The Path of Destruction (Rune Breaker) (15 page)

The blast would take a respectable chunk of the demon's head off, an idea that appealed to her. But Cloudherd would die in the attempt, which did not. For true, his demise would be heroic, but in the dark corners of her mind, she remembered that Issacor's had been as well and that didn't make it easier to accept.

Good and worthy people, wasted on the idea that their demise in one moment was worth it for a greater good. Even if that meant leaving those that needed them behind.

Had she really
needed
Issacor? She didn't know, and the thoughts Ru had put into her head in the House weren't helping. Other people had surely needed him though. Everyone needed a person who would stand and fight with honor and skill for good causes.

Similarly, Percival's army needed him too. They had already lost their king, their security, and almost all of their senior officers.

It all seemed so clear to her: anyone who would willingly attempt to sacrifice themselves in such a way were the very people who shouldn't die that way.

Armed with that clarity, she seized upon her anger and focused it just as she always did in battle. With her rational mind back in play, she climbed her way up to Percival. Just as his numb finger found the loop of one of his grenade pins, Taylin grabbed it firmly and pulled it away.

“No.” Her voice rattled and hissed with a reptilian quality.

Percival looked at her through the feverish veil on the edge of death. It wasn't quite clear to her what he was seeing, but he tried to wrench his hand away. “I have to. This creature...” He paused to find the words, “...has to die.”

“And he will.” Taylin hissed. “But not with you.”She reached to pull his thigh from the spar pinning it.

“N-no!” He struggled weakly. “Bleed out.”

Taylin stared at the wound and the copious amounts of blood already dripping everywhere. When she'd been a shocktrooper, she'd seen captains burning grievous wounds closed to keep more useful members of their unit alive until healing could be performed. Percival wasn't going to like what she was about to do.

“You'll be fine.” She said, trying in vain to make her voice less threatening and more reassuring. She delicately took hold of his leg above and below the puncture while at the same time reaching down into the fire in her belly. There wasn't much left, but it should be just enough...

Mustering all her strength and quickness, she pulled Percival straight up off the antler. Blood started to well instantly, but she spat the flaming gel onto his leg, smothering it in the next moment with her bare hand. Percival screamed loudly enough for it to echo in the valley and retched at the burning meat smell from his leg.

Taylin steeled herself against his pain and tried to lift him over her shoulder. His grenade belt caught, stuck on a second antler that had only grazed Percival's back, but tangled in a loop on the belt. It only took a single swipe of her claws to slice the belt off him, and in a moment of inspiration, she grabbed the pins on three of the devices and pulled them all as she jumped backward off Bashurra's rack of antlers.

It was a poor showing. She'd only ever carried Motsey or Rale aloft before, and a halfling child was in no way similar to a fully grown, pain stricken hailene. Percival became an unruly jumble of flailing limbs and fluttering wings as they fell. His own efforts to slow his fall sent them into a spin while Taylin furiously beat her own wings trying to at least mitigate their death spiral.

Suddenly, it felt like they hit a cushion. Wind howled around them at terrific force, slowing them. They still hit the ground with unceremonious thud, but it was a thud that didn't include broken bones.

Somewhere, Tal Eserin shouted to Percival, but Taylin's attention was on Bashurra, who hadn't missed her and Percival leaping away from him. The demon turned, but that was as far as he got before the grenades went off with a series resounding thumps. The top right quarter of the demon's head simply disappeared into a cloud of debris that was tainted red and black with demonic ichor. Such was the force of the blast that Bashurra was forced back half a dozen steps.

A victorious cry went up from the mercenaries and everyone charged to finish the demon off.

But Bashurra the Crevasse didn't topple. Missing part of his head, with various holes blasted in his body, and practically bristling with arrows, he only swayed on his feet, his remaining eye glaring defiance. “It won't be that simple, little army.” He taunted.

“Cut me off from the Threefold Moon and you weaken me, yes. But what God of War would simply die from a loss of supply lines?” He brought one fist into the palm of the other hand, wincing at his dislocated thumb, and began to chant. Slowly, his bulk began to shrink and his wounds healed.

Instinctively, Taylin reached back for the Eastern Brand, but found nothing. The hazy memory of losing it when Bashurra grabbed her flitted through her head.
Ru? How is he doing this? It looked like Brin had the seal up earlier...

She does, Miss Taylin.
Replied Ru.
However, there is still the matter of his personal reserve. He is using it to stave off succumbing to his injuries. He must be disrupted. Do you still have Novacula Kuponya?

Taylin checked the sheath at her hip. The so-called Razorblade of Remedy was still strapped there, as a non-lethal sword was no use in engaging a demon. She didn't have to tell him 'yes', he just plucked the answer from her mind.
But this can't kill him, Ru. Why—

Draw out the sword, Miss Taylin. The Habaense I added to the blade can stun a cavalry unit and all its horses: it will do nicely in breaking this cur's regeneration spell.

In all honesty, there were many things Taylin wouldn't trust Ru on: human nature, morality, combat tactics; but she knew that he was a master with spellcraft and not to be doubted in that department. She drew Novacula Kuponya.

Now, pull back as if to strike and recite:

Ru put the words directly into her mind and Taylin found her mouth working all on its own through the spell. “Bright glow hidden deep within. The living soul of all things of this world. Lend of your essence and return it to its age-old form: the flower of being, formed of the fire of creation. Let my foes contemplate their last moments as it blooms anew.”

The blue gem set in the hilt dimmed, but it was replaced by glowing, white lines that traveled slowly up the blade, sometimes diverting off at angles, but always moving toward the tip.

Now, Miss Taylin: thrust while speaking the last word. Aim for Bashurra's center.

Taylin took a step forward and did just that. “
Habaense
!”

The white lines of light intensified until the sword's blade was lost in a white nimbus. Bursts began to erupt from that flare, trailing brightness of their own while homing in on Bashurra. Dozens of them peeled off in an ever-expanding cascade until the combined trails brought to mind the petals of some exotic flower.

Bashurra sped up his chant, but the barrage from the
Habaense
plowed into him, streaking through him as if he were nothing more than smoke and rumor. For each one that struck him, the demon convulsed and his body twisted. He stopped shrinking, and wounds that were once mended split open anew.

The attack went on for longer than a ten-count by Taylin's reckoning before finally subsiding. When the light finally faded, Bashura the Crevasse still stood, but even as the assembled watched, his healing failed him, his last breath lurching out of him in ragged gasps.

He fell to one knee with a fist planted to keep him upright. Starting at the site of every injury he'd taken, a change began to come over him, transforming his corrupt flesh into smoldering ash. His head crumbled off his neck and was dashed to nothing when it hit the grass at his feet. Then his arms came off at the shoulders, causing his entire body to crumble and collapse.

Bashurra the Crevasse, one of the eldest demons of the Threefold Moon, the deadly enemy to dozens of civilizations, was no more.

Taylin waited until the pile of ash was completely still to release her hold on her rage, letting it sink back into the depths of her mind. The scales and claws receded and her wings popped back into their normal place. Before long, she was back to herself.

Hands still white knuckled around Novacula Kuponya, she sank down into the grass and sat down. Behind her, she heard a commotion being made over Percival. Soon enough he'd be tended to—and then she would have to answer some difficult questions. Questions even she couldn't fully answer.

'A smith on one of the outlying islands was afflicted by a divinity spark five days ago. Unfortunately, the spark drove him mad, resulting in the deaths of twelve citizens of the Empire and over thirty ang'hailene before the local garrison could end his threat. Fortunately, he was slain using ash chalk instead of immolation, thus preserving his body for our inquiry. We finally have something more than theory to work from.'

~ excerpt from the journal of Lena Hiddakko.

***

The sanctum of Lord Crossius had originally been constructed as a laboratory for his predecessor whose experiments with fey creatures were still well-regarded across the archipelago. Due to the nature of that lord's favored subjects, the room was constructed in its own tower overlooking the sea, surrounded in a cage of cold iron. Layer upon layer of spellcraft had been placed in the walls, ceiling and floor to prevent teleportation into or out of the chamber as well as blocking incoming scrying. Mirrors of polished silver were placed on each of the pillars ringing the room to foul fey illusions, and not long ago, the floor had been painted with a pattern that scattered ambient
akua
, the favored magic of such beings.

Upon his return,Lord Crossius ordered a new floor installed: black marble shot through with white veins. Though no one but himself, Lady Milfune and his ward, Layaka were allowed into the sanctum, it wasn't a secret that he'd laid a spellwork of his own into the stone tiles of the new floor. What purpose it served, however, none could tell.

The only furniture in the sanctum were a granite throne banded in steel, its high back sweeping up more than eight feet and decorated with rough-cut gems dangling from silver basket settings; and a round of white chalk smuggled from all the way across the ocean in Illium. It was easily eight feet across and two feet thick. Lord Crossius had placed it in front of his throne and kept it covered at all times with an orange silk cloth with green embellishments and golden tassels.

This evening, he'd brought something extra in: a shallow bowl carved from a single crystal, two feet across and three precision-made tuning forks. The bowl sat atop the cloth-covered chalk slab with a tuning fork on either side. The third was in his hand as he sat his throne, fingers laced around it in contemplation.

Lady Milfune stood beside him, one hand gently massaging his shoulder. Layaka sat on the floor at his right hand, sharpening an endless supply of flechettes with a whetstone. All three were watching the air above the bowl.

The tuning forks on either side of it were trembling in sympathy with a mystic sensor thousands miles away, linked to it by currents of
vox
. They were in turn picked up by the bowl, which converted
vox
into
vin
that was then used to lens the ambient light of the chamber into images—images that matched what the distant sensor spell was seeing. The fork in Lord Crossius's hand used a similar process to deliver sounds from the same construct.

As they observed, a badly wounded Bashurra the Crevasse was pierced through by several dozen shafts of white light until the last of his healing ability failed him and his body began to disintegrate.

“And he wanted to be a God of War?” Layaka asked, testing a flechette with her thumb. “A shameful waste.”

Lord Crossius set his back flat again the throne, his imperious face betraying the barest hint of a satisfied smile. “Not at all. Bashurra served his purpose. Solgrum is dead and the command structure of his army is in shambles. A war of succession will begin in Torm Dondaire; a war that will draw the opportunistic eye of the Threefold Moon away from me.”

He looked thoughtfully at the settling pile of ashes that were once a formidable demon. “He
was
very good at what he did. Unfortunately for him, a tactician is only as good as his intelligence. When I suggested the Idarian Homestead as an ideal place for an ambush, he thought that Solgrum's army would be weak without their magic and that he would only be facing the Rune Breaker.”

“You've still robbed yourself of a powerful ally.” said Layaka. “Not smart in the kind of gambit you're trying to play out.”

Lord Crossius slowly quirked an eyebrow, the expression formed as if through great effort. “Oh, you have no idea what kind of gambit I've got in mind, old soldier. Do you think it was an accident that I placed you in the path of that spirit docent? Do you believe that I contacted the traitor Zect honestly hoping for an alliance? No, I have set things in motion that your mind could never unravel.”

He gestured toward the image floating above the bowl. “And as for Bashurra: do you know what would happen if the Threefold Moon discovered what I am doing? He would set a demon against me whom he believed could destroy me. Bashurra is one of the few as old as I, and I will not shy away from admitting that he could, in fact, defeat me matching strength for strength in terms of both physical prowess and magic. I had my reservations that Bashurra had the will to deny his god if ordered to destroy me. Now he is dead and no longer a threat.”

Reaching up, he put his hand over Lady Milfune's. “There is ever only
one
other who I would share power with because I am certain of who her loyalty lies with. Even if Bashurra could have been trusted to choose wisely; me over Kayda; his sacrifice has purchased for us vital information about those who will soon be bringing battle to our door.” His eyes narrowed slightly and he focused on Layaka, “Didn't it?”

Layaka set her jaw and nodded. “It did. The halfling is a menace with that rifle. Bashurra survived her, but nothing mortal could have.” She set down the whetstone and folded her arms. “Non-magical weapons of that kind of range and accuracy are after my time. The best defense I can think of is a screen that distorts vision to throw off her aim over the windows and guard positions on the outer wall.