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Part 9: Deceit

Irven stirred, but the thick mattress and heavy covers drew him back under.

Wake up, Irven. We need to talk.

“Wha...?”

That voice.

Irven sat up in his bed as Heun crawled on and rested on his leg, responding to the spike of adrenaline. He checked the room as his hand slowly gripped the drenda.

Kayl rested quietly in the storage chest provided in the hotel room, covered in blankets and bedding and hidden from the door by his bed, just in case of any intrusion. Besides the subtle movement of Kayl's breathing, nothing else in the room shifted. Safe that he was otherwise alone, he calmed. Just a strange dream. He released Heun, who rolled back to Irven's coat on the corner of the bed.

It was warm from the radiator, but he shouldn't be sweating. Irven stared at it for a few moments, grimaced and wiped his brow, then squinted at the mechanical clock in the room. “Eleven bells,” Irven muttered and pinched the bridge of his nose. That would be enough sleep, and he should see about scouting the town during trading hours.

He slowly stood and made his way into the bathroom. He used the facilities and went to take a hot shower. All the uniform levers and switches, the familiar whine of the heat coil engaging and the drone of the water pipes engaging. Just like back then...

Irven wasn't the same boy as back then, but being surrounded by humans and the technological advancements made by his mentor, there was no avoiding it, so he finally succumbed, sighed and let his mind wander.

Such modern marvels were all but unheard of in Clan Star-Sail's grounds, yet these luxuries filled him with all sorts of terrible memories of his upbringing. Every day, as nice as the hot water felt, they were just a means of efficiency; the same actions, the same mandate to improve, the same pitfalls and failures. The same demanding bastard teacher, never satisfied with his progress.

That was enough. Irven tore his mind from Castle Jorsviek and focused on his mission.

Irven had learned a few details from the hotel's owner. Werchid's mayor, a man named Tibor, ran things well for a good many years. He was firm and even handed, though severe against those who risked the safety and prosperity of the town, yet jovial and friendly.

More recently however, he had been using fear of Vliechov's oligarchy to get his way in structuring how the town ran to a much harder, finer degree. This was what ushered in the new defence systems and stricter laws, notably that ever since Brevshket's influence waned from the region, Tibor swore it would be only days before the oligarchy moved back in. Every few days, the invasion would be in a few more days. It had been a couple of years since Brevshket's death, yet his shadow lingered still in so many ways.

Irven did not know the man behind the evil facade of an abusive, self-imposed father figure and tutor, just deeds, titles and accomplishments.

Provost Arbachol Brevshket, a man of equal fame and infamy. A pioneer of science and magic. A wizard of terrible and obscene power. He was revered by many, but Irven felt nothing but hatred for the monster.

And yet you think of me so often, boy.

Irven's heart all but stopped as he stumbled out of the shower, arms raised and ready to defend himself.

“No... w- who's there!?”

Your form is good. Solid. You've been trained by the kobolds well.

“What? You're dead...” Irven trailed off and looked in the mirror. Just his face peered back, albeit blotchy, red in some places from the hot shower but white elsewhere from the panic. He turned back around to switch off the shower, then hastily dried himself and wrapped the towel around his waist, and turned towards the exit.

Brevshket stood before him.

“Fuck!” Irven's feet skidded on the floor as he retreated into the tiled wall behind him.

His old mentor's form shifted and flowed, as if formed from the steam of the shower, but the smirk on his draconic muzzle was unmistakable. He was dressed just as he had died; clad in the very coat Irven now owned, with only his green, dragon-like head, clawed hands and digitigrade feet exposed. His words were as vaporous as he was, but they were growing stronger.

“I did not teach you to forget my words, boy. What was it I said when he last spoke?”

“Th... that... I- I...”

“Stammering is a sign of fear and weakness, Irven. Your mind is scattered, frail, lacking focus, like a child. I'm disappointed.”

“You're not real...” Irven whimpered and rubbed his face.

Brevshket chuckled. “Am I not? What is Galofid's second rule of the draconic spirit?”

Irven stepped forward and yelled, “you're... NOT REAL!”

His mentor slapped him with the back of his hand. A familiar, terrifying sting ran through Irven's cheek and rattled his head.

“Then we shall revise! Galofid's first rule of draconic spirits states: dragons are not the tangible beasts we recognise, but the cumulative mass of many draconic spirits within them. With this being evident, what is the second rule!?”

Irven stammered, and was struck again, this time with the phantom's fine scaled palm. It made him cry out, “sir! Galofid's second rule is that if the body is destroyed, the spirit can theoretically linger if given sufficient will and purpose!”

Brevshket smiled with enough honesty it made Irven's stomach turn. “There, you see? You know, but you have grown lazy. Your standards are those of the servile kobolds, efficient only in numbers and when given the right motivation, not the man you should have become under my guidance. You should be in charge of the region, not Tibor, not the venerable Praevadi. You! Frankly, her death cannot come soon enough. But like I said when we last spoke, WE are eternal! Still, now that you are apart from her, we can sculpt you into what I always aspired to make you.”

“But... I saw you die! How did you hit me!? It makes no sense!”

“Irven, you continue to disappoint me.” Brevshket tapped his claws along his muzzle, then ran his hand along his brow and horn, then shook his head. “Shall we revise once more? What arcanic arts did I possess? And since time is wasting, it's one you also possess.”

“T- telekinesis?”

“Good. We have established I am an entity of draconic will form and function, a power bestowed on me by the body of Praevadi's mate. So, as such a being, of what do you think I am capable? Especially when tied to your own powers?”

“O- oh...”

Brevshket shrugged, raised a clawed hand and clenched a fist. Condensation from the walls, the lurking steam in the air, even droplets from Irven's body were pulled into a sphere of water the size of Irven's head, that hovered for a few moments before Brevshket opened his hand and it crashed to the floor.

“Again, you knew the answer, yet you did not use your mind. We have much work to do. Now, if you have quite finished gawping, go get dressed, and let us go and see Tibor. It has been a long time.”

Irven grimaced and plucked up his courage. “I- I refuse to do your bidding!”

Brevshket cackled loudly and exposed his long, sharp teeth. “I see! So, now that our objectives are aligned, you intend to stand in opposition to your own goals? Very well, return home a failure, to both my standards and those of your precious kobolds! I've grown tired of this conversation. Once you decide to actually utilise that once brilliant mind of yours to advance our goals, I shall assist you.”

A great weight that Irven hadn't even noticed lingering in his head lifted. He fell to his knees as Brevshket faded, as if he was never there. Instead, Irven rubbed his stinging cheek. Then wept.

* *

Kayl had once slept in a crevice, the gap of which she was a couple of inches too small to fall through, over a hundred foot drop, because it was the only place that offered cover from her target. She would readily sleep on hard rock, sand, gravel and more. The depth and softness of her bedding was, at first, painfully comfortable. Yet, once she drifted off to sleep, she had never felt such peace.

As she stirred, her dreams filled with thoughts of her mate and these fragments of her past missions, and how he was worried she wouldn't be able to sleep comfortably inside a storage chest. Kayl smirked as she struggled to dig herself free of the piles of soft blankets and the second pillow from the bed.

Paet, braced against the chest lid to prevent it falling, waited until she climbed out, then snaked over and around his master. She petted him affectionately before he went still.

The door to the washing room slammed open and a distraught Irven walked in, pale in the face and panicked.

“Irven? What's wrong?”

“It's Brevshket! He's- he's still with me somehow!”

Kayl leapt onto the bed and beckoned her mate over, who sat beside her and held her tightly as Heun crept up and rested on his leg. Irven explained what happened to him, that a phantom of his former mentor and Clan Star-Sail's old enemy lingered.

“I've never heard of such a thing actually happening,” Kayl said as she brushed a thumb under her chin. “At least not outside of legends and tales in the archives. Though I have heard humans talk about ghosts of their deceased who lingered after deaths from intense magical use, but I've never seen anything like that. Even Head Archivist Gren has only read stories of dubious merit.”

Irven finished calming down and focused. “I only ever assumed the theories about lingering draconic souls were just that, theories. Let alone a scalecaster being able to not only manifest himself as an actual presence, but also use his old magic... or maybe even my own, in some way if he's possessing me.”

“I understand this may be troubling, Irven, and I hate to say it,” she said and held his hand in both of hers, “but we still have a mission to complete and we cannot afford to leave now.. If what you said is true, then he may even be able to help you in finding Kreshger.”

Irven managed a low chuckle. “Ever the pragmatist, aren't you?”

“It's the best weapon we have,” Kayl said, only for Paet to brush against her neck. She smirked and added, “one of a few that have seen to it that Star-Sail hasn't suffered defeat for centuries.”

“I suppose you're right.”

“Good, then if that's settled,” said Brevshket.

Kayl snatched up and swung Paet in the blink of an eye. The pick head of the cross-spear embedded into the chest of the dragon-man.

He didn't respond to the impact, nor did he seem harmed. Instead, he looked at the weapon, patted it with his hand, and chuckled before his form partially faded and Paet fell through.

Kayl stepped back, spear pointed and ready to strike as Irven crawled back on the bed, Heun forcing his way into his master's hand.

Brevshket pointed at Kayl and said, “now you, my little murderer, I can respect. If all kobolds were as competent as you, I would have raised my own clan of them in lieu of the servants I once owned. I understand why Irven is mating you; I once loved a woman with a similar proclivity for sudden, impetuous yet precise violence. Nothing quickens the blood quite like it.”

“Say your piece, phantom, or begone!” Kayl said, grimaced and gestured for her telekinesis to awaken.

“Simply preventing any distractions from your task, little one. Now that I am a known quantity for both of you, we can progress, as at least one of you should remain sharp and ready to make the drastic actions a mission may demand.” He turned to Irven “Let us go and see my old friend. The day is wasting.”

Kayl watched Brevshket's form fade, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She scratched her paler chin scales with her index claw, growled under her breath, but said, “well, on your way, Irven. I'll keep an ear open here.”

* *

Patrols lined the streets, but even more guards surrounded the centre of town, standing before and on top of another defensible wall. Every second man holding a spring-bolter. Irven heard it was also where most of the town's stockpile of supplies were kept, complete with a gated canal for moving them to and from the civilian sector and the trade-posts.

Without Kayl to bolster his confidence, Irven sucked in a deep breath as he made his way towards a queue of people and tried not to show any nerves. He heard the guards asking for reasons for passage.

Tell them you're here with revisions on the spring-bolter torque thresholds.

“Why in the hells would that work? I'm not known here,” Irven whispered.

_ Think to me, don't talk. Just answer as I tell you._

Irven bit his lip as the queue grew shorter, then it was finally his turn.

The full-face helmeted guard asked, “name and reason for visiting the secure district?”

“Irven. I have revisions on the spring-bolter torque thresholds.”

The guard tilted his head and examined his ledger. “Oh, the braggart from just this morning. Already vying for a position under the mayor, eh? Well, tough, all weapon inspections take place under the mayor's direct supervision in the factory, and he isn't taking unknowns like yourself. You'll need to join an armament guild.”

Say they're for the mayor's eyes only, and you don't want to take it through some guild.

Irven thought to himself that Brevshket's crazy, something that he could tell made the tyrant grin inside of him, but said, “the plans are secretive. I don't want to risk someone else stealing my work.”

The guard looked behind him and gestured something Irven couldn't see, then he chuckled and said, “well, in that case, step on through.”

Something sent a shiver up Irven's spine, but he walked past the guard, noticing a couple more in the archway of the gate. Movement behind him. Irven turned and put his hand on Heun, and the guard he had spoken to dropped the ledger and drew a truncheon.

Just as he began to draw his weapon, Irven was tackled to the ground by another guard, who pinned his arms to his sides as the first pummelled him.

Irven went slack and fought the darkness swirling in his vision. A bag wrapped around his head as his arms were bound behind his back.

Irven's head spun and he wasn't always aware of where he was, but he was being carried for a few minutes and his possessions were taken from him. His head ached and his hearing seemed distant, but not enough that he couldn't feel Brevshket's laugh_._ He wondered just what his plan was.

Simple. I know Tibor well. He'll want to deal with us himself.

This seemed like a bad idea. What if Tibor had changed in the past couple of years?

Irven didn't get his answer before he was thrown onto a chair, and his limbs were bound.

“Chief, this is the one that arrived last night, claiming to be an arcanist. The dumb fool tried to speak to you directly by claiming something about spring-bolter torque information.”

A loud, booming and gruff voice said, “are the ward coils in place and charged?”

“Sir? He's too young to be a mage.”

Sounds of a scuffle and the guard gasping in pain.

Wards? Hmph, Tibor truly has learned well from me. You'll be on your own for this one, boy. Just tell him what he wants to know.

“You listen to me, you parceka!” said the gruff voice, dipping into the old, outdated regional dialect, “wizards come in all shapes and sizes thanks to scalecasters messing with their bodies, so you get those wards ready right fucking now or I'll break your fucking thumbs!”

The guard stomped off, and moments later, a dull hum resonated in the room. It made Irven's teeth ache and his mind tingle.

The deep, rumbling voice, which had to be Tibor, said, “I don't care who you are, but your survival hinges on how quickly you answer my questions. Who sent you?”

“Uh...”

Irven was lifted, chair and all, up to his captor's face, judging by the sound of his breathing. A show of strength. Intimidation. Tibor moved him a few steps, then dropped him back to the ground, though still upright. Then there was a clattering of metal. “I'll start breaking your fingers, see if I can't loosen that tongue of yours.”

He couldn't believe what he was about to do. Brevshket's words played back through his head.

“I was sent by the dragon, Praevadi.”

Tibor snorted, then bellowed with laughter. “Ah yes, of course! The famously insular dragon has deigned to start sending envoys. And not even a kobold, but a human? Vratuchka, for that I might just break your legs and have you thrown out of town rather than have you executed. So tell me, for what purpose have you been sent by the all knowing, all seeing Praevadi?” He began to chuckle again. “And exactly how did she not foresee you being captured and tortured?”

Irven squinted and tried to think of a way out, or at least buy time. “Perhaps it's all part of her plan? That this is all within her expectations, and that I will eventually succeed? How does one predict against someone who can see the future?”

“What manner of nonsense is this?” Tibor said, tapping whatever he was holding against his palm. “You come here, claiming to be a mage when you barely sound like more than a child...” His tone softened, and he went silent for a while, then Tibor whispered, ”and where did you get that coat?”

Irven's skin crawled. He knew, deep down, he was going down the avenue Brevshket had expected, even if the wards clearly prevented the bastard from influencing him. “I... escaped Jorsviek a while ago.”

Tibor laughed, this time more earnestly, and another clatter of metal, like a tool being tossed in a box of other, similar objects. He then muttered, “sounds like... no, impossible.”

The bag was pulled from his head, and a great giant of a man stood before him, with a thick ginger beard, smoky blue eyes and a broken, crooked and scarred nose, swept back hair which was a paler, faded and almost blond colour than that on his face. While he had a large, round gut, his shoulders were broad and muscular, all clad in an old military coat, complete with honours, badges and ribbons from what must have been a hundred battles.

He turned, picked up another chair, placed it in front of Irven and sat down. “Don't start lying to me boy, the only lads that escaped Jorsviek were mentally and physically broken. Though you're a far cry from the other invaders and spies I've caught. Most of them were thralls and other sellswords who'd either plead for mercy or just start kicking and screaming. What's a young boy like you doing getting involved in this mess?”

“Thralls?”

“That's not your concern.” Tibor stood and picked up and examined Irven's basic side-sword first, then carried Heun over from the same table. “Now answer me. I have no problem gutting mercenaries who think they can prey upon my people, but I've seen too many young lads of late who had lost their minds to the woman in Jorsviek sent just to throw their lives away. You have your marbles about you, which makes your being here, armed, all the more concerning. And what is this... green staff you have? Some sort of cudgel? Walking stick?”

Heun snaked at the insult, and Tibor tossed the drenda to one side with a croaking gasp.

“Dacyka!! Is that a cekarni drenda weapon!? But only those with magic... no, it can't be...” Tibor stared at Irven and narrowed his eyes. “Vinnie?”

Through the hatred, the pain and everything Irven had experienced in Jorsviek, a gigantic bear of a man came to mind. A cheerful sort who seemed at odds with Brevshket, and would often sneak treats, candies and toys to the other students. It was easy to lose the man in Irven's mind, clouded behind constant abuse and tests and study. “... uncle Darnaq?”

Tibor ran his fingers through his beard and furrowed his brow, despite the small smile that had sprouted on his face. “I thought you had died with your father.”

Irven felt the bile rise in his gullet and he snapped, “Brevshket wasn't my father! I was a fucking slave to him. An experiment!”

“Alright, boy, easy! He was never clear about your relationship, but the way he often spoke of you... bah, forget it, that's not important.” Tibor unbound Irven's hands and sat back down. “Perhaps you should explain?”

* *

Kayl paced about the room. It was still light out, so she couldn't risk leaving, but for the first time on such a mission since she was a mere neonate, full of anxious energy to please both her dragonlord and the current scout-master, that Kayl just couldn't help but fret and listen to every stray sound in hopes it was Irven.

She clenched her teeth and growled. Kayl couldn't trust Brevshket, yet knew that the monster had no reason to hurt Irven. Kayl also knew Irven was her only way out of the town, so she was stuck here with no way to report back. Brevshket hadn't appeared until outside of Praevadi's influence, either, which meant he may have been hiding these past couple of years since his death. The only way forward to was to see the mission through and return to Clan Star-Sail.

Kayl practised with Paet, going through her usual exercises. A hundred swings and a hundred thrusts, using each arm as the dominant one in turn. Then she vaulted over the bed, pole-vaulting with Paet at first, then leaping and rolling over the soft surface. Finally she tested her telekinesis and aquamancy in the bathroom, moving water from the sink to the bath, both as hard and as fast as she could muster, then as slowly and controlled, shaping the water for her own amusement. A bird, a cube, a vaguely humanoid form. With a burst of effort, the water even froze, then returned to liquid.

It was finally growing dark outside. Kayl gathered her tools, shrouded in a cloak of muted, wintery colours tied around her limbs to break her silhouette, opened the window, and made her way outside.

* *

“... which was why I came here. I didn't even realise you and Kreshger were one and the same, uncle.” Irven rubbed his fingers together as he finished retelling most details of the past couple of years, without some of the more... sordid subjects.

Tibor poured a couple of glasses of vodka and handed one to Irven, then he sat behind his desk with his expression flat and unreadable.

It was a grand office. The name plate of 'Mayor Tibor Darnaq' shone in the amber hue of the electrical lighting, along with the well polished swords crossed on the walls, the worn spines of the books on the shelves. Behind the man and his large, padded seat was a pair of spring-bolters that were works of art more than weapons, with a dragon motif; the barrels were roaring maws, and they were both affixed with acid treated bayonets so that they resembled multi-hued flames.

Tibor sipped his vodka, then turned a crank handle sticking out of a large box beside him. He opened the lid and took a cylinder of grooved ceramic from his desk, placed it inside the box, and fiddled with the mechanism under the lid. The whole motion seemed meditative, as if something he'd do whenever troubled.

A crackle, a faint whine, then a scatter of pops and snaps sounded before mournful violins, a piano and a woman singing an operatic tune filled the room.

“I see,” Tibor said, drummed his fingers on his desk and sucked on his teeth. “You realise it isn't just some ritual they have you assisting, yes? It's a last ditch effort for power for Clan Star-Sail.”

Irven scoffed. “I find that unlikely. Dragonlord Praevadi is barely awake most days, and I haven't heard any invasion plans by my clanmates.”

“Of course they aren't invading. Not exactly, but first things first: perhaps you aren't aware, but dragons as ancient as Praevadi are perfectly capable of mustering a tremendous amount of power, however brief. You may have heard of an ancient drake from Goshev by the name of Karajan?”

An infamous drake, the likes of which often appeared in old stories to frighten children into behaving. “Old Dreadflame? Master of the Southern Slopes? Sure, I've read about him.”

“Then you probably know of the Razing of Marfield decades ago? Three thousand dead, the destruction of a city quarter in the Goshev capital and several outlying villages, all because he wanted to ensure he was feared when Vliechov took the country back from Bralran. By all accounts, that old bastard is just as ancient as Praevadi. The world will be a brighter place without him, and at this rate, I can almost say the same for that scaled soothsayer up there in the Havsglas mountains, controlling your precious kobolds.”

“Oh, don't,” Irven huffed, “Dragonlord Praevadi just wants a peaceful passage into the dragon afterlife. Peace of mind by eliminating those who were cohorts with Brevshket because of his corruption of her mate. Well, not you, uncle. I'm sure I can convince them to leave you be so we can focus on Jorsviek, and Sirvigec.”

“Sirvigec? Let us dispense with the deceit and secret names.” Tibor pursed his lips. “Her name is Caeris. She was your warden, if I'm not mistaken. Always looming over your shoulder, keeping an eye on you.”

Irven clenched his jaw tight. The masked woman that almost killed Kayl when they first met. Of course it was Caeris, one of Brevshket's most able and obsessed followers.

“But anyway... two insignificant humans, so doggedly pursued,” Tibor rumbled, pressed his fingertips together in front of him and rested his elbows on his desk. “After a campaign of slaughter across Old Sodrascouden, if you'll pardon my refusal to call this Vliechoven land, and the kobolds sending their best and most potent clan members? Do you not find that unusual, Vinnie? What is gained by our deaths, if we ignore this supposed spiritual side.”

Irven sipped his vodka. It was impeccably smooth and clean to taste, and the alcoholic burn was subtle. It made the stuff Star-Sail had been giving him seem like paint thinner. “... the weapons trade collapsing? I assume with the others dead, you control of most of Brevshket's old stock of spring-bolters, and I imagine you had access to his resources for making more.”

Tibor clapped his hands heavily once, then pointed at Irven. “Smart lad! Your fath... uh, Arbachol always said you were bright. Yes, we were all predominantly weapon manufacturers and dealers, but our focus has always been for the upcoming civil war with the neighbouring bootlickers of Vliechov proper, to fight for our independence. I've been aware of Bach's inner circle being eliminated, but most of them were scum, make no mistake; they knew there was money to be made serving the Provost so after he died, I even had to barter with them. Most of them were replaceable, though.

“But I am a patriot, a Sodrascoudenite until I die, and in St. Dastor's name, I don't care what Praevadi wishes to do. I would be more than happy to broker an agreement to allow the clan to either leave or let another dragon take over the Havsglas mountains to spare my people. But that's changed, as Bach told me it would, and in her desperation she's planning to have us all killed for her clan. Why do you think I invested so much in kobold traps?”

Irven tried to find Brevshket in his mind, seek some clarity or answers, but the bastard was oddly absent, so he said, “but that still makes no sense. Why would Clan Star-Sail attack you?”

“To disturb the balance and eliminate all threats to the change of dragons. I can't make a peace offering without leaving my town, and Caeris is obsessively seeking to become the only person of power in the region. If Praevadi cannot have a peaceful solution, then why not just crush the country under her heel while we not only fight each other, but suffer Vliechov's inevitable attack?”

“Okay, let's say that's true,” Irven sat forward and gripped the edge of the desk. “Why hasn't Praevadi attacked Jorsviek, taken out Caeris and put an end to this ridiculous stalemate?”

“I may control the majority of the ground troops of the region, and an army strong enough to face Vliechov in a bitter war or even attack Havsglas itself if I were so inclined, but that blic in Jorsviek keeps sending trouble my way; maddened thralls murdering people in the streets, mercenaries betraying caravans, rumours of assassins infiltrating the town! Anything to prevent us from fully solidifying our defences so we can secure the country, but she also has the last thing the Provost invented. The one thing that can slay a dragon, regardless of how strong Praevadi happens to be, or any drake in the skies attempting to encroach on the land.”

Tibor finished his vodka, steepled his hands and leaned forward. “The Arcus cannon.”

* *

In the last vestiges of daylight, as a heavy mist flowed in from the hills around Werchid, Kayl moved as one with the fog itself. Her aquamancy bunched it around her as if a great shroud, drifting through the dark corners of the streets. Sometimes the low hanging cloud would disperse, only for another pocket to form, and she moved ahead steadily, but with purpose. She knew the alleyways were dangerous from the reports, so she made her way on the main streets.

She could feel Irven's presence, and used it to guide her. His power, and their bond, made him a bright spark in the gloom. A human intercepted her path, so she lingered as the woman inserted a key into a lamppost, turned the crank, and the tall pole crackled a few times before the lantern on top ignited. Kayl winced at the bright light in the dark, her slitted golden eyes narrowing as she turned towards the darkness between the dangerous illuminated pools.

With a smooth, long draw of breath, she waved her hand and the condensation on the lamp concentrated into a single, large drop. It fell onto the wick and snuffed the flame. As the woman gasped and looked up in confusion, Kayl sprinted past her down the road and around the corner.

She continued as the night grew darker still, but the fog began to settle as she reached the wall around the centre of the town. The guarded checkpoints were too risky, so she followed the walls, keeping ahead of another lamp-lighter, and found a wall where the recent snows had packed up into a slope. The wall itself was new, even spiked to prevent climbing over the ledge. But it had holes through which to fire upon invaders, called the most complicated human word she knew, which learned when studying castle sieges in preparation for infiltrating Jorsviek. Machicolations.

The gap was too small to fall through as a human, bur perfect for Kayl's small size. The kobold-proofing was evident, as the openings were lined with bladed wire.

She called upon both her aquamancy and telekinesis once more. She packed the snow against the wall, hardened the outside and added steps, as well as a sheet of ice covering the wire. Then after a quick glance up and down the road, Kayl then took hold of Paet and sprinted for the wall, her clawed feet dug into the ice as her momentum shifted upward, and she scrambled at the hard stone. At the top, she thrust Paet into the gap, and he flexed to help hook the cross-spear into the opening, then clambered through herself.

Guards patrolled the entire wall, with several posted in each tower, but she could see only a handful walking beyond the checkpoints. Kayl kept low and used Paet on the ledge to lower herself off the other side, and dropped back into the darkness on the narrow streets. She weaved between warehouses and wagons of supplies, more confident and ever quicker in her movements, until she found what she sought: Irven's presence, within a three floored house.

Human buildings were often simple to climb, and this one was no exception; rough, weathered wood with small gaps between the logs, the pebble and mortar walls offered plenty of fingerholds for her small digits. But this was the easy part.

Once on the upper balcony, Kayl studied the windows and the door visible within. The town was heavily trapped, so it stood to reason the mayor's home would follow suit. Cables, wires and more formed an intricate web on many of the gaps and spaces, complete with mechanisms hiding in the walls. Even the disarming mechanisms were typical of the region; puzzle-locks, dials, buttons and more.

Humans from beyond the country called this land the Enlightened East. Part of Kayl's scout training was learning of the types of mechanisms the local humans used, and most of it was created during a time when metals were rare, during the era of St. Dastor and his famous defence of the region with so few resources, clan Star-Sail considered him the perfect enemy; unpredictable, efficient and seldom used the same trick twice.

To this day, instead of the pin and tumbler locks most places used in modern times, many of the Enlightened East's people still preferred mechanical puzzles to protect their goods, properties and such as a long-held tradition.

She fondly remembered the puzzle chest she stole from a caravan during her exile as a way to keep her things organised and secure in case of errant humans intrusion. She had the chest retrieved from the cave she had called home for so long and it was now in her chamber at Clan Star-Sail, but she also remembered the most important lesson of all in regards to these device.

Just like that box, if you could get inside the case, you could disable the mechanism and follow the linkages to learn the sequences. Kayl took Paet and pressed him against the window. Sprouts wriggled through the gap, interweaving with the cables and writhing along them until they reached the inner workings and latched onto them, holding them firm.

“Best be sure,” she whispered, took her short sword, cut her forearm and fed extra blood to her drenda. The sprouts turned purple from engorgement, and thickened out. More assured, she sent one last tendril to the release catch, pulled it open, and climbed inside.

Kayl took in her surroundings. She was inside what the humans would call a 'spare room', which always confused her and seemed an inefficient use for space, both in function and the items within it. Crates, chests, several boxes of mechanical components, the smell of machine oil, cleaning chemicals. Then she closed her eyes and listened.

Muffled, distant words; open, casual discussion. A subtle hum through the floor; active machinery below her, possibly a high powered device. Irven's presence was strong; again, right below her.

Kayl kept wary as she turned, closed the window and checked the mechanism to make sure it wasn't triggered, then retrieved Paet, cautiously releasing each tendril in sequence. A few seconds without the distinct and alerting whirring of gears later, Kayl headed for the door.

It was locked, but there appeared to be no mechanisms besides. Kayl pressed Paet's haft against the door and let him manipulate the pins within. Moments later, the door opened and Kayl peered through. A long passage, with a bannister blocking one side, and light spilling from below. Kayl crept ahead, and heard the voices more clearly.

“... you recognise this, of course?” said a gruff voice, in the surface tongue.

Then Irven's voice. It made Kayl's heart flutter.

“That's a nesdena. An arcane generator. A star-metal alloy core that, under its own power via permanent enchantment that's activated on removal of its storage box, rotates to crank mechanisms. It can charge spring batteries or run all the devices within larger buildings.”

“Yes. The standard nesdena rotational core is still a marvel that I doubt will ever see replaced for decades. Bach always wanted one of these in each town, and from there, each town could own dozens of coil batteries so that in the most affluent houses, elevators, ovens, lights... everything was running efficiently. They're even designing automated wagons on rail systems to move things from city to city. Once this infrastructure was in place, we would have been able to withstand any assault.”

Irven asked, “and these are what power the Arcus cannon?”

“Eventually. He only made a prototype that runs on batteries rather than a nesdena core itself, but it follows the same principle. The cannon itself doesn't fire anything. Nor does it require any combustible material, no payload, or whatever. Look here.”

Kayl reached the bannister and looked over. Irven stood with a large, hairy human, who was pointing at a book on the table.

“The batteries power hammers that simultaneously strikes four uniquely tuned chimes and looses a concentrated ball of arcane power,” the large man said, “via that... whatever it's called, the theorem that sound translates into magic stronger than other forms.”

“Kedorvad's theorem,” Irven answered.

“Pivd, that's the one. The sound creates a chord which, in turn, looses a blast as potent as a ton of even the strongest explosive. All it requires is technically one nesdena core, one battery and one person to run the whole weapon. Optimally four batteries to charge the four chime strikers at once and three men; one to charge, one to aim and one to spot. Charging takes fifteen seconds with a fresh battery.”

Irven gasped. “This thing can fire once every fifteen seconds with four cores?”

“That's right. An impossibly powerful weapon. Still believe your precious Praevadi could stand a chance against Brevshket's genius?”

It was him, Kreshger. Collaborator of The Corruptor, Brevshket.

Kayl climbed on top of the bannister, Paet raised. No hesitation, just enough time for the guaranteed strike and not a second more.

She prepared to plunge.

* *

“So, as you see,” Tibor closed the book. “With castle Jorsviek being the most advanced castle in Vliechov, armed with a cannon more powerful than any weapon, that has all but infinite ammunition, the region is locked down to any meaningful invasion, and certainly not from any direct attack from Praevadi.”

“I'm honestly surprised she hasn't just fired on you. Surely she has the ability.”

Tibor shrugged and replaced the book, then sat back in his chair. “Even she needs to eat. If she destroyed the town, trade would cease. I hate to say it, but Vliechov considers Sodrascouden such a backwater that only a handful of merchants even bother. So, while she cannot fire on the town, she certainly wants me to be drawn out or slain. It would leave her the only person of influence in the region. No doubt she would barter with Vliechov to get whatever she wants for the weapon, but I won't let her sell Sodrascouden out.” He slammed his fist on the table. “This land will never bow to the oligarchy ever again!”

Irven felt a presence, and realised he had been so focused on Tibor's words, that Kayl was nearby.

“What's wrong, Vinnie?

Irven felt Kayl move. Dropping closer from above, and quickly.

He yelled, “look out!” And with a push of telekinetic force, shoved Tibor flying backwards against the wall, just as a small, dark blur fell to the ground.

Paet absorbed some of the impact and flexed, and Kayl rolled from the high fall, but couldn't recover before Tibor pulled a spring-bolter from the wall, pulled the coil charge lever, and pointed it at Kayl.

“Stop!” Irven focused his telekinesis in between the two as the bolter fired.

The heavy metal dart slowed, spinning furiously, but grew still in the air as Kayl pulled her spear from the ground, and moved to attack.

“I said stop!!”

He clenched the field, splitting the wall of force so that both Tibor and Kayl were pinned to the wall and floor respectively.

An uneasy silence, interrupted only by the sound of the bolter round bouncing off of the wooden floor with a metallic clatter, before Irven said, “uncle, this is Kayl. Kayl, this is my uncle, Tibor. Together, we're going to deal with castle Jorsviek. No backstabbing, no shooting, no deceit.”

The pinned pair's eyes looked at Irven, then each other, and they felt the force holding them ease as they both got to their feet.

And inside Irven's mind, he sensed a familiar voice chuckle.

That's my boy.

* * *