§111 Rescue (Patreon)

Taylor recovered his spent gems and his other materials and threw another mana crystal into his inventory, where it would gradually recharge him. He needed to leave quickly, if he could.

"Clean this up the best you can," he told Genova, "make liberal use of the baking soda, and wash with water. Don't let anyone breathe the fumes. When it's not smoking anymore, you can unblock the roads."

"It is too late for that," said the vine spirit. "One of the carriages we blocked belonged to a provincial official. They are approaching now, with a guard."

Taylor ignored the official and walked to where a score of survivors huddled inside the protective circle. "I don't have time for them. I need you to stay long enough to finish the cleanup and give a verbal report. Tell them what happened, but not why we were passing through. If that official gets in your way and refuses to let you work, you can all disband. I'll submit a report to the governor as soon as I can."

"You still have a brother to save. But first, I suspect you will need to do something about your horse."

Tristan stood with his legs slightly apart, braced against a man and a woman who had ropes around his neck and were trying to lead him away. Taylor would have thought they were dressed too well for thieves, but their actions said otherwise.

"Come on, you big lump of good-for-nothing!" said the man. 

"Hey! What are you doing to my horse?"

"Your horse?" the woman said. "He's our horse! Clear off!"

Taylor shut down the circle of protection and recovered his gems and mana wire with Unseen Hand. The people in the circle, people he had saved, shied away from him. He tried not to take it personally, but it hurt more than expected. It was fine. He didn't need to talk to them.

"Okay, Tristan, you've had your fun. Get rid of them."

Tristan dashed to one side and pulled both his would-be captors off their feet, forcing them to let go of the ropes or be dragged along the ground. They scrambled to their feet, angrier than before, but the horse spun around and kicked them both in the chest with his hind legs. The thieves flew a dozen feet and tumbled another dozen after that.

Tristan ambled over to Taylor and let him remove the ropes from his neck.

Can we go now?

"Yes. Let's get our boy."

They arrived at Bostkirk with time to spare, and watched from a field outside the city as carriages passed by on the highway. A basic camouflage spell kept them hidden from most people, and their distance from the main road increased their safety. They didn't know what their target looked like, but Tristan still had his bond with Kasper and so knew when the right vehicle passed by. It was a fast coach, black with steel accents, pulled by a bright green dragonid. Taylor watched through binoculars and noted the driver had a most unpleasant smile. Three more rode inside. There was no sign of Kasper, but if Tristan said he was there, then he was.

Taylor expected the coach to enter the city and drive straight down Green Field Avenue to Qumurong Station. To his surprise, the kidnapper coach didn't enter the city at all, but turned aside into a wealthy suburb, the kind of area where the wealthiest citizens could outdo each other with their houses and formal gardens, without enduring the presence of poor people who didn't exist to serve them.

"Follow at a distance." Taylor took his slime form and climbed into the sky with Airwalk, pacing the coach from above. The kidnappers had a fourth-tier magician. Who knew what else they had? An upper-tier scout could sense bloodlust from hundreds of feet away. Perhaps it was fortunate the day had been so long, and he was so tired; it blunted his desire to kill and made it easier to keep his presence small. He listened from above, using the slime's acute hearing and body enhancements.

The coach took two more turns on the wide, quiet streets and stopped at the gate of a fine estate bordered by twelve-foot walls of stone. The estate was named, in a loopy script large enough to read from a block away, made out in bronze letters against the dark stone walls.

"Augberg"

Keeva Augberg — Bostkirk

Her age was catching up to her. When she heard the commotion in the courtyard, she almost didn't get out of her chair but had half a mind to let the servants bring news to her instead. It had been a long day, and she wanted a drink. Instead, she had to haul herself back on her feet and leave the comfort of her parlor, grabbing her sword along the way. It had been decades since she last bloodied the edge, but she still kept her hand in, and her feet remembered how to move in a fight.

She had been a fair swordswoman in her day, but only fair. Her father's untimely death shifted her focus away from fighting and toward running the family – and she never looked back. People lined up to warn her what leaving the battlefield would do to her class, but family was more important than levels. Fortunately, Knexenk agreed with her and granted new skills and titles for achievements unrelated to her class.

When she arrived at her front door, she discovered a strange coach parked in her drive, surrounded by her twenty men (the legal limit within the city), spears pointed at a smiling man she recognized.

"Mihai, back the men off. They're no match for this lot." Her head of watch looked unhappy with the order, but did what he was told without question. "Silas, why are you here? We have no pending business."

"Ah, but we share a patron, do we not? And I need a place to lie low for a few hours. I am sure our mutual friend will reward you for your assistance."

Three more people exited the carriage: the rat magician Black Rod, Crooked Knife, and Thorn. Each one of them was infamous in their own right, and they cost a fortune to hire. The only reason they weren't criminals was that the kinds of people who could afford them were the kinds who could make legal complications disappear.

Keeva had never hired them herself, but she had been required to work with them. If the Smiling Man and his cronies had screwed up badly enough to need a place to hide, they had done something very bad indeed. They approached the steps to her house together, ready to climb up as if they'd been invited.

"Stop," she commanded. "Whatever this is, I want no part of it."

Silas paused with one foot on the stair, his posse behind him. "We're only asking for some hospitality until the next train to Avimore. You wouldn't want our mutual friend to hear you were unhelpful, do you?"

"If I were meant to help with your task, I would have been informed. The fact that you're here means something has gone wrong. Or that you aren't working for our mutual friend at all. Begone."

"Frankly, old girl, you can't stop me."

All four of the gang warped and expanded like scenery viewed through a drop of water, and disappeared. Keeva and her men blinked at the empty space where the intruders had just been, trying to shove aside the sensation that there was something unnatural about the local geometry. Bricks were missing from the pavement, yet the lines between them were straight and perfectly joined. She would have sworn a curved piece of stairway was missing, but the lines of the steps were straight. Space was playing tricks on them, and several of the men had to look away.

"Pardon my interruption, Mrs. Augbgerg." A cloaked figure drifted into their midst from above and landed lightly before the harnessed dragonid. His clothes were white and blue, with a matching mask, and he wore a spellsteel greatsword strapped to his back. Mihai stepped between Keeva and the newcomer, and the men on duty drew their weapons.

"One of the imperial brood has gone rogue and hired these men to do something the emperor definitely won't approve of. As part of their scheme, earlier today, they released an abomination at Crossroads that killed dozens of people. They are mine to deal with."

Keeva held her forces back with a gesture. She knew that voice. And, though the color was different, his style of mask was familiar. Taylor didn't look at her, but suspended red mana stones in a circle around the missing space where Silas and his gang had stood. The stones flashed red and orange as they took on large amounts of mana, and the boy added several more.

"There is a horse at your gate. He's with me, so please let him in."

It was the 'please' that brought her out of her stupor. The boy was how old? Twelve or thirteen? He casually erased a gang of fourth-tier mercenaries from existence and had time enough left over to be polite. Her intuition screamed warnings about this child. For the first time in many years, Keeva felt the stirrings of genuine fear. He wasn't someone to try to thwart. Not today.

"Mihai, open the gate." Her lead guard passed along the order. Moments later, a fine leggy horse trotted directly to the coach, sniffed around it, and clanged one hoof against the luggage compartment.

Taylor opened the compartment, dragged an iron coffin from it, and broke the heavy padlock with a twist of his wrist. 

A wolfkin boy popped up from the box, butt naked, hands on his hips, disgruntled. "Took you long enough!"

The older boy grabbed the younger one in a big hug while the horse nosed them both. Silas had taken someone from him, and Taylor had done what so many others lacked the strength to do: he took back what had been taken, and he would punish the takers. Keeva was glad now that she had denied Silas aid. If she hadn't … 

"Careful!" the wolfkin laughed. "I have to pee so bad!"

Taylor produced a tunic from his famous satchel, deftly dropped it over Kasper's raised arms to cover his body, and looked to Keeva. "He needs the facilities."

"Lenz will show him where," she motioned for her butler, but caught the threat lurking in Taylor's eyes. "I swear he will not come to harm in my house." Lenz bowed to the wolfkin pup and escorted him into the house.

There was a disturbance in the missing space, a nauseous warping. The empty air grew a hole, and sprouted an arm. Fingers grasped the edge of the hole and tried to hold it open. A furred face, Black Rod's face, grinned from inside. He shouted his triumph over the spell that held him. "Did you think this could hold me, boy? Nice try!"

Talor drew his greatsword, wreathed it in white fire, and approached the bizarre phenomenon like Keeva would corner a pest in her home. He swung his blade and severed the arm clean off. The man it belonged to retreated with a cry of pain and fury.

"I'm summoning backup," he said to nobody in particular. "Don't panic."

Seconds later, fifty spirits occupied her drive. They led the carriage to one side and stood ready around Taylor's circle of red gems. Taylor checked his watch as he traded empty gems for full ones and made notes in a small notebook. 

"It makes sense this is about you somehow," she started gingerly. "May I ask what you're doing?"

"Accounting for the mana I used." He removed a mana stone, apparently full, and replaced it with an empty one. "If I drain these guys completely, I should get back an eighth of what I spent today."  He looked up from his notebook, thoughtful. "The concept works, but it's not a very efficient transfer. There's definitely room for improvement." 

He started drawing a magic circle in the air, just inside his circle of gems, using a silver quill that wrote in lines of mana. Keeva had a working layperson's knowledge of Spellscript, but she didn't recognize any part of this work. The youth was already far beyond standard spells.

Before she could decide on her next question, Kasper returned with a giant sandwich in his hands.

"Thank you ever so much, Madam Augberg. It's a relief to find good hospitality after such a harrowing journey."

"You're most welcome," she told the wolfkin in surprise. The boy gave her a dashing grin in return.

"Don't be too nice to her," called the magician in her driveway, "she's an adversary."

"Her kitchen makes a monster sandwich! I'm serious, Brother, it might be worth having an adversary who feeds you like this once in a while. Hey, did you Elision the bad guys?" He bounced down the stairs and approached the lines of mana, avoiding the dead arm. He took a huge bite of the sandwich while reading glyphs. "That trap looks nasty."

"Elide is the proper verb. Go sit on Tristan while you eat. If anything goes wrong, he'll take you to safety." Kasper obeyed without question, content to let his adopted big brother handle the situation.

When Taylor was finished, he stepped back to review his work. As an afterthought, he picked up the severed arm and tossed it so it lay in the middle of the missing space, inside the circle. He observed the state of his mana gems and checked his watch again.

To Keeva's surprise, he climbed the stairs and stood next to her. "So," he began with his arms crossed, "this should be quick and … permanent. When the gems stop charging, the trap will spring, and the Elided zone should return. There's a chance this doesn't go well, and we end up fighting. I'd move the fight if I could, but …" he gave one of those elegant shrugs that meant whatever the viewer wanted to believe. "You might want to hang back."

"I'm fine right here. If this fails, they'll try to kill us both anyway." She drew her heavy sabre free of its sheath. With a sign, she sent her men to the flanks, leaving Taylor with a clear line to cast spells.

They stood through the awkward silence for another minute. This young man could have been hers if only she had the forethought to care for him. Now they were adversaries, and it was entirely her own doing. She told herself every day that she did her best for the family, yet she had made enemies of him and his sister out of fury against that lout, Otis.

"Taylor, I owe you an apology. I was so busy plotting revenge against Otis that I forgot that Sybil had given me grandchildren. I am sorry I was so blind, especially about you. I should have stepped in and protected you."

"I have no grounds to trust anything you say. You understand that. Right? You sicced the church on me, and I nearly died. But if you're serious about not being adversaries anymore," he turned to face her, and she caught a glimpse of green irises behind the mask, "give up on Mourne."

"I've spent a lot of resources on Mourne, and you expect me to step aside now?"

"It's a below-average farming town, with nothing special going for it. You wouldn't have looked twice at the place if it weren't for Otis. And now, your revenge on him couldn’t be any more complete. He's a slave, he's classless, and his family all hate him. He'll probably die in a mine somewhere. But I'll have a half-brother soon, in Mourne, so I still have some interest in the place."

"You're assuming the child is Otis's."

"True, he might not be," he agreed, showing some good sense. "But there are tests for paternal descent. If the baby passes and he grows up to be competent, I have no intention of blocking his inheritance."

"If you want Mourne, you could ask Governor Edgcomb for it. She would give you your father's estate, along with the title of Legate. No one will get in the way of restoring you to your proper house. You could look after the half-brother properly."

"I have enough responsibilities. Besides, the only house I need is the one I make for myself." He checked his watch again and then closed it with a metallic snap. "Brace yourself."

Three seconds later, space unfolded like a puzzle box, healing the injured geometry of Keeva's driveway. Four exhausted people were revealed on the ground, on their hands and knees, desperately trying to stand. But it was too late for them: the trap had already sprung.

Did they attempt to scream, cry, beg for mercy, or curse their attacker? She would never know. Their faces were the first to turn to stone, even their lips and tongues and the insides of their mouths. Their eyes stared in statuesque blankness, and their limbs hardened into dark blue rock. Even their hair became masses of fine white strands. Oddly, their clothes and equipment didn't change.

There was a second unfolding of hidden space, and random objects spilled onto the ground: coin purses, vials of what might be potion or poison, an assortment of weapons, and dozens of small carved stones. It was the one downside of having a personal inventory: when someone died, their goods spilled all over the place. Merchants were the most likely class to have an Inventory skill, and they made a practice of keeping it empty in their old age for exactly this reason.

"Don't touch anything!" Called Taylor.

"No one is going to take your rightful spoils."

He looked at Keeva, disgusted. "The totems are dangerous. Each one is a trapped soul, bound to a twisted form. Most of the mana I spent today went to fight just one of them at Crossroad." He turned back to the scattered objects. "But don't touch my loot, either."