Chapter 227: Scrambling

Snow fell on the Academy. In her seat at the front desk of the administrative building, Darla tightened her scarf, then placed her ungloved hand on a mug of steaming hot klod for the airy corridors of the ancient building were wet and drafty. A noise. She looked up to see a woman entering through the door, bringing a cloud of snow with her. She wore a dark travel cloak of good make with no visible weapons or focuses, but Darla wasn’t just a competent admin.

 

She was first and foremost, a counter-intelligence expert, retired from Enoria’s service then recruited by the Dean to smell trouble before it could begin. And this one might be from the faint sheen of mana covering her Viziman features. Dark wavy hair, dark brown eyes, dusky skin, she was ‘fresh off the boat’ as they might say, or that is what she wanted to show.

 

Darla’s hand traveled to the small key that would, when turned, alert the guards outside. She was fast with the knife concealed in her sleeve, but drawing it meant it was often too late.

 

The woman stopped in front of her and spoke in a voice that was familiar, with an accent she couldn’t place.

 

“Hello Darla, it’s been a while. Please do not be alarmed.”

 

Darla did not relax. Someone who wore a disguise couldn’t be trusted no matter how harmless they pretended to be. She kept her posture controlled, ready to act.

 

“It seems you know me. I would recognize you, perhaps, if you dropped the disguise,” she warned.

 

The woman smiled knowingly.

 

“I knew you were more than met the eyes.”

 

That heavily accented northern tongue… it couldn’t be.

 

“You?! But…”

 

“I know.”

 

“You are taking a major risk!” Darla scolded. “Not to mention you left without graduating. And you’re accused of a great crime in the city.”

 

“I thought the Academy was neutral.”

 

“You blew up the town hall before riding out on a dragon!”

 

“That was fun.”

 

“You never returned the library books you borrowed!”

 

“They were all in my bedroom, what do you mean?” the figure sputtered. “You must have recovered them!”

 

“Yes when you failed to pay for lodgings,” Darla continued.

 

In truth she was wasting time to see if anyone else would follow. When no one did, she allowed herself to relax a little. It wouldn’t do to have someone test the Academy’s neutrality. Dean Talit wasn’t the most patient of negotiators.

 

“I appreciate that I put you in a delicate situation,” the disguised elemental archmage said, “but we’re a bit on a schedule here. I’m here to see Talit”

 

“I expected that much. May I ask why?”

 

“I bring dire news.”

 

Darla gave the woman an assessing look. It was difficult to read through a disguise which was why she always asked visitors to take off their enchanted or cosmetic garments, but this felt… different.

 

“Trust me. I wouldn’t come in person and alone if it weren’t important,” Viviane of Harrak added.

 

“I’ll let him know you’re here. It would be best if you didn’t stay near the entrance. Follow me.”

 

Viv ended up in one of the interview rooms she’d been in during admission. It hadn’t changed a bit. Well, it felt slightly smaller. They still had a great tea collection though. Unfortunately, Viv didn’t have a quick way to warm water unlike most mages. She was pleased to find out that the dean considered the Empress of Harrak worthy of his time as she only had to wait ten minutes. It was good being the boss, sometimes. No name dropping like dropping your own name.

 

Talit received her in his private chambers, a secluded spot that would serve well. The room was in a great disorder, and it carried a heavy smell, causing Viv to scrunch her nose.

 

“I apologize for the mess,” Talit said, sitting at a table in his official robes.

 

He radiated red mana in what was both a mark of respect and a reminder he was the most powerful red mage around. His striking features and deep beard gave him a gruff look at odds with the rich garment. With a gesture, he invited Viv to join him.

 

“You should crack open a window sometimes,” Viv said without much bite.

 

“I already apologized. Your coming was unannounced and these are dangerous times.”

 

“Right. So let me get straight to the heart of the… what?”

 

Talit had raised a hand and closed his eyes. Viv realized Darla hovered by the entrance near her blind spot which was vaguely annoying, and also pointless. Blind spots for battle archmages were also called ‘back blast areas’ for good reason.

 

“Before you begin, I’d like you to reveal your true self. This is a private zone. You can do so without concern.”

 

“Sure.”

 

***

 

Darla watched the woman remove a peculiar pendant from around her neck, definitely some very advanced enchantment. The room suddenly felt smaller. Much smaller.

 

The Harrakan girl’s hair turned a much lighter, strange reddish color. Her skin paled. Eyes that were human turned to abyssal pits ringed by emerald circles. To Darla’s horror, twin blades emerged from her back, like skeletal wings. That was nothing compared to the mana. It was controlled and close to the woman’s soul but it was so very dense and so powerful that it took her a good five seconds to realize she’d increased in size. Now towering above both of them, she felt larger than life.

 

Darla released her knife’s handle. It wasn’t just that their visitor’s identity had been confirmed. It was that a knife would be of no use. An army would be of no use. This was a fifth step elemental archmage. A living legend. A demigoddess. Even Tarano, the only fifth step she’d ever met before, paled in comparison. He had dabbled in many paths to build his identity as the Constable of Enoria, fought in two wars, and slew countless men and beasts. And he still was nowhere close to that. With the revelation finished, Darla wondered if the defensive wards on the walls would even suffice to mask their visitor’s presence. Viviane’s soul pressed on hers with a physical force that made her want to get out of the room, as if her personal space was invaded.

 

“Can I begin now? Time is precious.”

 

Talit blinked. His mana pierced through again, but it was like a dim sun through a thick layer of clouds.

 

“Yes. Of course.”

 

“You’re aware that half of the Baranese army is south of here and the port has been cleared of fishing boats, correct?”

 

“Yes. Something is happening. We believe King Erezak has recruited powerful mercenaries from overseas, and is waiting for them to arrive so he can…. kill his wife.”

 

Talit exchanged a glance with Darla. That was what they were expecting. Concerning rumors that the king had lost it made them more concerned than usual, but the Academy’s neutrality guaranteed it would be protected by the rest of the continent’s nations. Even a mad king wouldn’t try anything so suicidal. Or so she hoped.

 

“Yea, well, it’s not mercenaries. It’s Nero Oleander, the Immortal, Champion of Maranor, and conqueror of Vizim and the Shadowlands leading his entire army to subjugate what is left of mankind.”

 

Talit expressed what Darla was thinking.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I am serious. One of his favorite strategies is to gain hostages. Currently, you are leading the best hostage farm south of the ocean. Scions of the greatest mages around, all ripe for the taking.”

 

“Hold on. Your claims are… bold, to say the least. How certain are you of those assertions?”

 

“Deadly certain,” the woman said with a conviction that bled through the room.

 

“You believe your own words, certainly,” Talit allowed.

 

“I mean that I know he is coming because I faced him in Vizim, failed to stop him, and now he’s coming to kill me. As for the hostages, I learnt that from a Viziman diplomat named Bes. I trust him.”

 

“I know what you are going to ask…” Talit said.

 

“I doubt it.”

 

“You are going to ask me to evacuate the school.”

 

“Which you cannot afford to do given the political climate and current lack of crisis. I understand,” Viviane said.

 

She did?

 

“You… do?” Talit replied, echoing Darla’s surprise.

 

“You cannot afford to make the first move. The issue is that Nero can simply surround the Academy and then breach it, capturing all the students there. Unless…”

 

“Unless?”

 

“Unless you have an active witch gate. That way, the faculty can slow him down while the students evacuate.”

 

“Viviane…”

 

The woman raised a hand.

 

“I solemnly swear I will not use it to either invade or hurt the Academy. My objective is purely to offer you a way out. I am confident Nero will try to convince you to join his cause. When you refuse, and I hope you do, he will become… very insistent. My offer will provide you with an exit strategy.”

 

“You appear very confident about the future,” Talit said.

 

“I am. So, what will it be?”

 

Talit leaned back in his chair. Surely he wasn’t entertaining a private, uncontrolled portal past the shields?

 

“Where will the portal lead?” he asked.

 

“To another portal… I cannot tell you more. That other portal will lead back to the network. One more thing.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Oleander might try to kill you. I can feel your power. You are close to being an elemental archmage as well. If he goes for you, run.”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

 

“This is my school, Viviane. I never run.”

 

Darla wasn’t sure but she thought she spotted sadness in the woman’s eyes.

 

“I consent,” Tallit finished. “Go make your gate.”

 

“Sir?” Darla asked, surprised.

 

“And don’t let the students find out.”

***

 

A forest of masts, a canopy of sails. From the warehouse block on the west to the lighthouse on the east, the Helockian harbor was filled with Shadowland warships even now disgorging soldiers and the redoutable vanguards. Crest was there, of course, standing next to the man himself.

 

“Feels strange to be back after so long,” Crest said.

 

He was ignored. No one expected ‘The Hopecrusher’ to be a good conversationalist — his name precluded that — but a long time ago, Oleander had been much more talkative. He would speak of his former world and its many seas, of magic so rigid it was bound to crystals and only harnessed through tools, of his ambition to finish first at the university. He would speak of his family of impoverished nobles, struggling to recover from a great war. He would compare ships, or make plans, or just stop at a tavern to sample the local rotgut. Those days were long gone. Now the man no longer talked. He declared.

 

“Men and women of the Kingdom of Maranor, welcome to Param,” a loud voice rang.

 

And there it was again.

 

Crest tuned out the speech. It was the same thing every time with some minor changes. He had attended most of them and by now he was sick of it. Oleander’s words were genuine and the power of his soul moved those who could hear it. Even the Hopecrusher’s face was flush with emotions. Crest mourned for the man who used to end his speeches with lame jokes.

 

“…last of the human continent to finish the unification. I will count on each and everyone of you to fight for our cause. This is it: the last war of our age. We shall fight it together… and we will win!”

 

Crest wondered if the bar down that street over there still sold grain liquor. He missed strong grain liquor.

 

“Milord,” the Hopecrusher said after the self-congratulatory clamor died down. “We have secured the support of the Helockian council, but what of the Academy? They will ask to remain neutral.”

 

“The Paramese cannot cling to the delusion that there is a neutral side when it comes to Order. One either defends it, or lets Chaos loose. It is shameful for those who aspire to teach to ignore such evidence. We will be remedying the disease promptly before the younger generations fail to learn as well.”

 

Crest rolled his eyes. As if everyone agreed on what Order was. But there was no arguing with zealots. For Nero, true Order was Maranor’s Order, and none other. The soldiers and diplomats surrounding him like fat flies drawn to a fresh turd drank his words as if they were some grand revelation. There had to be some soul skill at work to allow him to bypass their brains. He stopped himself from sighing, instead glancing towards a running envoy.

 

“Ah, and this must be the council’s man. We shall meet them to discuss terms first, as I would not be cavalier with those who welcome me in their home.”

 

The runner slowed in front of them though it took a few extra steps for him to stop. Crest was no detective but he was pretty sure this was not a ‘good news melord’ kind of messenger. It was the gobsmacked expression laden with fear, mostly.

 

“Sire… I bring dire news! Blood… So much blood.”

 

“Calm down,” Nero said.

 

And the man calmed down immediately. Convenient shortcut to showing empathy that was.

 

“Sire, the council has been butchered! I return from their chambers. They were slaughtered, my lord. There are no survivors.”

 

Whispers spread through the ranks. Crest was pleased to be surprised. Anything to break the monotony, really.

 

“And the guards?”

 

“They didn’t see a thing, milord! But we did find three words written on the wall in Old Imperial, painted in blood, as it were.”

 

“… and what did they say?” Oleander asked after a delay.

 

“Welcome to Param.”

 

Crest, once again, held back a sigh.

 

“It’s the bitch,” the Hopecrusher spat.

 

It wasn’t going to be as easy as Vizim, was it?

 

***

 

“It is done,” Two-Six said, his mask terrifying now that it was stained with enough blood splatter to make a forensic expert orgasm.

 

Viv looked up from activating the secret gate. Two-Six wasn’t alone. Other veteran hadals had joined, including the ever mischievous Thirteen. This was the old guard, those who had survived centuries of purge to end up in Harrak. She nodded in appreciation.

 

“Thank you. I might not get Elunath’s money back but at least I got revenge. Speaking of, I fear I may ask for your services again before this is done, if you allow it.”