Chp 13: Count Teanio II

Henry stalked down the streets of Hamblin with a scowl. The commoners waved at his colorfully armored procession as if this was some sort of parade. He wondered if they even recognized that they were on their way to arrest one of the stars on the continent. He wondered if they knew who the Sanmeys even were.

He didn't blame Serabelle for acting quickly. Not really. The Count had ties to the Kingdom of Eirnoal to the south. A country that had been trying to absorb the city-state of Hamblin for some time. If the Sanmeys had waited, the Count might well be hidden behind the protective embassy of Eirnoal. Henry understood that none of that was why Serabelle went first, but it was the story he concocted as he waited for the parties surrounding him to get ready.

Smoke and mana were billowing from a mansion a block away. He started to walk faster before his aide "bumped" him, reminding him that he was the face of the Guild, not an adventurer on a quest.

This is not what he signed up for. If he didn't have to save face, he might well be burning the mansion alongside the Sanmeys. It wasn't unheard of for a noble to take offense to an adventurer. In fact, far from it. This year alone, he already dealt with five such cases that were brought to his attention. By and large, he detested the men and women who "ruled" cities and the territories around them. Their intractable social standards the cause of death for many good adventurers' careers.

His own upbringing in the Merchant's Capital forced him to witness some of the worst atrocities that people cause on one another. And all because a person didn't bow just so or sneeze into an arm versus a silken napkin. His carefulness in court eventually led him to his position as a Guild Leader. Being nice trapped him behind bars of social niceties when Sera walked around burning mansions freely.

The frustration on his face must have shown, and again, his aide nudged his elbow. His frown turned to a blank expression, hiding his feelings deep inside.

They arrived at the mansion just as the Hamblin City Guard ran up. Henry waved to the officer and quickly promised to bring out the culprit at no charge to the city. The officer, upon hearing who was inside, quickly agreed with a pale face. He only asked to send a pair of guards to observe. Henry didn't have a good reason not to agree and soon was entering the courtyard.

Immediately he shouted for the healers at the back of the three-party formation to move forward. One party split off with them to act as lookouts, and Henry nodded at their speed. The courtyard was trashed. Flames were making their way through the garden to one side, and a shed was burning rapidly. The middle of the courtyard was ash where the spell had been cast, and Henry was glad there were no bodies there.

The guards wearing the Count's colors seemed to be alive for the most part. Or at least many of them were screaming or moaning. He ignored the sounds, too used to the sounds and sights of adventuring to care much. The healing would have to be compensated by the Guild and another fine for the Sanmeys for casting spells on Hamblin citizens.

Since he learned to control the mana in his veins, headaches were very rare. In fact, the only times he ever seemed to get them were when Serabelle decided to do things. He thought that after the tower incident, she was better at controlling her power in the city.

He walked around the smoldering ground for the sake of the two parties and two city guards following him. It didn't even cross his mind that they might be able to withstand the heat.

As he approached the steps to the manor, he peered into the building and froze. This couldn't be…

"Death mana?" asked the leader of one of his parties. "In the city?"

A cold sweat broke out on Henry's back. He drew upon his internal reserves and cast a basic wind spell to clear the miasma from the entrance. The fog barely reacted, swallowing up the new mana. Immediately he called, "Everyone stop. That is death miasma. Do not let it touch you."

The adventurers with him were at the highest level in the city at the moment. Aside from outliers like the Sanmeys or that fool, Michael Bux, the men, and women with him were the highest skilled people. Well, and those in the City-State army. All of them were at least aware of the most dangerous variant manas. Death mana was one of the worst to face, along with the spells attached to it.

It attached itself to living beings and killed the energy inside of them. The stronger the being, the more death mana it would produce if left unchecked. And it was notoriously difficult to deal with once it got a foundation within a person. Thankfully, it was rare magic that few adventurers ever met with. Anyone who cast it was killed immediately as the man became a plague after being cast. No kingdom or race would risk having it in their cities run rampant.

Henry, from the moment he saw the death mana began casting magic around him. He feared that Hamblin was about to become an infestation of the undead. His spells soon reassured him that the mana was contained within the building and the miasma wasn't trying to leave.

Curious. Everything he read said the mana would expand. Unless it was still feeding on the living in there?

Squinting, he tried to peer further into the mansion, but the shifting black vapor obscured his view.

"Guild Leader, what do we do? Do you think there's anyone in there?" asked the other party leader, Bima. She looked around as if the death magic was going to grab at her at any moment. It might have been funny to see the diamond-ranked adventurer shaking, a member at the highest level in Hamblin, but death magic was no joke.

Henry cursed. This was not in his job description. All he ever heard about death magic as an adventurer was summed up succinctly by his father, "Leave it be. Y'aint paid to be dead."

"Back up. Get the wounded out of the courtyard. The death mana is contained within the manor for now, but I do not trust it will remain," he ordered. When nobody moved, he frowned and infused his voice with mana, "Move people! Are you scared of a little bit of death? Get these wounded out of here."

That made them get moving. Bima was the first out of the walls, two burnt and bleeding guards bouncing on her shoulders as she sprinted through the gate. Henry was walking over to help when he heard a gasp from behind him. It was his aide, Olivia.

"It's moving," she said, pointing a shaking finger at the entrance. A few heads turned at her words. "It's moving. It's moving!" Henry seemed to teleport as he ran up and put his hand around her mouth. No sense in starting a panic. He smiled at everyone still moving the guards, but they were already running.

His efforts might be in vain, but they might be right. Olivia's finger still pointed at the doorway. The miasma was slowly rolling out of the threshold like smoke from a dragon's maw. Henry cursed again and let Olivia go. She scrambled away from him and screamed all the way out the courtyard.

Something held him fast, though. A shape was forming in the fog. Without a thought, Henry lifted his hands and bow settled into it with an arrow already to string. He could draw and lose three in the blink of an eye, but the usual sense of danger was lacking. He lowered the bow, and the shape moved a bit forward.

Could it be a draugr, the walking dead cursed with skills of fallen adventurers? Maybe the caster tried to become a lich, an undead of great power? Yet he stood with his bow at his side, waiting to see why he sensed no danger from the approaching being.

At his level, a sixth sense would warn him if the enemy or situation was above his level and a feeling for how far. It saved his life many times and, at others, allowed him to return strong enough to defeat such obstacles. For it to be silent now made him wonder if death magic was not considered a threat as it was a natural force in the world for all that it was seen as evil.

His curiosity was not going to get him killed, however. Henry jumped in the air and used a wind spell to keep himself alight. He would put down this creature of death as soon as it showed. If the magic was enough to kill Serabelle, he would easily take him if he allowed it too close. The figure finally made it through the doorway, and Henry drew his bow. Just as he released, he pulled his bow to the side sharply.

"Antel!" for all his certainty that it was a being of death, Henry hadn't thought Antel would walk out. The miasma was swirling around the giant of a man, and the man was in pain. He wasn't wearing a helm and seemed to be carrying something in his arms. He could feel the death mana didn't care about Antel but about the thing in his hands. "Antel, what happened?" he called.

Despite seeing the smith, Henry couldn't trust that he wasn't corrupted. Mind magic wasn't as rare as death magic, but many kingdoms embraced them as tools. To combine death and mind... the thought sent chills down Henry's spine. Antel's eyes were locked almost feverishly on the object in his hands.

"Antel Sanmey, stop! I am Guild Leader Henry Taylor. Stop, man!" The giant didn't stop. He shuffled another step forward, and it reminded Henry of the stories of walking dead he'd heard. He drew his bow back and steeled his heart. "Antel, what do you have there? If you do not answer me, I will loose!"

Henry gave him until he reached the bottom of the stairs before he shot. A commotion at the gate drew a glance. It was a Sproutling. Autumn, he thought its name was. A mixed group of adventurers was keeping him out. He watched Antel as he listened. One was saying, "You cannot enter. There is death magic, and Guild Leader ordered us out!"

"This one understands but must enter. Stand aside," Autumn responded flatly. The green stubs at the top of its head flicked back and forth at a rapid speed.

"You. Can. Not. Enter," said a warrior. He punctuated each word with an arm chop. The Sproutling didn't seem to care and walked forward as if to part the group in front of him with his body. The ring of steel filled the air, and Henry decided enough was enough.

He called back, "Let the Sproutling through. Be ready to cast any spells you have to put down anything in this courtyard if anything weird happens."

"Yes, Guild Leader!" shouted Bima, more than excited to destroy the death magics that scared her so.

"What are you doing here, Sproutling?" he asked.

Autumn walked up to the edge of the ash circle Serabelle made. "This one can stop the spread of death magic."

Henry blinked. Then he blinked again. Stop death mana? That's not… Fucking wood people. "How? What do you need? Can Antel be saved?"

"This one will show you. It is no secret among the Forest." Henry recognized the last word as Sproutling-speak for his kind. Could magic exist that can control death magic? Was the Sproutling a death mage? No, it couldn't be. Not even the Sproutlings would let one live. So how would he contain it?

No, the real question was would he let it happen? Antel made it to the bottom step. Time to choose before he made it too far. Put down an adventurer or let another try to save him? Seemed an easy choice when phrased like that. What would be best for the Guild, though? Confirmation that there was a counter to death magic might get be enough to promote Henry out of Hamblin to a real city. Death of a Sanmey smith would be signing his own death certificate.

The choice was easy.

He didn't lower his bow.

"Try it," he ground out through gritted teeth. "But if it fails, I will put him down."

The Sproutling didn't answer, but Henry felt mana being drawn in the treeman. At first, it was no different than any other high-level adventurer replenishing their store of mana, but soon, it became a torrent of manas rushing around the Sproutling. He felt life and rot and nature manas twisting alongside a few others he missed as they swirled out of reach.

Henry watched worriedly for signs of the death mana moving toward the vortex of mana but didn't see so much as a wisp fluctuate from its own twisting pattern around Antel. He looked back in time to see Autumn lift a pair of beast cores in each hand and set them on the ground. It was chanting something in its own language, and Henry could only make out the odd word.

Then the mana shifted, and Henry's spell keeping him aloft was jolted. The Guild Leader pushed even higher away, and the view from above quickly made it clear what was happening. From above, he could see great lengths of root pushing the topsoil of the courtyard out of the way. A circle formed around Antel's stumbling body, and Henry was frankly confused.

Did Autumn think a simple boundary of plants would keep Antel from spreading death mana?

"That will not work!" he called down. "The mana will eat through the plants and only get stronger!"

Autumn ignored him and continued his chant. The two cores by him seemed to be sucked into the earth. The roots around Antel grew larger and trapped him within a double arms width of space. Wooden "arms" reached out and grabbed Antel to stop his motion. The giant tried to lurch away, but the hands behind him grabbed hold of his shoulders and forced him down to a knee.

Henry didn't see the point of stopping the man's movement as the death mana began to devour the roots the Sproutling summoned. That's when he saw something weird. Instead of devouring the plants, the death mana seemed to be absorbed by the plant.

It was completely backward!

More plant hands reached out, and the miasma around the giant cleared even more as they took his burden.

With the death mana disappearing into the plants, Henry could see into the miasma for the first time. What he saw there finally made him lower his bow. Just before all the hands stole the sight from him, Henry saw Serabelle in Antel's arms. Her usually confident demeanor gone; her face pale. Black lines stretched through her skin, and a bandage around her midsection did nothing to hide the brown color staining the cloth.

Dumbfounded, Henry brought himself down to Autumn's level. What else but death magic could take down both the Sanmeys? Was this all a part of the plot from Eirnoal to take over Hamblin? Taking out the strongest defender would pave the way for an army to move on the city without fear of losing their own high-level mages?

He shook his head. These thoughts were second nature to him now, but right now, he had to focus on the threat.

"Sproutling, what are you doing with the death mana? I cannot sense it once it enters these roots," he asked. His sense for mana was very fine after a lifetime of ambushes from magically hidden creatures. Still, it couldn't pierce the living root, and it was clearly still alive despite being attacked by the death mana.

From everything he knew, the death attuned mana should have grown off of the buffet of life mana placed before it. So, where did it go?

Autumn didn't answer, but Henry could tell he was concentrating still. He held his questions and tried his best to sense what was going on. Antel was completely enveloped by the roots, but the barrier was not air-tight. Henry's wind magic flowed in and around but found no trace of the death mana previously raging around the two in the middle.

A thought made him send his wind into the Count's estate. While not as good as seeing with his actual eyes, he could create a mental map of what he was seeing. Roots had pierced the floor in places, and Henry guessed that was what Autumn was focused on. Then he found the bodies. Lots of bodies. He stopped counting after 30 but instead tried to find the cause of the death. A second cocoon of roots was on the second floor. The fighting didn't seem to carry further into the manor past the foyer, but Autumn's voice distracted him.

"I will need many more beast cores. At least 10 of C-rank quality," Autumn stated. His antennae were drooped to the sides of his head.

Autumn's voice was so very flat and emotionless that Henry wasn't sure if he was being extorted or if Autumn genuinely needed them for something. He wished he could remember more about how Sproutlings express their emotions.

"Why?" he asked in a measured tone. If he wanted them for payment, that would have to wait until after the situation was dealt with.

"The two this one had on hand are spent," Autumn said.

"So? What are you getting at?"

"There is a lot more death mana below the manor."

A lot more? Frowning, Henry sent his wind around trying to find a staircase. He found a storeroom, a pantry, and a lot of wine but no… his face paled. His wind swept over more bodies than he found upstairs. Many more. And whenever his mana touched the bodies, a surge of death mana ripped his control apart.

"I will, ah, get you those cores," Henry said. His voice sounded much calmer than he felt. He relayed the order to Bima, who sent a couple of runners back to the guildhall. He nodded and turned back to Autumn. "Can you answer my questions now?"

The Sproutling turned to him, "This one will answer what he can."

"What did you do? Where did the death mana go? Are Antel and Serabelle still alive? What are the cores for?" he asked rapid-fire.

"This one will answer most of these questions but first must explain the magic behind it. You know that all mana must be conserved? Mana must be transformed in equal measures but cannot be destroyed or lost. This one's magic is the magic of rot. Death mana becomes rot and feeds rot. If the rot dies, it will become death again, but the death cannot be if the rot becomes life. The cores were used to create enough roots to create enough rot to contain the death. Do you follow?" the Sproutling asked.

Henry tried to put the pieces together, "You are using rot magic to absorb the death mana, then changing both into more roots?"

A long moment passed where Autumn stared through Henry. Henry willed himself to ignore the strangely still woodman. Autumn's entire being seemed to be processing what was said. Only his antennae swirling slowly gave indication he was alive. "This one believes you have summarized the process well," Autumn said.

Henry thought about it but didn't know enough about magic theory to refute or agree. It seemed like such a simple solution to a problem that was such a terror across the entire world. "Why don't we do this all the time?"

"Rot magic takes a toll. It must be formed. As fire mages grow angry with their magic spent, this one must sacrifice life for rot in equal measure. Those cores were B grade."

Henry choked a bit on his next question. C-grade cores could pay for a thrifty adventurer's annual income. B cores, on the other hand, were more than a hundred times as rare. An adventurer could buy into a city's nobility or a good house in the Merchant's Capital and have money to spare. Yet this Sproutling spent two of them.

His mouth was dry as he croaked out, "Why?" Why spend that kind of money on someone else?

"Serabelle Sanmey accepted this one as a member of her family while Antel Sanmey has an Ask to complete." Henry nodded but didn't understand. The barter of services that the Sproutlings worked under didn't make sense to him. His upbringing under the tyranny of copper and gold in Merch's streets certainly didn't help.

It wasn't long before the cores arrived, and Autumn set them in a circle around himself. Before he began, Autumn said, "This one will release the Sanmeys. There is still death mana inside of Serabelle, but it is contained. Please treat them both immediately as their lifesparks are fading. This one will begin now." And, as stated, the Sproutling began chanting even before Henry called for a few specific people.

He called for three healers he trusted, including Joann, a complete party of casters, and a city guard. Two healers would treat Antel and Serabelle when Joann gave the all-clear. The third was to monitor those two. The party was to blow everything up if death mana started to expand again. The Guard? Well, his political mind wouldn't shut up, and they needed to prove that the death mana both existed and was taken care of before anything significant happened.

As soon as the roots fell away, Antel's body slumped to the side. His armor clanking on the walkway. Even unconscious, he still protected Serabelle's body, holding her close to his chest. Henry wanted to wait and see if anything would happen but Joann just "Humphed" and stalked forward. She placed a hand to both of the Sanmeys' foreheads. Her frown deepened into the mass of frown lines on her wrinkled face.

Henry prepared himself mentally for the worst, "What do you find?" he asked.

Joann glanced at him, and her frown grew even deeper. Any further, and he might be able to see straight inside her. "Timothy, get your scrawny butt over here and start healing this man. He's burned most of his muscle mass trying to play around with that nasty magic. I can see why, too." she said. Timothy, the healer that was most definitely had not skipped a meal and never deserved to be attached to the term "scrawny," wadle-ran up to Antel's side. He took a glance over both members and put a shaking finger to Antel's head. Joann just grabbed his wrist with a viper's speed and put his wrist against the giant's head. He tried to pull back, but he was held stuck until he got control of himself. Joann whispered something to him, and he nodded so hard his jowls quivered.

Henry decided that the fat man would not outdo him and walked to their side. "And Serabelle?" he asked.

"Sera over here still has death mana inside her. It is...strange," Joann said, glancing at Autumn.

"Strange how?" asked one of the casters who held a fireball spell ready in his hand. The flames dripping to the ground between his fingers, and Henry shook his head. The best parties in Hamblin, and he was literally holding his spell at the ready. Literally.

"Extinguish that flame, Driscol," Henry snapped. He whispered, "Strange how?"

Joann got the idea and responded under her breath, "The death mana is wrapped in a core of rot. The rot is wrapped in a mass of wood. And all of it is right here." She pointed to the bandage. Henry looked from Joann to the spot she indicated.

"So?"

Joann gave him a withing look, and Henry, the Guild Leader of the Adventurer's Guild of Hamblin, shrunk back. "Do you know nothing of the human body? That bag of flesh you use every day? Pfft. Some "Guild Leader."" she said sarcastically and at a loud volume.

Henry didn't reach up to feel his ears burn; he merely ignored the old bat's quips. "Please, enlighten me to what you mean."

Joann just shook her head and pulled Serabelle's body away from Antel's weakened arms. She pulled her a little bit away before she motioned Henry to join her. He knelt on the flagstone and watched as she ripped the bandage apart. The smell of rot and pus washed over him, but he blinked through it. A slender knife appeared in Joann's hand, and she went to cut into Serabelle's chest.

Henry watched, fascinated as the healer didn't hesitate to cut out chunks of ruined flesh from around the hole. Black and brown rot slushed to one side as the healer moved with deft flicks. Her other hand glowed a soft green light. Soon, Henry could see Sera's lung inflating and deflating in stutters. It was shallow but still there.

Yet Joann continued to cut. Henry was beginning to be worried about the amount of flesh being discarded from Serabelle. In fact, it was worrisome that it was so easy to cut into someone who was known across the world by all the major powers. Henry once again gritted his teeth and watched and waited.

Finally, Joann pointed with her knife hand and looked at Henry. He was no stranger to viscera, the cause of much of it, but this was something new. To cut into somebody with the intention of saving them. When he came around the side, he didn't know what he was looking at. Then he saw a black thing pulse and nearly jumped backward in surprise.

Joann cackled next to him. "That's the human heart, you nimrod. Look just under it. No, yes, there. That brownish object is the shielding the Sproutling put into her."

Henry frowned, "Can you remove it?" Joann gave him another withering stare, but this time Henry's defenses were ready. "Well, can you?"

"You do know that mana is formed in the space behind the heart, correct? Perhaps you understand that removing the heart is also a leading cause of death? Her heart itself is contained in part with the death mana. Her natural mana is feeding the wood shield and the rot, in turn, to keep the death mana from taking over her heart.

"It cannot be removed as it has taken over her lifespark, you fool man."

The words were soft and carried all the frustration a healer could muster when faced with an impossible disease. The words continued to run through his mind as he processed that information. People were starting to filter in now that the death mana was in hand. Henry ran through multiple scenarios in his head before he stood and walked over to Olivia. The aide nodded at his words, not understanding what was about to happen.

She ran off, and Henry signaled the party leaders to join him next to Autumn. When the Sproutling finished whatever it was that he did, Henry led the parties throughout the mansion to take stock of what happened.

Whatever happened in the foyer was completely separate from what transpired in the basement. If the Sanmeys ever stood trial, the evidence against Count Teanio was without doubt enough to convict the man a traitor several times over.

Henry himself watched as each of the two hundred and thirty-nine bodies were brought out of the manor and laid in rows. He didn't bother using his own adventurers for this. While they were to hunt monsters, this was Hamblin's monster to deal with. The city guard who ended up on the detail would never forget what they saw in that basement. Blood coated the dungeon cells behind the doors in the basement.

Torture implements and meat hooks were the least grotesque thing to see past that door. Nobody was just killed. Each was mutilated and played with uniquely. Henry forced himself to study them in case he knew one of the faces. A couple might have been adventurers he sent out that never came back. The servants of the Teanio estates were present as well. Their uniform and colors untouched but looked to be redressed post-mortem as they were flayed.

The source of the death magic was clear. Henry and the city's investigators concluded that the Count used an unknown item to store a massive amount of death magic in Able's body. It killed the man instantly and "trapped" the body so that the next source of mana that touched it would explode. Able's corpse was surprisingly well preserved for being the obvious epicenter of a large explosion of death magic.

The Count's corpse was identified by a ring on its hand though it wasn't certain as only a skeleton remained.