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"No!" Bahjal cried, emerging from the steam. The mist dragged wearily after her call, coating them both in warm liquid. Her whip quivered like a dying limb as she tried to strike, coiling too soon and flopping down between them. With a cry of defiance, she lurched forwards, trying to tackle them both with her small, hundred pound frame.
The Varadour stepped forward and slammed his foot into her diaphragm. She crashed to the ground instantly, gasping for air. Moisture pulled in around her like a cocoon of healing liquid, only the shear need for her own survival could pull her from Keevan's aid.
"This way," the Varadour insisted, dragging Keevan along by the neck.
In the distance, guards shouted in alarm and merchants scrambled away. Somehow, the Varadour found the open gate, slipping in to the Harbor Guild fortress just as the mist behind them faded. The Varadour stank of urine, unwashed flesh and feces. His limbs trembled, forcing Keevan to gasp for air every few seconds as the Varadour's shaking pinched Keevan's windpipe closed. A painful heat built up in his lungs from lack of air, forcing him to claw at his attacker's arms.
"I'm so sorry, Sight Seeker," the Varadour apologized. His grip loosened enough for Keevan to breathe properly. He still dragged Keevan along like a bag of potatoes. They turned down one alley, then another, as if at random. Unless the man had somehow memorized the place. "Please don't scream. We have much to discuss. Give me a moment to find us a quiet corner."
"You just cut through a half dozen guards. They'll-" Keevan hissed in pain, urging his feet to keep up with his captor's pace. He only accomplished getting dragged another dozen yards across the stone floor, jostling his airway again. Around them, echoes of heavy boots, draw steel and horns of alarm bellowed through the stone passages.
"Hold that thought," the Varadour insisted. "Here perhaps?"
Flipping open the latch with his foot, he pushed the oak door open. Black shadows of a narrow storage place hung open before them like the maw of some beast. Broken tools, sacks of supplies and bottles of every size lined the shelves on either end. The shelves gave way to a tangle of buckets, mops and brooms at the closets' far end.
"Perfect," the Varadour said, pushing Keevan into the narrow space. "Go all the way to the back. Sit alongside the shelves on the left side, I'll take the right," Keevan walked half the distance, massaging his throat, before glancing over his shoulder at the hallway behind his captor.
"That girl was a friend of yours I take it?" the Varadour asked, his eyes and tone flashing dangerously. Keevan nodded wordlessly.
"Be glad I didn't kill her, then," the Varadour said, shutting the door behind him as he entered, plunging them into the darkness. "Also, consider how many more you would be forcing me to kill if you sound the alarm."
"What alarm?" Keevan grumbled. Flinching as he felt the Varadour's hand on his back. The motion wasn't violent, but a soft gesture moving him further down the shelves. "This closet is too stuffy to carry sound. But it will be one of the first places they look."
"I'm counting on that," the Varadour said. "I'm Corvan, by the way. Here, let me flip a bucket over for you. Have a seat right there. Perfect."
The overturned bucket acted as a decent seat, albeit flat, and unyielding. Keevan felt a dozen tendrils of wood and fabric tickle his skin. Was the Varadour tilting the mops and brooms so they leaned against the wall over their heads? Keevan felt the ground with his hands and found a broken chunk of handle, still pointy at one end. He lifted it into his lap, trying to move silently in the darkness.
"Really?" Corvan sighed, as if disappointed. "I've survived months of torture in the dungeons. You really think I'd let you draw a weapon on me? A bit of ceramic no less? At the least, I expected a mental attack of some kind."
"You can see in the dark," Keevan echoed in surprise, dropping the makeshift weapon.
"After a fashion," Corvan admitted. "As can you, by different means. But if you were trying to attack me, why not just use your power? You could have blocked my senses or paralyzed me..."
Keevan gulped, wrapping his arms around himself as he tried to curl up in the corner of the closet. Just that sentence laid bare worries that had haunted Keevan for years. A simple truth burned in his mind. The other Sight Seekers could do more than just ... see, even at his age. Touching another's mind, changing their senses, the Varadour expected those powers the moment they met.
That meant even the Outlander Sight Seekers had those abilities, and Keevan did not. Any dream of living among his own people buckled under the implications of that one sentence. Even among his own people, he'd live out his days as a powerless deformity. A Sight Seeker who could only see element, and do nothing else.
The thick, dank air of the closet made the prisoner's reek smells even worse and he found himself biting back the urge to gag. The Varadour was standing right in front of him for some reason, under the tangle of mops and brooms.
Outside, the sounds of banging doors and shouts of alarm inched closer. Keevan pursed his lips, trying to push past his fear and shock to consider his options. Good men lay wounded, Bahjal among them. If he called out in alarm, if he tried to stop Corvan at all, more people would get hurt. The Varadour would likely escape again as well, wasting more lives.
Keevan's mind buzzed with the lack of information. Catching this man was clearly a quest for another day, with hours of research and preparation. Surviving him was a better goal for now, while learning all he could. A small part of his mind recognized Corvan's care in not killing Bahjal and approved, remembering how easily his mail-covered fist could break bone.
"You can't touch another mind, can you?" Corvan echoed in the dark, sincere and practically apologetic. "I’m sorry. I didn't realize. How long have you been like that?"
"Since birth," Keevan grunted. Outside, the adjacent door swung open, a half dozen boots thundering against the stones. "They'll search this room next. You're done."
"Am I?" Corvan chuckled, he leaned in closer, until his greasy hair pressed against Keevan's face. "Raise your feet off the floor and hug your knees to your chest. Do it now, or I'll have to fight my way out and kill more people."
The door burst open in a blast of blinding torch light, forcing Keevan to wince. Metal scratched on wood as one of the guards entered, led by the glowing red tip of his Danica spearhead. Keevan's heart leapt into his throat, but he managed to keep quiet. If they detonated one of those, not knowing Keevan was here, it would only leave behind a charred corpse. Few spearheads were even allowed in the Capital. Too destructive.
The guard paused a moment, listening. Five other sentries stood behind him, weapons drawn, staring into the closet in nervous concentration. The shadows around Keevan thrived and snapped into shape beneath the mops and brooms, Corvan's lower half faintly stood out in the shifting light, as if forged of impossibly thin glass, an amazing trick of the light.
"Nothing here. Keep searching," one of the guards grunted, slamming the door shut. The thundering boots and slamming doors moved on, growing ever fainter. A nervous anticipation coiled in Keevan's chest. Here they were, the moments of quiet he'd longed for since his childhood. A chance to speak with an Outlander face-to-face.
"Well, thankfully they weren't bright enough to follow the water dripping off us, am I right?" Corvan asked.
Keevan paused a moment, considering the sudden chill eating away at his limbs now that he'd stopped moving and realized how wet his clothes were. "They probably assumed their own focus was pulling spilled fluid across the floor. If they'd seen sparks instead of moisture, they'd been on you like rabid dogs."
"Good thing I don't 'spark' easily," Corvan chuckled. When his humor wasn't mirrored, Corvan and sighed and spoke again. "You too. That's probably the first time not having elemental powers helped you out, am I right? Keevan, I'm sure you have questions. Ask."
He stepped away. Keevan sighed in relief as the man's stink abated somewhat. Corvan sat on another bucket on the opposite side of the closet, his motions echoed by the creak of wood and the scuffs of his boots against the stone floor.
"How do you know my name?" Keevan asked.
"Everyone in the city knows who you are, even my torturers." Corvan answered, absently grabbing for something that once dangled about his neck. Finding nothing there, he shrugged and continued speaking. "I spent a lot of time listening. They didn't realize how sensitive a Varadour's sense of hearing is."
"You're common tongue is very good," Keevan noted. "How long have you been here in Issamere?"
"Three months, with only the Harbor Guild for company. You learn a lot in that time, if you're properly motivated. They saw to that, though I doubt learning their language was their primary intent," Corvan muttered from the shadows, venom thick in his tone.
"What else do you know about me?" Keevan asked, adjusting his position so his knees rested under his chin where he sat.
"When you're being questioned, day in and day out, for weeks at a time," Corvan said, rummaging through something in the shadows. He hummed contently, tearing a bite of something in his teeth, chewing as he spoke. "All you have to occupy your thoughts are the questions of the interrogator. I figured out that your parents were an artisan and a politician, not the best among their peers but not the worst. Go ahead, look around. I know your eyes can glow, at the least, every Sight Seeker's can."
Keevan opened his eyes to the elemental plane. Blue light bathed the small closet, throwing an oddly aquatic hue on the ragged Varadour. He slipped the breastplate off, wincing as he did so. Fresh bruises lined his ribs and a still healing burn marred his shoulder. He sighed in sudden fatigue, leaning back against the wall. His chest and arms were more scar than healthy skin. He nibbled on some dried fruit, take from a small bag at the top of the shelf. Was the man's sense of smell enhanced too?
It felt strange seeing such details through the elemental plane. The fresh moisture in the Varadour's hair gave his head a blue glow all its own, the burn's red hues fading with each passing second. The air above him ebbed and flowed with faint orange light as the water slowly evaporated from his shoulders and hair. After years of only seeing Tri-Being cloud-like personas though, the Varadour's lack of elemental connection set him apart as something inhuman and unnatural. Was this how the people of Issamere saw Keevan?
"I see they didn't exactly stuff you in a repulsor room," Keevan noted sadly, gesturing towards the scars. "I'm sorry you're time here's been so different from mine."
"What? These?" Corvan asked, glancing down at his many wounds. "Most are from the Guild, some from before. But at least I still have my powers. I can't imagine what it must be like as an impotent Sight Seeker. Kors must have lied through his teeth about the Watcher thing."
"No," Keevan admitted with a shrug. "I did help with that."
"How?" Corvan echoed with a bleak chuckle. "You can't affect elements, can you?"
"No," Keevan said. "But I can see elemental fields. I coached Kors and another girl through the Watcher's field. We would have gotten by unnoticed, but Kors had other plans."
"Kors and this Zerik fellow," Corvan nodded, scratching his chin. "I couldn't have escaped without his, well your distraction. I'm in both your debts, and believe me, I honor my debts. Particularly if you're the last Outlander on this continent."
"About that," Keevan said, searching for the right words. "Suada's mercy, where do I start?"
"Well, use your time wisely," Corvan cautioned, raising a finger in the air between them. "I have to settle my debt with Zerik as soon as Kors gives the signal. Any minute now I assume, he shouldn't have had trouble sneaking in. There's no point in guarding the gates after a psychopath has broken in, is there?"
Keevan gulped nervously. "Right. Kors. He's after the Watcher, right?"
"You are a quick study," Corvan said, staring at Keevan as if he were changing into a different creature before his very eyes. "Yes, Kors said the price for my escape was dealing with the Watcher. I honor my debts, Keevan."
"Well, could I ask you to honor your debt to me by telling Zerik to sit on Raejin's spear?" Keevan asked hopefully.
"Even among the Tri-Beings, Honor isn't that twisted," Corvan replied dangerously, he cocked his head to one side, like a dog hearing something a far off. He got to his feet, slipping the guard's leather armor back on. "That's the signal. Perhaps I can visit you when this is over and we can talk more then?"
"No," Keevan cut in, pushing the mops between them aside. They clattered to the floor. "I know what I want. I helped give you your life back. Don't take any others. No more killing."
Corvan hesitated at that request, glancing at the door. "Oh. Maker's might that could complicate things. You know I can't vouch for Kors, or the guards for that matter. They'll all strike with lethal intent. You seriously expect me to go easy on them?"
"Think of it as a long-term investment," Keevan suggested, mustering his courage. "This city lets me walk their streets in public, without hunting me down on sight. In time, we might make a similar arrangement with you. Maybe even get you home."
Corvan laughed, a deep throated, hearty sound. "My boy, you're not a threat to them, at least, not in the 'public' way. Also, I'm more familiar with the Harbor Guild's 'darker' side than you. They will never let either of us go home. On top of that, I'm afraid my options aren't as warm as yours. My advice, play the porcelain doll. The longer you're not a threat, the longer you'll live."
"What about you?" Keevan asked, getting to his feet. He shuddered against the cold, dank air, rubbing his own shoulders briskly. "Where will you go?"
"I did a lot of listening while I was in the dungeons," Corvan said with a smile, tightening the belt around his waist. "Assuming you're not there, I can walk unnoticed. Sight Seeker vision is a pesky, perceptive thing."
"I... I hope to see you again," Keevan said, wringing his hands nervously. "I've never met an Outlander before. Please, don't walk away from here a murderer too. Maybe the guards in the dungeon deserved what they got, but, please, don't kill anyone else."
Corvan sighed, stretching his arms and back. Then he pulled a mop from the wall, gauging its length and weight like a soldier would a sword. "You drive a hard bargain, Sight Seeker. But, I do owe you and we Outlanders should stick together. Very well, I promise. I won't kill anyone. I can't speak for Kors though. Good bye, Keevan. Find some guards, if you can. We'll be done by the time you reach the Watcher."
With that, Corvan slipped out the door. Keevan sighed in relief, until he tried to turn the latch. It hung stubbornly in a horizontal position. He groaned, rubbing his temples, as he realized the mop's purpose.
"Belenok take you, Corvan!" Keevan yelled, hammering his fist on the thick oak door. "Is anyone out there? Help!"
In less than a minute, he heard the screams of battle and the roar of fire. Keevan kept knocking on the door, hoping someone might pass by. The maids at least would visit this closet daily, once all the chaos calmed down. Granted, the Watcher could be dead and buried by then. The Suadans would have a very good reason for treating him like a threat after this, no doubt.
Chapter 25
"Help!" Keevan cried again, banging his fists against the door. Only the din of distant battle and the cries of wounded soldiers answered his call.
His elemental vision flooded the room in pale blue light, tossing eerie shadows along the walls and ceiling. Keevan turned from the door with a groan of frustration, kicking at the latch. The tough wood only bruised his foot in reply, forcing him to hop around in pain.
This was the truth of his condition here among the Tri-Beings. He had no real power, none he could use for himself. Sure, he could walk others through elemental fields, but without command of his own, he was fragile and vulnerable. He returned to his bucket in the corner and held his head in his hands, fighting stubbornly against the gathering moisture in his eyes.
Corvan was right, if he couldn't even defeat an oak door, the Council wouldn't see him as much of a threat. He crossed his legs and groaned. His lack of food and overfilled bladder were both grating on his nerves now, adding to his helpless plight. It was embarrassing enough being found locked in a closet, but sitting next to a pail of your own urine?
Keevan let himself cry then, welcoming the warm tears. Corvan's advice didn't bring him any peace, not even comfort. There was so much more to life than safety. He longed to prove himself, to show his parents that he wasn't some porcelain doll they constantly needed to protect, but a worthwhile son who could if needed, watch over them. Reading elements his entire life wouldn't prove anything. He'd still be nothing more than a glorified scribe.
The ancient legends, tales of might Sight Seekers and Varadours, mocked him as he recalled their tales. None of them explained his powerless state, which according to Corvan, none of the Outlanders experienced. Perhaps he really was just a waste of flesh, some deformity no one would have any real use for. Nothing more than a charity case for the local people to dote on if they felt so inclined.
Amid his pain, he reviewed the faces of countless Tri-Beings he'd met. The Rhetans were the closest thing in Tri-Being society to him, from an elemental standpoint. But surely there was more to life than the contestant daily struggle for sustenance. Then again, even Haldran artisans like Nariem did little more than that. One could even say most Etrendi, with their purely selfish motivations and political aspirations, did little of real import in the city.
Then his memories caught on an image of Madol, in his Persuader uniform, tall and imposing. There was a Haldran, standing among, even above, the Etrendi. There was a man worth knowing. Despite his lack of elemental power, he still somehow survived in the Etrendi world. Thrived even. Keevan recalled the faces of Arnadi's guards as Madol ordered them about. The Persuaders carried the Malik's own authority in emergency situations.
"The Etrendi are strong, but in their strength they forget where true power comes from," Madol's words echoed through the halls of Keevan's mind. They filled every broken crevice wounded by abuse or despair and smoothed them over with a simple, powerful goal. "True power comes from the mind, for if you see or anticipate what others can't, you've already one."
Keevan sighed, looking around the closet yet again. "How would Madol escape?" He wondered aloud. "If he were armed only with my elemental vision, without even his physical strength, how would he get out of here?"
Taking a few deep breaths, Keevan took stock of his situation. The storage room's dried fruit stores were exhausted, thanks to Corvan's healthy diet. Mops and brooms couldn’t do much against steel locks and hinges. The bucket he sat on could give him some added height or support something heavy.
Getting to his feet, Keevan walked along the shelves, flitting through the piles of clothes, blankets and spare drapes. He took one towel and dried his hair and clothes a bit, which at least added to his comfort. His bladder swelled insistently, either he needed to get out quick or use one of the buckets.
Something nagged at Keevan, something familiar but just out of reach. Which didn't make much sense since he'd never been trapped in a broom cupboard before. He looked around again, beyond the shelves to the wall and roof, all stone.
There, a faint blue glow in the right wall, like a single strand of spider web stretching out under the stone. It reminded him of the Repulsor room's walls, though this Danica would function in the opposite way. It glowed so dimly he had to blink a few times to assure himself it wasn't an odd reflection from his eyes. He scratched at the glowing stone, blinking in surprise when a bit of the wall broke away beneath his fingers.
Mortar. Someone had laid a thin strand of Danica along the wall and covered it with mortar. It was certainly easier than removing the wall entirely and re-building it around Danica. What could it possibly be used for? He noticed it flowed from the upper floors to the bottom, with a similar vein mirroring it on the other side of the wall.
Keevan scratched his head, picturing the building as a whole, with its tall spires and weeping walls. He slapped his forehead and chuckled at the simplicity of it. The most powerful Suadans would attract gallons of water the second they focused on a problem of any importance. A thin ventilation system of Danica presented an effective, even beautiful way of sucking excess moisture from the Etrendi's upper quarters.
Again, his bladder nudged him angrily, threatening to spill its contents regardless of his feelings on the issue. A strange, rather ridiculous idea formed in his head and Keevan picked up the shaft of broken ceramic he'd tried to use earlier. Stone and metal locks were one thing, but mortar gave way rather easily under the broken handles' weight and sharp point. Keevan dug into the mortar carefully, watching the Danica's glow brighten as he peeled back one layer of mortar and then another. If he broke the vein, it wouldn't carry water properly, wasting his discovery.
There. He could see it now, a thin metallic finger of Danica ore stretching across the wall. He could even read its flow, from right to left. It was conveying water from the inside of the structure to the outside, a drainage system perhaps? The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Harbor Captains were among the strongest Suadans in Issamere and people who draw in that much water by merely thinking would need some way to vent the extra moisture, or risk purpose fever.
"Well, if you have to get someone's attention," Keevan muttered to himself. "Might as well make it memorable."
Scratching away enough of the vein to clearly read the Danica's flow, he pulled a bucket over and used it as a stepping stool. The crack stood at his chest level in the wall, and he couldn't very well direct his body's fluids that high up for long. Dropping his trousers, he stood above the crack and took aim.
"Here goes nothing," he sighed, first in fatigue and then in relief as he finally urinated. The warm yellow stream hit the wall and vanished into the crack with a sudden sucking sound, as if the Danica vein were thirsty. The next few seconds passed in quiet relief as Keevan effectively peed out a signal to whoever stood watch at the waste channel's end, the room reeked of ammonia now. He hadn't considered that the Dancia vein would only convey water.
"I wonder if anyone will notice," Keevan thought glumly. "Wish I'd thought of a way to deal with the smell, this is worse than sitting next to a bucket of urine."
*****
"I'm fine," Bahjal insisted, pushing Varta aside, the High Priestess' second in command. "Where's Keevan?"
They sat in the Harbor courtyard, twenty spans from the main entrance. The Harbor Guild Headquarters jutted up before her like a tooth of some massive creature, one accustomed to attacking, not being attacked. The Harbor Guards patrolling its exterior and the district wall sparked with visible static electricity. Whatever could singlehandedly take on a Suadan and six of their fellows demanded immediate attention and raised some very unsettling questions.
"The guards are searching the entire Harbor Guild," the elderly Suadan replied. The bells lining her dress chimed like a small applause, ever agreeing with her. "Now hold still, unless you want to carry those scars for your entire life."
"I don't mind scars," Bahjal countered, rising to her feet. "They give you more stories to tell."
"My Lady," the Suadan insisted, waving over a thick-shouldered Belenokan. "It is by the order of the High Priestess herself. You are to remain here and heal while they search for Keevan and the intruder."
"She's not here. Nor could she have sent word so quickly. Don't toy with me," Bahjal snorted. Then she recognized the approaching Belenokan was Madol, the Persuader. She gulped nervously, trying to hide her fear. He didn't say anything. He just watched the exchange, listening, scanning her face with those piercing eyes. He was dressed as regular guard, with worn leathers and a harbor guildsman's sword, perhaps to sneak into the Harbor District unnoticed after the alarms were sounded. Varta didn't recognize him.
"I am her Second. Should emergencies arise, my word is equal to hers." Varta countered, standing to her full two span height, towering over Bahjal. "Now, you will behave and rest here or I will have this fine gentleman restrain you," Madol turned away from Varta, fully engrossed in the Harbor Guild's Headquarters before them, as if it were a book he was hastily skimming from page to page. Horns echoed through its halls as patrols cleared each floor. Metal clanged against metal where opposition or stubborn locks resisted the guards' search.
"Fine," Bahjal said, sitting on the cobblestones with her legs crossed defiantly. "But once you've finished, I want to help with the search. My best friend is out there in that mess and I'm not going to abandon him."
"I admire your loyalty," the old Suadan said, shaking her head. She put her hands to Bahjal's face and closed her eyes. The pain subsided and a thin layer of water gathered around Bahjal's jaw and neck, prioritizing the worst of the burns.
Fear for Keevan ate at Bahjal from all sides, but she forced herself to not run frantically into the building. She was a Suadan, logic ruled everything she did, not emotions. That was how she hid her powers from Keevan all those years. Her sweet, wonderful Keevan. Where would the Varadour take him? What use would a powerless Sight Seeker be to him? Did he need a guide of sorts?
Keevan couldn't get the two of them passed the watcher, not alone. If the Varadour wanted Keevan as a hostage he could have just stood there and demanded what he wanted, holding a knife to Keevan's throat. Instead, he fled before the steam settled. What did that tell her?
"The Varadour's spent months knowing nothing but torture from the Harbor Guild," Bahjal muttered, trying to fit all the pieces together in her mind. Somehow, a rampaging Kors fit into the mix, but right now, Kors didn't have Keevan as a hostage.
"What was that?" Varta asked, now shifting her attention down to Bahjal's left arm. The scars weren't completely faded, but the edges were smoothed and the bright red color turned to a softer pink. They almost looked decorative now. Bahjal shivered as her freshly healed flesh responded to the Suadan's cool liquid.
"If you were trapped and tortured by Outlanders for months." Bahjal asked, examining the Harbor District from one floor to the next. "Then you escaped and saw another Tri-Being like you, a child. What would your first instinct be?"
"To get us both to safety, if possible," Varta offered. "A terrible thought that. You've such a lovely face, you should be associating with suitors and finding a man to settle down with, not chasing after intruders and consorting with an Outlander."
"You don't approve of Keevan living here with us?' Bahjal asked, trying to restrain the anger in her tone. After such a long and painful day, her emotional restraint was wearing thin.
"I think anything we don't fully understand is dangerous," the elderly woman added evenly, now working on Bahjal's left hand. Varta's efforts forced Bahjal to wince in pain as the Suadan woman shifted tendons and mended flesh. "Perhaps we could just exile the boy and let him carve out what living he can away from civilization."
"I don't know if he could survive something like that," Bahjal echoed thoughtfully. "Either he wouldn’t or we wouldn't. After a decade or two in the wilds, he'd likely return seeking retribution, like Kors."
"Perhaps," Varta said with a sigh. "But look at the trouble one Outlander is bringing down on us now. Is it any wonder the Harbor Guild works so hard to keep them from our shores?"
"I guess not," Bahjal agreed, pulling her hand away. She stretched the muscles, examining the still-healing tissues. She couldn't make much of a fist and the pain left her command of water was fuzzy and unreliable, but she could function. "All the more reason to find Keevan. If he decides to escape with this Varadour, I'm afraid of what such a man would teach Keevan in the long run. That boy's heart is too pure for something like hate and murder to root in him."
"Every criminal was once a helpless babe in his mother's arms,” Varta spat, gathering up her linen prayer mat and shawl. "Hate and murder can root in any man, given the proper motivations."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Bahjal sighed. "He's so-"
A cry of alarm and a gush of water jerked Bahjal's attention to a small vent alongside the Temple's far wall. A Runner lay struggling to get up amidst a deluge of water erupting directly from the side of the building, right along the wall of the Temple's first floor. The water struck in a steady stream, holding the poor Runner against the wall of the adjoining building. Sparks danced around him, along with wisps of steam as he finally managed to cook his way free of the strong current.
"What in the name of Suada..." Varta echoed, staring at the phenomenon." That's the disposal vein. It's not supposed to use any pressure, it's just a steady drain for the rain season. Who would be messing with Danica at a time like this?"
"Keevan!" Bahjal cried gleefully. The stream of water subsided as suddenly as it arrived, leaving Bahjal with a fierce sense of urgency. "He can see Danica veins, it has to be him!"
"My Lady, you still need rest!" the elderly Suadan insisted, "Guard restrainer her!" Madol lumbered after Bahjal, mirth dancing in his eyes as if he weren't really trying to catch her. She danced aside.
"Wonderful, I might need another sword hand!" Bahjal agreed with a wide, toothy grin. "Come on, Keevan might need help!"
She sprinted into the Harbor Guild's Temple, Madol and Varta in pursuit. Bahjal swerved to the right the moment she entered, tracing her way along the outer hallway of the first level. One of the rooms on the right would face the far wall and Danica wouldn’t magnify a single vein unless its saboteur was very close... Keevan had to be in one of these rooms along the far wall.
""My Lady, it's not safe here!" Madol insisted, hauling after her, blade in hand. He caught her by her wounded shoulder, pulling her back a step as she winced in pain.
"Let me go!" Bahjal cried, trying to pull away. She fingered the whip in her good hand, but didn't uncoil it yet. Though Madol was twice her size, his efforts weren't violent, just firm. The message was clear, stop and listen. Not stop and retreat.
"I could care less about the Suadan's orders but there's a bloodthirsty Varadour around here," Madol insisted. "Slow dow. It could be an ambush. Listen."
"How dare you!" Varta sputtered, catching hold of Madol's free arm.
The Persuader turned, eyes cold and flat, Danica blade glowing orange with heat. "There's a dangerous fugitive here, Priestess," Madol advised. "You'd best leave the search to us. The High Priestess would be most grieved if some harm befell you."
Varta gulped nervously at those words, glancing around at the hall's abundant shadows. Finally, she threw her hands in the air in exasperation, hurrying back to the entrance. Self-preservation trumped duty in most of the Tri-Being elite. Madol shook Bahjal's shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. "You're not going anywhere without me. That boy has a lot of potential and I'm not about to let it get squandered. Let's go."
"Uh huh," Bahjal stammered, taken aback by his unanticipated aid. "I . . . I think Keevan's in one of these side rooms."
"These three don't even have locks," Madol said, leading the way. "Besides, dining rooms aren't the best places to hide, particularly if they have windows. It would be a small room, one easily overlooked and ignored after the initial search."
Bahjal's hopes caught in her throat. There, beside a thick wooden door at the end of the hall, a wide broom lay jammed between the door's latch and the floor. The door trembled every few seconds, betraying a muffled cry that filled her with hope.
"Keevan!" she yelled, throwing her weight against the mop handle. It toppled under the strain, releasing the latch. Madol watched carefully from behind her, holding his sword at the ready.
"Bahjal!" Keevan shouted, bursting from the dark and wrapping his arms around her in warm hug. "You found me!"
"It wasn't too hard," Madol offered, sheathing his blade. Pinched his nose and gave Keevan a measured glare. "Waste veins don't often create fountains where they aren't intended. I'd ask how you managed it, but I can tell from the smell."
"I found a Danica vein in the wall," Keevan said proudly, pointing back into the closet. Judging by her bright smile, the scent of urine didn't bother Bahjal in the slightest. Then again, as a Rhetan for so many years, she was likely used to the odor. Keevan continued, "I figured if I put enough water through it, someone would notice and come searching. I didn't expect it to be you and Bahj though. Are you alright?"
"I'm healing," Bahjal answered. She held her left arm up for Keevan to examine. Pink blotches on her skin marked the ferocity of the detonation between her whip and a Belenokan's sword. "I had no idea Outlanders were so dangerous. I'd heard stories from the Harbor Guild, but I figured they were just rumors you know, to guarantee their place on the Council."
"All rumors have some truth," Madol echoed, scratching his head. "Right now, I'm more concerned about facts. What happened, Keevan?"
"Corvan just wanted to talk to me," Keevan said. "He'd been tortured by the Harbor Guild for ages. I think he just really wanted to see another Outlander, and someone who wasn't trying to hurt him at the time."
"Where is he?" Madol demanded, resting his hand on his sword blade. "If he comes quietly I might be able to afford him some kind of protection."
"He strikes you as the type who needs protection?" Keevan countered.
""If he's at large, the Council will be far more likely to treat you severely," Madol emphasized, taking a long disciplined breath. He folded his arms. Keevan could visibly see him force excess heat from his body and draw on the surrounding water. "Where's he going next?"
"He said he owed Kors and I for helping him escape. He used the Watcher's detonations earlier as a distraction." Keevan replied, hesitating a moment. Would Corvan understand if Keevan gave the Tri-Beings all he knew? Would he see it as a kind of betrayal?
"Keevan?" Bahjal pried, giving him a one-armed hug. "This is important Keevan, we need your help and Corvan is in trouble. Where is he?"
"He didn't want to go. He made Kors a promise, and me one too," Keevan insisted, taking hold of Madol's wrist. "I don't think he'll be all that dangerous once this is all over."
“In the Malik's eyes, danger is decided by potential, not intent," Madol replied, pushing Keevan's hand away. "Where is he?"
"Kors told him that if he helped Kors against the Watcher, then they'd be even," Keevan admitted. He quickly added. "But I made him promise not to kill anybody. No more killing."
"I'm assuming Kors didn't make a similar promise," Madol said grimly, rushing back down the hallway. "Now you two wait in the courtyard. The Watcher and I will make short work of them."
"No, he won't," Keevan insisted. "The Watcher's power is a ruse."
Madol froze, glancing at Keevan. "Boy, we're short on time. Explain yourself quickly and to the point. How would you know that?"
"The Watcher's weapons connect to a much larger network of Danica extending under the city," Keevan said, glancing at the floor nervously. This man carried the authority of the Malik himself, putting his words above even those of the High Priestess'. Bahjal nudged Keevan's shoulder, encouraging him. He continued. "His Danica weapons just amplify his will along those paths. Outside of the Catacombs, he's just an Etrendi."
Madol gulped, rolling his eyes. "An Etrendi with powerful Danica weapons. Trust the Harbor Guild to pull one over on the city just to make people feel safe. The Watcher is vulnerable then. Very. Thanks. Now clear out."
"Absolutely not," Bahjal insisted uncoiling her whip as she spoke. "Kors and I have unfinished business."
"Bahjal," Madol replied, his tone gruff and frustrated. "I can't take Kors and the Varadour if I'm worried about protecting you two."
"The Varadour is bailing once they're done with the Watcher," Keevan said. "Once his debt is paid."
"Gods," Madol spat, whirling away. "I've got to stop him. Keep up if you can, but stay out of my way. Hurry!"
Chapter 26
Kors stood behind drawn curtains, waiting for the thumps of Harbor Guild boots to fade. This was the last place they'd expect to find an intruder, only a stone's throw from a powerful Tri-Being. Most would consider attacking him pure suicide. Most didn't have a Varadour on board. Kors smiled gleefully, struggling to contain his elation. Corvan was right, sneaking through the main gate after the Varadour's public display wasn't difficult. Assuming the Outlander's memory was all he promised it was, they'd rendezvous soon. Zerik's dream was so close to realization now. Time to set the pieces falling into place, and Malik Morgra falling into oblivion.
Putting the cold metal whistle to his lips, he blew it again. The soundless device puzzled him, as did many of the Outlander's abilities. When this was all over, he decided to review some of the ancient texts. Sure, some of those legends were truly myths, but others could carry a whiff of truth. Someone like this Corvan needed to be controlled or at least contained. Then again, if Corvan was willing to deliver the Watcher, what else mattered?
Kors leaned across the small sitting room, peering out the tiny window to the southwestern Temple above. It and its twin to the north were the second tallest buildings in all of Issamere and served a vital purpose to the city during the stormiest seasons of the year, shielding the Tri-Beings from excessive moisture. Another rush of elation surged through him. With the weapons of the Watcher in his hands, no one would stand against him. The Harbor Guild, the Temples and the Malik would fall. The Etrendi would finally quell in fear at the mention of Malik Zerik.
Great changes were coming to Hiertalia. Powers were rising that the Etrendi wouldn't lower themselves to understand, which ironically was the very reason they'd fail to stop it. The Rhetan people were constantly counted as second class citizens, just another possession to be counted and used, because of their weak elemental commands. The Etrendi's elemental prowess was the only thing keeping the people from rising up in rebellion. A shudder of anticipation rushed through Kors' heart and he smiled. Sweet changes were on the horizon, all made possible by the Watcher's impending death.
A breath of wind and flicker of fabric announced Corvan's arrival. He seemed to melt from one shadow to the next, his body only taking shape when under direct light. The former prisoner's face was not caught directly in the light of the window, his body shifting in and out of sight. The worst part was the light, carefree edge to his smile, just bordering on the insane.
"Everything alright?" Kors gulped, fighting back the need to shudder. "That was quite the distraction. I should hire you more often."
"Yes, it worked well, didn't it?" Corvan chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "I just had to catch up, well, rest up. It went better than I could have hoped, actually. So, the Watcher is around here I assume?"
"The large chamber just ahead," Kors said, nodding to his left, down the hallway. "The two guards at the end are mostly ceremonial, but dropping them will alert the Watcher. I'd rather sneak up on him first, if that's possible."
"I'd say it's very possible," Corvan agreed, tapping his chin. "Who’s allowed in the room? Typically, I mean?"
"The highest officials of the Harbor Guild, the Malik's personal envoys and perhaps a Runner with a sealed message from the Council," Kors whispered, glancing outside. Their view barely crested the District Wall, another reminder of the Etrendi's powerful hold over the city. He grit his teeth and turned his full attention to the matter at hand. "How about a distraction, while you sneak in? It's easier to hide yourself if there are lots of shadows, right?"
"True," Corvan said, watching Kors thoughtfully. "You're figuring out how my powers work. I don't know how I feel about that."
"You help me settle the Watcher and you'll not likely see me again," Kors said with a shrug, restraining the urge to cackle. Shadow camouflage or not, the Varadour was a solid, vulnerable man like any other. With the Watcher's weapon in hand, he could flood the hallway and drown the Outlander on the spot.
"Glad we understand each other," Corvan echoed, licking his lips anxiously. "Let's do this then, shall we? You have a good distraction in mind?"
Kors grinned, exposing white teeth like a hound. "The best. Keep to the shadows on my left. I'll stay between the torches and the wall."
"Lead on," Corvan said, fading into shadows again as he slipped into the hallway.
Kors slipped out of the small sitting room, limping down the hallway with feigned pain. The torches hung on the right side of the wall, leaving room on the left side for the sun's natural lighting should someone feel like pulling the curtains from the sitting rooms. Fear was a common motivator for intruders trying to escape, so the Guild put up guards anxious for the first static spark to betray their mark.
"Ugh," Kors groaned, pitching over his feet and leaning against the right wall. He risked a glance upwards, noting only a minor flicker of interest from the guards down the hall. He rolled his eyes as he took in their boyish faces and polished armor. New soldiers, with rich fathers looking for a “safe” way to give them “experience” in the field.
Kors hobbled another dozen paces closer, he only needed to distract them for a moment. "Ugh!" He repeated, clutching his belly and stumbling. He pictured Corvan failing at his mission, then Corvan abandoning him entirely and the thought coaxed enough fear through his heart to send a few sparks of electricity into the torch holder next to his head.
"Sir?" One sentry asked, a soft-faced boy who drew his weapon like one might use a foreign language constantly heard but never practiced. He shared an uneasy glance with his comrade, who drew his blade as well, eyeing Kors with nervous suspicion.
"amefaehf," Kors mumbled, dropping to one knee.
"I think he's been stabbed," the first sentry asked, kneeling down in front of Kors.
"Step away from him, I think he's the intruder," the second said, pulling his fellow aside by the shoulder. Behind them, Kors watched an unusually dark shadow flicker across the entryway to the Watcher's hall, and smiled. He caught a momentary glimpse of a frail hand and a thin dagger that once belonged to the now vacant sheath on the second sentry's belt. The Watcher would die from one of the sentry's own weapons, perfect. The Guild would brand the boy a traitor, rather than admit to harboring a feared Outlander.
"Wait," the first sentry said, glancing over his shoulder before stepping up to Kors, blade at the ready. "This man's not bleeding. I know your face. You're one of the ex-!"
A roar of pain and the din of battle echoed through the hall from the Watcher's chambers. The soldiers turned toward the disturbance, momentarily torn between two threats. The first, the one closest to Kors, managed a simple thrust at the big Tri-Being's pretended wound.
Kors snapped forward, guiding the blade away from his belly with one hand and driving his fist into the first sentry's throat with the other. The soldier, little more than a boy, clutched the wound with both hands as he collapsed, trying to breath. Water coated his hands as he instinctively fought to keep his airway open with immediate healing.
Kors claimed the first sentry's blade a heartbeat later, lunging at the second sentry. This one managed a decent defense, parrying each strike with hasty maneuvers that lacked Kors' practiced polish, but the guard kept pace with each blow. The boy's weapon glowed with steady heat, as his shock and loss built into rage.
The weapon shaved away at Kors' with each stroke, for the Exile felt no rage. Anticipation for a cause so near realization, of course, but no anger. Sparks leapt from his body to the blade as he realized his emotions were setting him up for failure. His fear mounted and the boy grinned with each stroke as he trimmed another sliver from Kors' blade. In another minute, Kors would be defenseless and an assault of pure water wouldn’t do much to someone wielding a fully-heated Danica blade.
But the boy fought only with defense in mind. Blow by blow, Kors pushed him into the opposite wall, between the curtains of two sitting rooms. His sparks abated as he shifted his perspective. The boy wasn't a threat. He wasn’t even a true opponent. He'd learned to fight another body, but his memorized sword forms wouldn't teach him to fight another mind. That training came by painful experience, a burden only the survivors carried with them.
There, perfect. Drawing the sentry's eye with a wild swing from the right side, he clutched a drape in his left hand and hurled it into the soldier's face. The boy panicked for an instant, slapping away the unexpected obstruction instead of diving aside. Students at the academy weren't trained to 'cheat,' they were trained to duel.
Kors felt a twinge of satisfaction as his blade pierced fabric, metal, flesh and bone. The boy fell into the adjacent sitting room, moaning in agony. Blood oozed out from under the curtain, a crimson testament to Kors' skills. He could feel the moisture in the room shifting in the boy's direction, the desperate plea of a dying body for healing and salvation.
Kors licked his lips and cautioned himself against the impending boredom as the room turned too dry. Sure, if he focused hard enough he could rip the surrounding moisture from the two dying boys, but what was the point? The Watcher waited in the next room.
Corvan leaning against the door frame banished all thoughts of boredom from Kors' mind. The Varadour stood there with a relieved, giddy smile on his face. The stolen armor smoked from four different spots, and glistened with crimson blood coating both hands and the dagger he borrowed from the second sentry.
"Well, I assume the Watcher is dead," Kors said numbly, trying not to let the fear show on his face. He felt his hair raise just an inch into the air, static sparks leaping among the separate strands. He suddenly found himself praying this man didn't know enough about Tri-Beings to recognize fear.
"That's the other guard?" Corvan asked, pointing his bloody knife at the growing crimson puddle peeking out from behind the curtain.
"Yes," Kors managed.
"Unavoidable, I expect," Corvan sighed, staring at both sentries with regret.
"Yes. At the least, it gives us the chance to cast the blame elsewhere. Return his weapon." Kors shook his head, pushing through rival emotions of frustration at trying to understand this blood-soaked madman, and relief at finally being rid of him.
Corvan tossed the blade under the closet, greeted only by the continued moaning of Kors’ most recent victim. With a wicked grin, Corvan reached around the corner and pulled two thick iron bracers into view, like a brother presenting a name-day present.
"These are?" Kors asked, picking up the heavy bracers. Their sheer weight was impressive, like something they might chain Corvan up with now that they knew the extents of his abilities.
"The Watcher wore them on each forearm, while he sat on his throne-looking chair," Corvan explained, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Kors followed his motion, staring thunderstruck at the motionless figure lying in a bloody heap on the floor. The man's sleeves ended at the wrists, which were chaffed from constant contact with the bracers. Kors stared at the Danica weapons in renewed wonder.
"Amazing," he whispered, dropping his sword without a second thought. He strapped on both bracers with slow reverence. "This could change everything for us. For our cause."
"I'm glad," Corvan said, rolling his eyes. "Cause he set off some kind of signal when I took him. Guards will be here soon I'd imagine. So much for casting the blame elsewhere, eh?"
As if on cue, Kors heard the clatter of dozens of boots running their way. Horns blew in outrage. Leather rasped against chain mail. Their shadows danced across the distant hallway where it turned towards the main entrance.
He didn't react to the distractions right away. He just staring fixedly at the mighty Danica weapons now clamped around his wrists. He recalled so vividly the inferno this weapon caused deep underground. It was a common fact that a Tri-Being's or a weapon's strength faded with distance. Therefore, a weapon so powerful so far away, at close range, should be utterly...devastating.
"Let them come," Kors laughed, a soft chuckle that gradually built into a maniacal bellow. "They are nothing before us. Come, we've an entire Guild to destroy!"
"We?" Corvan said, throwing up both his bloody hands. He stepped away slowly, gradually fading into the shadows. "I've done my part. My debts are repaid. You have your fun without me. You've earned it."
"Lunatic," Kors muttered, turning on the small army filling the narrow hallway. He stared down at his thick iron bracers and smiled. He could feel the Danica touching his skin, waiting, listening for his elemental powers to command it to leap into action. "I don't need you anymore anyway."
Four Danica enhanced spear men marched on him in a disciplined formation. Their weapons glowed in the torch light like the eyes of some massive pagoda claiming its prey. Their polished, dented armor glowed orange and yellow in the passing torchlight. These were not inexperienced recruits, these were the Harbor Master's personal guard.
Standing at the chamber's entrance, Kors faced the attacking soldiers and extended his left hand. The Danica bracer flared to life, filling his mind with a singular focus. He inhaled. Water surged around him like a gathering tide, billowing up from the floor drains and in through cracking windows. The precious liquid wrapped around him like a massive serpent.
The soldiers charged, Belenokan spears leading with Suadan guards in the rear for support and healing. One whirled his whip and hurled an ice spear at Kors. He flicked his other wrist, willing the other bracer to life. The projectile melted in midair, splashing Kors in the face, only to gather his growing tide of water and now steam.
The soldiers were only a few paces away now, charging in at a full tilt. Kors watched each step, biding his time. This was where the bracers were the most powerful, contained in the narrow confines of the hallway. The pitiful guardsmen didn't recognize a killing field when they stood in one. The exile extended his arms, summoning all his focus and concentration on the rage. Here, the power would finally swing to the Rhetans, with the deaths of these guardsmen, the Etrendi would finally know fear.
Kors took one step back and dropped his hands. A river of steam roared forwards like a tide of pure force, just as the Belenokan spearmen stabbed forwards with their own Danica weapons. Fire met steam and the pressure in the little hallway exploded outwards.
The force hurled Kors a dozen feet into the Watcher's chamber. He landed on his back with a grunt of pain, gasping for air. Hot steam roiled around him and he rolled to his knees. It didn't make sense, how could his bracers be so weak? If they could reach so far into the catacombs and do so much damage, how could four spearmen push him back?
Four flickering red dots appeared ahead of him, spearmen taking their places outside the steam gathered around Kors. He could feel the Suadans behind them, pulling water from the chamber. In seconds they'd reveal his exact position and bracers or no, he knew what those spears would do to his body if they punctured his flesh.
Pitting his will and rage against theirs, Kors threw the elements around him into a roiling mass of steam. He pulled against the Suadans' fields, trying to keep the chamber's water beneath his own control. Yet, he could feel their combined wills defeating his own. The bracers were powerful, but not nearly as strong here as they were in the catacombs.
Kors retreated, turning his focus to decoding the secret of the bracers. The spearmen pressed their advance, with the Suadans behind them continually leaching at the room's moisture. They'd reclaimed half the chamber by the time Kors found the Watcher's station.
A steel throne sat before a toppled wooden table, the Watcher's partially eaten meal scattered across the floor. The Watcher stirred, and Kors stared in disbelief, his mind struggling to put together the implications. The Watcher's many wounds were superficial, every limb deeply gashed but every major organ avoided. The Varadour didn't kill him, why?
With a roar of frustration, Kors hurled himself into the throne and faced the soldiers. The answer had to be here, in this very seat. This was where the Watcher patrolled the catacombs. The spearmen were closer now, their Danica spears cutting through his steam wall, only a dozen feet away. Soon, they'd see him and finish him off.
There, a depression in the armrests of the throne. He set the bracers in their slots and released a gasp of shock. He felt his will stretch out along the entire catacombs of Issamere, miles and miles of subterranean territory. So, Issamere sat upon a huge supply of Danica. That was the Watcher's secret. Here, the Watcher could magnify his senses and his elemental Commands down beneath the city, dispatching floods and infernos at will.
The soldiers were almost upon him now. Kors could see rage and fear in their faces as they cut the last of his steam away. An idea tickled at Kors' senses and he laughed, perhaps he'd spent too much time with the Sight Seeker, he was starting to see everything backwards. The bellowing sound startled the spearmen, who took a cautious step back, eyeing him warily.
"Fools," Kors muttered. "There went your chance at defeating me."
He reached down into the bowels of the city, his enhanced will taking hold of every flicker of heat and drop of moisture he could find in those stony crevices. There wasn't much, but there was miles and miles of 'not much.' He drew every last drop of element up into his bracers and felt a cascade effect building in the city beneath him as a typhoon of force erupted from the bracers.
Perhaps it was the immense amount of water he commanded, enhancing his focus. Perhaps it was the river of hate pushing his fire outwards from the throne. But he saw the proceedings in slow motion. The throne and the floor around it glowed with raw heat, the floor drains around the chamber erupting like a steam volcano.
The Suadan's rushed to each other's side, struggling against his command of water in a vain effort to protect themselves. Three of the spearmen followed suit, falling back and putting their spears to the earth in an attempt to keep back the heat now surrounding the throne in billowing steam yet again. The Watcher crawled to the rear of the room, pulling on some kind of lever hidden in the wall.
The fourth spearman, Kors almost didn't see in time. He spat in disgust and hurled his spear at the throne. The weapon cut through water and steam, Kors' very command, with ease. The spearman's aim was dead on, forcing Kors to detach his fire bracer and slap it aside with that arm, like a insignificant bug for the swatting. For a precious, oddly quiet moment, he realized his mistake.
The Danica spearhead collided with his fire bracer, their opposing elemental flows rejecting each other in a flash. The chamber turned stark white from the explosion, its force plastering Kors against the throne in a massive wave of heat and pain.
Chapter 27
A heavy roar ripped through the building, carried on a shockwave of air so intense it threw Keevan to the ground. Warm steam washed over them, contrasting sharply with the cold, unyielding ground now grinding against Keevan's shoulders. He winced, accepting another bruise to suffer through in the week to come.
"I've had enough of this," Madol growled, struggling to his feet. "I’m finishing Kors. You two stay out of this."
"You need us," Bahjal insisted, rising shakily to her feet. "Who knows what weapons Kors has now, but if they were the Watcher's, then Keevan can beat them a second time."
"Him, alright, but I need you because...?" Madol grumbled, letting the question hang freely.
"I know her better than anyone else," Keevan answered. "I can adjust her emotions far easier than I can yours. Plus, Kors is a Suadan. So is she. You'll need her to even the odds."
Madol shook his head and laughed. "Fine. What a motley crew. A Persuader, a pretend Rhetan and a powerless Sight Seeker. Fine, if you can keep up, then do so," Madol sprinted down the hall. A few guards staggered to their feet, but the Persuader passed them by.
"Glad we spent all those afternoons running up the District stairs now, aren't you?" Bahjal insisted with a light hearted giggle. "Let's go."
Keevan groaned, but he picked up the pace at the rear. Ignoring the need for secrecy, he turned to the elemental plane, watching fire build up in Madol and Bahjal as their bodies drew on the surrounding elements to aid in their pursuit. Meanwhile, he chugged along behind them, fighting a stitch in his side.
They sprinted up two flights of stairs and around a couple tight corners until they reached a narrow hallway. The curtains on the left side were open now, flooding the hall with fading sun light. A dozen guards lay strewn across the floor, a few lying against the door jamb of the chamber ahead. Judging by the deep scoring marks in the floor, they slid at least fifteen feet before sliding to an unforgiving stop. Some were breathing, gathering water around their many wounds, others were not.
Keevan's hands shook with nervous fatigue. This wasn't his fault, not exactly. Corvan wasn’t the kind of person Keevan could have stopped in any case. Plus, the dead among the soldiers were likely Kors' handiwork. The exile didn't mind getting blood on his hands. Keevan took care to scan over each person, fighting mixtures of relief and worry when he didn't see Corvan among them.
Madol charged on into the hall, ignoring the wounded. Bahjal and Keevan followed. The Throne lay in pieces, a hole of broken stone lay gapping open at the top of the raised platform where the Watcher once sat. On the rear wall, a chunk of rock lay agape, pieces of metal sticking out of it and its original place in the wall.
"This looks like a secret passage," Bahjal said, when they paused at the base of the long, dark stair. "Want to bet that's the Watcher's body a few feet up there?"
"It's not Kors'," Keevan answered, his gaze piercing the dark. The cloudy figure was weak, battered and unconscious, but alive. He glanced around, trying to take in every detail as quickly as possible. "What's that?"
Madol turned, following Keevan's gaze. Another cloudy object glowed to Keevan's eyes, but it lay pinned under a battered wooden table. It was too small to be a Tri-Being, except an infant perhaps, which didn't make any sense at all.
They turned the table aside and Keevan fought the urge to retch. A bloody, seared hand lay there on the ground, shorn at the wrist by a smoking, blackened husk of twisted Danica. The device was shattered beyond use, with metal fragments scattered around the chamber like little stars, now that Keevan took the time to see them. They all glowed red with latent, fading heat.
"The Watcher strikes with floods and flame," Bahjal echoed, handling the severed limb and broken bracer with care. "I assume this was the flame part."
"That means Kors still has a powerful water bracer, his specialty. Blasted Suadan. Wonderful," Madol groaned, considering his sword uneasily. "Touch it the wrong way with a Danica weapon and boom. You suppose that hand is Kors, Keevan?"
"I... think so," Keevan echoed, leaning over Bahjal's shoulder and plugging his nose. The limb smoked like an over-roasted ham. "He's probably the largest Tri-Being here and that's a big hand. Do you think he's still alive?"
"Only a water Etrendi could stay conscious after a blast like that," Madol decided, glancing at the staircase warily. "With the Watcher's bracer, he can probably staunch the bleeding. Any idea where this goes? Aside from up?"
"Where would the Watcher need to get to in a hurry?" Bahjal asked. "I doubt Kors new about the secret passage. The Watcher must have went for it when trying to escape.
"How should I know? I'm not a Harbor Guildsman," Madol said. "They're a crafty bunch and I’m not leading you three up there until I'm sure he can't just send a flood down on top of us. Are any of these guards conscious?"
"Wait, this passage and the Danica bracer are very old. As in, before the Crippling, old," Keevan said, examining the metal works once responsible for holding the secret passage together. "If the Watcher was charged with protecting the city in times of war with Danica weapons, and from here he could prevent an invasion by land, it follows that-"
"The passage leads straight up to the second Suadan Temple, to defend the Harbor as well," Bahjal finished, pointing above them and westwards. "If Kors somehow destroys it, Issamere will be vulnerable to storm or a naval invasion."
"I don't know if the Harbor Guild would overlook a barbarian navy sailing our way," Madol mused, scratching the back of his head in frustration. "Alright, we go after him. At the least, the Danica crystal in that Temple shields half the population from extreme elements. We can't risk leaving the city vulnerable to purpose fever in the next storm."
"Monsoon season," Bahjal murmured, numb with shock. "Without the Temple's protection, half the city will be unprotected from the downpour. Purpose fever on every corner. Young, untrained Etrendis going insane. Thousands could die. We have to stop him."
"Keevan, I need you to lead the way," Madol ordered.
"Excuse me?" Keevan asked, waving his hands defensively. "I'm not a fighter."
"Not only can you track him, but if he sends elements at us, you'll see them coming. I don't want my field in between you and Kors, you might get them confused. Just stand back when something's coming and tell me what it is so I can counter it. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Keevan gulped, staring into the darkness ahead. Aside from the unconscious Watcher's cocoon of water, and moisture clinging to the stone, no other elements were in sight. "This way."
They scrambled up the dark passage. The air was moist and smoky, generations of mold and insects still smoldering along the walls from the blast. Now the walls and steps were slick with moisture, left behind from Kors' advance. Keevan shuddered, both from the cold and the impending conflict. The Watcher's Danica was still powerful, just not cataclysmic, and Kors knew water very well. He glanced back at Madol's Danica fused armor and Bahjal's scared limbs. They would need his help alright.
Keevan's glowing eyes filled every crevice ahead of him, but didn't offer much help to anyone following behind. Madol and Bahjal's both extended a free hand into the darkness, drawing a warm glow and orange flames from their hands to light the way. They passed two doorways as they traversed the winding stair, but the thick coating of moisture lead ever upwards. You couldn't command such an immense amount of water without leaving some trail behind. Keevan led them further up the dark, silent stairs.
"How high do these things go?" Bahjal muttered, rubbing her wounded leg as they passed yet another door.
"All the way to the top, I’m assuming," Madol grunted. "Faster Keevan, we don't have much time."
"Yes, sir," Keevan said, pushing his legs to pump just a little faster. He gulped down air in greedy breaths now, a stitch forming in his side with burning pain in his legs from the constant exertion.
"We'll have to get you into better shape after this," Madol decided, following closely. He didn't show much fatigue in his face or voice and much to Keevan's surprise, he wasn’t drawing on the elements as Bahjal did. Her legs glowed orange now with a gentle heat, urging her muscles to keep going.
"I hardly think a little exercise will make me equal to a Tri-Being," Keevan said, his words choppy as he tried to suck air in and speak simultaneously.
"It's all about motivation," Madol said, drawing his weapon. "If you were running for your life, you'd be moving faster. The thing is, we're running to save many lives, possibly your parents. Masha's a Suadan, she'd be especially susceptible to purpose fever. Faster, Keevan."
That realization took Keevan by surprise, but the truth of Madol's words sunk deep. This Zerik was willing to plunge the city into chaos to undermine the Malik's rule. Who's to say Keevan's parents wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire? The Suadan tower's elemental reach protected the city's inhabitants from excess moisture, to which, Suadans like Masha would be vulnerable. Keevan gritted his teeth and urge more effort from his tired legs.
A few minutes later, they reached the end of the stairs, and a final door. The stone here was perfectly dry, without a drop of moisture and the glowing embers of heat remaining in the metal hinges and lock told the tale well. Keevan leaned against the far wall, clutching his sides as he sucked in air.
"Kors melted the door closed. It must have cost him a few minutes at least, he doesn't have the Watcher's fire bracer," Keevan reported. Madol walked straight up to the door and examined the melted metal in the light of his own hand. The hinges protruding from the door frame were a twisted nightmare no blacksmith could ever separate. The lock was in similar condition.
"Why would he be that angry?" Bahjal asked, sitting on the top step, resting her hands on her knees. "He's broken the Watcher. He should be excited."
"Plus the Varadour's probably still with him," Madol grunted, fumbling from something in his belt pouch. "The odds are still in their favor."
"Actually, no," Keevan offered, raising a finger in caution. He felt like his legs were made of melted rubber, but the stitch in his side was fading. "Corvan said he would only help with the Watcher. He isn't part of Kors' cause, he was just settling a debt. Corvan is long gone by now."
"A deserted ally could cause enough anger to do this," Madol agreed grimly, pulling a strand of wire from his pouch. "The sight of good men dead at the hands of an Etrendi is enough for me."
Madol looped the wire over the hinges, its metal fibers flaring white with sudden heat. In a single, smooth stroke, he cut through the hinge, moving on to the bottom one. With only the misshapen lock holding the door closed, Madol's body flashed in a burst of red as he kicked forwards. The old door creaked and splintered under the blow, snapping outwards.
"That's was... impressive," Bahjal said, mouth agape. "What do they feed you Persuaders?"
"Loyalty. Now, let's go," Madol ordered, hurrying out into the sun's fading light. "There isn't much time."
"Could I see that again, sometime?" Keevan asked, following after him. "It was too quick. I couldn't tell where all that element came from."
"We all have our secrets," Madol grinned, glancing over his shoulder at Keevan. "Just admit it, not being able to see one right away is really going to eat at you."
Keevan laughed. "We haven't even fought Kors yet. I'll still get to see you in action."
"Speaking of Kors," Bahjal said, pointing towards the ocean. "I found him."
There, in a trail of moisture from one roof top to the next, Keevan saw Kors' path to the Suadan Temple. Its weeping walls gave the building a glossy sheen against the golden sunlight. A winding stair of concrete and stone connected various rooftops, none of which had doors like the Temple they just left. It was an effective means of getting the Watcher to the Temple, if needed for defense or to adjust the Danica crystal's hold on the atmosphere. The building stood over the southern portion of the harbor, a sentinel for the city against both the sea's elements and naval assaults.
The Suadan Temple spiraled up another three stories above them, the water-manipulated image of Suada standing stop it, facing the sea. She wore a dress similar to Bahjal's Suadan attire, with dozens of loops of water floating around her. The Danica running through the temple cast a field wide enough to shelter the city from the impending monsoons of the summer months. On a dry morning like this one, it would be drawing in additional moisture from the sea. But now, that very field was fluctuating, narrowing, reaching out towards the ocean and abandoning the city altogether.
"Kors is manipulating the Danica field," Keevan reported grimly, "It must be the Watcher's Danica bracer, but I've never heard of something that could manipulate the crystal's field like this. The Bracer is from the Age of Tears, isn't it? Only our ancestors had weapons like that."
"Whoever is giving Kors his orders is very well informed. It's a trick from the Age of Tears," Madol agreed, barring his teeth like a pit bull as he raced across the first concrete bridge. "Pay attention to that field Keevan, Bahjal and I may need to neutralize it."
"It's far too big for that," Keevan insisted, trying his best to ignore the hundred-foot-drop to the alleys below as they traversed the first bridge. At the top of the Temple, he saw the field tighten and focus into a bright beacon of water energy, attesting to an immense amount of force being applied. "This thing's field is dipping into the ocean as we speak, at least a couple hundred yards. Your field extends two dozen feet, if that. We have to face Kors. I think he's at the top of the Temple, I can see his field interacting with the Temple's."
"On it," Madol agreed, navigating the concrete path with the agility of a cat. He was soon paces ahead of Keevan with Bahjal hot on his heels. Elements flared around her body as she leapt from one corner to the next. Lighting flashed around her limbs as she sprinted, manifesting her fear, but also adding to her agility.
They reached the middle of the Temple, where the path circled upwards, beaten by the winds of the sea. Only a narrow rod of iron protruding from the wall gave them any source of support. The field reaching into the sea suddenly convulsed, pulling barrels and barrels worth of sea water up to the top of the Temple, like some bizarre, reverse waterfall.
"What's he doing?" Bahjal cried, catching the guard rail in the wall against a sudden gust of wind.
The building around them swayed out toward sea, just a few feet, but they could feel the trembling stone beneath them. Cold realization chilled Keevan to the bone.
"He's trying to bring the Temple down," Madol cried, pulling out his sword. "We're close, go!"
"Try to be bored!" Keevan cried. "It's the only way to counter the purpose driving his water control."
"To Raejin's dung with boredom!" Madol spat back. "Are you anything but bored right now? I've got another idea."
Keevan watched the heat within Madol's field gather around the sword, feeding its Danica core as the blade flared to life, burning with white heat. A glow surrounded him Keevan couldn't place. Its hold on the surrounding elements was similar to a Tri-Being field, but sharp and fierce like Danica.
Before Keevan could get a better look, the Persuader reached the end of the stair and hurled himself around the corner with a throaty cry for war. Even as he charged, Keevan saw the field pulling the Temple into the ocean shudder with lost concentration. At the least, distracting Kors would keep the worst from happening until help arrived. He risked a glance down below, but the guards were still hundreds of yards beneath them.
Bahjal raced after Madol. Keevan caught her hand, steadying himself against the iron rod with his other. "Be bored Bahjal. You can't out push him, you'll have to neutralize him."
Bahjal pursed her lips, uncoiling her whip. Above them, Madol screamed. Plumes of steam rose from the Temple, then turned in on themselves. "I'll try," She promised, pulling him to the edge of the stair. "Together?"
"Together. Try to disable his bracer. After that, we just have to deal with him," Keevan urged her. Bahjal nodded, taking his hand. With a reassuring smile to each other, they charged.
Kors stood at the center of the Temple's flat, circular summit. He stood resolutely, holding the bracer inside a metal barrel, the Danica crystal within glowing blue against Kors' face. The exile whispered incessantly to himself, eyes closed, his concentration complete. The roof curved above them in a wide dome shape, filled to the brim with water as if the rules of gravity no longer applied. A dozen large gaps in the stone offered a spectacular view of the sea and Issamere, despite their dangerous situation.
The Danica veins spreading along the walls and domed roof, showed Kors' intent with each pulse in its field. Pulling hard enough, with Danica of this magnitude, could topple the Temple into the sea. Kors might even survive the fall, with the water bracer to aid him once he landed in the ocean.
Madol's stood a dozen feet from Kors, holding his sword before him like a shield. Kors dispatched a river of water, rife with seaweed and driftwood, into the Persuader with all the might of a cascading waterfall. Madol's sword reduced liquid to steam in an instant, but his exposed skin was already crimson from the heat and the steam Kors kept swirling back into Madol would soon burn out his body with heat, the way Calistra burned out her hand.
"Sad and bored," Keevan insisted, taking Bahjal's hand.
She unfurled her whip, wrapping it around them both, closing her eyes. "Talk me through it, Keevan."
"Just walk forward," Keevan urged her, holding her shoulders in his hands and trying to whisper in her ear. Given the constant roaring and rushing of their surroundings, it was more like shouting in her ear. "Use that imagination of yours. Dad asked you to work the forge again."
"I hate the forge work," Bahjal grunted, smirking. "So tedious."
She stepped forwards, one pace, and then another. Her field, enhanced by the whip, reached out another four feet than normal, spreading out against Madol's and the Danica veins in the walls of the dome. Kors glanced at them both in disgust as Keevan watched the exile's water rush around them and along the floor. Severing his hold left the element to obey its true master, gravity.
In a few heartbeats, the dome above them was free of water. Outside the dome however, fish looked in on them in mild curiosity and floating debris contrasted oddly with the distant view of ocean, ships and buildings in the distance. Kors' constant deluge though, drawn into the dome by the west side, rushed around him like a mounting tide and into both Madol and Bahjal's fields. With the sea itself as his source, he would easily win a war of attrition.
Madol and Bahjal managed another step, their combined fields turning on Kors like a three-man arm-wrestling match. Bahjal's whip glowed with her command of water, pushing every drop outside the coil farther away. A thrill of anticipation coursed through Keevan's veins, neutralizing Kors' field was the answer. It allowed them to step closer and closer, without facing his immense willpower head on, as Madol was attempting.
"Why won't you three relent?" Kors cried over the din.
The water around the dome trembled and smoked, his anger infusing the water with additional heat. The fish within writhed and tried to swim away, only to tumble back around the dome, caught in the Danica field's mighty current. Keevan gulped nervously, he didn't have to ask what would happen to them if their fields failed.
"Give up, exile!" Madol howled, glowing like a forge amidst the dark dome's confines. "Surrender now and you will only be imprisoned. Continue and you will die."
"I died a long time ago, with my parents," Kors said, suddenly calm. Keevan had to strain to hear him over the din. He saw Bahjal's field shift immediately, however, collapsing in on itself in a sudden wave of frost and despair. "The Malik sent them and thousands of others to their deaths. A distraction to expose the Barbarian forces to a counter attack."
"The plan worked, Kors," Bahjal cried against the wind and water. Keevan realized she was actually crying, and a sudden chill coated his skin. He knew in that moment, she wasn't in control of her emotions anymore. He'd felt it all along, some truth she was holding back. For some reason, this murdering exile did not fill her with righteous fury, like Madol. Instead, she felt only despair. With that, her field stopped neutralizing Kors'.
Keevan remembered her icy lock-picking technique, the same as Kors'. Looking from one to the other, he could now see the vague similarities in their facial structures and their eyes. "By the Gods," he muttered. "He's your brother."
Water in her reach turned cold indeed, contrasting perfectly with Madol's heat. Enough to strip the feeling from Keevan's fingers and toes with startling speed. He couldn't survive standing alongside her at this rate. Bahjal kept talking, unaware of Keevan's plight. "They died to save us. They did their duty and their deaths saved us. Destroying the Malik or even this city, won't bring them back, Kors. No matter what this Zerik has promised you."
"You!" Kors challenged, whirling on her. "You should be standing by my side. You know the pain the Malik caused us. You know. Yet you spend your time with this Outlander, the Malik's ear among the Rhets. Ready to jump to his aid should they decide to stand and fight."
With Kors' words, Bahjal's sorrow grew too strong for Keevan to endure. He scrambled out from her whip's coils, an awkward task indeed since his limbs were too frozen to cooperate properly. The whip fell aside as he escaped. She dragging it along after her, creating a trail of frost as if the stone itself shared her sorrow. Through his elemental vision, Keevan found a single spot of safety, in the corner between the wall and the floor of the dome. Here, Kors' anger and Bahjal's sorrow left a pocket of warmth he could survive in, briefly.
"They were my parents too, Kors. You weren't the only one who suffered. I was alone when you left. Mom and dad died doing their duty. You abandoned me to center your life on revenge and murder," There was no anger in Bahjal's words, only a pain so deep the water turned to ice and snow the moment it touched her field, rushing around her in a tide. "Who in this room truly deserves to suffer? Who abandoned their duty?"
Bellowing in rage, Kors turned his attention back to the metal barrel, the crystal within and his bracer. The tides crashing down on them intensified, halting their slow advance. Bahjal's ice and Madol's heat were centered on Kors, his constant deluge swirling out behind Madol and Bahjal. Duel streams of steam and ice spun in the air around the citadel, Kors' control of the water resuming once the elements left his attacker's fields. Around them, the Temple buckled and swayed dangerously. It wasn't enough.
Madol's skin glowed on the point of burning out and Bahjal had suddenly turned to a fiercer despair than he'd ever seen. Her field cast heat aside like a disease, coating her hair, Suadan dress and eyelashes in frost. She looked strangely beautiful and agonized at the same time. They fought so hard to stop the exile, to save the city, and all he could do was crawl out of the way.
Feelings of helplessness washed over Keevan. He felt like a child again, after his scar's power failed him. All he could do was curl into a ball and wait for the beating to end. But this time, it wasn't just pain or humiliation he endured. The lives of his friends, people who counted on him, protected him, were at risk. Now, he could only watch them die in elemental splendor. What good was a power that could only see, but not act? Why was he such a fool to thick he could actually make a difference?
Water surged around Keevan, the byproduct of so many conflicting fields, but it didn't wash him away. As a matter of fact, it avoided his torso and head all together, only wetting his extremities. He patted his pocket, realizing the presence of the small little repulsor orb he'd kept on his person. At least, if they went down, he'd be able to breath underwater. From its little perch in his pocket, the orb's field included his head. Lot of good it would do against Kors.
Sympathy welled up in his soul for Bahjal, pulling Keevan's mind to more important matters. Kors was her brother. He should have sensed it. He'd watched Kors' reactions as he saw Bahjal beaten, then spoke of his sister in the catacombs. The feelings, the elemental combinations were similar. He should have pried her more for the truth when he felt her holding back. He should have prepared her somehow for the intense emotions she'd need to harness to face Kors.
Now, they were lucky to push the exile to a stalemate. Judging by the trembling Temple around them, even that wouldn't hold for long. Keevan's best friend was on the verging of Icing out, dropping her temperature too low for her body to survive, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
"This is your last chance, Kors," Madol growled, flames from his sword licking his arms and shoulders as he pushed through the torrent of water. "Surrender and be tried as a traitor or die here."
"You've already lost this fight," Kors bellowed, clutching his bracer with his free hand. His veins bulged with pressure as he threw all his willpower into the crystal before him. "This Temple will fall and all of you will die."
"Together then," Madol said flatly, raising his blade overhead. The hilt burst into a powerful lightning bolt, billowing steam in every directions and plastering the dome around Kors with scorch marks as the electric tendrils reached for him.
Kors grit his teeth, adjusting the water rushing around him. The swirling tide caught each bolt but curbed it away, sometimes only deflecting them by inches. The Temple ceased shaking though. Madol's attack was demanding more and more concentration to fend off, though his command of the elements was slowly slipping away. Etrendi have their limits, but even a Danica enhanced Haldran's was more so. Madol was fighting a battle of attrition and loosing.
Then, Bahjal snapped her wrist, twice. Kors saw the impending attack, adjusting a stream of water to cover his face and torso, but the whip's first attack carried no element at all. Keevan watched in slow motion as he saw Kors' expression turn from disdain to utter shock. The weapon's second blow wasn't aimed for him. Keevan grit his teeth and grabbed a window sill in anticipation, as he watched the Danica enhanced tip scratch the surface of Kors' bracer.
Chapter 28
The explosive force hurled water, ice and steam if every direction. The shockwave drove the air from Keevan's lungs, plastering him against the side of the wall in a brief instant of pure force. Just as suddenly, the attack relented, and Keevan sank back to the floor. His head rang from the force of his impact with the wall. His back and arms throbbed in pain and his lungs gasped for air. Slowly, he regained his sensed and looked around.
To their good fortune, water explosions weren't as lethal as fire or lightning, unless they threw you against something sharp. Madol lay unconscious against the far wall, luckily thrown against the stone wall instead of the adjacent open window. Blood leaked down his face and neck, a nasty dent in his helmet attesting to a serious wound. He was down for the fight.
Bahjal stood resolutely alongside Keevan, more ice than flesh. Trickles of water ran down her sleeves and face as she fought to stabilize her emotions. Her limbs trembled and the whip thrashed before her like a wounded fish. Her eyes were closed, teeth gritted in concentration. The ice, covering her skin was cracked and fractured from the blast. Every inch that retained heat, oozed blood as she fought to stabilize her temperature.
Metal clattered to the floor and Keevan looked up, past the metal Danica container protruding from the floor. Kors struggled to his feet. The splintered bracer lay next to him, his one remaining hand fractured at the wrist, twisted to an odd angle. With a grunt, he bent it back into alignment, water coating it. The sea water swirled around him like a cloak, but Keevan saw it was Kors' own field, without any Danica assistance at all.
In the distance, a great splash echoed beneath them. All the water Kors pulled up had fallen to the sea or the city below. The exile’s plan to use the Temple's Great Crystal lay in twisted tatters on the floor. Around them, Keevan saw the crystal reverting back to its original path, coaxing water up above the dome into the shape of Suada so many citizens cherished.
"You couldn't just leave me be," Kors growled, stumbling over to Bahjal. He stood before her icy frame, watching her broken skin slowly bleed down her dress and crystalize. "Not so high and mighty now, are you? I've lost my hand, but you're about to lose so much more."
Bahjal gasped, shuddering beneath her icy prison. Keevan's heart ached for her, only intense despair could weave such an elemental cage. Her mouth twitched, as if trying to speak, but the ice grew around her legs and shoulders like the jaw of some mythical creature closing around her. Kors reached over, touching the ice dangling from her right earlobe and shattered it with a flick of his wrist. Bahjal stiffened, gasping. The ice growing around her accelerated. She hung seconds away from freezing out, doomed to melt away like a snowflake in summer.
Struggling to his hands and knees, Keevan crawled towards the Great Crystal at the center of the room. There wasn't much time, but if Kors saw him and reacted, there wouldn't be any time at all. There was no way of knowing if the idea tickling at his consciousness would even work.
"Interesting, how full circle we've come," Kors said, holding her shoulder in his damaged hand and squeezing her skin until the ice cracked. Bahjal's pupils widened in terror and her pale face already carried the empty white one would expect of a corpse. "Now, I could offer you forgiveness. I bet that would give you enough joy to thaw you out, but instead, I think I'll let you see mom and dad again. You can all praise the Malik together, from the elemental realm. Tell them I'll be sending your great Malik Morgra to meet you all, very soon."
Rising to his feet, leaning against the Great Crystal's metal container for support, Keevan pulled out his repulsor stone. Its feeble field stretched out a few feet in every direction, leaving his face oddly dry amidst the soaked dome.
Holding the orb above the Great Crystal's metal cage, Keevan stepped to the right by a few precious inches, adjusting where the repulsor orb would hit the crystal. Now, Kors stood between the crystal and the open window on the opposite side of the dome, while Bahjal faced the window's adjacent wall. Leaning over the metal cylinder, Keevan took a deep breath.
Before him, Kors whispered something in Bahjal's ear, but her eyes centered on Keevan instead of her brother's shoulder. Immediately, her face regained some color and the ice massing around her shoulders paused its advance. Kors stood up, staring down at her in confusion.
"How could such a threat bring you anything but despair?" he asked, looking into his sister’s eyes. The ice bound her jaw shut now, so her only answers were the curving of her lips into a fierce smile and a subtle twitch as her eyes darted to Keevan.
Kors whirled, facing Keevan, and then relaxed, laughing. "The powerless Sight Seeker brought you hope? Bahjal, my sister, he's powerless. I'll prove it. I'm sure watching him die will send you crying into the afterlife. Come here, boy," Kors extended his fractured hand and the waters above closed in. They slithered along the walls and floor toward Keevan like hungry snakes, weakened by Kors' wounded state.
"You're forgetting one thing, Kors," Keevan said, forcing a grin. His insides curled and twisted anxiously. If he misunderstood Nariem's words about repulsor metals... "I was raised by a blacksmith, who works with Danica and repulsors. What do you think happens when they meet?" Kors gasped, realizing his mistake, diving forward.
Keevan dropped the orb into the crystal's chamber.
A heavy, hollow whumpf filled the dome. The repulsor field grabbed every drop of latent water, and every Tri-Being within its great field, and hurled them outward. Outside, the water image of Suada burst into a deluge of rainfall, as if the goddess herself were undone. Pain clawed at Keevan's mind, blue light flooding his vision. Burning, agonizing pain hammered his skull from the inside. In the moisture covering the floor, he saw his own reflection. Blue veins of energy glowed beneath the skin around his eyes, leaching further into his face and giving the impression his eyes were somehow bleeding beneath his skin.
Gasping in agony, he managed to look up. The continuous blast held Madol and Bahjal against the walls with impressive force. Bahjal cried out in pain, splayed out against the stone wall like a bug for dissection. A flicker of motion drew Keevan's gaze out the window and he saw Kors, howling in rage as he tumbled like an oversized doll out into the open sea and an impossibly long drop.
"Bahjal!" Keevan cried, hurrying to her side.
The world seemed to toss and turn with each step, forcing him to crawl to her side. She lay there pitifully pinned to the wall, ice fragmenting from her skin and hair at a startling rate. For a moment, Keevan thought she was dying. Chunks of ice tore at her hair and fragments of cloth, and she convulsed in mysterious spasms. Then he noticed the healthy skin underneath each layer of ice flecking off and realized her trembling was...laughter.
"Keeves, oh Keeves. Your eyes, are you alright? You did it. You saved us," Bahjal moaned, wincing as she laughed. Fragments of hair broke away with the ice, leaving the tussled matt of hair he remembered so well. It was as if the repulsor field were pulling away the Etrendi trappings to reveal his lowborn friend underneath. Then he saw the lacerations covering her exposed skin, thin and trickling blood, as if given by paper. She was wounded but not dead. She breathed. She was whole. She was alive.
Keevan tried to hug her, but the repulsor held her fast against the wall. Instead, he rested his head on her shoulder and cried a few relieved tears of his own. For a moment, even the agony in his head didn't matter.
"Keeves, why am I here?" she asked suddenly, her head lolling lazily to the side. "Oh, Madol is here too. Are we going to play a game when he wakes up? I forgot what we were playing earlier," Her tone was easy, thoughtless and adrift, as if trapped in a dream. Her eyes unfocused as she stared upward at the stone roof, all evidence of pain gone, and the last fragments of ice withering away.
Keevan stared at her in surprise and laughed in relief. Pure boredom didn't carry much despair with it. In fact the field forced the dangerous element from her system. He glanced at Madol and pursed his lips worriedly. The Persuader stirred from unconsciousness, but his wounds bled anew now. The repulsor had cast out the water he was using for healing. His lips moved incessantly, the lack of moisture was breaking his mind as well.
"One moment, Bahjal," Keevan promised, cursing himself for a fool. The pain in his head grew with each passing moment and the floor seemed to bend and warp beneath his feet. The danger was over, why was he subjecting them all to the repulsor field? "I'll be right back."
Crawling to the crystal, the pain amplified even further. The world around him spun so much he closed his eyes, relying on his sense of touch to guide him. Nausea and pain twisted in his insides until he finally retched up his earlier meal on the floor next to him. Then, one trembling hand at a time, he found the crystal's container.
Keevan reached in and pulled the repulsor free. It took some effort, as if it were bound to the crystal by some kind of magnetic attraction. Nariem was right, whatever process was required to make repulsor ore was far superior. It could command Danica. A dozen fresh questions raced through Keevan's mind and he longed to study the metals in detail, but Madol and Bahjal wouldn’t live long without moisture to sustain them.
With the removal of the field, Madol and Bahjal sighed in relief, drawing in a few thin streams of water around their wounds as they slid to the floor. Keevan tried to return to Bahjal's side, the pain in his head did not relent so quickly. It hovered in the forefront of his mind as if someone stood there with a nail, digging into his skull.
Outside, Harbor Guild soldiers finally burst into view, racing around the stairs to the dome's entrance. A half dozen guardsmen faced Keevan, blades and axes glowing in anger. Their leader, marked by a golden pendant on his chest, pointed his weapon at Keevan.
"Men, arrest the Outlander. He's marred Suada's image!" The soldiers rumbled in agreement, rushing forwards.
Keevan pocketed his repulsor orb and rolled his eyes as they tied his hands behind his back. From his knees, he noticed the water above them wasn't re-claiming its shape of Suada. In fact, the field wasn’t doing anything at all. Nariem's words echoed in his mind, 'Repulsor fields tear apart the grain in Danica metal.' A chill settled around his heart. Issamere relied on this powerful relic to shield the entire city, if it could not be repaired... Gods, what would they do to him?
The guardsmen roughly pushed him onto his belly, like a criminal, before seeing to the wounded. Through a tangle armored legs and leather boots, Keevan glimpsed Bahjal watching the proceedings with a tired smile on her lips, mirth dancing in her eyes.
"Mind sending someone to fetch me when they're done here?" he asked, shrugging innocently. "All I did was take a second look at that blasted Pagoda."
