Chapter 45

Garman deflected the spiked tail of his fiendish opponent, knocking it away before following up with a quick jab with the sharp point of his axe and a horizontal slash through its neck. The creature collapsed in a spray of red blood.

Spinning, he looked for the next enemy in the darkness, when he saw the fiends hesitate. One of the creatures even tilted its head, as if listening to a distance call. Abruptly, they faded back into the shadows, disappearing from sight.

Lowering his weapon, Garman stared in confusion at the sudden absence of foes. They had been fighting a losing battle for hours, slowly being driven back until they were nearly to the estate, having evacuated the town.

Wil and the others had left to rescue the girl, had they managed to stop whatever was happening?

Looking to the sky Garman realized that the black moon was still broken, the cracks clearly visible, tar bubbling on its surface. But the drops had ceased, the fiends retreating. What could it mean?

Barking orders to see to the wounded, Garman left the cries of victory and the moans and screams of the injured and dying, behind. Drudging slowly, he returned to the manor. Stepping through the entrance, he was confronted by shouts and scurrying servants.

“I need hot water and sheets for bandages in the main hall! Hurry! Send for the local clerics, the Lady is overwhelmed by the injuries!” Greaves yelled, his voice distinct over the din. Servants carrying linen and buckets of steaming water rushed from the downstairs kitchen.

Following the commotion, he found Greaves in the main hall, three figures prone on the ground, an exhausted and drained Kathryn kneeling next to them, wrapped in the blue divine light of Secundus. Her hushed prayers of healing were lost by Quentin. She was yelling in Markus’ face, gripping his breastplate armor tightly and practically shaking the man.

“Where is Wil, Markus! Why didn’t he return with you!” She screamed.

“Annabelle! You’re not helping. Let the man be, he’ll speak when he is able!” Bell said sternly, gripping the young woman by the shoulders and dragging her back. Markus nodded at the older man gratefully, before trying to speak.

“We...there was-” Markus was cut off by a coughing fit, wet, wracking coughs that stained his lips with blood.

Stepping deeper into the room, Garman could see the state they were in. Kathryn seemed unharmed, simply on her last dregs of mana, the woman wiped her sweat covered brow as she bent of Astrid.

The silver haired noblewoman was in rough shape, her face battered and bruised. Garman had seen enough wounds to know that she had been struck by something blunt and heavy. It looks to have shattered her shoulder, judging by the appearance of it. Worse, it was likely she suffered a serious headwound, something concerning enough that even a high ranked Cleric like Kathryn couldn’t immediately heal it.

The young girl, Serena, was comatose on the ground, her skin pale and covered in scars and old wounds, but she looked to be fine. Dehydrated, starved, and drained of blood, but alive.

The worse of the group, Markus looked to have been to hell and back. He was missing an arm, a large chunk of his leg looked to have been gouged out, and from his coughing, he had a serious problem with his lungs.

Gesturing weakly, Markus accepted a glass of water, wetting his throat, before speaking. He explained what had happened, how the rescue of Serena had gone smoothly, until the Armored Warrior appeared and attacked them.

“Wil stayed behind to face him. The portal is connected to that monster’s lifeforce. It won’t close until its dead.” Markus said, meeting Quentin’s eyes as the woman blanched.

“What chance does Wil have, Markus? That thing ripped through all of you like paper, and you left Wil alone!” She said, her voice rising at the end.

“He didn’t give us any choice, Miss Quentin… Annabelle.” Kathryn said, standing and moving closer to her husband. Despite her exhaustion, she began to heal his injuries, focusing on his internals. Eventually, when she regained some of her strength, she would regrow his arm and close his external wounds.

“He must be doing something right. Those fiends fled with their tails between their legs. They wouldn’t do that unless Junior accomplished something.” Garman replied, reporting to the others that the Fiends were no longer assaulting them, and the dead appeared to finally be staying that way.

“But the portal is still open. If Wil succeeded, shouldn’t it close?” Greaves asked, assisting Kathryn with wrapping Markus’s wounds with bandages.

“Something is wrong. We need to go to Aachen. Kathryn, can you send us there?” Quentin asked, taking charge of the group. Rounding on the Cleric, she waited for an answer.

“Even if I had the strength, I wouldn’t. We’re needed here. Wil sent us away for a reason, Annabelle. Returning may place him in further danger. I suggest we rest and heal while awaiting word. Only the gods can assist Wil now, we simply must have faith.” Kathryn said, looking up at Quentin with a gentle expression on her face.

“I place my faith in what I can see and feel. And I feel that Wil needs our help. Garman, will you come with me?” Quentin asked, turning to the large guardsmen. He nodded immediately.

“I would, but it doesn’t change the fact that we don’t have a way to reach Junior. If Lady Kathryn isn’t able to teleport us, we’ll have to wait until she regains her strength.” Garman advised.

“Astrid!” Quentin exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “She’s bound to have something in her bag to get us to Wil. She followed easily enough in Lund, and she brought an entire ship here from Elbing. Where is it?” Quentin asked, leaning down and rooting around Astrid’s prone figure for her bag of holding.

Annabelle Quentin was interrupted from her search by Astrid stirring awake. The bruises on her face had faded to yellow and blue, her eyes opened slowly, showing confusion, before focusing on Quentin who was leaning over her.

“What happened?” She whispered weakly, her tongue sliding across her chapped and dry lips.

“Astrid. You’re hurt, and Wil is missing. Do you have something in your bag we can use to reach him?” Quentin asked, urging the young woman to think.

“Wil? Is he hurt! Where is he!?” Astrid said, coming fully awake and sitting forward with a start. She winced as her movement aggravated her wounds. Clutching her forehead, she waited for a wave of dizziness to pass.

“We don’t know. Think Astrid, do you have a way of finding Wil?” Quentin asked again, frustration lacing her tone at the slow response.

“My bag…Wil gave me…” She trailed off, picking up her bag and rooting through it. In a moment, she grasped an item with both hands, lifting it from its enclosure. It was the Clockwork Owl, the machinery silent and waiting to be activated. The brass owl was large in her pale hands as she held it aloft.

“Why do you have this?” Quentin asked, suspicious. Wil had treasured it, treating like a member of his family rather than an object.

“When we traveled to Aachen, he was worried about me. He said it would carry me to safety, and if we became separated, it would always find its way back to him.” Astrid whispered, gently stroking the metallic wings. Injecting a small amount of mana into the Owl, its slowly came awake, the gears whirling softly.

With a hoot, its eyes opened, taking in the room. It seemed confused for a moment, noticing immediately that its owner wasn’t present. With a flap of its wings, it took to the air, circling the ceiling, waiting for be released.

“Well, now we have a way of getting there. Garman, get ready, bring some of your guards that you trust. We should bring one of the clerics from town as well, in case Wil is injured.” Quentin ordered, commands rolling off her tongue at a rapid pace.

“Annabelle!” Kathryn shouted, standing upright, her expression one of shock and dismay. Bandages dangled from her hand, forgotten.

“Kathryn? What is it?” Quentin asked, an icy feeling creeping through her stomach.

“Secundus…she, she’s with Wil. She’s forbidden anyone from contacting him or trying to reach him.”