OUR ORIGINAL PLAN — to make a quick forced march to the Gray Foothills — ended up a partial failure. First because of the rain that started on the third day of the campaign and ended no less than ten days later. And then because our force kept swelling as little units of soldiers from the mountain clans kept coming to join it. Every ti this happened, courtesy required that I et with their leaders and demonstrate the appropriate respect to seal our friendship. In the end, it all slowed our progress down considerably.
These clans lived to the east of Gondreville, and they hadn’t joined in our struggle against the “Scarlets” at all. After our victory over the Gray Reaper, however, these agile mountain n decided that the mont had co for them to choose sides, and our force started to swell mushrooms after a warm rain.
In the end, not counting the big wagon train, we arrived at the walls of Chateau Gardien with about 6,000 soldiers. We could have increased this to 7,000 with the Gondreville militia and recruits from Viscount di Revel’s legions, but I opted to play it safe. Taking the forr would have weakened the city’s defenses, and I really couldn’t trust the latter.
The only unit from Gondreville that I took with was a ballista team headed by Jacques Chamot. As it turned out, Baron de Bacri’s warriors hadn’t quite destroyed ALL the siege equipnt that Viscount di Revel’s legions had brought with them. Three ballistae survived the blaze. And these were the ones I entrusted to Maitre Chamot, who after all was the expert when it ca to this kind of thing...
The Gray Foothills was the na for a small, narrow valley surrounded on all sides by a huge ring of mountains, which created a virtually-impenetrable barrier for any would-be conquerors. Apparently, it was also the reason that the Sapphire Guild of mages had chosen the area as their base of operations several centuries before.
The only entrance to the place was through a narrow gorge, where the mages had built Chateau Gardien, a mighty fortress that lood on the cliff above the gorge like a huge stone crown and which was ideally sited to control passage through it.
While the fortress was certainly impressive in size, and I could understand why the mages had chosen this specific site, there was one significant flaw in their design. A mistake that a Fox would never have made. There weren’t any other exits from the valley. Although I suppose I might be wrong about that — there could be so secret passages inside the citadel. If so, however, it would raise a different question: why wasn’t anybody using those passages?
It seed like the mages had put all their faith in the strength of Chateau Gardien, whose construction had cost truly staggering amounts of money and resources. The fortress had clearly been built by artificers. It had been considered totally unassailable, until the Gray Reaper proved otherwise. In conquering it, he had closed the only exit from the Gray Foothills. The trap had slamd shut...
Thanks to my collaboration with the lunari, it wasn’t hard to convince Viscount di Revel to spill his guts to . No, no — there was no torture involved. The Viscount told everything willingly. Or rather, not exactly willingly... He just really, really liked my wine. And of course I really needed the information...
Long story short, he told that initially, the Vestonians and Bergonians trapped in the Gray Foothills tried to storm the fortress, but all of their attempts proved unsuccessful. The most decisive n died first, followed by the most desperate, and for the past few months there hadn’t been any attempts at all. The Atalians themselves had never ventured any attempt on the citadel at all either, preferring to starve the enemy out instead.
Actually, Viscount di Revel inford of exactly how the Gray Reaper had managed to take Chateau Gardien in the first place. He did it with the help of so spies he planted in the ranks of the fortress’ garrison. At the appointed ti, they slaughtered the guards at the gates and let the Grand Master’s n into the fortress. Basically, it was typical “Scarlets” doing their typical thing.
When our army finally arrived outside the walls of the fortress and started building a camp, all the Atalians inside began to file out onto the walls to see us. We were t with loud curses and swearing. They threatened us with imdiate death, or else with horrible tortures.
Their enthusiasm waned sharply, however, when our soldiers rode past the walls towing so wagons behind them — wagons with all the enemy banners we had captured nailed to their sideboards. Among them were the banners of the “Scarlets,” along with the Gray Reaper’s personal standard.
Besides that, the cart in the center had a long shaft embedded perpendicularly into its floorboards, with a big stuffed straw dummy on top wearing Master di Lanzi’s armor. His actual corpse was hanging outside the northern gates of Gondreville. Like it or not, that was how things were done...
So of my people suggested bringing the dead grand master with us to the walls of Chateau Gardien so that the red cloaks could get a good look at their dead leader, but I forbade it. The last thing we needed was to lug a rotting corpse around with us.
The scarecrow in its armor and the captured banners would be enough. Not a sound echoed out from the walls during our demonstration. The defenders were obviously shaken. It would be obvious even to an idiot that the Gray Reaper wouldn’t simply give us his weapons and armor.
Besides, we also brought Viscount di Revel and so of his closest comrades out for the defenders to see, just to make sure there was no doubt whatsoever about what happened to the force that had gone to conquer Gondreville.
After all this, we sent so ambassadors with an official request for them to lay down their arms and open the gates. That could have worked, if the n in the fortress had been regular legionaries under the command of so simple captain. But these n were commanded by one Count di Busco, a man with so sort of close connection to the Order and Master Roberto di Mauri, the commander of that unit of a thousand red cloaks. I already knew about these two n thanks to the captured lieutenant, and Viscount di Revel who later confird the information to be true.
It was no surprise to us, therefore, when our ultimatum was ignored. Well, I thought, that’s that — the pieces are in place. Ti for another ga...
Our army spent the rest of the day engaged in furious activity — or at least that’s what it was supposed to look like. Legionaries with axes and carts headed off for the nearest forests, André de Châtillon’s riders set off through the surrounding countryside as if they were busily gathering intelligence and scouting, and the rest of the n got to work setting up tents — basically, the castle garrison was witness to the flurry of action they would have expected, and that cald them down considerably.
Most likely (and just like Cesare di Nobile before them), the Atalian commanders weren’t expecting any offensive action from us for at least a few days. Too bad for them...
Darkness had settled over the valley, and the hubbub in our camp had subsided, when suddenly a frenzy of activity broke out along the walls of the castle. The reason? The drawbridge that controlled entrance through the only pair of gates had sohow burst into fla. I had given Ignia and Vaira a free hand to do whatever they saw fit, and the fairy sisters got to work with fiery enthusiasm (no pun intended). First they burned the drawbridge, then the gates themselves.
Like a wild beast, the fire raged across the wooden beams, wrapping its bright-red fangs all around them. Sparks flew up into the night sky, making it look like there was a huge teor shower happening. The Atalians quickly gathered into a big group to extinguish the blaze, but sohow it seed like the water they were dumping on the fire was actually making it burn MORE fiercely — almost as if it were lamp oil instead of water.
The heat from the flas was so intense that the tal components of the bridge actually started to bend and groan, creating a baleful symphony of destruction. Smoke filled the air, and soon the air was hot and difficult to breathe. The soldiers on the wall were coughing and covering their faces with rags in an effort to avoid suffocating.
anwhile, as if by the wave of a magic wand, our camp had co to life like a gigantic anthill. At a safe distance from the enemy’s arrows and ballista bolts, our soldiers began preparing for an assault.
The officers delegated tasks to their subordinates; with military precision, they began preparing the carts we had been keeping hidden in the woods the whole ti, which had a crucial role to play in our plan. Every cart was filled to the brim with fascines — big, fat bundles of branches and underbrush designed to fill in the moat around the castle.
Right next to them, other units were preparing sections of a mobile bridge and flooring to make it easy to cross. These fairly-primitive tools, which had been quickly thrown together by Gondreville’s artisans, were designed so as to make them easy to assemble and disassemble in the shortest possible ti. So of the artisans had to co with us, to fine-tune their work, perform constant checks, and make sure that their products would be dependable and ready for imdiate use.
A little farther ahead, there were so wide protective screens to protect those who would be assigned to fill in the moats. Jacques Chamot and his ballistan were preparing their siege equipnt, too. Soon it would be ti for them to zero in their devices with so test shots.
Long story short, our camp was dominated by a tense but focused atmosphere. The knocking sound of hamrs, the clang of steel, the whinnying of horses, people shouting, and the groaning of wooden components all rged into a single rhythm.
As I watched from a distance, I activated invisibility and moved out toward the fortress’ eastern wall. That, according to Viscount di Revel, was the least-approachable side of Chateau Gardien.
Which wasn’t surprising. Making it to the top of the wall at that spot would require an assaulting force to first overco several yards of sheer cliff face, then an equally-high section of facing wall. In other words, this wasn’t where the defenders would be expecting us to approach from.
Right behind ca the “Savages,” moving in total silence, along with the best rock-climbers from among the Glenns. During the nightti training we did in Gondreville, the rtonians showed us so truly wondrous feats of dexterity and endurance.
And once we made it to the foot of the cliff and stopped amid a small field of moss-covered boulders, the rope-laden Glenns were the first to begin the ascent.
Their movents were precise and confident. Every ti they reached out for an outcrop or crack in the rock, it always looked graceful and totally planned from the beginning. With amazing lightness, they flitted up past even the most difficult spots, where every movent required maximum concentration and physical preparedness.
Sohow, they managed to find the most dependable spots, even where it didn’t seem like there were any. Their bodies almost seed to rge into the cliff face.
Watching them climb was like watching so high-risk circus performance, where every new move sent a small jolt of adrenaline coursing through my blood.
Finally, the dark outlines of the Glenns started reaching the battlents at the top of the wall and disappearing between them. Not long thereafter, ropes ca slithering down toward us. It was our turn...
* * *
Still invisible, but with my blades already drawn, I crept silently down a passageway. MY gaze was fixed on the tower in front of , where three sentries in red cloaks were standing, totally engrossed in what was happening at the gate. They didn’t even seem to suspect the approach of our unit of strykers.
With minimal noise that mixed seamlessly into the general sound of the night, I crept up to the first sentry. A lunge... An instantaneous, precise blow. Two more lungers — and all three sentries slumped to the floor.
I glanced at the tower off to our left. For just an instant, Sigurd’s face flashed through one of the arrow slits. My bodyguard had taken out the sentries on his side at almost the sa exact mont as I had.
It was ti for the tower on the right to fall. Kurt was already there. Several heartbeats later, the commander of the “Savage Hearts” gave the signal. And that was that: the eastern section of the wall was ours.
I looked back at the section of the wall where we had originally co up. The dark silhouettes of the Glenns kept appearing, one after the other, before breaking off into units and fanning out into their positions. So of them were already hurriedly dragging bundles behind them, bound with ropes and containing big stocks of arrows. A few minutes later, our archers began taking position in all the towers we had just taken.
anwhile, the fayret and efirel finished off the drawbridge below us. Its carbonized timbers began flying apart as Maitre Chamot’s stone projectiles slamd into them. The fiery tornado just kept getting stronger, and soon it moved on to the gates.
The defenders weren’t even trying to put out the fire anymore. Since the heat was making it impossible to remain anywhere near the towers at the gates, the Atalians regrouped and moved back. Unfortunately for them, their new positions were very close to the towers we had just taken control of.
From above, we had a perfect view of the enemy archers as they started to file out onto the walls from the hallway that led out of the gate tower. None of them seed to expect the gates to survive this onslaught. The Atalians’ commanders were preparing to fight inside the fortress. A little further on, at the end of the hallway leading from the gate, so figures in red cloaks were flitting around this way and that. Driven on by their officers, they were hurriedly getting into formation.
Atalian archers were streaming toward the bases of our towers in streams.
“Our move,” I mouthed as I gave the signals to the Glenns, who were already prepared to fire.
Almost at the exact mont that our first volley of several hundred arrows slamd into the unsuspecting Atalians below us, the burning gates trembled under a massively powerful blow. That was Vaira, using her air ram. Or that was how we were referring to her new skill for the ti being, at least. It was still fairly weak, and it sucked up a massive amount of energy, but the efirel was elated with her new abilities nonetheless. The progress our little team of fairies had made was on full display.
Expecting the next blow at any mont, I turned all my attention to the gates. In true vision, I could see a flickering, space-distorting ball of energy flying through the air. It looked sothing like a section of superheated air that you might see above the surface of the desert in the middle of the day. This was Ignia, making another move.
The ball whirled around and hissed right toward the burning gates. The impact wasn’t as powerful as the air ram, but the gates cracked and shuddered once again. Their old, fire-weakened timbers started to break and crumble like toys under the hand of so unseen giant.
The flas grew brighter at the mont of impact. Fire and smoke seed to be wearing themselves into one big wave that was slowly opening a breach in the wood. Chunks of wood and red-hot tal were flying all over the place, killing and maiming the fortress’ defenders.
A collective roar erupted from our army as two carts full of fascines moved forward to the edge of the moat, protected by their mobile shields. A little while later, the hastily-assembled bridge was in place, and the first legionaries burst into the fortress, covered by our archers...
This was the “check” that would inevitably be followed by a “mate...”
* * *
Sowhere in the environs of Chateau Gardien...
Valdar tad his first shade when he was just eight years old. It was back in those distant years when he lived in the north, in a small settlent near the frontier.
Little Valdar found a soul in an oak grove one day while he was out gathering berries with his older brothers. As often happened, Valdar had beco distracted while gathering and gotten himself lost.
He wandered through the forest all evening, calling to his brothers for help, and in the end he wandered even deeper into the undergrowth. Eventually, he stumbled upon an abandoned hut, where he decided to spend the night.
Tired, hungry, and scared, Valdar squirreled himself away on an old, moss-covered, cobweb-shrouded cot and tried to sleep. It was then, in the middle of the night, that he first heard the call of a shade. It was weak and pitiful. And it was coming from under the ground. It just so happened that the voice calling out to Valdart had once belonged to a child.
Ever since childhood, Valdar had heard fairy tales and stories about forest spirits that pretended to be children and lured lone travelers into the forest so they could devour their souls. So he tried his best to ignore the pitiful cry from beneath the ground. He even put his fingers in his ears. But later, he realized that that didn’t help. The mysterious, pathetic voice asking for help kept ringing in little Valdar’s head, right up until sunrise.
Early in the morning, when the sun had reached the tops of the trees and things around him didn’t seem so scary anymore, Valdar finally decided to answer the call, which was getting weaker with every beat of his heart.
Valdar listened to the voice as he wandered around the ruined hovel, and in the end his efforts t with success. He found the cellar that had once belonged to the forr owners of the hovel. After descending the earthen steps, he saw that sothing at the back edge of the cellar was emitting a strange glow.
When Valdar appeared, the strange light began to take shape. Sure enough, it was one of those spirits from the stories. Only it didn’t attack Valdar; on the contrary, it asked him for help. It asked him to free it from a trap that had been left by a witch who had lived there many years before. The frontier spirit had almost entirely dissipated by that point, and Valdar’s arrival saved it.
The spirit promised to show Valdar the way ho if he would help it. Further, it promised to serve Valdar, since it could sense magical power in the boy.
Freeing the spirit turned out to be pretty easy. All that was needed was to move a single stone, which had so ancient rune engraved on it. The spirit was as good as its word: it led Valdar out of the forest and promised that it would always be near him, ready to co to his aid the mont he called. After that, people with magical abilities started disappearing from Valdar’s village and the surrounding area...
Frightened by what was happening, the elders asked the local jarl for help. He obliged, and sent a unit with a strange sort of gifted man who found the source of the problem imdiately. He dissolved the shade that had killed all those people; further, he managed to locate its master without too much difficulty.
In the end, Valdar — who didn’t understand anything that was going on — was brought first to the local jarl, then (at the insistence of the Priests of the Frost Temple) sold to the Temple of Hoar the Wicked. That was where Valdar found his new family, and realized for the first ti just how much power he really possessed. And then, just a few years previously, the young servants of the Summoner had made their appearance. There were three of them. Sisters Aisel and Fria, and Brother Keyvan. With their appearance, the Order began to recover so of the lost power that it had once possessed.
The woman with two different-colored eyes by the na of Fria taught Valdar’s new brothers how to gather mana from the true gifted and transform it into the power of the Summoner. The stronger a true gifted person’s gift, the more power the Summoner would give.
Valdar first learned that he would be traveling south with Sister Fria when he returned from the frontier. This ti, he had managed to lure in a pack of several shades, all at the sa ti. After such a long period under the Shadow’s flow, they were very powerful.
At first, Valdar was surprised when he learned of Sister Fria’s goal. So jumped-up young southerner, who was a bastard to boot. With ti, however, as he ca to realize who exactly his traveling companion was hunting, Valdar ca to understand.
For a while, he just wondered at it all. After all, they had the chance to attack and take Renard prisoner several tis. But for so reason, Fria was dragging her feet. Valdar later learned why. She was waiting for this true gifted man, who turned out to be none other than an auring (and therefore one of the enemies of the Summoner from the ancient legends), to gather more strength and beco more powerful.
On this night, however, all that changed. Sister Fria told him that they were going out on the hunt at last. But they weren’t going to kill the auring. Valdar and his shades would have to capture him. From what Sister Fria said, the Summoner needed a true gifted with this kind of power alive, not dead.
Their unit took several weeks to make it to the Gray Foothills. During that ti, Valdar’s shades had grown quite hungry, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that he managed to keep his “pets” from attacking the three strykers in their unit.
They were already camped near Chateau Gardien when a small pack of five werewolves approached them, naively considering their unit to be easy prey. The shades had a true feast that night, and Valdar felt a surge of relief. After all, it was getting to the point where he was seriously considering feeding one of his own brothers to the shades. An idea, by the way, that Sister Fria had first suggested. She even pointed to Brother Olaf, who was the weakest.
Valdar was no longer surprised when he encountered such peculiarities in Sister Fria’s character. He had realized long before that he was dealing with a bloodthirsty, calculating creature that only superficially seed to be human.
When they made it to Chateau Gardien, the auring’s people were already in control of the place. Sohow, he had managed to lift the blockade of the Sapphire Guild’s citadel. Mind you, Sister Fria had warned that such would be the case.
The countryside seed to have co back to life. Locals from all the surrounding towns seed to perceive the transfer of power as a sign of new possibilities to co, and they hurried in toward the Sapphire Citadel to take advantage of new trade prospects.
Carts loaded with fresh fruits, vegetables, grain, and other provisions congregated at the gates, forming chaotic market rows right there beneath the fortress walls.
The air was filled with the slls of fresh-baked bread, herbs, and spices, and the cries of the traders and their custors rged into one big, collective hum. The peasants were bringing in anything they could spare, trying to make a profit in the newly-free trading climate.
It was just such a group of peasants that Valdar and his companions joined up with at a night encampnt about a day’s journey from Chateau Gardien. They were already dressed in peasant hand--downs by the ti they trundled through the fortress’ gates in their old carts, which were laden with bags of simple, unglamorous farm equipnt.
They weren’t admitted to the citadel itself like the rest of the peasants were, but they didn’t need that anyway. While the shades searched for the auring, Valdar and the others tried to blend in with the locals as best they could so as not to attract any suspicion. They set up a small camp near the fortress walls and slowly, carefully started selling stolen pilfered goods, just to keep up appearances.
Within a few days, Valdar knew that the auring lived within the citadel, but that he went out on his own every night beyond the walls and climbed up into the mountains. There, on a wide rock outcrop in a cliff face, he would practice and hone his skills. One could hardly imagine a better opportunity for an attack...
So as not to attract any excess attention during their attempt to capture the auring, Sister Fria didn’t take anyone with her except Valdar. The other strykers stayed behind in the valley, ready for a quick getaway.
When one of the shades inford Valdar that the auring was at his usual spot, he and Sister Fria started their ascent.
They found him at the very top of the cliff, right in the middle of a small expanse of bare stone. The auring was sitting atop a big rock with his eyes closed, his legs crossed, and his back stick-straight. His hands lay on his knees with their palms facing upward. It seed like he wasn’t even breathing.
Valdar froze for a mont in his hiding place behind a big gray boulder. Slowly, he looked around. For so reason, he even sniffed the air. At the last mont, he had a funny sense that there was soone else besides the auring up there with them on the stone outcrop, but the sensation passed quickly. Besides, the shades, who had already surrounded their victims, didn’t sense anything of the sort.
An instant later, Valdar felt Sister Fria’s icy hand settle onto his shoulder like a little iceberg.
It was ti...
The shades understood their master’s ntal order instinctively and rushed simultaneously toward the totally unsuspecting auring. He was still sitting there, eyes closed, seemingly sowhere very far away in his mind.
Valdar jumped out from behind the boulder where he was hiding. He dug his fingertips feverishly into the boulder’s rough surface, watching with bated breath as his “pets” attacked. Another mont, and this nightmare would finally be over. They would have the strange, dangerous creature in their power, and then they would take him off to the Ice Temple. For a mont, Valdar even thought about how this would raise his profile among the Brothers. Maybe he would even beco grand master soday. After all, there was no way their Order could capture an auring without his gift.
Valdar’s daydreaming was suddenly interrupted by a calm but sonorous voice. It was coming from their enemy.
“Finally... I thought you’d never co.”
As the auring’s eyes opened, a sarcastic smile spread across his lips, which sent an icy shiver down Valdar’s spine. In the next mont, several things happened at once.
Before the shades could attack from their positions surrounding their victim, the auring’s body seed to literally vanish into thin air. A heartbeat later, he was standing just a few feet from the center of the rock where he had been sitting a mont before, sword and dagger already drawn.
Another heartbeat, and the spot where the auring had been sitting was occupied by a massive, dark blotch, which transford in the course of several seconds into the shape of an enormous Shadow bear.
Valdar recognized it imdiately: the Black Terror of the Svartvald!
But how was that possible? His shades should have sensed the presence of such a guard!
anwhile, the massive, monolithic bear slid quietly down the rough surface of the huge rock, leaving a trail of otherworldly energy and power in its wake. A rageful fire burned in its eyes. Its terrifyingly-long fangs and claws were aglow with barrier mana.
Without a mont’s hesitation, the spirit of the Black Terror of the Svartvald lunged at the shades, which had turned from predator to prey in an instant. Its claws and teeth tore Valdar’s “pets” to pieces as if they were nothing more than dust bunnies. Every bite, every blow caused them to dissipate into nothingness.
“You’re full of surprises, Fox,” Valdar heard Sister Fria’s voice from where she stood opposite the auring. “The Summoner will be very pleased when you finally end up on the Altar of the Ice Temple.”
She held a sword in each hand; both of their short, curved blades were wrapped in thick, black mist. Valdar was spellbound as he watched, but tried not to make a sound. The auring wasn’t wearing his armor — he wouldn’t be able to withstand the Summoner’s magic for long!
“And you, I see, are pretty confident about your own strength,” the auring snickered in reply. “You demon-worshippers really have a problem with that. Hm... Although as far as I can see, you’re a little bit different. Right? I’m curious — do your so-called brothers have any idea that their sister is one of the Younger Hrimthurs?”
Valdar felt his fingers go numb; they were still gripped tight on the surface of the boulder. It couldn’t be...
“Oh!” Sister Fria’s eyebrows shot upward. “So there are still so first-born who rember us? Heh heh... It’s probably that little nisse who’s shacked up in your den. You’ll have to check in with her later, when this is all over. Ask her how her last master died. Although actually, she’ll find out for herself soon enough... And while we’re at it, I’ll grab that seer you stole from us...”
As he listened to the conversation, Valdar felt like he had forgotten how to breathe... The ancient legends he had heard from the elder priests were coming to life before his eyes... And also, he suddenly felt completely alone. The last shade dissipated into the air, and with that, the spirit of the Shadow bear lunged at Sister Fria. As did the auring.
The battle erupted imdiately. Sister Fria moved with incredible speed and dexterity — her black blades emitted a barely-audible sound like that of the whistling wind as they whirled through the air and slashed the gigantic Shadow spirit’s big, dark, translucent body in several places. Each blow, every little movent in the fight looked to Valdar like part of a dance of death, full of grace and power.
He could feel the Shadow magic on his skin as it rippled out through the air. He could sense every little vibration created by the two opponents’s magical auras as they collided with one another.
The tempo of the fight gradually increased. They were moving so quickly that their outlines began to blur into the air around them. Whenever their auras touched, it would create flashes of energy.
The auring’s sword and dagger were glowing with a warm, lilac-purple light, and they left enigmatic whirls and patterns in the air as they moved. Valdar had never seen a technique like this before. Every swing and thrust the auring perford was full of confidence and mastery.
Against this background, it was clear that Fria was less graceful as a swordfighter, although she was clearly faster and physically stronger than her opponent. Every blow she landed hurled the auring back as if his body were weightless.
The bear was already gone; it hadn’t done her any damage at all. But it had done its duty nevertheless — it had distracted Fria for long enough that the auring was able to seize the initiative and launch into a blistering, unrelenting series of attacks.
Suddenly, in what seed to be the heat of the battle, the two opponents stopped. Breathing heavily, the auring threw down what remained of his sword; constant hamring against death magic had turned it into a pathetic stump in his hand.
“So you see that resistance is pointless?” Fria asked in a loud voice, full of mockery.
The auring didn’t answer. Silently, he assud a low stance, like that of a fox preparing for its last jump, and pointed his curved dagger out in front of him.
Sister Fria’s dark aura began to thicken all around her until it eventually ford a protective cocoon. The auring suddenly burst into a lightning-quick jump, and with that the battle continued. This ti, though, he was obviously moving more slowly than Fria was. With every blow and jump, his strength was ebbing. His dagger, which was made of so sort of Shadow beast’s bone, had broken, but the auring kept lunging and dodging his opponent’s attacks nonetheless.
Eventually, there ca a mont when the auring tried to lunge to the side to dodge a blow, but Fria was simply too fast for him. A savage blow sent the fox rolling along the ground, right to the edge of the outcrop. Taking advantage of his stunned state, she started hamring him with a series of quick, precise blows that forced the fox to concentrate all his energies purely on defense.
Valdar watched, still barely breathing. He knew that every blow Fria landed might be the decisive one. The battle had reached its climax, and the outco might beco clear at any mont.
Right at that mont, the auring’s body suddenly spasd and lurched as a golden mist spread out to cover it. He began to scream in pain, and soon fell to his knees. Eyes wide with shock, Fria froze for a second, then took a step back.
She barely had ti to do so before the auring lunged forward, still screaming in pain. His hands were ablaze with golden fla, and the magical haze surrounding them started to extend out and take the shape of long, slightly-curved claws.
The dark cocoon wrapped around Sister Fria’s body started to shake as a hail of violent blows rained down onto it. The auring’s golden claws soon tore her defense to pieces like a dirty, threadbare old cloak.
Fria tried to block his blows or dodge them, but her opponent had just gotten a second wind, and he was stronger and faster than her. The tables had turned.
Valdar heard Fria’s frightened voice shouting sothing to the auring in an unfamiliar language, but her opponent was deaf to her cries. A lightning-quick blow tore Fria’s throat to ribbons and sent her head flying off her torso. The battle was suddenly over.
Panting, the auring stood there for a mont, just staring at Fria’s dead body; he seed to expect her to stand back up and miraculously rise from the dead. Then, having finally realized that it was all over, he sank to his knees with a heavy sigh.
Valdar moved ever so slightly; almost imdiately, he heard a quiet rustle behind his back. He was about to turn around, but a sudden sharp pain in the back of his head sent him plunging into darkness. Valdar didn’t even have ti to realize what was happening before his limp body plopped to the ground. A mont later, he was already furiously trying to determine where the threat was coming from, but darkness was already swallowing his mind, tearing it away from reality...
* * *
The Gray Foothills
The environs of the Sapphire Citadel
As I knelt there on my knees, I could feel it with every cell of my body as a golden energy surged through my channels, transforming my entire energy system in the process. A hellish pain was burning from the inside. How the hell am I still conscious, I wondered?
Breathe in... Breathe out... Grit your teeth and get through this!
A sudden rustle from the boulder where the soulcatcher was hiding. Ah, no... False alarm... It’s Sigurd.
My bodyguard walked over and squatted down next to .
“Did it work?” He asked, looking square in the eyes.
Instead of answering, I just stretched a hand out in front of myself and created a “fox paw” out of golden energy in midair. Or that’s what I called it, at least...
“Congratulations, Your Lordship,” he said with a note of admiration in his voice as he stared at my energy claws.
“Thanks for not intervening,” I said. “I know it was hard, but you kept control and stayed out of it.”
Sigurd just nodded and threw a quick, hate-filled glance back at the headless body behind us.
“Did you capture the other three?” I asked.
“One,” Sigurd replied. “Had to kill two of them.”
“Losses?”
“Nope,” Sigurd shook his head as he helped to my feet.
It was hard for to keep myself together. It felt like I was being forced between the big stone rollers people in these parts used to dry their clothing. I declined the bottle of healing elixir that was offered to . It wouldn’t help. The fire raging in my energy system would swallow up any magic it encountered without even noticing it.
“Good,” I nodded as I took my first step on unbending legs. “The main thing is that we have their soulcatcher. I’m sure he’s got a lot of interesting stories to tell.”
As we descended along the mountain path, the sun made its appearance above the mountains and lit up the expanse of the Gray Foothills. I looked down at the movent on the road below us, which stretched from Chateau Gardien to the Sapphire Citadel. It was a unit of several dozen riders.
Judging by the number of brightly-colored outfits, feathers, and banners among them, it was soone very important. As the cavalcade drew closer, I finally managed to get a look at those banners. Besides those of the Dukes de Gondy and de Bauffremont, there was also the personal banner of Prince Philippe.
Well, I thought... It’s not hard to guess what they want. All I need to hear now is what they’re willing to offer in return...
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