant and drifting noises—Navtej screaming, the girl’s snarling, the man roaring.

  Exia saw colour, then shape, and then the scene before him. Nav was on the ground, clutching his stomach and emptying his supper onto the streets. The girl was held high by the neck, legs kicking helplessly as the man that was choking her demanded his money—the man that hit him. Him, a king. The man, a peasant. And he’d been hit!?

  Exia snatched a blade from the ground—his or hers, he didn’t care—dropped into a crouch, and carved a line across the tendon behind the man’s heel. Blood spurted, kissed the air and the bastard dropped to a knee.

  Screaming, and cursing, he turned his attention on Exia. “You little fuck!”

  He swiped at him, Exia dodged, stabbed at his face, and only succeeded in opening up his opponent’s cheek. The man grabbed him by the hand, twisted his wrist harshly, and Exia felt pain cut deep into him as his fingers went limp, and the blade dropped to the ground.

  The man picked up the weapon with his free hand and brought it down at Exia’s neck. Exia tried to pull away, but the hand held him with a vice grip. Terror gripped his heart, true and real—true as it came.

  Something slammed into the back of the man’s head, and he went limp. His heavy body hit the ground, and did not get up.

  Exia scurried backwards immediately. He saw the girl standing above the man’s body—raging fire in her eyes as she glared down at him. She walked over and kicked the man in the balls, once, twice, four times, before finally stopping at a fifth and ending it by spitting on his unconscious form.

  Her eyes fell on Exia now, just staring, then Nav—who was still gathering his bearings. She looked like she’d just emerged from a forest—nose bleeding, hair wild, and a hot redness around her neck where the giant oaf had grabbed her. “You can hold your own,” she said to none of them in particular. And then she turned and left.

  Exia called out. “Wait!”

  She didn’t.

  “What’s your name?!”

  “You haven’t earned that yet!” She called back, still walking.

  Exia frowned—she was getting further away now. “H-how do I earn your name?!”

  “By being nice to me, you fucking prick!” She replied, turned a corner and disappeared.

  ###

  The King wheezed.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Sasha just stared, uselessly, ineffectually, and then she was a soldier again. Gloves. She made her way into the room and slid them onto the King.

  He gasped as power from the beyond surged into his body and purged the impurities. The King rolled to his feet the next moment, and stumbled—the gods could not eradicate all toxins, especially not the ones that had already made their way well into the victim’s system.

  Sasha caught him with a steadying hand. “What happened?”

  The King looked shaken, genuinely shaken, it terrified Sasha, truly. “Nav…Navtej…”

  “What happened to him?” Sasha asked. He wasn’t here when she had arrived. In fact she only came here to make sure everything was alright given how strangely the King had been acting. “Where is he?”

  The King hesitated, as if the words were too hard to say. “The Zakadochnyy…” he began, slurring. “has him.”

  “I thought you killed h—”

  “There’s two, he had an accomplice, he came in here, poisoned me, grabbed Nav, and left,” The King said, words rushed out.

  “The Zakadochnyy was here.” Sasha’s head spun. “We need to make sure the Governor is saf—”

  “He’s dead.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Why wouldn’t he be? If the Zakadochnyy’s goal was to kill Belavkin, and he was in the building, he’d have killed him.”

  “We need to check.”

  “There’s no time to check!” The King snapped. “Every second we take is one where the Zakadochnyy gets further and further away. If he’s dead he’s dead, if he’s not, he’s not.”

  Sasha grit her teeth and nodded. “Where did he go?”

  “He grabbed Nav’s suitcase—train station.” The King answered.

  “Train station.” Sasha nodded, lifted the King on her back, and leapt out of the window. She hit the ground feet first, cracking pavement on impact, and sprinting for the train station the next moment.

  She dashed through winding streets and then dark slums before she could finally hear the mechanical hissing, and loud horns of the station. It could be too late, the Zakadochnyy could already be gone. Sasha couldn’t dwell on that, she just had to stick to the mission.

  She narrowly avoided slamming into a coachman, leapt down the stairs, and found the station in front of her. There were several trains before her, people walking around. It was chaos, and she needed to make sense of it.

  “That one,” The King urged, then slipped off her and landed on his feet. He didn’t look groggy now—in fact there was a burning focus raging through his eyes—Sasha assumed the poison must have worn off.

  He was pointing to a train to the far left of them—heading further south.

  It was already moving.

  That made it the best bet.

  The King was already sprinting, he caught the train and kicked in a steel door. Sasha followed suit soon, and saw him heading down the right side of the train while panicked men, women and children shied away from the Gloved stranger. A reassuring nod from Sasha, and the sight of her uniform seemed to calm them somewhat.

  She considered following the King then decided against it; they would cover more ground if they searched opposite sides of the vehicle.

  Sasha held her breath as she walked, travelling from carriage to carriage with the knowledge that danger might leap out at her any moment.

  She reached for the handle of a carriage, but it opened before she turned. Someone stepped in from the other side—tall, black haired, and skin like oak. Navtej Volkov looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him. Sasha immediately scanned around for another Mage—the Zakadochnyy’s ally—and found none.

  “Captain?” he said, as if trying to confirm she was no illusion.

  “Navtej!” Sasha called, taking him by the arm, and instantly dragging him behind her—putting her between him and whatever might come out of that door—”What’s happening?” she asked, eyes locked on the carriage door. Yet nothing came out of it.

  It didn’t make any sense—the Zakadochnyy’s ally had taken Navtej, but here he was, walking about, and with no enemy Mage in sight. Something wasn’t adding up.

  Sasha whipped her head to Navtej and found him staring down at her with sad eyes. It made her heart burn and her blood rush with adrenaline. “Navtej,” she began, slowly and carefully,“what’s going on?”

  Sasha hadn’t noticed when he’d put on the necklace. What she did notice was the dust in the air—it stirred, shimmered, then darkened, shifting through shades until it was black as coal. The particles swirled around him, layering and layering, fusing to his skin like smoke turning solid. And then, he was no longer a man. What stood before her was a beast—nearly three meters tall, towering over her with the face of a panther and the body of something even more finely built to hunt. Musculature rippled beneath short, midnight fur. His legs were bent, digitigrade, ready to spring, and when he spoke, it was with a voice like thundering boulders. “You should not be here, Captain.”

  Stream!

  Sasha’s hand spat fire at the enemy, enveloping him in orange and golden conflagration of death and destruction.

  Behind her people fled for their lives, screaming, and crying out in shock and horror as they witnessed a Mage unleash the full might of her power against an opponent.

  When the flames died, and the smoke cleared, Sasha saw not the charred remains of a man she once thought an ally, but a beast standing before her.

  Navtej’s arms were crossed in a defensive position. She could see the burn marks along the skin wafting up black smoke where much of the flames had been concentrated. They were not deep burns.

  A bright orange sclera peaked at her through his eyes—there was still warmth in them. “None of us need to get hurt here, Captain,” Navtej said, and Sasha almost felt like she could see bits of him—not in the features of the monster’s face, but in the mannerisms—as if he were wearing a costume.

  It almost calmed her—almost. “I’m going to need you to take that necklace off, Navtej.” Sasha told him.

  “I’m sorry, I cannot do th—”

  Sasha spat fire at him once more, and this time the enemy slid to the side, letting her flames meet a wall, eat through it and tear a hole in the train.

  Navtej swiped at Sasha with powerful arms—carrying the wind with him as it moved.

  She ducked, dodged narrowly, and readied another attack. Wh—

  Navtej’s palm struck her—palm, and yet it felt like she’d received the full force of a fist. The impact met Sasha’s chest, drove the air from her lungs, lifted her off her feet, and sent her crashing into the train’s walls. She tore through it as if it were made of cardboard and foam, and hit the snow hard. Compared to the strike, she didn’t even notice landing at a train’s full speed.

  Sasha ended in a heap, coughing, wheezing, and spluttering in agony. She buried the pain, rolled onto her knees, and fell back into the snow the moment she tried to run after the train. She tried to gather her bearings and still found them wanting. All Sasha could bring herself to do was watch—watch as the train raced away, watched as the enemy escaped.

  The King…the King is still on there…with him. She realised, and she could do nothing about it.

  ###

  “Nav!” Exia yelled.

  He found Navtej, alone, shifted, and standing amidst the wreckage of an empty carriage. Melted steel and twisted metal surrounded the man—the Captain’s doing. A massive hole was to the left of him, torn rather than burned—the Captain’s exit.

  She was alive then. Good.

  Zcigmagus salivated and Exia shunned him. You can’t have him. Exia told the god.

  Navtej set familiar golden eyes upon Exia, and Exia didn’t move. He didn’t do anything, really, to set off his friend—his brother. He just needed to talk, he just needed time. There was conflict in Navtej’s eyes too—a good sign—it meant he could get through to him, it meant there was a way to make sense of all of this.

  “Just talk to me Nav…Just fucking talk to me… Who’s making you do this? What’s going on? I can help you.” Exia pleaded, feeling his heart balance on a string.

  Then Navtej leapt.

  He broke through the ceiling and disappeared from sight.

  Shit!

  Exia followed immediately after, emerging onto the roof of a roaring train and being greeted by the sounds of rushing wind and the clicking tracks. Below them was not land but water—the train was racing along a bridge now.

  Navtej stood on the carriage in front of Exia’s, eyes facing him, body drawn into a defensive stance.

  Exia took a step forward, and his brother took a step back. “Turn around, Exi!” Navtej yelled over the noise.

  “Tell me what’s going on!” Exia demanded.

  Nav shook his head and turned to leave.

  A blue limb shot out of Exia’s palm and wrapped around Navtej’s arm. Exia pulled on it, and the Shifter slid towards him ever so slightly, before tugging back and sending Exia stumbling forwards.

  The two locked eyes, Nav’s bright yellows and Exia’s ocean blues. The question was left unsaid, but clear.

  Are we really going to fight? Exia knew they both thought.

  “You’re leaving me no choice, Brother,” Exia told him softly—heavily.

  “I am. I told you, turn around and—”

  “That’s no choice at all.” Exia shook his head.

  “Please…” Nav begged.

  “I’m sorry.” Exia stretched out his other palm, and a tentacle erupted from it, moving to wrap around Navtej, but caught with a slash instead, and turned into blue mist.

  Navtej came at him, covering the distance with a massive leap and hard resolution in his eyes.

  Exia leapt back from the attacks, dodging heavy blows as they chased him.

  Though he and Navtej were on equal Magnitudes, Shifters were close combat specialists, where Mages liked to keep their distance from their enemy. Ordinarily, Exia would have been able to use this to his advantage, but he could only back up so many carriages before he had nothing but air separating him from the tracks below and there was practically no such thing as a sidestep upon the roof of a train.

  That wasn’t great, so he had to think of—

  Something hit him, it was not Navtej’s fist, for it didn’t connect, but the hard wind that was carried by his knuckles. It sent Exia off his feet, bouncing off a carriage, landing on the last one, and nearly falling off its side.

  He crawled up to his feet a moment later.

  Gale Force… A common Shifter Technique. How he hated sparring against that.

  Exia knew that as long as they were on this train, in a contest between a Shifter and a Mage, the game was Nav’s.

  Well, perhaps that would have been the case if Exia was any other sort of Mage. But he was one with the abyss, he was the chosen of Zcigmagus, and lately he had only used two out of his three gifts. Lately, he’d not seen reason to use more than two. But Nav was his reason now.

  Shadow of Zcigmagus.

  A thick black smoke oozed from Exia’s form like something from an engine—though cold where burning petrol would be hot.

  Burst, He demanded, and saw the world slow around him, saw the birds flap that much sluggishly. He was faster now. Drain. The smoke crackled with blue lightning, waiting to leech the energy off of anyone it touched. Shroud, he thought. And he saw Navtej’s eyes narrow the moment he could see Exia no more.

  Could he win like this, up here, with these magics wielded? No. But he could close the distance, he could take them both to the ground, and there it would be anyone’s game.

  Navtej charged forwards, Exia did as well, and then the man struck, not Exia, but the carriage he was standing on.

  Everything titled—the carriage, Exia, the world, and then he was falling, falling with the dislodged carriage chasing him towards the rushing water below. “I’m not going to fight you, Exi,” Navtej yelled out.

  Exia extended a hand out as he fell, his tentacle raced, raced, raced towards the fleeing vehicle. Zcigmagus growled, hissed, and roared in defiance at his gift being pushed to its limit, and just when Exia was about to wrap a blue limb around the edge of the train, it snapped into his palm. And the water met him instead.