Chapter 709 (Patreon)

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ToC


* * *


By noon the next day, the army was passing through the Territory at a rapid pace. Ruined towns passed by in the periphery, far enough away to avoid any unnecessary encounters. With Abyssal Skein activated, the redcloaks were unsuspecting; none spotted them, even in the broad daylight. Their plan to evade detection until they reached the city seemed to be working.

Spring was in full bloom in Pax Vrel, considerably warmer than back in the Rimefang Mountains or even in Nagast. At first the warmth was pleasant, but Felix soon realized that warmth meant the roads were dry and dusty, and the heavy tread of his army kicked up a wake of clouds that could be seen for miles. He split off a piece of his Mind, focusing on capturing the dust in currents of air while moistening them with threads of water. All the while another part of him maintained his grip on his mass-stealth skill, and what was left piloted his Body as he jogged at the forefront of their vanguard.

It was hard and it wore down his mental strength by the hour, but he’d survived worse without complaint. He could manage this.

Storm-shaping is level 85!

Abyssal Skein is level 95!


* * *


As the first day turned to dark, there was a burning on the horizon.

Towns were closer now, just as the Daynes had said, but they thankfully did not run into anyone on the roads. The Hierocratic occupation was keeping things mostly locked down, it seemed, and that had worked in their favor until now.

"That's Barden," Vess said. "They're burning it."

“Blind gods,” Verona cursed. “Why? These lands have all submitted.”

Felix peered to the west, where their path would lead them close to the town. It was half standing, with walls blown out by weapons or Skills, and the rest on fire. Despite it all, people still crowded the streets, corralled by others in heavy red platemail or white robes. Paladins and Priests have got the people surrounded. Why?

A knot of white robed people stood around a pole that had been erected in the center of the market square, and they were throwing bundles of sticks at its base. Felix clenched his jaw. It looked like they were going to burn someone at the stake.

"Noctis’ tits," Evie swore. "The whole town's on fire. I can... I can see the redcloaks. They're still there."

Vess hefted her glaive. "The people are still alive too, but I see so much blood.”

“Are we stopping this?" Beef asked. "Because I want to stop this.”

"We cannot risk exposing our presence," Tarok said, his gaunt form pushing to the fore.

"Who asked you, boneman?" Evie snapped.

"You have no sway in our decisions," Vess said. "Not anymore."

Tarok ground his teeth together. "I grew up in Barden. I want to stop them more than any of you foreigners. But we cannot make this mistake. If even one redcloak escapes, then our mission is ruined before it’s even begun."

Felix bared his teeth at the flames. Someone in the distance cried out. “Then no one escapes. Right?”

Nods came from all directions, and even the bitter Dragoon gave a reluctant bob of his head. Felix looked to Vess. “This is your Territory. What do you want us to do?”

“I remember Barden, but I’ve not been there in years. Tarok?”

The man swallowed, his sour expression tightening. “How might I help?”

Vess stabbed her glaive into the earth. “Sketch the layout. The rest of you, listen closely.”


* * *


The fire crackled in the fair winds of early spring, and Kov'Tel, Beacon of the Pathless, administered last rites upon the condemned.

They were gathered in the town square, once a place of peace and community, now a charnel house where the dead were butchered and Sorcerers were burned. Kov'Tel regretted the dead, but they had resisted in the face of the Light’s Order and were made an example.

"We have come here to lay waste to the wicked impurity of Sorcery," Kov'Tel declared, looking at a crowd held back at sword point. At least four hundred were contained by less than fifty Paladins. They did not have the Strength to rule themselves, so they could only listen. "The accusation has been levied that this woman, Mother Guin, has cursed her community and their very lands to suffer degradation and destruction.”

Kov’Tel spread his arms, gesturing around himself. “Look at what has become of your homes, people of Barden! Look what a single Sorcerer can do when they go unchecked.” Gasps spread through the crowd. “Yes, you heard correctly. I have extracted her confession. Mother Guin has been using fell Sorcery and hiding it behind the benign camouflage of her herbal remedies for decades. Know this: her actions are anathema and unsanctioned by the Pathless. Praise Him that we were here to save you from such a terror."

A pair of Journeyman Tier Priests dragged out an elderly woman, her hands bloody and broken from the confession Kov'Tel had extracted from her flesh.

"Bring her to the stake," he commanded.

She was pulled past the crowd, giving them all one last look at the condemned wretch. Another lesson in what Sorcery cost them all.

"Fire," Kov'Tel said as his Priests brought the hag closer to the stake. "Fire will cleanse the impurity from her Spirit, so that the Pathless’ Light can once again shine through her. Purity gives rise to Strength, and through Strength we bring about Order."

The hag was dragged to the kindling, her body gone slack and requiring one of the Priests to hold her up while the other managed her bindings. Kov’Tel sighed inwardly, but kept his face fixed in a rictus of compassion. They should have simply let her fall to the ground rather than sully their robes. I must devise a fitting punishment for that transgression.

Before he could give that much more thought, however, Mother Guin moved. The Priests leaped back, as if she’d burned them both, before they fell clutching their heads as blood poured from their eyes. A violent, unnatural song blared into the night, like a mantle about her shoulders, and she ran.

“Stop her!” Kov’Tel commanded.

Two Paladins stepped into her path, but she thrust out both broken hands and the warriors dropped to the ground, their armor shaking like struck bells.

Blighted Night! Kov'Tel was forced to move, summoning planes of golden force before him as he went. A cage descended across the Sorcerer’s path, forcing her to pivot—but Kov’Tel gave her no such chance. He appeared behind her with a gauntlet of golden light and struck her in the back of the skull. The hag fell, mewling in confused pain before going silent.

"Tie her back up," he snarled, "and get someone to help them." He jabbed a finger at the Paladins and Priests still lying on the ground, moaning in pain. More Priests rushed forward, quickly grabbing the woman and dragging her to the stake.

Before they could do that, though, another song, a snippet of ethereal music, fouled Kov'Tel's ears. Another Sorcerer, sneered the Beacon.

A young girl ran out of the crowd. "Grandmother!" Spikes of shadow shot from her back directly at the Priests.

Kov'Tel snapped his fingers, and once more barriers of golden light formed, capturing the girl into a cage and cutting off her shadow bolts before they could do more than sizzle against his golden Mana.

"I see we have more Sorcery infecting this town," he said, clucking his tongue. "She is young. Perhaps she can be saved with enough time and cleansing fire."

Someone in the crowd screamed, likely the girl's mother. “It pains me, madam, but if you had truly cared you would never have allowed your daughter to fall in with a Sorcerer. Take the girl away.”

As several Priests drew near, Kov'Tel spoke to them in a low tone. "Gather up the girl's entire family. The chances that they're all tainted is too high."

“As you Will, Beacon.”

The Priest stepped out into the clearing, into the market square, and gestured to Granny, now fully bound to the stake. "This Sorcerer will be cleansed in the golden fires of our protector, and the impurities will be burned away from her Spirit. Like metal in the forge, true transformation requires the flame."

He made a gesture, and golden light congealed into a liquid flame across his clenched fist. Six other Priests did the same as they arranged themselves around the stake's perimeter. As one, they reached out and set the kindling alight.

"Crushwave Surge!"

A ripple of earth Mana tore through them, hurling Priests and Paladins straight up into the air as the ground exploded in a sudden cavalcade of stone and dirt. Kov'Tel turned, panic rising in his breast as his imagination conjured the worst sort of monstrosities that had come to save these foul Sorcerers. Nothing, however, prepared him for the truth.

A Minotaur, armored in crystalline plate mail, strode from the dark. The earth Mana still rippled around his hooves as he swung a hammer bigger than most Paladins. "Put out that flame!" it bellowed.

"Sorcery! Kill it!" Kov'Tel screeched. "Kill the beast!"

Those Paladins that still stood ran forward, their blades igniting with flame, only to be met by a surge of crystalline bolts that tore through their chests. Kov'Tel watched, aghast, as the faithful died in droves before him. The others, only now regaining their feet, cast shielding magics around themselves, as did Kov'Tel. Golden light shimmered across their forms to protect them from the vile darkness.

He did not see the man with the axes.

"Hit him hard!" the man growled. He gleamed in armor that seemed made entirely of silvered blood.

“Don’t know any other way!” Beside him appeared a slender woman, armored in much the same way save for her exposed face. Wide eyes and a bright, savage grin stuck out in the moonlit dark as she swung bladed chains through his Priests.

In less than five heartbeats, it was done.

Bloody corpses sprawled against the upset cobbles, armor sundered and white robes soaking up crimson. Kov'Tel and his six Priests were all that remained, surrounding the still-burning pyre. The hag was still screaming, but then that stopped too.

Kov'Tel looked behind him. The flames were gone, and so was the Sorcerer. He spun, spotting the hag now in the arms of what looked like a Gnome…more than fifty feet away.

"How?" he wondered aloud.

Armored Dragoons landed around him and his Priests, their spears glinting in the firelight as the vile, wretched, traitorous villagers were gathered up.

"Dragoons!" Kov'Tel, hissed. "You are sworn to obey us!"

A woman with dark brown hair and unnatural, golden eyes ringed by a strange luminescent purple, stepped forward. "We fight for the people, not the Pathless.” She leveled the brutal blade of her spear at his throat. “Stand down, Beacon.”

“Never,” Kov’Tel spat. “I would rather die.”

“I’d watch your words. She is not someone you want to bluff.” Another figure strode from the shadows between buildings. From the way these brutal Dragoons reacted, he was important, but the Beacon didn’t recognize him at all.

"You will not survive this, mercenary," he said.

"Why is that?" the man asked.

"The Light reaches all, heretic. The Hierei already knows you attacked us."

"Oh," the man said, his too-bright eyes widening. "You mean you sent people running for the capital the moment we attacked. Is that right?"

Kov'Tel frowned as the man stuck out an arm to the side, grasped onto nothing, and hauled back. Lightning sparked across the square, forcing the Beacon to jolt in surprise as it described a perfect line through the air and into the shadows beyond the buildings that still stood. On the other end, six figures stumbled out of the dark and into the market square. Priests, all of them, they were bound and gagged by opalescent stone bands.

Kov'Tel's eyes bulged, and his heart tried to climb up his throat.

The man smiled. "They didn't make it."

"Monster," the Beacon managed. "Who are you?"

"I'm what you named me," the man said. This time it wasn't a smile at all, but a wolf baring its teeth. All of them were very white, and to Kov'Tel's mounting horror, very, very sharp.

"Now," said the monster in man-flesh. “Tell me about Pax’Vrell.”