There were no other hunters or divine attacks in the days that followed that terrible night. The Ebon Blade and its wielder made good ti and defaced two more small waystones, further altering the magical landscape, making it look like they were going to go south when they were, in fact, about to head north.
While they’d done those things, the blade had interrogated all four of the dead mages that it had collected recently. While it had dozens of mage souls still in reserve, it had a single, very specific question in mind for these four: how did you find , and how many more will find the sa way?
It was a simple question, but none of them had known the entirety of the answer. Still, they had given it everything they had, and together, that was enough. The answer was indeed the Tindalian Hounds; they were exactly what Lucian said they were, trackers of the first order.
Evelyn’s ashes had been ticulously swept from the throne room and fed into half a dozen of the monstrosities before they’d run out. That allowed the hounds to track it, but because of the dust and other particles, so of the other hunting parties were likely to take very circuitous routes, which ant that the Aethearcy might be able to ambush it two or three more tis.
The goal of the group hadn’t even been to capture it or kill it. They’d only been told to find it, stun it, and relay its location so that the big guns could be brought to bear. That teoric strike spell had been ant to leave the Ebon Blade wielderless and alone in the dirt; it was a fine plan, and the fact that it wasn’t successful didn’t an that next ti, it wouldn’t be.
All of that was to the good. They’d won and learned of a new danger while at the sa ti finding out that the mages didn’t even suspect that it was up to sothing. According to the hunters, they thought it was simply attempting to flee and hide now that its revenge had been achieved. Still, despite all of these minor victories, Lucian’s recent performance struck the blade as entirely unacceptable.
The boy relied on it too much, and while a good wielder should rely on his weapon, it should be as a weapon and not as a crutch or a wetnurse. He needed to be tested further.
There is a small tower that belongs to the Athearchy in the next town we are going to visit. It wasn’t a question. It was a statent of fact, and as the Ebon Blade said the words in the mind of its wielder, it felt him flinch, afraid of what was going to co next.
You will face them, the blade continued. You will face them, and you will do it without help from . Lucian didn’t argue with that either, though it did feel uncertainty blossom in his soul.
“You think I don’t want to get better at fighting?” Lucian asked after several minutes of silence. “I do. I do want to learn to fight as well as you, but that’s just not where my talents lie.”
You may never be a gifted warrior, the blade agreed, but you must beco an adequate one, or we will both perish.
“I know,” he answered glumly, rubbing the spot where the mage had burned right through him yesterday. “Those guys… I never would have had a chance against them alone, even if I was an adequate warrior.”
There, you are mistaken, the blade countered. You will never be alone again. I will be with you for the rest of your life. How long or short that is is up to you.
That much at least cheered up the boy, and he didn’t complain again. Instead, he began to prepare for his approach to the town. Neither of them knew the na, but that didn’t matter. Lucian was already covered in rags and could scarcely be expected to blend in. Instead, he started to gather firewood, and then, when he had enough large sticks, he wrapped them in a buddle that completely hid the blade from view that he carried on his back.
It was a strange disguise, but the weapon did not attempt to intervene. As long as he killed the mages, it would give him a free hand.
Lucian entered the town of Tervon’s Well near dusk, looking for all the world like a beggar looking to sell firewood. The town’s lone gate guard gave him the stink eye but let him pass without more than a couple terse words.
“You cause any trouble here, and you’ll feel my boot up your ass before morning, you hear?” the guard cursed.
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Lucian responded with an apology and a bow, which was deaning as it was effective. Then he made his way to the mage tower, which was the only four-story building in this little farming community.
When he reached the door, he knocked twice, first hesitantly, then more firmly. He was t by another apprentice who wasn’t so different from the boy he’d been a few weeks before. “We don’t need no firewood,” the apprentice said, already shutting the door, but Lucian stopped it with his sandals foot.
“What about information,” its wielder asked. “I co all this way because I’ve seen sothing amazing not so far away from here.”
“Information?” the boy asked, trying to decide if he was getting scamd. “That might be worth a hot al or a few coppers, depending on what you tell …”
“Not you,” Lucian insisted. “I want to talk to a mage. A real one. I know they live here.”
“I’m not a real mage, am I?” the boy huffed. “I should turn you into a toad for that!”
Lucian let himself be browbeaten and bullied for a minute until the commotion attracted the attention of one of the boy's masters. Though he played it straight, the blade could tell that he was enjoying pulling the wool over these smart people’s eyes almost as much as he was going to enjoy killing them in the near future.
“What’s all this then?” the older mage complained as he approached the two bickering boys. The apprentice gave him a brief rundown, and the man sighed. Very well, let him in and get a bowl of soup from the kitchen, and we’ll see if his information is worth coins or a thrashing.
The mage had just invited the Ebon Blade into their ager sanctuary without even noticing. The blade found that very amusing; in a way, it was similar to how Evelyn had snuck it into Altbarstein castle.
While the blade had softened its attitudes on subterfuge slightly, it would always prefer the direct approach. It spent the entire al, as well as the conversation that followed, waiting for the boy to start killing, but he delayed. Instead, he wove the mage a tale about seeing an impossible lightning storm to the southwest and a group of red-cloaked mages with tal hounds running for their lives.
It was nowhere near the truth, but it contained enough details to be believable because more and more mages kept coming to the table and making the boy repeat his lies. Soon, there were half a dozen n arguing about who those n were and what they were looking for. He told them about the gray blades that glowed with white runes, and they paid him a handful of silver.
Then, when they finally summoned their master from the peak of the tower so he could tell the story one final ti so the elder could decide what to do, the boy slaughtered all of them in a wide slash that used mage hand to send the blade whirling around the room like a cyclone. Half of them had their backs turned at the ti and didn’t even know they were dead until the deed was done. No one had the ti to cast a spell or brandish their wands, and only a few of them even cried out in pain before they expired.
“And that’s why you don’t let strangers into the tower!” he said with a smile as he admired his handiwork before rushing upstairs to see if anyone else was hiding.
Lucian spent several minutes searching all four floors but found nothing amiss, but then, that’s what he’d been expecting. As he went, he explained to the blade how most apprentices in towns and cities went ho at night because space in the tower was at a premium, but the weapon didn’t care about such trivialities.
This is not what I ant when I said you should kill the mages, the blade side with faint disapproval.
“They’re dead, aren’t they?” the boy asked as he helped himself to another bowl of soup. “You told to kill them, and I did. You didn’t say how I had to do it.”
Its wielder was right for all the wrong reasons, but the weapon did not chastise him for it. Instead, it launched into an appeal for discipline and practice, but it could tell right away that its words did not penetrate Lucian’s smug feeling of accomplishnt at having bested so many powerful n in a single strange move.
“I think that counts as practice for the night anyway,” the boy said when he was done eating. “We can practice tomorrow. There’s not enough space in here.”
We cannot stay long here anyway. Practice will have to wait for another day, the Ebon Blade cautioned him. You have killed everyone who is here, but there’s no telling who will co back after a night of drinking or arrive in the morning. We do not wish to be taken by surprise as you took these n by surprise.
Lucian grudgingly agreed, though he did not leave the tower empty-handed. Before he left, he donned the familiar brown robes of an apprentice, took all of the ready coin he could find from the corpses, and even stole a wand since his previous wand had long since been destroyed.
After that was done, he saddled a fine horse and then rode by the sa guard that cursed him earlier. This ti, the man wished him well as he set off on the road once more. “A servant of the Athearchy gets much more respect than a beggar,” he mused. “Even if the appearance and the beggar are the sa man.”
The blade said nothing. Instead, it studied the mind of its wielder and tried to decide what it was going to do with its wielder. The boy was clever; there was no doubting that. The problem was that he might be too clever, and while the blade had known that he intended to employ subterfuge, it had not expected him to do so to the extent that he could simply avoid fighting entirely.
So fights cannot be skipped, it reminded him again as they set off into the night.
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