It didn’t take them long to reach the edge of the encampment, and once there it took even less for the fight they had left behind to catch up to them. Kieran wasted no time. Though she could barely make out that the blonde Snake was attempting to speak with her, the brunette had already turned on her heel and begun to scope out her surroundings. There was a pretty decent mass of people gathered. Much less of a group than the peasants that had already made their way to the inside of the mountain of course, but fairly large nonetheless.
She very briefly allowed herself a moment to think. Tucker had always instilled in her that when it came to the nobles, it was always within their best interest not to seem them as fellow people, but as the propagators of the back-breaking labor that was so often handed down to those lesser than themselves.
“See not the person that stands before you, sister, but the fineries with which they surround themselves, and always remember the struggle of those who had to provide them.”
It had been easy to take his words to heart having been relegated to street-urchins by the workings of the very governing body most of the nobles belonged to or supported in one way or another. It had even been easy to allow the discontent to turn to hate while within the confines of the mountain. A hate that would eventually make it a simple task to eliminate people like the them for the Old Lady.
But standing here now, none of them wore any of the things that would normally mark them as the nobility they were. Now, as the heavy foot-falls of the trolls made the ground shake beneath them all, there was no clear indicator among the many faces to distinguish which belonged to the ones granted closeness to the Royal family because of their nobility and which belonged to the families of those who were forced to share the same living space because they were bound to serve them.
If there had been little time before, there was no time now.
“Everyone! Listen! The trolls are closing in on us quickly and staying put is not an option if you plan on seeing the sun rise again. There is a fissure within the mountain wall that will allow for travel to the other side without the need to go around it. The trolls will be too busy trying to get to the gold within this camp and that of the Royal family so the path to the fissure should be mostly clear. Umbra here, will lead you directly to it. We’ll do what we can here, but the lot of you have got to get a move on.”
Kieran was less than surprised when the majority of the group turned to look at the Kingsguard before making any motion. Almost as if on queue a boulder came crashing down, taking two of the guard with it.
Kieran turned to her left in time to see the sword what was being thrown her way by the blonde Snake. Snatching the blade from the air, the mage swiftly began to aid as the trolls rolled in closer. Thinking mostly of people she’d just sent off to the mountain for safety -the irony of which she was sure to enjoy later- Kieran began with helping clear a path for them. She along with three others took on the nearest troll. After the fourth time of meeting the ground face-first, the mage’s frustration was such that she engulfed the blade she had been lent in flames and just ran head on at the beast. She noticed that the creature attempted to side-step her, but she herself was too fast for it. The blazing blade made simple work of entering and slicing through the troll’s midsection.
As the thing fell back, an idea dawned on her. She ran to the nearest guards and placed her hand on their blades setting them alight. At the startled look of confusion on the men’s faces, she said, “They don’t like fire.” Taking off in a run, Kieran went to any and all fighters she could find and set their weapons ablaze as well. She would have extended the courtesy to those few nobles who had unsheathed their own swords and opted to stay and fight as well, but their blades too clean. After all, it was the blood that covered the others that had allowed for a flame to burn.
She was bruised, she was bloody, and if the sticky feeling covering almost half-her face was anything to go by, it was very likely that she had an open wound or two. But the adrenaline of having found a way to somewhat even the score against the trolls was too much to allow her to really notice any of these things. With her mind zeroing in on eliminating as many of these hideous beasts as possible, she raised her blade and charged back into the fray once more. Though she couldn’t see her, she could feel Umbra and was reassured by the fact that the wolf would lead the others to the mountain pass. This allowed Kieran to do something she wasn’t fond of; she let her rage take control.
Kieran felt it well up from the very depths of her being, but this time she did nothing to taper it off. Her sights on another troll, she took a running start at it before dropping to her knees and sliding down between its tree trunk legs slicing clean through one of its achilles tendons and causing to fall down. Once on the ground, it became an easy target for the others and she moved on to the next. Lost in her own little world for the moment, she almost failed to hear the sound of the horn signaling the retreat of the other trolls.
She turned to find the Snake from before somehow not looking any worse for wear. “The trolls are no longer a threat, but the fires are spreading dangerously close to the Royal camp. Come now, your King needs you!” spoke the blonde as she grabbed at Kieran’s arm to drag her along.
Kieran herself would have put up more of a fight were it not for the thought that Tucker would be caught in the flames as well. Reaching the camp, it was clear to see that the flames were not the only thing that they had to worry about. Kieran set out to kill as many blazes as she could while the Snake quickly ran off in a different direction; however, the fire mage did not get very far.
The closer to the center of the action that she got, the harder it became for her to use her magic. Red summer, she thought as suddenly the weight of the entire day before came crashing down on her. Kieran braced herself for yet another unwanted meeting with the ground, but the meeting never came. Instead she her right arm be hoisted up and brought around a pair of leather-clad shoulders, while another arm made its way around her waist to help keep her up. “You’re not done yet, mage.” came the familiar voice.
As they made their way through the crowd, Kieran began to make out the King towering over someone. She felt a pang of fear as she locked eyes with her brother, but made no effort to fight her way through to him. In her state, she was useless and would only end up aggravating the situation even further. Instead she kept her fear to herself, and her features unreadable. As was usual, she would take her queue from her brother’s lead.
He thought it would be easier, simpler – cleaner. Tucker had witnessed it hundreds of times; one instant the heart beat and then in the next it ceased, air left the body and whatever spark made up a soul would go with it. For a man sentenced to death by Tiberius himself, the dying seemed to be taking quite some time. It was quiet, the metal mage knew this; the song that had been sung to him since childhood had gone silent.
The disquiet couldn’t be shaken, it only grew heavier and heavier upon Tucker’s shoulders as he began to understand his situation fully.
He was aware of few physical sensations; there was no ground beneath his feet, no feeling in his hands, a dull pang he likened to hunger, the smell of iron reminded him of blood, undoubtedly his own and a sharp pain in his ears that made the room turn upside down and over again.
Was this what it meant to die?
He felt his heart beating strong in his chest, felt air fill his lungs with every labored breath and after a time Tucker felt he could open his eyes, if he so desired. At present, he did not. As the events of his encounter with Tiberius came back to him the silence that had fallen over him had not passed but the twisting feeling beneath his veins had – Red Summer’s effects were no longer gripping him but the silence was still deafening. He could hear birds chirping, the distant rattle of a serpent and the faint echo of footfalls on gravel; but the magic he had breathed like air whispered nothing.
His powers were restricted, perhaps even removed. Tucker had never heard of the latter being performed successfully so he was more inclined to believe the former.
Of only two things Tucker could be certain; in his greatest efforts – in his ultimate goal, he had failed utterly and completely and now for that failure he was left at the mercy of those who’s King he had tried so fervently to slay. By now the Snakes would have concluded that Tucker was tied to the trolls unexpected onslaught; the pheromones that had lured them could easily be traced and it was not a difficult to surmise that someone they were now linking to the murder of Prince Remus could be responsible for such an act.
He wondered if they had made the connection to Kieran as well. They were eternally at one another’s sides and had already earned their fair share of suspicion with their uncommon skillsets. If Tucker was so guilty, then his sister would be seen as an accomplice to his treason. The blood of every life lost against the trolls and every life he’d taken with his own hands ran over them both.
Tucker could only hope that Icarus had seen her to safety and that Kieran had had the sense to flee and save herself. He did not doubt that she was alive and well, if it was possible for two souls to be so mortally linked then Tucker was certain that if she had been struck down then his heart would stop as well. The air would leave his lungs and whatever spark had made him the monster he was seen as today would too leave with it.
A shock ran across his body and Tucker’s eyes shot open, his skin burned like fire then pricked before he shuttered at the cold. Dripping wet his ice blue eyes lowered on the man in front of him.
A Snake with dead, gray eyes was fixated upon him. Tucker was not familiar with this creature, this beast of a man who seemed to wear cruelty like a cloak over his armor. If Tucker was standing upright this Snake would have towered over even him, his shoulders were easily twice the width of any average man. Nestled between those broad shoulders was a haggard face with no neck to speak of, it looked as though the man had seen hundreds of battles and had lived to tell about each of them. He was older than Tucker knew most Snakes to be, after their thirties and sometimes forties a Snake usually took up a post, or were seen into the ranks of Vipers.
“I was having such a beautiful dream… Victoria was there… And Onus was there… And you-“ Tucker was cut off as the Snake to the man’s immediate right backhanded him, the Snake’s gauntlet connected with Tucker’s jaw and the metal mage instantly saw stars and tasted more blood.
“You’ve no right to so much as speak their names, mage.” The ogre said, his gruff voice ran over Tucker like sand paper, he imagined that mage was meant to be an insult of some kind. It made sense, such an accusation in Roewyn could easily result in execution but Tucker wasn’t inspired in the least to believe for an instant that this ape of a person had ever chosen words carefully.
He knew what they wanted; it was why Tucker was still alive. They wanted information, they wanted to know he was working for – who he was working with. Tucker’s reward for his failing was that he’d be left here to die, a Friend worked in the background, behind the scenes. He’d often been warned about a frontal approach, that he was arrogant and headstrong – both were true but they’d never led him to failure. Only glory.
No Friends would be coming to save him, perhaps this was a test sent from the Old Woman as well. Vindictive as she was, it was nothing to sacrifice a pawn in the long game of taking down a King.
“You live for one reason.” Footfalls brought the man closer and Tucker watched with feigned interest as the beast drew a blade. “To provide us with information… Now…” He drew the knife to Tucker’s throat and spoke in such a way that was barely above a whisper – so faint that Tucker had to strain slightly to hear, his hearing still damaged in at least one of his ears. “You’re going to cooperate, or we’re going to remove pieces of you and feed them to your overgrown pigeon.”
A vein emerged in Tucker’s forehead before his eye twitched, a thousand-thousand ways he would torture this beast if he so much as harmed a feather, but the telltale expression faded as a manic smile spread across his features. He imagined himself looking deranged, both dried and fresh blood dancing across his face in the dank light of the tent, his ice blue eyes – bright with life and excitement while the smile of an absolute lunatic threatened to rip into their throats with his bare teeth.
“I’ll admit it took a bit to restrain it – powerful bit of magic you performed on it. Killed three good men before we were able to get it in a cage, now that we have it we’ve been in a bit of a debate on how exactly it should die…” The ogre paced around Tucker and with every step the metal mage grew even more aware of his movements. The way he carried himself, the false sense of superiority that hung over him; under different circumstances it would be amusing to watch the peacock strut. Despite the grin upon his face however, Tucker was far from amused.
“Can’t get close enough to its neck to break it; I almost lost a finger trying. Blades don’t seem to be able to pierce it – not with that special bit of magic you did still in effect. Haven’t tried roasting it yet – what do you think?” The ogre asked as he glanced at his men and Tucker witnessed a gross exchange of smirking glances. The beast turned back towards Tucker and the metal mage only chuckled.
“Something funny to you?!” The man boomed, Tucker started laughing outright – his sides heaving with every burst, he undoubtedly had managed to crack a couple ribs and every breath was difficult enough. Never mind everything else. “Perhaps you’d like to watch – eh?! Watch as we kill that fucking bird and then gut your sister in front of you!”
“You stand before me howling like some threatened boar, you do not scare me – I am not frightened of Snakes! Not I, nor my sister and especially not Icarus are shaken by some hissing serpent that’s too gutless to strike.” Tucker bit the words out easily, venomously. Again he was struck and then again and again and again, but still he simply laughed. There were few pains he couldn’t tolerate; these blows were not among them. Darkness sank around him again, his hearing, however damaged still heard the man keenly: “Find that fucking bitch, he won’t talk until we do.”
There was a falling sensation, but not the feeling one gets during the fall – more akin to the moment of relief that comes after stumbling backwards but instead of continuing the descent you’re caught by a wall or a friends awaiting arms. He stood alone upon a ridge he did not recognize and looked over a tumultuous sea, all around him a storm raged but as he turned and moved to shield his eyes Tucker found that he was unaffected by the rain. He strained to see but over the ridge and off in the distance were the lights of a harbor town, but it was not one that he was familiar with.
Tucker placed his back to the sea as he realized a stranger stood behind him; the boy was young but well-built. He was likely in his early to mid-twenties and dressed strangely in heavy furs that looked ready to engulf him. The first thing that caught Tucker’s eyes was the depth of his eyes, so dark were the browns that his eyes appeared nearly black. His square jaw was set in a tight line, the look of a man who’s seen battle – but there was something else there, something in the hollowness of his eyes and the thinness of his cheeks. He was ill, the sickly pale colour was clear enough evidence of that fact.
Tucker recognized the clothes, he was someone from the tribes in the ice plains to the north, the people there were strong and hearty. They had to be because they endured critical climates and were constantly hunted by the beasts that walked the plains. He’d only met a small number of the distant people, but they were supposed to be among the fiercest in combat. Looking now at this pale, thin boy he had to wonder how someone so ill fitted for fighting had survived so long.
He smiled and Tucker was unsure how much silence had passed between them, covered instead by the raging storm. When the foreigner opened his mouth to speak, Tucker took a step forward – expecting it to be next to impossible to hear him. None of his injuries were bothering him at present but he hadn’t even noticed until the stranger’s words rang clearly in Tucker’s ears.
“Don’t concern yourself with how I have survived, friend. You should be concerned with how you yourself will survive.”
Tucker instinctively took this as a threat, but when he reached for a blade he found that he carried none. At the gesture the man seemed to be amused.
“We haven’t the time for such a course; this is a limited channel for communication.”
Tucker opened his mouth to speak but was cut short; he wanted answers but fate had already decided that he’d never get them.
“Listen for the song Russo, you know this one.” The man smiled and then seemed to blow away with the wind, Tucker stumbled forward – baffled as the world around him seemed to slip away and he began falling. The pain of his injuries rousing his subconscious as he tumbled down, down, down.
Tucker’s eyes shot open as he jerked awake, the rumble of the ground beneath him as familiar as the burning hot sun that streamed through the bars above him. He gasped like a fish for air, his throat so dry it felt as if it was ready to crack; Tucker felt a weakness in the depths of his being. Pain throbbed across his limbs, still shackled by the chains that were stopping his magic he took in the terrain – days must have passed, a week perhaps. The stench of his confinements reminded him keenly of the length of time. He was starved and when water was thrust towards him it was all he could do to drink, Tucker heard the chuckling around him – how broken he must have appeared to them now. Whatever sedative they had used to keep him under was either running short, or they were running careless.
They’d be through the mountains by nightfall, in the safe harbor of the Queendom by midday. He would be executed in a foreign country; these things became certainties in his mind as he stared blankly at his hands. His wrists, bloody from confinement. Tucker saw no meaning and felt no sense of purpose from the strange dream, it was simply that – a strange dream from the result of some fever. Something deeper in him suggested otherwise, but it was buried as far down as his magic was suppressed and it seemed of little consequence now.
He was handed a ration of something rank through the bars of his cage, he wasn’t certain if it was pity or some amusement that came from feeding a caged beast. Tucker was weak though; he wouldn’t live to see another night and that left only this night to get away. The caravan that kept him was some distance from the nobility and the main group, distantly he heard Icarus snapping whatever they were foolish enough to stick into the bars.
Tucker finished the ration and felt some strength return to him, his captors really were complacent fools – feeding the wolves again? Hadn’t they learned?
He sat quietly with his back furthest away from the fire, his head bowed with his hands shackled and folded in front of him. He was stripped of his magic, yes, but Tucker was never defenseless. Not truly. The hours rolled on and as more and more guards retired, only the watch that was set to stay up through the night remained.
Tucker watched and waited as one went to relieve himself, he waited until the man was a safe distance away before he inched forward.
There came no response, the guard didn’t even turn her head to look at Tucker. She merely ignored him. “Hey friend, would you be kind enough to spare some water? Please… I’m so thirsty.” He waited and still there was no answer. “I’m not a bad man, I’m no different than you – Tiberius is a tyrant. Anyone with eyes can see what I did I –“
The guard scoffed and cut him off before finally speaking. “Good men were murdered by those trolls – my brother among them. We left everything we knew, we were chased out of our home by dragons and you brought hell down upon us and have the nerve to call us the same.” The woman turned to drive in her point and raised her hand in gesture and quick as any hunter in the wild he snatched her wrist and spat blood in his eyes. The needles he’d hidden in the roof of his mouth came into his shackled hand as he drove the weapons into her throat, well before she’d be able to alert any of her sleeping fellows.
Tucker moved quickly to remove his bindings, he didn’t know how long it would be until the other guard returned. The shackles fell to the cage floor and the music came rushing back to him, though it happened far too quickly. It seemed to drain him, Icarus had been left in Tucker’s binding magic for over a week – such an effort was too much on his already weakened body. He stumbled through the cage door and fell to the ground onto the dirt, Tucker wheezed before he remembered himself. He rolled onto his back and attempted to hoist himself up but failed. Through the dark he some a figure approaching through the trees – assuming it could only be the other guard, finally returning, Tucker snatched the felled warrior’s blade from her scabbard and brandished it, however shakily. He had little ability to perform any magic at this point, but he was a Russo; no chains could bind him and no cage would hold him – he would die with a blade in his hand.
