Chapter 36 — The Pain of a Thousand Cuts

Yillian was inside the shop when Ayla crashed through the front wall, collapsing the storefront. Woven baskets, sandals, and other containers went flying as Ayla skidded to a halt.

Throwing goods and rubble out of the way, Yillian rushed to Ayla’s side. She was in bad shape—blood worrisomely draining from her nose and running down from a cut across the side of her head, an arm that was probably broken or at least dislocated, and gashes on legs and tears in her clothes from the splintered wood of the storefront. That she had crashed through a structural support and snapped it or knocked it loose suggested likely internal injuries as well.

He already had the single emergency potion that Arienos had given him ready and, uncorking it, dumped the full contents into Ayla’s mouth. Then, with a delirious groan of pain from Ayla, he adjusted the position of her arm so it wouldn’t heal poorly.

When Alennil told him about where to be and what he needed to do if they were to survive the dawn, Yillian had argued that they should tell the others and come up with a plan together. But the diviner had been adamant that the only way things would work out was if the others didn’t know. And so, when they passed the alley leading to the shop’s back entrance, Yillian had made up an excuse about wanting to pick up some supplies for later and separated from the group.

Conversation nearby pulled Yillian from his thoughts. Outside the rubble of awning and façade from the upper floor, the voice of a young man and an annoyed older man could be heard. Was someone trying to buy him time?

A moan from Ayla, brought Yillian’s attention back to the injured flame knight. “Stay still. You still need time for the potion to work.”

Ayla’s green eyes flickered open but were still unfocused. “Yillian?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Don’t talk.”

He needn’t have bothered with the warning though as the pain from the potion accelerating the healing of her arm soon had her arching her back and sucking shallow breaths.

He quickly pulled out a a leather strip for Ayla to bite on, folding it over and forcing it between her clenched teeth.

The older voice was beginning to sound impatient, and energy began to gather near the voice. The younger voice became suddenly more distant and deferential.

Yillian groaned to himself. He was going to have to buy Ayla more time to recover. Quickly, he cast a temporary barrier spell and grabbed a vial of energy-filled powder that Abbot Olyn had given him as thanks, immediately preparing a huge fire spell.

As rubble exploded into the shop, Yillian unleashed his fire.

Alennil watched in worry as fire exploded outward from where the warhammer-wielding justicar tried to clear the rubble. The justicar seemed to realize the danger at the last moment and used a movement technique to take distance.

Rapidly billowing flames filled the street singeing the nearby shops’ façades and set decorations alight, turning the scene below into a hellscape of smoke and fire. As the flames congealed into a barrier blocking the justicar’s approach, Alennil could see from his roof-top vantage that Keith Arden and the others of their entourage had escaped unharmed: Keith coated in an armor made of stone and the horses and carriage protected by a shield of light.

The commotion hadn’t gone unnoticed and panicked shouts of “Fire!” began to ring out from people poking their heads out windows and doors.

“Did Ayla-?” Baron Hamlin started to shout but cut himself off and pointed. “The elf!”

Alennil’s worry inched up when only Yillian had emerged from the shop. Had Yillian failed?

“Adding arson to your crimes, Yillian of Torce?” the justicar taunted. “I wonder how long you can keep expending such a quantity of energy? Will you set the whole city afire?”

“I’m not the one who revived and unleashed an insane land god on the region!” Yillian spat back. “How many cities will you sacrifice to Xogg`Shrilloth’s hunger?!”

“Is that why you are involved? Is your loyalty to the Elves of Mirewood or to Ester?” the justicar laughed and started swinging his hammer around. Fierce winds buffeted Yillian’s flames with every revolution of the large hammer.

“Ester never did anything for me! My loyalty is to myself!” Yillian yelled back, clearly beginning to strain under the effort to maintain the wall of fire.

The justicar shook his head in judgement as he continued to effortlessly swing his hammer. “Treason from your own mouth. A pity.”

Alennil’s worry increased further as Yillian’s flames began to weaken and Yillian dropped to one knee, but a sudden flash of black and red caused him to sigh out in relief.

“Eeek! That villainous hammer-brute! My Ayla is all bloody! I won't stand for it! Dyne!” Baron Hamlin cried out in fury launching a barrage of light rays through the dying wall of fire at the eye-rolling justicar.

“Thanks for your help, Yillian,” a blood-covered Ayla said and reignited her sword. “I’m fine now. I’ll take it from here.”

“Oh-hoh. Is that so, girlie?” the muscled justicar said with amusement as he deflected the baron’s attacks with his hammer. “Figured something out, have you?”

“I have,” Ayla asserted and locked eyes with her opponent. Dyne had already dismounted his horse and now stood ready beside her, his crystal sword in hand.

This was the scene from the vision! Alennil activated the magic he had prepared, and reality was superimposed with a near future. His task was to take advantage of the justicar’s foresight with his own. His elemental magic was too weak to directly threaten the justicar, but affecting the overconfident hammer-wielder’s footing at key moments by placing rocks, holes, and ice blocks would cause trouble for even the best of warriors. Hardly the heroic intervention he imagined when choosing to become a diviner, but a wise mage understands his limitations!

Alennil watched carefully as Ayla charged like before—much to Baron Hamlin’s loudly expressed dismay—and launched a wave of fire from her sword, earlier than the expected optimal distance.

Dyne followed up with a pulse of blinding light, which Alennil’s foresight alerted him to in time, the same as the justicar. Two interesting things followed. The justicar continued his counter even with his eyes momentarily closed and the future seemed to diverge into multiple paths as Ayla’s hair began to burn red and her movements took on a cat-like grace.

“Oh? A chaos bloodline?” the justicar voiced in mild surprise as he jumped back to avoid a fiery explosion spreading out from where Ayla’s rapier clashed with his hammer. “I admit I may have underestimated you.”

As the fight continued with Dyne and Ayla continually trying to flank the justicar, Alennil found himself having to intervene on Dyne’s behalf more often than Ayla’s. Each time, the powerful justicar would abort his attack that would no longer land and abruptly defended against opportunistic attacks by Ayla.

It was clear that Ayla had indeed figured something out, and not just diverging the future predictions, but predicting the justicar’s movement technique and weapon distances. She seemed to be getting more accurate the longer the fight went on, and as long as it was only a glancing blow, Alennil didn’t interfere.

Unfortunately, by his fifth intervention, the hammer warrior figured out what was going on, and covered by a sudden glow, his hammer slammed down with enough force to ripple the ground and send Ayla and Dyne flying backwards. A large hole opened up at the edge of the street as the cobblestones and dirt collapsed into the sewer tunnel below.

Seeing his death predicted, Alennil barely dodged a flicked gold coin aimed at his head.

“Alennil of House Bracken,” the justicar noted, and Alennil felt his heart jump into his throat with worry for his family. “So, you have a diviner on your side. I’ll have to get serious then.”

Xyn stepped off a wall and spun around mid-air, grinding his teeth as he received another painful stab from the estoc-wielding justicar.

Even using Fluttering Petal to continually distract by flashing moonlight into his opponent’s eyes, he still couldn’t completely prevent taking wounds. Xyn simply didn’t have the strength or skill to match the justicar’s foresight and superior speed. Even in aura, the justicar outmatched him.

Fortunately, the human seemed content to accept the openings that Xyn was intentionally leaving and subdue him by cumulative wounds rather than go for killing strikes. And so, Xyn defended as best he could, prolonging his resistance.

“You are quite skilled for a youth,” the justicar praised, clearly reveling in his superiority as he effortlessly stabbed Xyn again. “Though surely you now understand your situation, and as much as I’m enjoying making you suffer, it’s well past time for you to surrender.”

Unfortunately, the suffering was the point. Xyn wasn’t fighting a loosing fight without a plan, and the more numerous and painful his wounds, the stronger the curse he was weaving would be. It was a forbidden technique that used the imbalance in karma to restrict the opponents actions—a way of allowing a weaker warrior to force a stronger opponent into a final unavoidable exchange of deathblows.

He could feel the karmic weave tightening. Just a bit more.

The Pain of a Thousand Cuts. Xyn’s grandmother had demonstrated the technique as a way for Xyn to learn about fighting opponents who have precognition or can manipulate fate. Whether Xyn would be able to successfully complete the technique, he was about to find out.

“I won’t let you capture Ayla.”

“I’m not the one you need to worry about,” the justicar laughed and flicked another quick stab into Xyn’s chest.

Aarrggghhh!

The pain of receiving a mortal wound impaled through his ribs and lung almost made him faint, but the justicar’s widened eyes as Xyn stepped into the stab and slashed what seemed a pointless counter that would surelly be blocked by both armor and aura was almost amusing.

Now! Phantom Blade! Before the justicar could jump away, Xyn’s void-shifted blade was already passing through the human’s chest and out the other side.

Expression turned to horror, the justicar jumped back, his armor separating where cleanly severed, pieces of plate falling to the ground like dropped pot lids.

The pain of the estoc scraping against Xyn’s front and back ribs as it was ripped free with a squelching sound dropped Xyn to a knee. But while desperately controlling the blood in his body, he kept his gaze firmly on the justicar—a justicar stumbling backwards, blood visibly dripping down from the cut crossing the man's now partially exposed chest. The human tried to say something but a wet cough caused his eyes to become panicked.

Wind surrounded the justicar, and with a turn, he fled, quickly disappearing out of the alley.

“Xyn!” Jessi frantically cried out as she ran over. “We need to get you to a healer!”

He waved to calm her down, and handed her a vial of wound closure potion. “Pour this in the hole. I need to chase after him.”

He didn’t dare more than whisper, but Jessi immediately grabbed the vial out of his hand and deftly removed the cork. “My father is going to help us.”

Xyn just nodded and again grit his teeth as the burn of the potion entered the opening in his back.

Alennil coughed on the thickening smoke from the fire that was spreading up the building he was atop. The situation was rapidly becoming desperate, but he knew if they could hold out just a little longer, help would arrive.

Dyne had taken a dangerous hit and disappeared through a burning storefront much the way Ayla had earlier. Fortunately, Keith had stepped up to take his place at the urging of the girl in the carriage, likely to be Marleyne Arden. Keith, with his stone armor, was sturdier than Dyne and seemed capable of rooting himself to the ground to receive the hammer blows without flying off. Yillian recovered enough to ice the street, but another deft coin flick left the unlucky elf sprawled unconscious on the ground and out of the fight—or maybe he was lucky, considering his head didn’t explode like a melon.

Unfortunately, both Keith and Ayla were clearly beginning to run low on aura, and as Alennil watched, unable to stop the strike, Keith also was sent flying, leaving Ayla to fight by herself. And as beautiful as Ayla’s movements had become, there was no way for her to face the justicar alone. He certainly couldn’t expect much more from the baron and his men.

“Halt! You are attacking guests of the duke!” came the hoped-for noble’s voice, and Alennil’s shoulders slumped in relief.

A spear of ice struck the ground in front of Ayla, and spikes of ice shot toward the hammer-wielding justicar, causing him to step back and use his hammer to deflect one of the ice spears. The justicar looked on in surprise as the ice began encasing his hammer and he was forced to discard it to avoid the strange ice reaching his hand.

“This is justicar business, Sir Sarlen, son of Duke Haverin,” the Inquisitor stated as he unclipped a golden mace and formed a shield of golden energy in the opposite hand. “Those here are wanted for the murder of several Tower mages; we will not be stopped in our duty. Is the duke intending to shelter murderers wanted by the crown?”

“My father is rather upset about the Tower kidnapping his citizens for forbidden experiments. Are you saying that the mages are committing their atrocities with the King’s permission? Show your writ from the King!”

“The justicars have no need to explain our actions.”

“Without a writ, you have no authority to act against the duke! I’m warning you to leave. You will not get a second warning.”

“You-”

The large justicar cut off his words as his companion suddenly crashed to the ground in front of him, blood bubbling from the injured justicar’s mouth and a small strip of black metal sticking from his leg.

The now mace-wielding justicar glanced back at the alleyway as if expecting to see Xyn, and seemed to come to a decision.

“Fine. We will withdraw. But expect consequences for your actions here today.” The justicar hefted his leader onto his shoulder and blurred, their silhouettes appearing above the sewer opening before both were gone.

Alennil thanked the gods as he looked to the east to see the first light of dawn. For now, he and his companions had survived.