Runeblade

A low rumble rolled through the chest of Julian’s windsoul charger. It snorted, ears flicking as it tracked the sounds coming from the pitch black forest that swamped their ancient path. Patting it gently on the neck, he projected a calm confidence to the nervous beast. It might have been a powerful magical creature that had been trained and bred for the battlefield, but it was still kin to horses.

This darkness was deeply unnatural, and any good herdbeast knew that things of fang and claw lurked in the night.

Powerful corded muscle radiated a warmth into his hand. Julian trusted the charger to stay firm. It was well trained. Besides, he couldn’t begrudge it a little tension — not when he felt that same looming dread. It was a prickle of hair on the back of his neck, like he was being watched by something ancient and alien.

No matter, purpose and steel would see him through. He was finally on the path to the Wellspring, and no blackguard or treacherous cur would stop him from seizing it.

This was exactly what he needed. Another shining accomplishment, one that would strengthen him and cement his position in court. A Place of Power, firmly in the centre of his holdings would be a beacon for his bannermen to rally behind — and a tool that his father could use to reassure the common men that the House of Flowers would stay sturdy and strong, no matter what the world threw at them.

Such moments of victory were necessary. The coming decades would be tumultuous. Even if this very moment, the beasts stopped growing and no more Tyrants appeared, the chaos that had already come was enough. Society had been shaken; empires would fall. Not his. The House of Flowers would stand strong — and, if the timing was right, perhaps more. The House of Ash had already struggled economically for years, and the northern duchies were so testy.

Play his cards right, and this Wellspring might be the first step towards an archdukedom, maybe even a kingdom. An idle fancy for now, but with the board upheaved there was opportunity to make moves that would have been impossible only a few short years ago.

But first, he had to get rid of the viper in the long grass.

“Any sign of our quarry?” Julian asked softly, turning towards one of Kel’s retainers.

The man clicked his tongue, mana pulsing through his throat and mouth, though it made no audible sound. He turned, listening for a few seconds.

“Nothing yet, my lord,” the man replied. “Though this blasted darkness is cutting into my range by two thirds.”

“Keep checking every few minutes — I want to know their movements before we run right into them,” Julian replied.

They were entirely reliant on Sir Rimekeep for any long range scouting. His echolocation and heightened hearing was far more effective in this darkness than any of their more visually focused men. Even Sir Violetguard and his birds were useless in the Crater.

No doubt they would find that thieving Onyx soon enough. They’d been following this path of worn stone for hours now — they had to be getting close to the Wellspring. Admittedly, some of that was the slow pace he’d enforced — much to the chagrin of his party.

“Shouldn’t we speed up?” Adrian said, looking across to him. “At least until Rimekeep can find our quarry?”

Julian shook his head. “Too much risk of them noticing our presence. Lest anyone forget, we will be facing Golds. Without superior positioning and a surprise ambush, we will be far too disadvantaged. The Wellspring can’t be opened for nearly another day — we have time. Better, I think, to let them busy themselves investigating its mechanisms before we strike.”

Adrian clenched his teeth slightly, but gave him a stiff nod. No matter, if the man proved himself loyal, he’d understand the reasoning well enough.

In reality, Julian had much more faith in Sir Rimekeep than what he presented. The man’s sonic-based ability was uncanny, and nigh-undetectable. In an ideal world, he would have much preferred to rush the Onyx while they were still on the road. The darkness and dense undergrowth would work in their favour, slowing the would-be thieves while their mounted forces could harass them with fast charges and crossbow volleys that vanished like ghosts. Letting them grow entrenched was foolish — but there were benefits to power and status. None of them dared to question his orders.

No, his slow route was for one reason alone. To let Kaius catch up. Now, more than ever, he was convinced he’d made the right decision to join the delvers in something of an alliance. Something his team was not aware of.

“Are you not worried about those delvers catching up?” Kel asked cautiously. “You saw them.”

Edmund shuddered at their other flank. “Monsters, the lot of them. No men should be that strong. As much as I hate to say, I am more worried about them than Brokenlight himself.”

That Julian agreed with. How in the hells had they done it? Honours were the obvious answer — he and his men had managed to accrue a few of those through persistent effort and great risk. But that alone wasn’t enough to explain what he saw.

A company of men shattering against a mountain of muscle and fur, screaming as bones shattered and blood flowed. Mana, ripping open the sky to crush men with the heaven’s rebuke. The way archers and guards had fallen, their heads simply missing after screaming arrows shattered the very wind. Even that mage, flinging unknown magic to bind and heal, the very potency of it searing through the air.

Kaius was, perhaps, the worst of them.Held hostage by three Silvers, the man hadn’t even hesitated for a second. Julian swore that he’d simply blinked and they were dead. Nor did he forget the frozen panic on Kanmost’s face with his throat had been slashed — yet not even that had been enough to give Kaius pause. He’d simply trusted in the absurd magic of his mage. The delver had shown himself a man of merciless pragmatism, then.

A terrifying man, with terrifying ambitions. Julian suppressed a shudder as a ghostly weight settled on his shoulders.

How many honours would it take to accrue that sort of power? What feats of heroism had they pulled off? What rarity of classes had that gained them? He knew only a small fraction — these were Silvers who had killed a Tyrant!

That made them perfect allies.

“Don’t waste time worrying about the delvers,” Julian said, waving off their concerns. “I already told you, once it became clear that they were honest in their intentions, I was able to reach some measure of agreement with them. Besides, they have the Archivist. They would be fools to take that man into a confrontation with Golds, and gods’ know what other horrors call this place home.”

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Behind him, Edmund grunted in non-committal agreement — but out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kel giving him a thoughtful look before he looked back to the road ahead in silence.

Too smart by half, that one. He’d have to be cautious. If Kel was the man who had moved against him, he could have prepared any number of countermeasures.

“I see them,” Rimekeep hissed softly. “All six — they’re moving with purpose. I think the Wellspring might be just ahead of them.”

Their warband fell to total silence.

Julian breathed, submersing himself in the too-soft clack of their mounts hooves against the scattered and broken cobble road. He had plans on plans, and yet he couldn’t quite vanquish the cold that radiated through his chest. This…would be dangerous. So much hinged on bloody delvers, a variable he had no real control over.

“We move up,” he said softly. “Slowly. Rinekeep, keep an eye on them — and take us off the road before we hit the ruins themselves. I want cover and good sightlines, so see if you can take us up the edge of the Crater where we’ll have the height.”

His men nodded, and there was a final burst of soft noise as eleven men drew and racked their crossbows.

Stride by stride, they wormed their way along the path, slowly punching deeper into the crater. They shifted into ranks of two, Rimekeep taking the lead with one of Julian’s own retainers, minimising their profile if someone searched back down the road. Twice a minute their scout let out another burst of his echolocation, inexorably drawing them closer. When the man warned them he could see the ruins, they cut right, into the trees as they climbed higher up the slope.

The tension was maddening. He knew that his target was close, yet with the strange air of the Crater, he saw nothing but shade-wrapped trees and heard only the muffled murmur of rustling leaves.

Rimekeep took them high, before they doubled back to return at a straight approach to the rear of the ruin. Julian scoured the dark.

As they drew closer, the rest of his men with sharp senses flicked a handsign one by one. They could hear their quarry.

It took five more minutes before barked commands floated to him as half heard whispers.

“Gregor, with me! And put that fucking drink away!” Brokenlight barked, clean in his enunciation. The black-armoured warrior passed off a leather-bound notebook to one of the closest mages. Julian committed them to memory — they alone held the key to the Wellspring.

“The rest of you, wait by the central columns. Take this journal — the pattern is sketched out towards the back.”

A little too clean. His accent was a bland metropolitan mash of the central polities — as if he’d lived an educated life, but stayed on the move. Curious.

“I don’t see what the big deal is, Ismar. Thing’s not gonna open for another eighteen hours, why can’t I have a beer?”

“You will show me respect!” Brokenlight roared.

“Fuck off, I’ve known you for seventy years. I’ll call you whatever I damn well please, Brokenlight — we both know I'm too handy for you to go cleaving my limbs off.”

“Have you forgotten where we are?!”

“In the middle of a high mana zone with no one else of note around for hundreds of leagues?”

The conversation fell off after that, but Julian barely noticed — he was too lost in thought. Ismar. That was a Franlen name. Did those curs have a hand in this? Even if Brokenlight was Onyx, he wouldn’t be the first noble who moved in those circles to further the goals of their House. Hells, the Franlen kingdom was full of vicious brutes, he wouldn’t be surprised if every thirdborn was shipped off to cavort with cutthroats and thugs.

It would certainly explain a few things. Franlen had been aching to expand their borders into the fertile fields of the Dukedoms for centuries, and this job was a direct attack at the foundations of his duchy.

Julain frowned deeply. The implications were unsettling. It was one thing if this was the action of a single House, or an independent operative — but what if it was more? What if Franlen intended to leverage the recent tumult for a play at aggressive expansion?

He’d need to bring word of this to Father. Once they’d gutted the highborn, he could search the man for correspondence — anything that might hint at Brokenlight’s origins.

Shapes loomed out of the distant dark — an end to the tree line, and the blocky square of a structure below that. Julian put his worries to the side. Plots on plots, plans on plans — but such was the life of those born to lead. He had the grace of the gods on his side, now he just needed to thread the needle.

Julian waved to his men, flashing handsigns. They would spread out just before the end of the trees. He and Edmund would take the left, Kel and Adrian the right — he wanted a bit of distance between him and his second, just in case.

Following his orders, the warband fanned out, their mounts slowly picking their way through the dense undergrowth. As they drew close, the ruin was revealed in shades of grey and black. The thing had been cut into the edge of the Crater until it butted up on bedrock, leaving them a few strides higher than the main structure.

The damn thing was built like a fortress. A large keep-like structure with a dozen short spires of dark stone, each engraved with rippling lines that twisted into currents and reared up into waves. Half of them had collapsed, cracking holes through the main roof.

High walls swept out from the structure, sealing off a massive square courtyard. Those too were cracked and broken. Where the front gate had once stood, there was now little more than a pile of rubble, and only shattered bones were left of the watch towers that once stood sentinel.

It was a place heavy in history, but Julian cared little for it. He was sure it was pretty, but most of the details were drowned in shadow — and he only had eyes for the men below.

Six figures flitted through the courtyard below, little more than shifting silhouettes. Four were clustered in the centre, fanning out around close to a hundred metal pillars. They were set on tracks — overlapping concentric rings that would let the pillars move and shift. Notches were cut into the side of the runners, perfectly sized for the pillars, though there had to be three or four times more of them.

The two golds lingered further back, by the broken ruins of the gate.

The Silvers would be their best bet. They were spread out around the Wellspring’s locking puzzle, each taking a cardinal direction as they waited for Brokenlight’s direction. Isolated and far from cover, they would be easy pickings. They needed to remove as many bodies as possible in the opening volley to thin numbers, and he had no confidence in killing either of the Golds in such a manner. Especially when he fully expected to get shot in the back.

Julian signaled to his men with clipped handsigns. “Aim: Silver. Self: rear. Kel: Front. Adrian: right. Edmund: left.”

Receiving a wave of signed affirmatives, Julian readied his crossbow, sliding a runescribed Pyre Bolt onto the track. He might have lacked an archer’s Skills — but money could make up for much.

“Fire in five,” he signed.

He focused on his target. One of the mages. The man was leaning heavily on his staff, staring idly at the metal pillars in front of him, defenceless and distracted. His retainers aimed for the same man.

Across from him, he could see Kel aiming at his own. His heart pounded in his chest, ripe with the tension that had been building since he’d become certain of betrayal. Julian was ready, whatever happened.

The time came. Nine bolts loosed with a basso twang.

Edmund and his retainer spun on him.

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