B2 – Chapter 40: Covert assailant

Tristan stumbled and fell mid-jog. He let out a groan of pain as he felt all of the pain that his body’s adrenaline faded. The cracked ribs, the sore muscles and body covered with bruises as he went flying through a wall.

Felicity transformed into her elfanoid form and lifted him up by the shoulder, “Come on,” she muttered as she helped him walk. “We get to the walls, pull out that guy’s head – it all stops and we save the city!”

Tristan looked at a nearby building with an open door, “Help me in there,” he gasped out, breathing shallowly as every breath hurt. “You can fly the head to Prince Merrill.”

Felicity helped him into the building and lowered him into a chair. He grunted and was panting with exertion, his fingers twitching against his will. “I’ll be back,” she said with concern filling her voice. Shifting to her fairy dragon form, she took off – shutting the door behind her.

Tristan felt around his bandolier across his chest for the healing elixirs and felt a wet, sticky substance. Pulling the hand away, he felt dismay as the deep, cherry-red liquid was on his gauntlet. Damnit. All of my elixirs? He kept breathing shallowly, knowing that moving would just cause more agony and deep breaths would increase the pain as well.

He sat there, for what felt like hours, as he heard the sounds of combat off in the distance. The clashing of steel on armor, the cries of injury, and he was happy to be far away from all of that chaos and bloodshed. That thing I fought, he thought, was definitely summoned from The Undying Realm. Same place the Vantir came from. It’s essence-weaving… he felt terror as he vividly replayed the events in his mind, watching people desiccate as their life looked to be drained from their body.

I was almost hit by one of those spells, he thought with panic. I need to get Obadai to use some protection spells on items I artifice. I don’t want to be hit by something like that. He tried to take some deep, calming breaths but winced in pain as he breathed too deeply. The sounds of combat outside faded into the distance, and Tristan felt exhaustion wash over him.

A fuzzy paw tapped his face, “Wake up!” Felicity shouted.

Tristan woke up and was greeted by a world of pain. He sucked in a breath instinctively – bad idea – as he felt his insides on fire. Felicity was standing on the table next to him. “Did…did the head do the trick?”

“Yup!” she said as she sat on her haunches and puffed up her chest, “I stopped a war! Flew the guy’s head all across the battlefield as I delivered it to the prince…well, king, now. King Merrill crowned himself after the fighting stopped.”

Tristan nodded, “Any chance he has healers with him?” he asked with a wry smile.

“I can go and see.”

“Please do,” Tristan replied as he tried to lean back in the chair and relax.

Felicity took off, opening the door and flying off. A few minutes passed and she returned, leading a soldier in light leather armor, with a white cloth tied off around his arming cap. “He’s over here!” she shouted as she led the man inside.

The middle-aged man looked at Tristan, “M’lord, gotta get that there armor off to the see the damage.”

Tristan nodded and Felicity helped him out of the armor. It was a pain-filled experience, and Tristan felt immense relief when it was fully taken off and Felicity had stored everything in her extradimensional space. The army medic came over and began lightly prodding at Tristan’s snow-white skin – and Tristan saw the angry green and black bruises all over his torso and abdomen. “Looks like you got hit by a battering ram,” the man muttered.

“That’s what it felt like,” Tristan replied as he winced, the man poking a tender spot.

“It’s all internal, M’lord. I don’t think I can help much.”

Tristan nodded, “Help me get to a bed then.”

The man put himself under Tristan’s shoulder and helped lift him, walking with him down the street. Tristan saw the remnants of the fighting as they approached the wall. It had been a slaughter and quite an unfair fight as the smaller defending force had their sally ports unlocked by Felicity via her covert actions. Some men were tied up in groups, and emergency medical areas were set up with similarly-dressed medics tending to men.

The medical treatment was crude, and Tristan frowned as he saw several amputations being performed without a need for it. “Stop,” he ordered. “Take me over there.”

His helper did so, and Tristan began issuing orders to some of the soldiers. “Go into the town and bring cauldrons and firewood or charcoal. Every apothecary and herbalist, go there, too.” The men looked at him with some confusion, and Tristan barked out, “Now! I’m saving your men’s goddamn arms and legs here!”

That got the soldiers moving quickly, and under Tristan’s instruction the medics set to make some slurries of potions. The ingredient’s were not of the highest quality, so he would only be able to produce (minor) healing elixirs – but it could prevent more harmful remedies. As the soldiers mixed the brews, he had them pull the cauldrons over so he could evaluate – and when they were ready, he poured his essence into them, stirring with his finger as the scalding liquid felt like a warm bath.

“Lisää tämän liuoksen luontaisia ominaisuuksia. Anna tälle aineelle minun voimani. Tuo esiin näiden ainesosien todellinen luonne.” (Increase the inherent qualities of this solution. Imbue this substance with my power. Bring out the true nature of these ingredients).

The cauldrons full of the potions glowed bright silver each time he repeated the feat of essence-weaving, and he was bone-tired and his eyelids were fluttering closed as he finished the last cauldron. The medics began administering the healing elixirs to the troops, and Tristan fell asleep after taking a few sips of the liquid.

He woke up on a bed. Felicity was curled up next to him, and she glanced over as he roused. “How are you feeling?” she asked with concern and sincerity.

Tristan slowly flexed his muscles, feeling the soreness and tenderness from before. But he could breathe a little more deeply, as his chest was not in nearly as much pain. “Better,” he grumbled.

Felicity stretched like a cat would, arching her back as she yawned. “Prince Merrill wanted me to go get him when you woke up.”

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“Where am I?” Tristan asked.

“The keep,” she replied. “He’s taken the city over and plans to the move to the capital.”

Tristan nodded and leaned back in the bed while Felicity flew off. She left the door ajar, however, and one of the medic-soldiers was seated outside. He stood up and slipped into the room. “Lord Tristan?”

“Yes?” The man closed the door and drew a gold-hilted knife. Tristan’s eyes went wide as he realized instantly that he was an assassin. Tristan spun his essence crucible, whispering the spell phrase for Scales of Our Foe, followed by Aspect of the dragon – claws. “The very plates that protect you shall protect me as well! The very weapons you use to rend and tear are mine to use!”

As the assassin launched himself at Tristan, he raised his forearms to block the strike. His skin had shifted hue slightly and became a deep, dull silver with crimson, black, and icy-blue lines tracing between the slightly-raised scaly hide. His hands and morphed into claws, tipped with ivory talons. The knife impacted and dug into the scales, drawing blood.

Tristan let out a grunt of exertion as he pushed himself forward, his abdomen sending shooting pain through his body at the sudden movement that jostled his still-broken ribs. Tristan was able to slide a claw down to the assassin’s wrist holding the knife, grasping it firmly as the man pushed his blade towards him with his full weight.

Tristan fell back, letting himself go slack, and the assassin’s body lurched forward. Twisting to his side, the stab went into the mattress, and Tristan brought the tips of his clawed right hand into a single, unified point that jabbed forward – piercing the leather armor and going into the assassin’s torso. He felt something squishy, pulsating, and slightly-round – and squeezed. The assassin jerked and fell prone on top of Tristan, turning to dust and ash as his dagger remained affixed to the mattress surface.

Tristan was sucking in breaths from the sudden exertion, and Felicity came back a moment later. She saw his hand-claw covered in blood, and she looked at the dagger as her eyes went wide. “You were attacked?!”