Chapter Thirty-Five

When the carriers came to a stop, the tension in the air was palpable. The stink of nervous trainees profusely clung to the air like a moist mist. Very unpleasant, but I can understand the fear.

The spirit unlatched the hooks and released the back flap, showing a rocky terrain as far as the eye could see. The woods they left behind were only a speck in the distance, which surprised Red, due to the fact that he never once felt the terrain shift from the inside of the carrier.

He jumped out, locating Sabrina quickly with the help of the tether. The trainees unloaded after him, all quick to routinely assume their formation. With the lack of balance in the ranks, the formation was a scattering of intermingling specialties.

Like Mav. The priest stood amongst the two remaining warriors, his eyes hard as he stared at the large mountainside. Within, their enemies awaited. Surely, they’d already been alerted of the arrival of enemy forces.

Another carrier, one that joined them halfway just like Koronor said, pulled up next to theirs. In practiced fashion, Artois’s personal team spilled out the back and quickly erected several tents. One of the mages even erected decently sized walls to form a perimeter around them with archways for passing through at each side.

The space was big enough for several smaller tents, a command center, and an emergency recovery position, though, Red speculated on the usefulness of such a thing if they would be the aggressors of the fortress.

Speaking of, he felt lost without a wielder. His eye twitched at regular intervals from the lack of a wielder’s supply of Essence, not that he needed it. It felt to him as though something natural was missing. Like a piece of something constant, something that was supposed to be there, was no longer there.

The wrath-fire writhed and roiled, seething as it drank in his melancholy. I truly miss her.

Before, he’d tried to rationalize away her death, tried to downplay its impact on him, but he couldn’t ignore it. He wished she were here to wield him now that he was whole and healed, but nothing he knew could bring back the dead.

And he’d tried. Koronor and Felicity. Their presence showed that undeath existed, but when he’d asked, they had relentlessly shot him down. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, but their reasoning was sound.

From what he understood, the process would require an intact corpse, the death to be recent, and a Lich - or Greater Lich. But, unfortunately for him, all three of those things couldn’t apply.

And so, she was permanently left to whatever afterlife the humans believe in.

Refocusing on the mountain fortress that housed the leyline and an army of angry, defiant humans, he did his best to stay away. He searched for movement, a sign of life, anything really, but there was nothing.

I know you’re in there. Red flicked his wrists, feeling as his dual Essences appeared as small orbs within his hand. One of purple flickering flame, the other of crimson liquid. He felt the property of Stimulation within them now, and tried to repeat what had happened within the magical painting.

First, he started with the blood-attuned Essence, feeling as it expanded across the back of his hand and up to his shoulder. The limb exuded a thick, vibrant layer of red. When he clenched his fist, the lifeblood writhed excitedly.

It was interesting to him to play with the Essence. Before, he thought he’d been limited to the skills he gained from upgrading his trifecta, but those skills were like pre-determined uses with a solidified function already.

What he did now? That was magic. He manipulated his Essence directly, much as he’d seen Roland do from time to time. Red now understood why people would become Arcanists. It was exhilarating to find new ways to utilize the magic, learning different ways to apply it.

The wrath-flame, he did the same with. It was far more explosive in its spread. The lifeblood had spread gradually, but the wrath-flame exploded up his arms. It sank into his skin, leaving his arm with violet flame-like patterns.

This time, far more distinct changes occurred. His nails grew sharp and miniature blades grew out the side of his arms. A dangerous point augmented his elbow, and every last augmentation gleamed with a hint of that potential to bring forth unimaginable explosive power.

In comparison, his crimson arm seemed to lack pizazz. However, when he tried to manipulate the wrath-flame any further, it resisted any and all attempts. The blood that clung to his right arm was far more malleable, like a putty that could be shaped, hardened, and lengthened to a large degree.

“That’s a neat trick.” Koronor stood in front of Red, watching curiously. “Your time away seems to have been greatly beneficial.”

“Almost wholly. If it weren’t for -” Red started to grumble but quickly stopped himself.

“What?” Koronor tilted his head.

Red ran his hand through his hair, looking away from the prodding undead. “It’s nothing.”

“Red.” Despite being a toneless undead, Red felt as though he’d just been scolded.

Reluctantly, he decided to share his experience. “In the last few moments, I decided that I didn’t trust the other spirit within the painting and attempted to shackle it with the entirety of my inner palace. It didn’t work.”

“Go on.”

“It imbued the ground with a strange flower formation and bloomed into some kind of seed. It -” The spirit sighed. “I couldn’t get rid of it or figure out what it does, and it raised some kind of impermeable barrier. I’m not sure what to do with it.”

Koronor tilted his head the other direction, “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t figured that part out.” Red rolled his eyes, grumbling incoherently. “Anyway, it’s not something to worry about now. It’s inactive in some kind of stasis.”

“Silver linings, I suppose.” Koronor turned away, leaving Red to his devices, and entered the command tent.

“Bye, I guess.” Red turned around and looked around at all the hustle and bustle.

The trainees acquainted with the members of Artois’s squad fairly soon after arrival, so there were plenty of groups spread about. Several of the trainees asked for advice from the more veteran Silver auras. Red noticed that more than a couple even had hints of Gold tinging their auras.

Despite the extra force, Red couldn’t shake the aura of ominousness. The Devil’s Lair ended poorly and the raid on the encampment ended poorly. He would do everything within his power to make sure that the pattern didn’t continue.

Not only that, he recognized the knives edge that the veterans walked. The tenseness in their shoulders, the way they palmed their blades whenever they thought an enemy was near, and every last one of them habitually gazed towards the mountaintop with fear.

Red thought of the time he’d spoken with Arnold to calm the trainee’s mind, but look at what that did for the young man. It meant nothing, and he felt like it would mean nothing again.

Something was off. If the Platinum Frayers were coming, why was everyone so anxious? Red needed to know. He approached the first unoccupied soldier of Artois’s squad with a wave.

“Hey, mind if I ask you a few questions?”

The woman raised a questioning brow and looked him up and down skeptically. “What’s it?”

“Koronor mentioned that we’d be getting the help of Frayers to deal with Alania and her people. I don’t see any Platinum auras around though?”

She scoffed, tucking a stray hair back into her ponytail. “They’ve been delayed. A large swarm halted their progression. They won’t be here for another day.”

They both looked up at the sloping mountainside, “That does make sense why everyone would be on edge. We’re in the open. The enemy can watch everything, knows the territory better, and more than likely will have intelligence on the Frayers movements.”

“Hunker down tight tonight, bud. Things aren’t stayin’ this quiet for long.” She patted his shoulder twice then walked off to rejoin a group that had watched the entire exchange.

“Ay,” Red called out to her. She looked over her shoulder, giving him that same questioning raised brow. “What’s your name?”

“Belle.” With that, she dismissed herself and rejoined her friends.

Her silver hair glinted in the evening’s rays of sunlight that peeped over the distant horizon. Red watched the sun sink away, casting the world in silver moonlight.

“That’s just great.” Red carefully moved the two errant locks out of his eyes and stared in the distance.

In the dead of night, not a sound could be heard.

Just as expected, the attack came when visibility was at its lowest. The first sign of an attack was a massive rumbling of earth beneath the encampment they erected, but Red’s allies hadn’t wasted their advantage.

The earthen walls were deeply enchanted and wards were spread across the ground. For as much as the earth attempted to shake them, it didn’t budge.

“Incoming!” a voice shouted into the still night.

The camp came to life in the next second. A massive ray of light exploded up into the sky, illuminating all below. At its peak, the light coalesced into a ball that hovered across the earthen terrain.

Bloodlust and wrath-fire roiled and rippled across Red’s flesh in excitement. Red stepped out of the command center with his trio leadership in tow. He ran ahead of them, leaping to the top of the erected wall, and looked over the rocky fields below.

One, two, five. Five dozen? He squinted into the distance, searching for the earth mage that attempted to collapse their encampment on his “sleeping” allies. A shimmering far in the distance lent credence to his belief that the one he wanted might be out there amongst the forces, but it was still too early to discern the truth.

Like ants, the trainees and members of Artois’s squad emptied out of the tents and mounted a return attack. Both side’s mages clasped hands, hiding behind a front line of warriors.

His numbers significantly lacked in comparison, but they didn’t need to beat their enemy. They simply needed to survive the night with as few casualties as possible. Reinforcements were on their way, and that would change the tide of battle if things were still active.

His mages clasped hands, channeling all their Essence and power into one mage that would take pot shots around the arching passageways into the enemy forces. They were spread out wide, so only large-scale attacks amounted to much.

This fight would be one of attrition, so they made sure to reserve their Essence when they cast, taking their time. They didn’t let the constant barrage of the enemies' spells force them into rushing or wasting the limited resources they had.

The archers utilized a different tactic, sending volleys of arrows over the battlements in regular intervals at the behest of Artois guiding light.

Red started to get worked up, but the enemies hadn’t gotten within reach of his tether yet. They slowly progressed, erecting thick barriers to defend with. With the alternating assault of the mages’ large area attacks and the archers’ constant volleys, the enemy’s progress was slow.

But, they did progress. Ever so slowly, they crept forward with the use of the earthen barriers, returning fire every time the casting mage’s appendage stuck out from the battlements. Arrows rained failed to breach the wardstone’s protective boundary, but Red felt the Essence slowly fading from the strange product of enchanting.

Once they got a bit closer, he gripped his copy-sword in his left hand and held out his right palm. Taking aim, he formed a shard of blood and hardened it as much as he could. He Stimulated it until it desired to fly forward, carrying a deceptively destructive power.

The first one caught the enemy by surprise as they moved forward to advance, punching a finger-sized hole through a warrior’s head. It didn’t stop at that, traveling through the body and embedding itself into the earthen boundary behind it.

The barrier erupted, launching shrapnel every which way. He heard several grunts and cries of pain, but it wasn’t enough to permanently down any of the enemy combatants after the first. His added support reduced their slow progress to a crawl.