Madog dashed into the Duke's map room, heedless of the guards and the briefing he'd just interrupted. Maps of Lik scattered as he leaped onto the table, ears back and voice frantic. "Papa! Papa! Uncle Drift gone! Out the window! WHOOSH! SWOOSH!"
Misha stared at the metal fox in disbelief. "He did what?" Even as he said it, he realized how: the vest he'd made, enchanted to slow falls. His one ear flattened. "That damned glider."
"He really mad! Crazy mad! Whole place wrecked!"
"Where's Xavier?"
Madog jumped down, running in circles in his distress. "Down, hurt bad! I get help, then come find you! Hurry, Papa!"
Thunder rattled the walls. "The storm should slow him down," George said, but Misha shook his head.
"I doubt it," he replied, buckling on the studded leather vest he'd taken with him to Glen Avery. It was the closest armor to hand, and he didn't have time to hunt up something better. "This is the one I told you about, who survived the Yule blizzard. Three days, outside the walls, no shelter. I can't imagine anyone -better- suited to getting through to whatever or whoever he's after. Excuse me, your Grace."
"How will you find him?" the Duke asked, and Misha paused at the door.
"Simple. Find the damage trail, and follow it."
"Surely he wouldn't-"
"Your Grace, his fiancée was just murdered. From the mental state he was in when I left him, the only thing I can think of that would stir him to this level of madness is if he thinks he knows who did it, and thinks someone's going to try to stop him. He certainly has no faith in the Watch."
"You're not taking a weapon?"
"I'm hoping I won't need one, and I don't want to feed his paranoia. Drift is hardy and creative, but not skilled. I know his tricks. If it comes to a fight, I can disarm him or call Whisper. Neither will take more than a second or two."
"Be careful. I'll get the Longs geared up and send them after you."
"Thanks, George. Tell Finbar to bring everyone and everything." Just before leaving, he ducked back in. "And see if you can get a runner to the Watch. Tell them to stay out of his way, and report to us if they spot him. He's got a grudge against them, and I don't want this to get any more out of hand than it already is." As he left, his voice carried back into the room. "I've got a bad feeling about this."
Wolfram ducked out of reflex as lightning crashed against the strange shield overhead, energy sheeting down along the shimmering curve to vanish out of sight beyond the curtain walls. Snow and ice slashed at any exposed skin and he thanked Eli for a built-in wool coat. Even with the winter travel gear he was still wearing from the Glen Avery trip, he didn't want to think about what the climb up the switchback road from Euper, exposed along much of its length, would have been like without it. His legs burned from the near-run he'd forced them to maintain since leaving the burnt-out Maus residence, and he'd have bruises in the morning from the ice he'd slipped on, but the lanterns of the gate to the Killing Fields glowed like beacons ahead. He was nearly there.
He prayed that he'd be in time.
Xavier catapulted back to consciousness with a gasp, his eyes flashing around the room. "Drift?" The forge room still looked mostly the same, but a cold wind blew in from the samoyed's bedroom. Fighting to keep his mental focus, Xavier fixed his eyes on the white-clad woman tending him. Seizing her by both shoulders, he overrode her queries about his health with a question of his own. "Where is Drift?"
"He's gone- we think out the window."
"Did he take the knife?"
"What knife? Whoa!" Xavier tossed her bodily aside and scrambled to his feet. Fighting against lingering vertigo, he staggered to the workshop, then slumped against the doorway in despair. "What is it?" the healer asked once she caught up, alarmed by the leopard's haggard expression. "What's wrong?"
"I need to speak to the Lothanasa, right now."
"Why?"
Xavier told her.
"Akkala be merciful! Lean on me!" They hurried from the room.
Xavier's tale hit the Temple like a sea wave. Raven immediately threw open a window and shouted into the storm, a spell amplifying and carrying it across the wind to its target. "Merai! Tessa! To me!" Slamming the window shut again, she turned and started barking orders to the gathered acolytes. "Albricht, find Rickkter and bring him at once. You four, go inform the Duke, George, Misha, and Father Hough that there are almost certainly daedra minions about and that they should take precautions immediately. Everyone else, clear the hall. I must seek the gods' counsel." She turned a hawk's gaze on Xavier. "You, stay. I'll need your testimony. The rest of you, move!"
Misha nearly missed intercepting Drift in the swirling snowstorm. Nearly, but for the strange whistle-keen of Whirlwind in motion. Two thumps followed, and Misha arrived just in time to see a Watchman crumple to the ground, ambushed in the snowy night. Drift stood over him as Whirlwind clicked closed, his face a triumphant sneer. "Still think your master's bribes are worth it?" he snarled at the man lying unmoving in the snow. "Well?" He paused, as if waiting for an answer, and then spat on him contemptuously. "Damned right, it's not." The samoyed started to pass by, then paused and wound up to kick his fallen foe in the side.
"Drift!" Misha snapped, and the samoyed recoiled as the fox's form resolved from the snow's veil.
"Misha," Drift replied, and the tone in his brother's voice lowered his ears and tucked his tail. Then they lifted again as a whisper in his ear reminded him of his course and purpose, and he struck his forked light-rod against Whirlwind and held it high. Its bright light cut through the snow. "So. It is you. I didn't expect to see you here."
Misha crouched, checking the Watchman for signs of life, but didn't take his eyes off Drift while he made sure that he had not just witnessed a murder. A steely glare pinned the samoyed, stopping him from retreating into the storm. "You're very lucky that he's just unconscious, Drift," the fox said finally, dragging the fallen Watchman into a sheltered overhang before moving to block his friend's path. "If you'd killed him, there's no way you'd avoid the dungeons. Probably even the executioner's axe."
"If I'd wanted him dead, Misha, he'd -be- dead. Get out of my way."
"No."
Drift glanced aside to the left and right, trying to decide if he could elude the Long Scout, but Misha had chosen his position well. There was nowhere Drift could get to that Misha couldn't intercept him, and that realization flattened Drift's ears in anger. "Stay out of this," he snarled, his hackles rising. "I don't have time to fight you. He'll get away again!"
"Who?"
"Arkos!" Drift yelled. "Arkos Linafex! He killed my father! He killed Alexis!"
"Do you have proof?"
"Alexis last words, and his own knife!"
"Leave it to the Watch, Drift! They-"
"He -owns- the Watch, Misha! He'll walk away! Again!" He glanced again to the sides, frustration and desperation making him eager to get away. "Let me go. I won't let you stop me."
"No, Drift."
With a snarl, Drift threw down his light stick and snapped Whirlwind back to its full length. His eyes narrowed, hidden in a shadowed face. "Then you leave me no choice."
Misha dropped back into a defensive guard, empty hands rising to ward. "I'm sorry you feel like that, brother," he said, slitted eyes locking on Drift's body language with the cool analysis of a combat veteran. "It doesn't have to be-" Stepping into Drift's swing, he grabbed the center of the staff with both hands, twisted under to spin them both back to back, and expertly popped the weapon out of his friend's hands with a forward bend. Continuing the motion, he planted his left foot in the small of Drift's back, thrust out with his arms for counterbalance, and back-kicked the samoyed face-first into a wall. Finishing his turn using the momentum from the kick, he spun Whirlwind into Drift’s back and knocked the samoyed flat in the snow. "-this way."
To Misha's surprise, Drift got back up. He wobbled like a punch-drunk boxer, but the samoyed's eyes refocused on Misha with disturbing rapidity. The speed of his recovery set warning bells ringing in the veteran scout's brain, and they only got worse when Drift pulled the knife, still in its sheath, from his belt. Whirlwind howled, and Drift went sprawling. Misha's ear flicked backward and he pulled back in surprise. That strike should have sent the weapon spinning from Drift's hand; Misha knew that from experience. It should -not- have knocked him down. More alarms started ringing. What the hell was going on here?
In the shadows, the dark-haired man smiled. He was enjoying himself. There was a limit to what he could do against two followers of Eli, but he could keep the sword in the mark's hand, and keep whispering in his ear. Get up. He can't stop you. He mustn't stop you. You deserve your revenge. Get up.
Drift rose to one knee and wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Nice moves, brother," he panted, "but you're not going to stop me from giving him his knife back." Drift drew as Misha swung, and the red-stained blade rang against the silver staff. His arm jerked with the impact, but the weapon stayed in his hand, and he got to his feet in time to parry another strike. "Do you want to know how I'm going to give it to him?" he asked. Tossing the scabbard aside with deliberate finality, Drift bared his fangs in a maddened scream. "Point first!!"
Alexastra watched from above, her brow knit in worry. Would her plan be enough to throw Agemnos' plot awry? She'd pulled in nearly every favor she had claim on to get Drift's route predicted. The Watchman hadn't been part of the plan, but Misha was. She'd carefully guided his path with strategic placement of carts, trash, and other barricades to channel him and lights to draw him on. She just hoped it would be-
Pain exploded in her back as Thestilus, at the end of a powerdive that had started three stories over her head, slammed heel-first into her spine. Razor toe claws slashed deep, ripping her lower back apart. Snow and shingles flew, and momentum carried them across the rooftop and the next street over before smashing through the wall of the neighboring house. Their flight came to a crashing end against a brick fireplace and the room's owner shrieked as Thestilus pressed his advantage. Seizing the back of Alexis' head, he slammed her face again and again against the brick fireplace, the mortar cracking and crumbling with the impact.
Pain in his hand gave the illusion away at the same moment that he spotted the dagger coming for his eye. Ducking the blade, he jerked his wrist free from her grip. Then, uncoiling like a spring, he backhanded her across the room, over a bed occupied by a cowering female human and some black-furred Keeper who gaped in astonishment at the intrusion. He paid them little attention. Leaping over the bed after her, he pinned her down, keeping his focus sharp to pierce any illusion she might try. "The Master sends his regards, traitor," he sneered. "I can see why you picked this form. There's such a surprising amount of muscle power to it." He squeezed her wrist, twisting the bones against each other to make her drop the knife. "Though why you picked a -female- form, I don't know. I'm bigger, I'm stronger, and I know all your tricks."
Her answer came at once, and he shrieked in agony. "That's why," she said as she shapeshifted a bloody, serrated bone spike back into her knee and pushed him off her.
Thestilus rolled away into a warding crouch, already healing, but still half-doubled in pain. Fangs bared in anger, as razor-edged as the two long knives he drew from his belt. "If that had been permanent," he snarled, "I would be -very- upset."
She matched him with a second dagger and smiled; the kind of smile a shark might give to a fat, lazy seal. Blood ran freely down the backs of her legs, her spine felt like a gentle push would snap it in half, and she had absolutely no idea how she’d managed to keep her stealth through it all, but it would not do to let Thestilus know how badly he’d hurt her. With the skill of millennia, she gathered up all of her pain and fear, tossed it into a closet in her mind, and locked the door. She told it to go away, and it obeyed. "You might -think- you know all my tricks, Thestilus. You might even have been given equivalent abilities. But I was doing this long before you were even a swirl in the sulfur pools." She closed in with a gliding step-dance, her daggers' adamantine tips scribing dark circles into the air, never giving an opening. Just when he gathered his weight to charge her and strike into that dance, she flicked her wrist and the thrown dagger opened his ear from scalp to tip. "You don't have anywhere near the experience needed to kill me," she said as she calmly pulled another. "Whereas I know all sorts of ways to end you."
Thestilus reeled back, making a show of checking his bisected, and visibly -not- healing, ear. Then he abruptly reversed his step and slashed at her face, fast enough to force her to jerk backward out of her cadence. "I don't need to kill you," he replied with a triumphant smirk. "I just need to keep you busy. As long as you're fighting me, you can't meddle in the master's plan. It won't take long, and I've got all the time in the world."
Another dagger flashed out, this time parried wide with a long knife. "I have killed emperors, balrogs, and even daedra nobles, Thestilus. You are nothing but a trumped-up little imp with delusions of grandeur."
"Am I?" the vampire bat taunted in return as he went on the offensive, closing the range to stop Alexastra from throwing more knives. "I'm not the one infatuated with some stupid, hairy mortal." His long knives slammed against her shorter daggers, using brute force to pound distracting words into her ordered thoughts. "A mangy mongrel mutt with no future except what our lord decides to lend him! You're a disgrace! You're weak, and you're soft, and I -will- have your place as Agemnos' right hand!"
Byron had heard enough. Prying at his companion's clinging hands, he freed himself from her and from the tangled bedcovers and shoved her off the side of the bed toward the door. Disdaining the time it would have taken to buckle on his wooden leg, or to snatch up any of his discarded clothes, he grabbed for his cane instead. "Go! Get the Lightbringer!" he hissed, jabbing her with the foot of the cane to jar her out of her panic. "Hurry!" Clad only in a sheet, the Sensate scrambled down the stairs and out the door, spreading the alarm into the night. Back in the room, Byron eyed the two daggers still quivering in the walls, and then turned and hobbled downstairs as fast as he could. No way was he laying his hands on daedra weapons- he'd built far too many booby-traps of his own to not expect any on something made in Hell. Thumping on doors as he passed, he yelled, "Fire! Fire! Everybody out now!"
The Keep’s gates slammed open on the end of an argument. "With utmost respect, Lothanasa, you can't stop me from going," Xavier snapped, a flat refusal of Raven's order for him to remain behind. He held up a hand, and the winds parted around them, a clear eye in the midst of the maelstrom. "Do you plan on fighting the storm as well? You need me. Why are we still discussing this?"
"You're not trained for hunting daedra, kid." Rickkter drew his katana, flicking it through a quick limbering exercise. "If it comes to fighting-"
"I am aware of the risks, battlemage. I am also a weather mage in the middle of the second-largest storm I've ever seen." As if to emphasize his point, a massive lightning bolt slammed into the shield overhead, making the whole half-globe glow as it sheeted down the sides. Thunder shook the ground beneath their feet. Xavier gestured, and six orbs of crackling light rose from the ground. They settled into orbit around him, each the size of a small catapult stone and holding enough energy to stand Rickkter's fur on end from six feet away. "I think I'll manage." Xavier returned his attention to Raven. "Edward Snow is my friend and I owe him my life. I'll search for him alone if I have to, but I'm not staying behind."
Raven gave up on convincing the obstinate young noble to stay put. She had more important things to consider. Out in the storm, she could sense Merai and Tessa drawing near, and the holy blade Elemacil detected... something. What exactly that was, Raven was not certain. It only appeared in faint momentary flashes, shorter than an eyeblink, like flickering glimpses of a distant, ever-shifting mirage. If it was a daedra, then it was a type that the sword had never encountered before and was, unsurprisingly, proving infernally difficult to track down. Still, she at least had a general direction to search. "Very well, Baron Marcus. You may come with us for now. But if it comes to a fight and I tell you to run, you will run. No questions, no arguments, no heroics. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
"Let's go."
The gods had promised that help would be coming, but it would take time to get there. Until it arrived, Metamor would have to stand on its own.
Drift lunged forward with a yell. Misha sidestepped and parried the clumsy attack groundward, then slapped Drift into the wall again. Catching him on the rebound, the elite scout hooked a foot behind Drift’s knees, grabbed him by the scruff, and tossed him back into the snow. "Stay down, Drift! You’re not getting past me!"
He’s in league with your enemies.
Drift struggled up, wildly slashing as he tried to clear the snow from his eyes, and Misha tossed him right back down in it. A rear up into taurform did no better. Misha stepped in under Drift’s kicking forelegs and stopped his breath with a punch to the taur body’s solar plexus. Drift crumpled to the ground and shrank back into normal form, gasping and wheezing for air.
He’s betrayed you.
"No," Drift panted. "I don’t- I don’t-"
Why else would he be trying to stop you?
"I..."
How much did Arkos pay him to let her die?
Drift’s head snapped up, narrowed eyes fixing on Misha’s. "You let her die," he accused. Gathering his feet under him, he slashed upward as he rose, then ducked under Misha’s counterstrike and completed the cross slash at gut level.
Misha recoiled, the bottom quarter of his leather vest sliced open and hanging. That had been close, and already Drift was pressing the advantage with previously undemonstrated speed and skill. Whirlwind keened under a flurry of blows, and Misha went on the defensive while he waited for the samoyed’s frenzy to burn itself out.
The knife slammed down against the center of the staff, barely a handsbreadth from Misha’s nose. Drift snarled from the other side, using both hands to grind the bloodstained blade harder into the block. "How much did he pay you to let her die!"
"You’re insane!" Misha snapped back.
"Am I? Am I?! Or am I finally seeing things as they really are!?"
Sidestepping, Misha switched his grip from the middle of the staff to the end, as if he were holding Whisper instead of Whirlwind, and angled the staff backward. Drift stumbled forward, off balance, his knife sliding down the now unobstructed angle. Misha was waiting. His knee came up into Drift’s belly, doubling the samoyed over with a whuff of displaced air. Then he slammed the staff down on Drift’s back, and the samoyed dropped to his hands and knees, coughing and retching. Misha lifted Whirlwind for a knockout blow, and his command rivaled the storm’s winds for cold. "Last chance, Drift. Drop the weapon."
Drift barely heard him. Something else had his attention. A whispered voice.
What do you want? Revenge? Power? I can give it to you. Name your price.
"I don’t care," Drift panted, tears of frustration, pain, and betrayal mixing with the blood and vomit staining his muzzle. "I don’t care!" Only one thing mattered any more. His body burning with anger, the blade trembling in his hand, he screamed, "Whatever the price, whatever the cost, give me the strength to destroy my enemies!"
There was a moment of hesitation, a sensation of surprise and then delight, blossoming into open, malicious glee. With pleasure. The knife changed, growing longer, broader, a jagged-edged sword designed for causing a maximum amount of pain as it ripped foes apart. The red tinge of the blade lifted into the air, transforming into a glowing haze that lit the night with the color of blood. Raw fury coursed into Drift, granting his desire as the sword's red glow spread to encompass his entire body. His eyes glittered with pure madness. "Arkos is -my- prey, and I will -kill- anyone who tries to stop me!!" he roared.
Recoiling, Misha barely got Whirlwind up in time to block a blindingly fast decapitation slash that nearly ripped the staff from his hands. Sparks flew. After that, the blows came with the fury of a summer hailstorm, and Misha backpedaled as fast as the snowy street would let him. The sword felt alive in Drift’s hands, guiding his strikes to their best effect. It lent him speed, too, and no matter what defensive tricks Misha tried, no matter what countering hits the fox landed, Drift kept coming. Black armor started to form around the raging samoyed, as if congealing from the night itself in wisps of smoky black. Too late, Misha cursed himself for not summoning Whisper as the sword carved gouges into Whirlwind’s metal frame. His hands stung nearly to numbness from the transmitted blows. What hurt worse was the certain knowledge that he couldn’t help Drift any more. Whatever Drift had done, whatever he had invoked, Misha recognized that he was fighting out of his class. If he stayed, he’d die. The only option left was to retreat and come back with reinforcements. A cart, left on the side of the street and half-buried in snow, presented his first opportunity. He dodged around its shielding bulk-
The moment that Misha stepped behind the cart, Drift cleaved it in two. The sword sliced through the wooden cart like soft wax. Worse, the red aura around the blade flared outward, a shrieking red crescent that carved open the building beyond. Only an instinctive jerk backward saved Misha from a similar fate. Another slash followed on the heels of the first, crosswise this time, and Misha dove to avoid it. The building beyond shuddered again, groaning as its main supports shattered. Over Misha’s head, part of the wall peeled away and crashed down on the fox in an avalanche of timber and rubble.
End him, the sword whispered, and Drift almost agreed. It would be so easy...
"No."
What are you doing? He's still alive! Kill him! The sword was furious.
Drift ignored it. I’ve wasted enough time here already. This will keep him out of play long enough for me to kill Linafex. After that, it doesn't matter whether he digs himself out or not. Turning to leave, he swept the blade through the corner of the buildings on either side of him. They collapsed, forming a barricade between them. "Don't follow me, Misha! I won't spare you twice!"
"Help! Help!"
Even with keen animorph ears to listen and a quartet of witchlights to light the dark street, Raven didn’t spot the woman until they were almost on top of her. Bursting from the curtain of snow, she tumbled, panic-stricken, into the priestess’ arms. "Lightbringer?" she gasped. "Oh, th-thank the Lady! Please! Help us!"
Elemacil’s runes lit up like a hunting dog scenting prey. One sniff told Raven what the woman had been doing before running out into the storm, as if the blanket that served as her only clothing wasn’t enough to guess. But it was what was on the blanket that drew her attention- a splatter of daedra blood. Before she could ask, the answer tumbled from the woman's mouth.
"D-D-Demons!" the woman gasped, still out of breath and her teeth starting to chatter with cold. "F-F-Fighting each other! P-Peddlers’ House, up the s-s-street!"
The Peddlers’ House. Rumor had it the Sensates had been turning that old inn into a pleasure den. It looked like rumor was confirmed. Raven invoked a blessing of warmth from the fire goddess Yajiit for the woman to still her chattering teeth. "Daedra fighting each other? Are you certain?"
"Yes! One was calling the other a traitor, and said something about replacing her. Please, hurr-eek!"
Rickkter, in the midst of slicing a blood-stained scrap of fabric from the woman's only garb, caught a ringing slap for his efforts. "Ow! Dammit, woman!" the raccoon mage protested, rubbing the sting out of his ear. "It's for a trace spell!"
Raven stood the woman up, twisted free of her grip, and summoned one of the witchlights. "Follow this light. It will lead you to the Temple. Go now."
The faint whispers of daedra presence that had flickered fitfully ahead of them vanished in an explosion of power just two blocks beyond, like two candles being eclipsed by the full fury of the sun. Raven staggered as if physically struck by the blast, her worst fears realized. "An Oath," she breathed.
"He’s here. In person," growled Rickkter. The battle mage had felt it, too. "There’s no way a binding that powerful was done by proxy."
"Agreed. Sensate, get to the Temple -now-." With the Sensate woman out of harm’s way, Raven cast her voice onto the winds again. "Merai! Tessa! To-"
"We’re here!"
Heralded by a pair of witchlights, the cat and the half-elf emerged from the storm, accompanied by every Long Scout currently in Metamor. Two of the healers who had been dispatched to the Euper fire followed them. "Where are the other healers?" Raven asked, alarmed.
"Some stayed at the Jolly Collie, the rest are waiting out the storm at the Deaf Mule, Lothanasa," replied Tessa. "Fighting the fire exhausted many, and the climb from Euper was treacherous. We had several injuries from the ice."
"Very well. Staying at the Mule should keep them out of harm's way."
A flash of red lit the night, then another, and a rumble like thunder followed. Xavier's head jerked up. "That wasn't the storm."
Rickkter's grip tightened on his sword. "No, it wasn't. Come on!"
The blast of power shocked the duel at the Peddlers' House to a momentary halt.
"What has that idiot mortal done?" Thestilus only took his eyes off his enemy for a moment, but a moment was all Alexastra needed. Stepping into his weakened guard, she slapped his knives aside and then slashed out his eyes on the backswing. Not content with that damage, she ducked back under his flailing arms, reached into a pocket with a gloved hand, and flung several thousand garrets worth of powdered mithril straight into his bleeding face.
Thestilus' knives clattered to the ground, unheard over the glass-shattering shriek of his screams. He followed them down, writhing in agony on the floor and raking at his smoking face with his claws. The holy metal ate into his wounds like acid. Kicking his knives aside with one foot, Alexastra continued the step to kick him in the gut with the other. In that moment of contact, she smashed through his shattered mental defenses an illusion of being ripped apart by a ravenous pack of hellhounds, just to twist the knife. "What has he done?" the furious daedress echoed, her voice icy with hate. "The unexpected, just like I said he would. If you made me miss my chance, you miserable piece of filth, I promise you that this level of pain will feel like bliss in comparison to what else I can do!" She kicked him again, this time conjuring a flechette storm of flaying steel, then picked him up by the scruff and dragged him to the hole in the wall that their entry had made.
She was in luck. "I've wanted to do this for years," she growled, and then shouted into the wind. "Hey, Raven! Catch!" With that, she threw her former partner to the wolves.
Raven’s head snapped up, partly from the shout, but mostly from the sudden flare of daedra presence radiating from the two bats. One Elemacil identified as an exceptionally powerful imp, but the other was unlike anything the holy sword had ever encountered. Here was the source of the flickering detections- it had to be, based on the lightning-quick revelation.
"Alexis Nightwind?" Merai gasped in recognition as the disguised daedress heaved her compatriot from the exploded third-floor room in which they’d been fighting. Her aim was both deliberate and accurate, and Raven only needed to swing once, parting the imp’s head from his shoulders. The bat dissipated into smoke, banished back to the Hells with a fading scream.
"Damn," the daedress swore down at them, her foxish face a scowl. "I was hoping you’d gut him first. He deserves it. For the time being, Lightbringer, you and I have common cause. Under the eyes of the High Lord and the Dark Prince, I pledge to you my oath of alliance."
The archaic vow startled Raven. The last time she’d heard it used had been in an ancient Suielman text, dating back to the last alliance of the aedra and daedra against the Titans. She racked her brain for the appropriate reply, but the she-bat gave her no time. "The words you’re looking for," she snapped with an impatient flick of her hand, "are ‘I accept your oath and will not try to shoot you, stab you, or otherwise banish you tonight.’ We have no time for niceties: my Edward’s life hangs in the balance." Raising her hand, she pointed down a side street. "Long Scouts, your leader is down that street, and likely needs your help by now, if the collapsed buildings I can see out there are any judge. The rest of you, try to keep up." Without waiting to see if anybody took her advice, she leaped from the building and took wing. Her flight path twisted into a tortured corkscrew in case any archer or mage below decided not to accept her offer of truce before she could get out of range, flitting through the storm winds as if it were a calm day. At the same moment, and to Raven’s renewed astonishment, she vanished from Elemacil’s detection with the suddenness of an extinguished lamp.
"Did she just-" Merai asked.
"Yes, she did. She’s something I’ve never seen before. Rickkter?"
Rickkter was already running after the departing daedra as the street ahead lit up with another red flash. "Less talking, more chasing!" he yelled back over the sound of collapsing masonry.
"Tessa! Go with the Longs, and search for survivors! The rest of you, with me!"
Not all who crossed Drift’s path of devastation that night did so by design. For some, it was just a case of bad luck, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. That the encounter was not sought, however, did not make it any less devastating.
Drift grabbed Wolfram's collar and lifted the ram effortlessly off the ground by it, his lips peeled back in a furious snarl. Wolfram moaned in response, his face a rictus of pain. His arms clutched over his gut where Drift had kicked him. The ambush had been as sudden and unexpected as it had been devastating, and a small part of Wolfram's mind marveled at the speed of it. One moment, perfect health. The next, perfect agony. How strangely poetic. Blood trickled from the ram's mouth and nose as he forced one eye open. Blinking past blood from his shattered right horn, he found a sword point hovering barely an inch from it. Beyond, the red glow of the blade cast a demonic pall across Drift's white fur and strange, half-formed armor, and Wolfram struggled against the pain to focus on his friend's face. He didn't bother to ask why he'd been attacked. One look in Drift's eyes was enough to see the insanity. "If... you're going... to do it," he grunted, fighting for each word, "make it quick."
The sword seemed to quiver in Drift's hand as if eager to strike but, surprisingly, he didn't. A war of conflicting emotions raged behind his eyes before he finally lowered the blade. "No," he said, and then repeated it as if to convince himself. "No." For an instant, he was calm. Then the samoyed's gaze turned eastward and his lips pulled back again into a killing snarl. "No more delays. No more distractions." He tossed Wolfram aside with a negligent flick of the wrist, heedless of the crash of shattering timber and the screams of shock and fright as Wolfram smashed through the wall of an inn. "This ends now!" he growled, and the last thing Wolfram saw before darkness claimed him was his friend running off into the night. Then the falling snow closed in behind and blotted him from view.
"ARKOS!!"
Arkos' forge hammer fell from his hand with a clatter. Ice shot through his veins, freezing his blood in an instant. That scream in the night- it was right outside, and there could only be one person-
"ARKOS!!"
The desert hound lunged for his forging bench, where his sword laid waiting. Curse Thestilus! The wretched imp had been supposed to warn him before Snow got this close!
"COME OUT AND FACE YOUR JUDGEMENT!!"
Linafex had allowed himself a few moments tinkering in the forge to settle his nerves, expecting to be notified in time to prepare a proper reception. Now, in his haste, he grabbed too quickly, and his knife's pommel bounced off his reaching fingers and clattered to the floor. He ducked, scrambling to reach for it... and a beam of red light cleaved through the air where he had just been standing. Sweeping across the whole of the room with a horrible rending shriek, it left chaos behind. He cowered under his work bench as brick and timber crashed down around him. Another shrieking slice followed, and he heard the rest of the house start to go. His wife screamed, and his gut twisted with panic as that scream cut off. He froze, hoping, praying that maybe Snow would think-
"COME OUT NOW! I KNOW YOU'RE STILL ALIVE IN THERE!"
Throwing away any pretense of hiding, Arkos yanked loose the hidden panel in the workbench and snatched his weapon of last resort from its hiding place, a small green stone that had cost him a small fortune to purchase without questions or record. He'd almost certainly have to flee Metamor if he used it, but surely-
A black mail-clad hand punched through the work bench and seized him by the scruff of the neck.
"Found you."
Ripped from the debris and flung with the ease he might throw a doll, Arkos landed in a sprawl on the snowy roadway. Icy cold bit through his short fur after the warmth of the forge, but that discomfort was forgotten the moment he looked up. A nightmare awaited him with hate-filled eyes, clad in armor black as night and wielding a jagged, demon sword, wreathed in a red glow that blended with the growing flames from his demolished forge. "N-no... impossible... it can’t be," he babbled.
"I’m not as easy to kill as my father," spat the beast, its voice like hammered iron. "Nor my beloved." It stalked him, sword raised, striding through the knee-deep snow like it wasn’t even there. Its red eyes promised no mercy, only a painful death.
Arkos floundered, panting with panic and looking around wildly for Thestilus, or even Agemnos himself. Where were they? He was important! He was an important client! Why weren’t they protecting him? Something hidden under the snow tripped him, and he landed in a sprawl again. To his horror, he dropped the stone, and he scrambled in the snow trying to find it again.
The nightmare reached him first. The jagged sword hooked under his chin, drawing a line of blood as it forced his head up. Edward Snow, the tinker’s brat, the wretched whelp, snarled at him from beyond the blade. "For all your crimes," growled the beast, "I think I’ll kill you slowly."
Arkos laughed, high-pitched and hysterical, barely registering the feel of urine running down his leg. He desperately sifted through the snow for that lost stone. He had to find it! He just needed more time! "You can't kill me!" he gibbered. "Agemnos promised I'd die the only tinsmith in Metamor!"
The beast’s jaw opened slightly, a moment of disbelief. Then he sneered and raised the sword to strike, and his words dropped the bottom out of Arkos’ plans. "I quit a month ago, you stupid son of a bitch. Die."
"Daddy!" Mariah, Arkos’ little girl, ran weeping from the wreckage of their home and threw herself across her father's chest, clinging to him. "Please, mister. Please don't hurt my daddy."
The beast froze, stalled by tear-filled eyes, and Arkos dared to hope. His fingers had finally closed upon the stone. His daughter was in just the right spot to shield his movements. If he could just keep the weapon out of sight for a few seconds more, get it into line-
"Stop this madness!"
"Misha!" The beast spun away, distracted by a warrior fox in full battle gear, a giant axe held at the ready. Behind him, every Long in Metamor materialized from the night. This was just the distraction he needed! He brought the stone up-
"Watch out!" came a voice from high and to the right, and Drift whirled just in time to see an impossibly familiar silhouette outlined in green between him and Arkos. He only saw it for an instant before the bat vaporized, immolated by the light. Beyond, crouching behind his child like a shield, Arkos held his hand straight out toward them, a green gem glowing in his palm.
For a moment, all was shock and silence. Then Drift screamed. "ALEXIS!!!!"
Arkos snatched up his daughter and tried to run. He made it two steps before his world exploded. The sword speared through his back, jagged spikes ripping apart his spine and lungs, but the blade through his heart snuffed his life before he had even started to crumple. But he was not the only one to die, and his daughter managed an aborted shriek before the blade stabbed through her as well, stealing her life away. Almost unseen, the gem slipped from Arkos’ lifeless hand and disappeared into the bloodstained snow.
The moment the sword left his hand, the madness left Drift, and reality slammed back into him like a mountain avalanche. He watched in stunned disbelief as Arkos and his daughter crumpled lifeless to the ground. "What... what is..." he whispered. His hands started shaking. "No! This isn’t what I wanted! She didn’t deserve to die! She wasn’t supposed to- ack!" A bolt of light leapt from the sword to strike him squarely in the throat, forming a ring around his neck as the rest of the armor faded away. "Misha?" Drift's voice rose rapidly in panic as he tugged and jerked vainly at the black metal collar, latched with a five-sided shield with a thin black wedge down its center. "Misha, help me! It won't come off! It won't come off!!! Help- aaaahh!"
A flaming chain snaked from the darkness and latched onto the collar. Without a moment's hesitation, Misha lifted Whisper to sever it, but he froze into stasis mid-swing as a dark-haired man in black armor stepped from the shadow. The man scowled. "Oh, joy. A Patildor. He should have been shredded to pieces by that spell." His irritation was short-lived, though, and he smiled with malicious delight as he turned his gaze on Drift. "Oh, look... an ex-Patildor. I always wanted a war dog." He pulled on the chain, dragging the samoyed closer.
Moving with the blinding speed he'd been gifted, Drift reached for the one weapon he had left, the dagger he’d bought long ago to end his life if he were ever trapped by fire. Jerking it from its arm sheath, he hurled it at the man, and it flew like a bolt of lightning. The dark-haired man caught it in front of his face as if it had hung there for days. Smirking, he declared, "This is a good knife," and then discarded it over his shoulder like a small child's toy. "You won't need it anymore."
Drift grabbed the chain, tried to jerk it loose, and screamed when the fire seared his hands. Raw, primal terror screamed through his mind, and his feet dug furrows in the ground trying to resist that inexorable pull. "Who are you?!"
"Who do you think? I'm sure you've heard of me. Revonos. The Lord of Rage. God of murder. Your new owner."
"No!" Drift's eyes showed white the entire way around. He thrashed against the chain, ignoring the burns it caused on his hands, his tail held tight against his belly in fear. "No! I won't go with you! Misha!!"
"You say that like you have a choice." Revonos' laughter echoed over Drift's screams of agony as a flash of light snapped down the chain. The samoyed's body warped and grew and changed, bones crunching as he was thrown to all fours, his remaining clothes tearing away. His screams turned to howls as his body grew larger, wilder, the softness of his canine fur giving way to the coarseness of a dire wolf. "No more puppyhood for you, boy. You are -mine-."
The wolf writhed, muscle bulging under the shaggy pelt, long, sharp fangs slipping past his lips, but his fur stayed as gleaming white as it had started. That is, until Revonos pulled his blade from the corpses of Arkos and his daughter and wiped the blood off on it. "Yes... I like that. White shows the red so well."
The wolf lay still, panting for air as the changes completed, shattered and reformed into a dire wolf the size of a horse. His eyes were wild with terror for the bare second Revonos gave him to recover before jerking him with a yelp onto his paws by the chain. The wolf whirled and bit Revonos on the thigh, but his teeth scraped on armor and only caused the god to laugh. "That's the spirit, Carcarak. Go for the arteries." He then slapped the wolf hard upside the head, jarring his teeth loose and sending him sprawling again. "Save it for the pits."
He didn’t let him stay down for long. "Up, boy," Revonos said with a cruel smile and another yank of the chain. "Time to go." Black smoke swirled around them both, nearly concealing them from view when-
"Halt!"
The street lit up with a brilliant flash, and the smoke recoiled from the light like a living thing. "Who dares?" roared Lord Revonos, rounding on the source of the flash with sword drawn and teeth bared. His furious expression flashed over in an instant to one of disgust and annoyance as Lady Akkala stepped into view, decked in full armor and flanked by Raven, Merai, Xavier, and Rickkter. "Oh," the daedra lord sneered. "It's you. You're too late: this one is mine." He yanked the chain cruelly, jerking a yelp from the nearly insensate wolf for emphasis.
Lady Akkala held out her hand and a chain of silver light snaked from it to the wolf's collar, disputing the daedra lord's claim. "He is mine by prior oath."
"Which he broke when he asked for my aid!" Lord Revonos retorted, taking a step forward and lifting his sword as if to attack.
Every weapon except Akkala's rose to resist, but the Lady of Healing remained a bulwark of calm amidst the storm. "That will be for the Celestial Court to decide," she proclaimed, loud enough for all to hear and be stilled. When Lord Revonos started to scoff, she interrupted him. "By order of Lord Kammaloth."
The invocation of the high lord of the aedra finally halted the Lord of Rage. Balked, he lashed his chain of fire with enough violence to strike sparks off the cobblestones. "Fine!" he snarled as the wolf's collar changed its aspect: one half fire-blackened iron, one half gleaming silver. "Fine," he repeated, a dark dragon banking its fire, but only for the moment. "I can wait." Waiting for a faint glimmer of hope to cross the wolf's features, he crushed it with a sadistic grin. "I can always hurt him more later."
"Tend to your wounded," Akkala instructed Raven, quietly so her words would not carry to the daedra lord. With a nod to the stasis-frozen fox, she added, "Both physically and mentally. I will do what I can."
She started to draw away, but stopped when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned to regard its owner, a black leopard who looked like he couldn't believe he'd had the temerity to touch her. Swallowing the heart in his throat, he drew up his courage and asked, "Is there any hope, my Lady?"
Lady Akkala looked across at the trembling wolf and the daedra lord standing over him scowling impatiently to be away. "Hardly any, Xavier Marcus, but I will do what I can." She touched the leopard-man once on his shoulder, a gentle comfort, before drawing away. The three vanished in a flash of light and shadow, leaving only a terrified wail to linger behind.
And then even that was swept away by the fading storm.
TO BE CONCLUDED...