GODSWAR: The Mask of Ares, Chapter 4

Urelle was back home and everything was fine...

 

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Chapter 4.

Quester leapt, evading the streak of bladed energy that burned waist-high through the air. But even as he did, Urelle's hand reached, formed a claw, and the very air stretched, as though she had grasped its substance like a rippling sheet and pulled.

A blast of air caught him in mid-jump, tore at his wings and body, tipped him over. He did not land with his usual grace, but tumbled like a human who had tripped over an unexpected branch; the impact caused air to whistle out of him in a high-pitched shriek.

Ingram had been closing on the girl from the other side, but his feet abruptly slipped out from under him; he scrabbled incredulously at the ground, but though it appeared to still be the grass and stone they had been sparring on, Quester saw Ingram's fingers fail to gain purchase. The girl simply stepped aside to let him pass, on his way to a full-speed collision with a boulder ahead of him.

But neither Ingram nor Quester were out of the match; and as Quester rolled to his feet, Ingram's arm snapped out, and the anai-k'ota broke apart, one of its crescent blades on a chain that whipped around Urelle's leg, jerking her from her feet and turning her into an anchor that slowed Ingram's headlong flight and pulled him from the unnaturally-slick surface.

Quester closed with the girl, even as the chain fell from her leg with startling ease. She gave a yelp of surprise and dove aside.

Almost he fell for the trick; but instead of smelling her scent growing more distant, he felt it getting closer than it should. Illusion!

He kicked out, and felt his leg connect with something that went "Oooof!" Urelle's duplicate disappeared, leaving the real girl sprawled on the ground, curling up around her stomach.

"Urelle! Are you all right?" Ingram said, dropping his weapon and running to her side. "Quester, you have to be careful!"

"I'm … all right. Just… got the wind knocked out of me," Urelle gasped, her face a shade paler than its normal dark-wood tint, leaning against Ingram for a moment. She swallowed and forced herself to stand, though she looked more than a bit wobbly. "Don't blame Quester. Happens in sparring, right?" She managed a smile.

"Indeed, Urelle," Quester replied. "And Ingram?"

"Yes?"

"Look down."

The lavender-haired boy saw a phantom knife protruding from his gut. He flushed darkly under his olive tan. "Oh."

"An excellent lesson," Victoria Vantage said from her seat on the overlook. "Urelle had not yielded, and you allowed your sentiment, and her apparent helplessness, to place you in the perfect position, young Camp-Bel. I think your trainers might be a trifle disappointed."

They'd give me a sound drubbing and assign me a week of drills, that's what they'd do, came Ingram's chagrined voice in his head.

In fairness, my friend, we are all friends here, and this is sparring, not life and death. But by the Nest and Wave and Forest, she plays her games to win!

A flash of Ingram's white smile. She does that.

"Still, you all did well. Not that I doubted your skills – you've proven them well enough on our way. But you sometimes see new things in practice."

Quester bowed, first to Victoria and then to Urelle. "And surely I have seen new things. You are a more formidable magician than we had suspected, Urelle. Versatile, indeed."

"I find the speed more impressive," Ingram said. "You pulled off a lot of spells in the middle of combat, in instants. You must have done a lot of work to optimize them, and a lot more practice to make them something you could do while people come charging at you."

Still rubbing her gut and moving a bit gingerly, Urelle smiled warmly at Ingram. "Well, yes, I was reading a lot of the, you know, classics—"

"—The Seedling Heroes, Singer of Names, Armor of Chaos, that kind of thing, right?" Quester had heard of one of those titles, and thought he knew a few similar titles, but he had never read any. Perhaps I should.

"Right! And if there's anything that just jumps out at you in those tales is that even the best wizard ends up with things right in her face eventually, so you've just got to be able to cast your spells fast and perfect, even when someone sticks a dagger in you."

"That is most certainly true," Victoria said. The tall woman looked down, then suddenly gave a grin and leapt from the overlook – a balcony at least ten feet off the ground – to land perfectly before them. "As the spellslingers I knew often learned the hard way."

"So, did you come down to join us?" Ingram asked.

"I am very tempted, young man. But I'm hardly dressed or equipped for the occasion." Her scent was definitely amused.

"I'll bet you have at least two weapons on you, and your dress there has at least a second-circle enchantment to protect it – and you," Ingram said.

Her eyebrows climbed high. "Indeed? And what odds would you give on that?"

"One weapon's in that… bracelet you wear," he said, pointing to a broad, elaborately-worked vinework of silver or platinum, set with green gems. "I don't know exactly what kind of weapon or how it's in something that small, but I'd bet… bet my anai-k'ota that it's there. And you've got a knife hidden under your skirts, strapped to the inside of your calf. Even odds you've got at least one more on you, too, maybe small of your back or in one of the little pouches at your waist.

"As far as the dress, it sheds dirt far too well, and the way you jumped showed you hadn't any worry about it getting damaged. Given that I know you pay attention to the condition of your clothes, even when on the road, that tells me they're magicked up in some way, and it's protective. Given that you're a former Adventurer and you aren't poor, you could afford…" his eyes narrowed, "…afford the best, and wow, that's Artan treesilk, so I'll up that guess, it's at least third-circle because anything less would be an insult to treesilk, which is stronger than steel to begin with."

Urelle was looking back and forth between them; Quester could sense her surprise … and that of Victoria Vantage, as well.

"You win full points," she said at last. "You are quite correct in every particular. I admit to being impressed. How?"

"Camp-Bel training. We are bodyguards and general protectors; being able to judge someone's potential as a threat, including telling how well armed and protected they are? That's absolutely central to our training. If you can judge your opponent well enough, you can defeat them. That's what…" Quester smelled a familiar half-melancholy, half-fond scent, "…what my best teacher told me."

"I would not go quite that far," Victoria said with a wry smile. "There were several times I judged my opponent very carefully and my conclusion was that I was about to have my head and all my other extremities handed to me if I did not find a means to retreat with expediency. But your training certainly shows itself."

Ingram bowed, obviously pleased. That partly makes up for my sparring stupidity.

Only if you apply both lessons in the field, my friend.

A silent, rueful laugh of acknowledgement was the reply.

"Well," Victoria said, "I think we should have a—"

She broke off as a lightly-armored figure rounded the bend in the path leading to the new Vantage estate.

The figure was running, not merely at sprinting speed but at a pace that told of magical enhancement. Brown hair streamed out from beneath a protective helm, and despite his speed it was evident that he was also alert to all around him. More worrisome to Quester was the fact that the man's armor was emblazoned with the stylized lightning bolt starburst that was the symbol of the Sauran King.

One of the King's Guard, Ingram thought at the same time. With courier enchantments, I think.

The man did not slacken his pace until he reached Victoria, at which point he came to an instant halt and saluted. "Lady Victoria Vantage, correct?" he asked.

The older woman returned the salute with a bow. "I am."

"The Marshal of Hosts sends his most urgent and earnest plea that you will attend him immediately at T'Teranahm Chendoron."

Victoria's left eyebrow rose. "Toron wants me there immediately? What is the urgency?"

The man hesitated, glancing around at the others, eyes lingering with momentary surprise on Quester.

"I will be keeping no secrets from these unless I must, sir," Victoria went on, noting his gaze. "This is my niece and ward, Urelle Vantage, and these are my current aides and bodyguards, Zarathanton Guilded through examination by Toron himself."

He took a breath. "Understand, then, all of you, that what I am about to say has not been announced and will not be until it must be." He hesitated a moment, and Quester could scent a stunned dread, one made stronger by having to verbalize it. "The… The Sauran King is dead."

For a moment no one moved. No one spoke. Even Quester's mind seemed to have … frozen, unable to grasp the import of those words.

"Dead?" whispered Victoria.

The word seemed meaningless in context. The Sauran King of the State of the Dragon God had ruled since time out of mind – so long that even the incredibly long-lived Artan had none among them old enough to remember a time when he had not reigned, so long that at least two Chaoswars had passed since he had first ascended the throne, so long that his name was nearly forgotten, as there was no need of it; he was the King, had always been King, would always be King.

Quester managed, finally, to speak. "How?"

The messenger shook his head. "Still being investigated, sir. But… I think we can all understand that it was no natural event."

"An assassination, then," Ingram said, his face gray; that, Quester knew, was no surprise given the mission of the Camp-Bels; assassination of a ruler was the nightmare they all lived to prevent.

"It would seem so, sir. Lady Vantage?"

She gave a short, sharp nod. "Yes, of course, I will come directly. I presume the full wards have been activated, and thus why mortal runners are being sent?"

"Exactly, Ma'am."

"Then please continue on your business; I will ride to the Palace straightaway."

The messenger gave another salute, and then turned, speeding off back down the road.

"Athena's Shield protect us." Ingram's voice was barely audible. "Who would dare? Who could?"

"May Elbon and the Sixteen grant that we can find out," Victoria said, moving towards the small stables.

Urelle, too, was pale beneath the dark-wood complexion. "What's happening to the world? Mother, Father, and Rion murdered by the Justiciars, the Sauran King assassinated…"

"I do not know, child," Victoria said, throwing open the door and entering. She caressed the beak of the golden-plumed sithigorn inside, then led the swift riding-bird out. "But I will do my best to find out. I expect I won't be back until tomorrow morning. Close the gate behind me and lock it."

She vaulted smoothly onto the sithigorn's back and clucked a signal; instantly the bird bent forward and sprinted away, leaving a small trail of dust with its speed. In moments, bird and rider had disappeared.

Quester swung the gate shut and fastened it, feeling the wards rise about the estate, and turned back. His antennae tested the air nervously, but for what, he did not know. He could not imagine what else there was to fear.

But somehow, he thought, the worst was yet to come.