RE: Monarch

“I think you cracked one.” I took a deep pull. The water was lukewarm and unfiltered, but felt almost heavenly as it banished the dryness from my mouth and tongue.

Bell had settled in at my side, not the least bit winded. She stopped mid-stroke, sharpening one of her many weighted knives. “Oh. I’m sorry. Thought you’d block properly. If you’d like I can—“

I stuck a finger out towards her. “Don’t finish that thought.”

“I know, I know,” Bell sighed. “Ninety percent. Save the last ten for if I’m fighting for my life.”

“Good.”

I thought back to the spar. Fighting Bell was like fighting someone who could see the future, an observation that felt more than a little ironic. She had a way of predicting the way things would go from the smallest indicators. For Bell, the toe of a boot rotating in the dirt a certain way might as well have been a flashing arrow, pointing out the direction of the swing. So, it followed that the solution was to be unpredictable. Which worked. Until it didn’t. It was bizarre that a person could have such finely tuned perceptions in reading body language but still be so socially backwards.

My eyes went to the knives in her kit.

“Okay. I have to know. How the hells are you so accurate with those?”

She looked up at me, missing the context of the question.

“The knives.” I pointed. “I don’t get it. From everything I’ve ever read, knife throwing is impractical. Mostly a party trick.”

Bell stuck her lip out in something approximating a pout.

I continued quickly, “Which, it’s clearly not when you’re doing it. I can speak to that.” I thought back to the many times, just went I managed the upper hand, a throwing knife had plonked off my forehead, or more recently, my ribs. I considered another possibility. “Does the void magic stabilize them?”

The infernal’s enthusiasm flooded back as soon as she understood she was complimented rather than chastised. “Nope. If anything, that makes them more difficult to use. Magic held within an object is particularly unstable. I like knives because they’re multi-purpose.”

“Multi-purpose?”

“Some void users prefer throwing metal spheres. Boink. You hit them. Their magic is borked for a few minutes.” Bell faked a yawn. “Booooring. Not to mention, less effective. I like knifes because if the point sticks, not only does the effect last longer, there’s also the psychological element. ‘Oh no, a pointy object is having its way with me.’” She smiled, looking up at the ceiling wistfully, and I suppressed a small shiver. “If they’re really dumb, they’ll even pull it out.”

I imagined that. A magician, panicking because he could no longer cast, removing the object that he perceived to be the problem, and consequently bleeding even faster.

“You… uh… sound like you have some experience with that particular maneuver.”

“A few tournaments. Enclave magicians usually know what to expect, but I’ll take the easy victory from the ones who don’t.”

Everything she was saying was interesting, but didn’t seem to track with the way I used the demon-fire on my sword. Bell was already shaking her head before I finished expressing the thought.

“It’s different.” She seemed excited to have an audience, and it occurred to me that given the rather taboo subject void magic was around the infernals, this might be her first time explaining the details of what she did to anyone. “The oil burns. There’s a reaction that keeps the magic intact. Dad says—“

She stopped herself, emotion shutting down before it could come to the surface. I felt that familiar pang of guilt once more.

“Dad said there are capacitive metals, more capable of holding imbued magic for longer periods of time.” She held up one of her daggers. “These are just ordinary old steel.”

I did a double take. The daggers were so bright and well polished I’d taken them for ascended steel, like her sword. “So that’s what it’s called? Imbuing magic?”

Bell nodded. “Mmm hmm. It expands our repertoire quite a bit.”

The pieces fell into place. “Because void as a whole has less in the way of ranged options.”

“You got it!” Bell’s excitement suddenly dampened. “Though, honestly, there’s not a lot of benefit to telling you this. Any cast projectile would likely be more practical than imbuing mana into a knife.”

I wanted to keep her talking. Keep her distracted from mentally going back to the place she’d almost slipped into. “You don’t know that,” I said, “What if my third awakening is void?”

Bell peered at me suspiciously. “It’s always the first, and we rarely reach the second.”

I shrugged. “And my first was demon-fire, something that’s supposedly never happened before. The world is changing. At the very least, it’d be good to learn how to throw knives.”

She studied me, looking for any trace of jest or sarcasm on my part. I kept my face as neutral as possible. It almost looked like she would turn me down. Then she popped up to her feet and led me to the range outside.

Learning to imbue mana into an object was somewhat difficult. It didn’t feel right, like trying to force a square peg into a round hole. Demon-fire seemed to stay set much longer than air, as air mana disappeared quickly. Still, I could achieve it with smaller objects, eventually working my way up to knives. Bellarex said, as long as the object was porous on a micro level, with minor imperfections the magic could be shoved in through.

But the throwing was a nightmare. It was less about power than it was about rotation. You had to get a feel for the knife itself, took more than twenty tries before I managed to land my first one. My respect for Bellarex grew. I had to take every precaution to make sure my distance, stance, angle, and rotation was as close to identical as possible to even hope to land the knife. Yet, she could land a knife on a moving target while mobile with ease. There were no real shortcuts to it either.

My brief fantasy of sporting a belt of throwing knives packing various poisons died a cruel death.

“You could always try axes,” Bellarex offered, clearly trying her best not to sound insulting.

----

Lodged in my hiding place beneath the partially caved in crypt, I watched the beetle. It continued that strange, counter-clockwise circle, jaws snapping, growing increasingly more agitated. I didn’t like the idea of fighting it outright, even in an ideal situation where my mana was mostly recovered. I imagined that if Elder Saladius was using these things as an improvised sentry system. Instead, I sorted out a line of small pebbles atop the stone ridge.

I took one, and slowly began to press mana into it through a single fingertip. The beetle stopped, looked around, made a frustrated-shrill call and began to circle again. I repeated the process for the next five, pausing in between to ensure my actions had gone unnoticed.

Then, I tucked my third finger behind my thumb and flicked the pebble out. The beetle dove for it, kicking up sand. I quietly extricated myself from the collapsed shelter, pebbles in hand. The next one I threw went unnoticed--either there wasn’t enough magic or the beetle had a limited range, or some mix of the two.

I threw the next one. And the next. The beetle bounded over a dune and out of sight.

----

The foul mood hung over me like a cloud. Elder Saladius had crossed a line. He knew damn well I wouldn’t have experience with desert wildlife. I tried to remind myself that if he wanted to kill me, he likely would have taken a much more direct approach. He’d given me the map, after all. He could have ambushed me along the route. Still, that didn’t make me feel any better.

I’d been looking forward to the sanctum. Learning. Finally, applying the knowledge and basic techniques I’d learned in much more practical ways, under the observation of ancient masters of the art who had lived for hundreds of years. Thoth had almost completely derailed that initial plan. And the first “master,” we found was some drunk hermit with homicidal tendencies.

Halfway back, I came upon an outcropping of jagged rock. I’d planned to trek all the way back to the hut, but my legs ached from the added effort of hiking through sand, and I took a moment to rest. A flash of movement caught my eye. I nearly jumped to my feet before I recognized him. Vogrin. He gave me a brief gesture for “all-clear.”

I nodded, and pointed back to the camp. I didn’t like how long this had taken, and wasn’t sure I trusted Elder Saladius to protect the others if it came down to that.

Between the fractures of the rock, a flash of green caught my eye. It stood out mainly by contrast, a small puff of washed-out green in an endless rolling landscape of granular gold and muted red. I looked closer. It reminded me of a cactus, but smaller. The spines looked stubby, thick, and loose, and it was capped with a starburst pattern of orange that would have looked more at home on a pumpkin.

The appearance stirred a memory, and I withdrew my sheaf of notes from my satchel, looking through Casikas’s list. A few pages in and I found it. Savannah’s Emerald. It had a litany of properties, but the one that really stood out was a possible solution to a previously long-standing problem. I’d need a few other ingredients I didn’t have yet, but it could eventually yield a potion I could use to brute-force my mana stores. I’d almost discounted it as a possibility, as Casikas had told me that there were few areas in the sanctum arid enough to yield them. Two-strokes of bad luck, one-stroke of good. I’d take those odds happily.

I found several more in the cracks of outcroppings nearby. More than I expected. Enough to share if I managed to gather the rest of what I needed.

In slightly higher spirits, I made my way back to the valley that housed his hut. I decided I wouldn’t give Elder Saladius the reaction he likely expected. They were all outside, practicing in the late-afternoon heat. Jorra was laughing at something Maya had said, as they stood side by side watching Bell.

Bell and Saladius were—I paused mid-stride—they appeared to be slapping each other. Only it was more elegant than that. It was almost like they were hand-to-hand sparring with open palms instead of fists, only their palms held that midnight purple shimmer of void, and they were trying to tag each other with it.

Bell lashed out, and Elder Saladius deflected her strike with the backside of his wrist, then trapped her arm, flicking her on the back of the head.

“Ow!” Bell cried.

“See children? This is why it pays to not be overly reliant on tools.” Saladius was showboating, and he turned around to smirk at Jorra and Maya. Both looked concerned, but held their tongues. Saladius turned back around, almost placing his chin in the path of a vicious heel-kick, ball of Bell’s foot crackling with void. He leaned back slightly to avoid the blow and grabbed her ankle, flipping her backwards onto the sand.

Maya said something I was too far away to hear, but could guess from context. Bell held up a single thumb. But her face was turned away from them. I could see her struggling for breath as it turned a darker shade of red.

Ask for help, idiot.

I took off running.

Saladius missed it because he had turned to stretch, only to spot me. His eyes went from me, to the bucket in my hand, to my posture, and the surrounding atmosphere seemed to change. He readied himself.

Saladius looked surprised as I ran right past him to Bell’s side. There were a number of snide or backhanded comments I could have thrown at him, but I pushed them away, instead hauling Bell to her feet.

“Hurts,” She grunted.

“Raise your arms above your head. Deep breaths.” I directed her. Maya approached, but I shook my head. There was no lasting damage as far as I could see.

I leaned in so I was speaking directly into her ear. “Why didn’t you ask Maya for help?”

“Didn’t… need it.”

This wasn’t like her. Was this another group dynamic I’d missed? I’d been completely unaware of how tired everyone had grown dealing with the kobolds. I tried to work through it backward. She’d been pushing herself hard. Trying to show value?

“You don’t have to prove yourself.” I kept my voice low. “There’s nothing wrong with showing weakness to your allies, especially if you’re hurt.

“I… can hack it…” Bell wheezed. “Give me… a minute… and I’ll be good to keep going.

I frowned. Maybe something more practical would work if abstract wasn’t cutting it. “This is a marathon, not a sprint. I’m not going to tell you to stop, but pace yourself.”

“Like y-“ She stopped herself, but I could fill in the blank. Like you?

It struck me that this was the first time I’d seen her angry. Saladius had gotten to her. Bell wasn’t used to losing in a straight martial fight. On the rare occasions I’d eked out a win, I had the grace to win humbly, and she still pouted. And Saladius was anything but humble.

Bell stepped away from me. I turned to Saladius. I wanted to tear into him. Whatever he’d been doing these last few years, it clearly wasn’t honing his teaching technique. But I had a suspicion that anything I said to that effect would make Bell resent me. She was desperate to prove herself, and being overprotective would do the opposite.

So instead, I held the bucket up towards Saladius, and gave him my widest, most charming smile. “Bugs are fed. Just need to mop your floors and I’ll be done for the day.”

Saladius cocked his head. “They… uh… didn’t give you any trouble?”

“None whatsoever,” I lied.

“Good. Make sure you’re thorough on those floors.” Saladius said, recovering quickly.

I gave him a bow that was far, far closer to a maid’s curtsy, and then turned to Maya and Jorra, who were watching me with sympathy. “Shall I rehydrate some rations for when the both of you are done?”

Maya bit her lip, but Jorra jumped at the opportunity. “Gods yes,” he said, “I’m starving.”

----

Maya came to check on me in the process of mopping the floors. We spoke briefly on the topic of our host, who I heckled mercilessly, claiming he was only marginally better than the last recluse we’d met in the middle of nowhere. Maya said I was being too harsh, but she laughed.

I harvested a frothy, light blue substance from the small succulents, careful to keep the milk out of direct sunlight as instructed.

Later that evening, I moved to the roof, somewhere I could be on the lookout and have enough light to work. I fed demon-fire mana into a handful of small rocks. I weaved air spells as they created the least amount of light, almost invisible in the dark, and worked on what I’d done almost by accident earlier. Curving the projectiles. If I could learn to combine this with the demon-fire somehow, the utility would be invaluable. Curve fire around cover into something flammable, use the control aspect to stoke the flames. Instant division and panic in the enemy ranks.

“You looked like him.”

I jumped, looking for the source of the voice. Elder Saladius stood on the edge of the roof facing towards me. The lazy confidence was gone. Instead his face looked gaunt, haunted.

“Like who?” I asked.

“Like your father.” His accent was thick, “father,” sounded like “fadder.” His jaw worked, eyes not looking at me but past me.

“You met him?” The way he was talking, I took it that Saladius had been in the war.

He continued on as if he hadn’t heard me. “Not sure if I’d call it a meeting. There’s this mask, this civility you wear that he never did. Almost kind. Almost polite. Almost had me fooled. But then when the coin is down and the knives come out, you’re the spittin’ image.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. “My life was on the line.”

Elder Saladius chuckled. “That’s the thing, isn’t it boy? You don’t fight like your life is on the line. Neither of you. You don’t value it at all. It’s like you’re daring your enemy to take it, like you never even wanted it in the first place.”

Again, I was at a loss for words. I could see how he might come to that conclusion. I was too aware of death. All too familiar with how easily half-measures could lead to an early demise. But it’s not as if I could explain that to anyone. That it wasn’t recklessness. It was the opposite.

“First, I thought you were a wolf in sheep’s clothing, using children as a shield. Thought you’d come frothing back as soon as I pushed you a little. Then I saw how you treated the girl. It was almost like you actually cared. Didn’t match with the image.” He sat down across from me. “Did that bastard ever tell you what he did to us?” The words were hard.

I swallowed, all too aware of my situation. The others were likely already asleep. Vogrin would take moments to summon.

I spoke carefully. “I wasn’t there. What I know is mainly from the histories. My father razed the enclave. There were dragons involved. He rode one into the dimension gate. Broke the portal on the way out.”

“Well, I was there. And that’s not even the half of it,” Saladius said. There was the dull pop of a cork as he opened a bottle of wine, and began to tell the story.

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