Runeblade

Kaius tightened his grip on his blade, saying nothing as he stared down the three men holding Kanmost hostage. This had always been likely — even if Brokenlight had left, Kanmost was a valuable captive. The bandits would have to be fools to not have secured him during an assault.

The three men had none of the polished gleam of blueblooded fighters in full plate, and none of the rugged, field-sharpened hardness he’d seen in the eyes of even Iron delver’s. They were Silver, but only in the barest of senses. Their auras were thin and shaky, with barely a hint of argent shine, and he could smell their weakness as well as any wolf. In single combat, Kaius could have taken the lot of them easily.

But he couldn’t kill them before they cut Kanmost’s throat.

He tensed, waiting for Ianmus’s spell. As soon as the swirling circle of Triage snapped into place, he could act. Kanmost would be hurt, but only for a brief moment, and he could kill the bandits before they could wound the Archivist with anything more permanent that a slashed throat.

Yet despite the flap of canvas that fluttered in the breeze behind him, and the splash of sunlight that fell upon Kaius’s back, the spell never came. There was no way that something had managed to sneak up on Ianmus, not with Kenva near him — Kanmost was just too deep in the tent.

Kaius bit back the urge to growl in frustration. He needed some way to draw the bandits forward.

The man holding Kanmost hostage flicked from Kaius’s helm, to A Father’s Gift.

“Did you not hear me?!” the man yelled, digging his blade a little deeper into Kanmost’s throat. A drop of blood welled up on the edge of the dagger. “Drop yer fuckin’ weapon!”

Kaius let out a soft breath and tossed A Father’s Gift to the side. It landed on a pillow with a soft thud. He felt naked with its absence — but that was fine, the situation was still salvageable.

As soon as he released his sword, some of the stiffness left the Silvers.

“Bloody fuckin’ fool, charging in here like this,” the man on the far left said, sneering at him. “Thought you could wait until Brokenlight left and we were attacked by another beast?”

Kaius said nothing — though it was good to know that they hadn’t realised Porkchop was working with him.

One of the other bandits looked at his discarded sword with naked avarice. “Nice piece, that — wonder how much it might fetch?”

The one holding the dagger ignored the comment, still staring hard at Kaius. “Take off your helm, just as slow.”

Kaius did as he was asked — then paused halfway through unbuckling the strap as someone screamed outside the tent.

“Riders!”

The men holding Kanmost froze, snapping to the sound.

“Warmounts? Gotta be fuckin’ nobles,” one of them snapped.

The one with the dagger locked eyes with Kaius. “Helm off, now!”

Kaius pulled it off. All four of the men across searched his features, even Kanmost. The Archivist had a faint look of confusion that warred with his plain fear.

“Recognise him?” one of the bandits said, flinching slightly as another scream of pain rang outside the tent. Julian and his men must be running roughshod over the camp — that could work in Kaius’s favour.

“Gods’ no — but if he was sent in first, he’s gotta be strong. That means he’s valuable,” the bandit with the dagger said, waggling his brows at Kaius with a leer. “What, got no words for us, pretty boy?”

Kaius didn’t respond. The bandit scowled.

“Grab him,” the man said, nodding at the far left bandit.

“Aye,” the man said, stomping over. “Not one move or the archivist is dead.”

Kaius stayed frozen. If the men wanted to take him hostage, they were more than welcome. He just needed that bloody spell.

The second the bandit was in arms reach, he rushed Kaius, wrapping an arm around a throat while he held a gleaming knife to Kaius’s eye. Kanmost watched the exchange with horror, his face going pale. Kaius met the Archivist’s eye, twitching a small smile. It made the man blink.

As soon as Kaius had been grabbed, the bandit holding Kanmost let out a sigh of relief.

“Right, with these two we might just barter our way out of here,” he grumbled. “Nice and easy, you two — I’d prefer to keep my life than take yours.”

The man’s words gave Kaius pause. It was an option he hadn’t considered — but he dismissed it quickly. He could not trust the bandit’s words, not when he was a cutthroat that so easily worked with the Onyx. Plus, battles were messy. If his captor’s nerves broke, they could easily kill Kanmost, or gravely wound him. He wasn’t going to take that risk.

“What now?” the third bandit said, nervously spinning his arming sword in his grip.

“We take em’ out front, and talk with ‘em nobles. Parlay, or whatever they call it,” the man replied, holding Kanmost.

The other two men shared nervous looks.

“You sure about that? Seems risky,” the bandit holding Kaius said, the knife he held wavering slightly in front of Kaius’s eye.

“It’ll work. Nobles do the whole hostage thing all the time, don’t they? They know the game. Besides, we’re Silver now — plenty of other jobs.”

Kaius listened to the exchange patiently, begging the other two bandits to listen. All they needed to do was step outside, then everything would be fine. Realistically, it wasn’t like the men had much of an option. The battle raged right beyond the canvas walls: a din of screams, snorting war beasts, and the embrace of cold steel. Whatever men had survived the desolation of his Starfall faced a beastknight in heavy plate, and archers lay waste to the camp from above.

His captors were backed into a corner. That made them dangerous. He could not save himself, or Kanmost from injury — all he could do was try to keep it from being faithful.

“Move!” the man behind him growled in his ear, forcefully shoving him forward. The motion made the dagger held to his eye bob closer. If he blinked, it would cut him.

Kaius allowed himself to be led, stumbling closer to the entrance to the camp. The Silver who wasn’t holding a hostage stopped beside A Father’s Gift, leering at Kaius.

The bandit grunted as he picked it up, biceps bulging as he hefted it into the mockery of a guard. “Hells, what is this thing made of? Barely fuckin’ usable.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Who cares, it’s clearly worth coin. Some heirloom, no doubt,” the bandit behind Kanmost said.

The one holding Kaius’s blade just grunted and slid the weapon into his belt. Kaius eyed it with burning eyes, furious that the man had sullied his father’s work with his touch.

Out they marched, into the blinding sun. The bandit holding him stiffened as destruction was laid bare before them. Kaius’s trail through the camp was marked by dead flesh and lost limbs, a bloody path of red that grew by the second. Ahead of them a bandit screamed atop the tangled pile of deadwood and boulders that made up the camp wall, clutching at a gushing hole in his chest. Another sprinted through the middle of the camp, running in naked fear from Julian himself. The noble’s sword was surrounded with a shining simulacra that had to be ten strides long. He held it tucked in tight to his armpit, like a lance.

Julian ran the man down, his Skill punching through the bandits back. The man fell screaming — silenced by the shattering hooves of Julian’s charger.

“We have hostages!” the Silver holding Kanmost screamed, finally finding his wits.

Julian wheeled his charger around as two of his retainers galloped through a tent, snapping poles and pulping something beneath the canvas. The men formed up behind their lord as Julian’s attention flicked to the three bandits. He frowned in disgust. In moments, he glanced at Kaius’s stolen blade, then to the dagger at his eye, before finally settling on Kaius himself. He raised one eyebrow.

Kaius scowled. He was just waiting for a bloody spell, that was all. What in the hells was taking Ianmus so long?

The man holding him tightened his grip, shaking him like he was a king’s writ. “Don’t you bloody hear us! We want to barter — I mean parlay.”

Julian stilled, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. More men died screaming behind him, felled by arrow and bolt, and run down by knights who moved with clean efficiency.

Kaius ground his teeth, sick of waiting. On the cliff, far to their left, he could see the faint glint of Ianmus’s keyseals — and a thin trail of blood running down the jutting rock that Ianmus and Kenva had been using as a vantage point. A breath caught in his throat as he realised his friends had been attacked. A beast? Far scouts? He could only hope it had been the latter — no-name rabble would be no match for Kenva.

Regardless, it meant he could no longer rely on his friend’s spell. Ianmus’s magic still burned, but his focus would be occupied for gods’ knew how long.

Kaius ignored the tense bandits behind him, and the still silence of Julian. The noble clearly thought this a ploy on Kaius’s end — it was, but potentially a foiled one. Did he risk action? He could kill Kanmost’s captor quickly, but quick enough to save the man’s throat?

“What are you, deaf? Answer me, or we’ll skin your man to prove a point!” the bandit behind him yelled. Cold steel sliced through Kaius’s skin, a steady rivulet of hot blood running down to soak into his gambeson.

Julian gave him a long look and sighed, turning his attention back to the bandit. “Yes, yes. What are your terms.”

“Are you joking? Call off your men!” the bandit holding Kanmost roared.

Golden light snapped into existence, forming a woven circlet that blazed upon the ground. It swirled, pulsing with a heat that roared through Kaius, sealing his throat shut in moments.

The bandit behind him jolted in shock. Kaius struck.

Kaius jerked his head to the side as the dagger held to his eye plunged in. Honed steel carved through the side of his temple, splitting through the side of Eirnith as it scored his bone. Kaius ignored the heat of the wound, snapping one hand out and another over his shoulder.

Screaming steel erupted from his hands. The head behind him shattered like an egg, bone and brain splattering the back of his neck. The bandit holding Kanmost followed, the ravenous spike of his Nail punching through the man’s eye. It unwound, removing his head utterly — but not before he could cut.

Kanmost fell gurgling clutching at his ruined throat as a wave of blood soaked the front of his black robes. Golden flames burnt on the wound — but the man did not know what they were, his eyes wide and wet with tears.

Kaius dashed past him, straight at the last silver. The man yelled in shock, cutting down with his blade. Kaius stepped back and then in, slipping past the blow as he stood close enough to kiss the man. He grabbed the bandit by the throat, tearing his head free with a Nail, and pulled his blade from the man’s belt.

For the third time a chime sounded in his mind. Ianmus’s spell might have healed anyone in its grip — but it suffered the same mortal failing as health. It could not heal what was already dead.

Behind him, a scream of shock and fear ripped Kaius from his furor. He spun, finding Kanmost clawing at his now healed throat, his nails dragging tracks through the blood that soaked him.

“You’re alright!” Kaius said, flashing to the man’s side to steady him. “You’re in a second tier rejuvenation spell, the wound is gone!”

The man shirked back from him and froze — just what horrors had he been subjected to?

A moment later, his words registered, and Kanmost felt for his wound and relaxed.

“Who are you?” he whispered, searching Kaius’s face with wide and bloodshot eyes.

“A friend of a friend, but that is not important for now. I need you to go back into the marquee and stay on the edge of the healing spell. I’ll seal you in with a powerful barrier spell to protect you.”

Kanmost searched his face for a moment, looking for something. Betrayal, probably. The man had been embroiled in blueblooded schemes and the plans of cutthroats for far too long.

The archivist opened his mouth.

“A moment!” Julian called.

Kaius sighed, but pulled Kanmost to his feet. The archivist staggered a bit, looking up at the noble with something approaching deference.

“My lord, you came for me,” Kanmost croaked. “Many thanks.”

“Your appreciation is noted, good man! But more importantly, I must demand the location of the Wellspring. Brokenlight is already en route, and I am sure you don’t want your life's work to fall into the hands of a miscreant, do you?”

Kaius bit back a sigh. This had always been the plan, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed the crushed slump to the Archivist’s shoulders as he realised his lord’s intentions. Still, he had to play his part.

“You cannot be serious!” Kaius yelled, stomping forward. “My team still deals with the wealth of the enemies numbers, and you would abandon the Archivist to chase after Brokenlight without securing the camp?”

“Know your place, cur!” one of Julian’s retainers hissed, clutching his blade tight.

Julian raised his hand. “I trust you have it in hand, Guildhound — you have proven yourself capable enough,” he said, before turning his attention to Kanmost. “Now, my good man?”

To Kaius’s surprise, the Archivist’s spine straightened as he met Julian’s eyes and gave him a nod. Perhaps the noble had been right when he said that Kanmost had zeal and iron to him.

“The riverbed, my lord. Follow it out of the ravine and into the basin. Halfway to the bottom, you will find ancient and worn trail markers. They will lead you to a shrine — Brokenlight made me confirm it with my own eyes. The ritual must be held on the eve of winter. My notebooks detail it, constructed from ancient fragments.”

Julian beamed at the man. “Good. I will see you rewarded for your work. The guildhound will protect you — he has reason enough to do so, and is capable in his own way.”

Whistling shrilly, Julian raised his blade into the sky and wheeled his charger around. “With me, men! We have a thief to catch!”

The lord galloped away, charging through the gap in the camp's walls. His men followed, cutting down any bandit foolish enough to stand in their path. A dozen remained, surrounded by cooling bodies and smouldering wreckage. They stood rooted, frozen by the devastation and shock of the nobles' sudden departure.

Kaius whirled his blade, gripping it tight. “Into the tent, Kanmost — I’ll deal with this.”

The archivist gulped and scrambled into the marquee. With a flicker of Will, Kaius summoned a Warhaven to seal the structure off.

“Well?” he growled, facing down each man to the last, sneering as one flinched.

One burst into a run, heading for the gap in the walls. Like a shattered damn, the others followed sprinting fleeing in a chaotic flood. They started to scream as a Steel bandit dropped, splattered by an arrow.

Kaius dropped his sword to his side, watching them go. He didn’t know why he expected them to hold firm, but he wasn’t going to bother chasing them. Even if one of them had the stones to brave the Crater, which he doubted, there was no way they’d reach Brokenlight before Julian and his warband.

The beasts of Vainblood could clean up the rest of this mess.

A churn of notifications blared for his attention: dead men, skill increases, and a singular class level. There was only one that held his attention — though, annoyingly, he wouldn’t be able to devote the proper time it required for a small while yet.

** Infused Glyph of Drakthar has reached level 300 > 301!**

**Ding! Infused Glyph of Drakthar Spell available for Selection!**

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