Six years later Starling Swan still found himself attracting trouble. Despite changing his name, in an attempt to keep trouble away from himself, the trouble that a Swan tended to attract still wandered up and tripped the squire more often than not.
By this point, everyone across the Continent had heard of the Black Knight and Casarius Rath. They wielded Druadic weapons and rode terrifying alchemical constructs.
They had their own fighter ship, a sleek Peril Wing that was often seen cutting the sky over Mellis, the home-base for the bodyguards of the Guild. Stories about these warriors were used to scare children as much as the adventures of Fox and Swan were still re-enacted with sticks in dirt-covered courtyards.
Casarius was currently lurking in a dark corner of The Quaggan’s Eye, a popular taberna for travellers in town for local markets; farmers, merchants and there was currently a bard perched on a stool beside the bar top, plucking the strings of a dented cythera.
He’d noted the gossip about the Druadins, the alchemists and the latest scandal their current Emperor had gotten into, but the off-tune plucking of the bard kept distracting him from his mark.
He was in the crowded and alcoholically-sticky establishment, made more sticky for the hot summer Mellis had been experiencing, to keep an eye on the actions of a small, pale man of Azurite heritage who the Guild had pinned as a danger to their operations.
He’d been illegally selling alchemic drafts for a new airship to politicians in Castalia. As a city state outside of the Twelve Kingdoms that politically declared itself neutral in the cold-war between the Druadins and alchemists, this was a concerning deviation.
His irritation spiking, Casarius made a subtle hand gesture and a string broke on the bard’s cythera with a loud twang, causing the musician to teeter and fall off the stool. Casarius refocused on the Azurite man, now ignoring how much the man reminded him of Prince Lucien Swan, who originally hailed from the same Kingdom.
The man’s name was Mallik Parnesse and his day-job was as a barrister for wealthy nobility across the Continent. This gave him the perfect excuse for constant and regular travel.
But so far today, the man had bought the local news pamphlet, meat-stuffed bread and sat at a table in this taberna, sipping one red beer very slowly for the last hour. Only the fact that he kept looking toward the door, stilled Casarius’s impatience.
Suddenly, Parnesse’s eyes sparkled and he stood, arms opened in greeting as a young woman, near Casarius’s age entered the taberna with a relaxed gait, but her body was tense and poised in the way of one used to fighting.
With a subtle sweep, Casarius assessed where she had a number of weapons hidden about her person. Two under her short, olix-hide jacket, two in her boots and three strapped under the subtle pockets along the legs of her trousers. She was dressed all in black except for her dark green tunic around which was cinched a holster for her only visible weapon, a simple electro-pulser. The sort of thing many wealthy noblewomen carried.
Her hair was kept back in a long braid twisted around her head; a Castalian noblewoman’s fashion. Casarius squashed the repetitive thoughts of Castalia and put his energy into frowning at the woman. She was a contradiction of innocence and danger, but there was something about her profile that stuck in his memory.
Causally, he leaned forward and lifted his own beverage to his lips, pretending to drink while he pulled threads of air toward himself, amplifying the conversation taking place between the woman and Parnesse.
“…have them?” The woman was saying as she leaned toward Parnesse, barely moving her lips.
Parnesse nodded and spoke unnaturally loud, “it’s a wonderful day. Would you take a drink with me?”
The woman held up a hand and called for a server, ordered and continued speaking to Parnesse, still in a low tone but more casual, “I always have time. How is Mellis?”
“Crowded, scummy. The alchemists have their fingers in everyone’s nests and it has attracted every sort of wing-hanger there is,” Parnesse waved a hand about the occupants of the taberna.
“Nothing wrong with good tech,” the woman shrugged, one hand resting on her electro-pulser.
“Not with Abramalion at the head. I don’t know how he ever was in the graces of the Castalian court, although he fits right in with the lechers here.”
Casarius eyes widened. He’d not been aware of that fact either and filed it away to ask Garendos about later, or Abramalion himself, if he was in a good enough mood.
The Castalian court was well known for not openly taking the side of the Druadin or the alchemists. This was subtle favouritism. Yet another mark against the city state’s supposed neutrality.
“Well the Castalian court isn’t in the graces of many either,” the woman shrugged as she commented on the only thing either side of the cold-war could agree on, as if this didn’t matter, but her tone had an edge to it.
“What are you doing here then? Last I heard, you had your own ship, crew and had cleared the northern skies of pirates.”
“Heard a rumour a friend of mine was in town,” the woman said.
“Whoever he is, I’d say good luck, but if he’s in Mellis and he’s not with the Terrios, then he’s probably in a ditch overdosed on prima.” Parnesse referenced a local crime family and an alchemical substance that had been around for years, but always went through phases of popularity on the markets for its supposed ability to reveal to users their great life works.
“He was always more the type to die buried under a mountain of books that he accidently knocked over in his overzealous excitement,” the woman said, lacing her words with heavy sarcasm.
“Well, fair weather to you. Give the birds a nod from me,” Parnesse said. His use of “birds,” sounded like code for something. Casarius noted the word, as he watched both stand.
They grasped left hands in the traditional Castalian farewell and the woman left. Outside, the central bell tower rang the noon hour and shortly after, Parnesse exited the taberna too.
Casarius sat in his corner, contemplating how much longer he’d stay in the taberna when he felt a presence behind his back and a second later, the point of a weapon.
“You are a terrible spy, Rath.” The voice was a tight whisper but it was unmistakably the woman who’d been speaking with Parnesse. “As obvious as your name is ostentatious. I mean, why not call yourself “Angry” and be done with it.”
“Too obvious,” Casarius said with stiff casualness, holding back all emotions, including his surprise. He clenched a fist under the table and continued, “I’m just enjoying a drink like any man.”
“A man like you? Nice try, but you’d be happier with the wines I think,” she slipped into the empty chair across from him and rested her elbows on the table.
Casarius scowled at the woman, even as he mentally stumbled for a response. The extent of his socialization had always been largely Master Garendos and Abramalion.
Most of the other alchemists and their apprentices gave him a wide berth for his connection to the two most powerful men in the Guild and the city of Mellis.
“Well,” said the woman when Casarius didn’t respond to her jab, “I’ll be happier if you shove off and stop trailing Parnesse. He’s an old friend, but an absolute buffoon who does not rate the time you seem to be giving him.”
“The Guild thinks otherwise,” Casarius shrugged, “anything you want to share about why you and Parnesse were trading?”
His answer was a bark of laughter. The woman crossed her arms, making a show of looking Casarius up and down, “right, you’re just their grunt, along with that elephantine Black Knight.”
“Master Garendos is a far better fighter than you ever will be,” Casarius snapped, leaning forward on the table. It shook under him.
“Oh, did I make you angry? Good. Leave Parnesse alone. Any issues the Guild has with us can be sent through me,” the woman said and a second later Casarius felt the point of the weapon on him, dig in through the fabric of his trouser knee under the table. He stood, the table shook and his chair fell backward with a clatter.
Casarius was aware of the taberna’s sudden quiet, but had more focus upon the woman as he bent into an attack position. He could not leave this woman alive, Abramalion would most likely label her as more of a potential danger to the Guild than Parnesse and he’d love to not have the Master Alchemist’s deceptively calm disappointment levelled after last week’s incident.
“Well? What else did you want to ask?” the woman said, leaping toward Casarius. He dove toward her, drawing a short dagger from his belt, he’d left any of his more obvious weaponry back at the Guild.
The woman sailed right over his head, landing among the shouts of patrons and the barkeep. He spun on his heel to see the back of the woman moving toward the door.
She lifted a hand, mimed shooting him and said, “nothing? Snap you later.” Then, she was gone, leaving Casarius among the fallen chairs, hearing the barkeep demanding he leave, but feeling like a clock being rewound.
Scowling at nothing in particular he sheathed his dagger and stormed out of the taberna, feeling sweaty and frustrated under the obnoxiously cheerful daylight.
Just the gesture was one thing, but the parting phrase; that was Lila. He’d not thought of her in years. Could that woman be Lila? He needed to know, he needed to find her again, but first, he knew Abramalion was waiting.
Casarius pulled his hood further over his eyes, scowled at the crowds, which even after six years, he still found overwhelming. Right now, between chasing whispers about Castalia, that woman who was Lila, but not, it felt like an inferno of noise.
He slipped down a side alley where the taberna kept its waste and empty amphoras. With a two-handed gesture he twisted the air under his feet, and used the element to buoy his jump which landed him on top of the taberna roof a moment later.
He loved heights. It had been a fortnight since he’d been up in the sky. Master Garendos had kept him on intelligence gathering lately and Casarius had complained to Abramalion, only to learn the Master Alchemist had requested it to begin with.
With a huff, he took off toward the Guild headquarters, leaping from rooftop to rooftop on Mellis, rolling his eyes when he’d land near clumps of street urchins who made the flat roofs their hideaway homes from the cogs and their truncheons.
The law enforcement had gotten worse over the years as the Guild had gotten more powerful, taking their lack of true control out on whomever didn’t have the money to complain otherwise.
Casarius found Master Garendos in their courtyard, running through forms with his stormsword, something that he’d been pestering his mentor to help him make for the past year. It required the capture of lightning within a hollowed hilt of star metal, sealed with a blade of lemaerian crystal, all within the seconds of the strike of a bolt.
At present Casarius used a squires weapon, an ignispear which had only required a trip to Mount Vitreous, the volcano which loomed over Mellis. There he’d controlled and contained a portion of lava within a lemaerian spearhead.
He’d nearly burned his whole arm doing so, and yet Master Garendos seemed to think lightning was more dangerous. A stormsword was the mark of a true Knight. Just like in the stories of the paladins who protected the Empire of Kingdoms.
As Casarius stepped under the archway he felt, before he saw, the gemstar spinning toward his nose. He caught it between his thumb and forefinger.
“Casarius, for someone so skinny you move like an olix still,” Master Garendos sheathed his stormsword with a crackle of sparks and walked toward Casarius.
“And you look like an olix Master,” Casarius said with his first grin all day. He fiddled with the gemstar before passing it to Master Garendos who slipped it into his belt.
“Have you seen the Master Alchemist?” Master Garendos said, crossing his arms, examining Casarius and sighing. “You haven’t. What have I said? Report immediately, you may be my squire but the Master Alchemist is our employer.”
“I know,” Casarius shrugged and looked everywhere but Master Garendos, not sure how to explain what had brought him here rather than where he knew he needed to be.
“Something to do with your family again?” Master Garendos said with a narrow-eyed frown. Casarius shrugged, bit his lip, fiddling with a stray thread dangling from his tunic sleeve and didn’t answer.
“Vosmit itmos,” Master Garendos said, stepping back and reaching out a hand which sparked. A second later a long ignispear flew into his hand. Upon hearing the words which opened a formal duel, Casarius looked up and crouched into a defensive position, grateful that Master Garendos was not pressing the matter and instead letting him work off what he couldn’t put into words, through action.
Six years of hiding his identity, of seeing at first the wave of bounties out for locating him that petered off and were now no longer active had taught him a lot about handling his personal waves of nostalgia despite leaving having been his choice in the first place. None of that however was good enough for Master Garendos who constantly pushed him to challenge his control.
Suddenly Master Garendos was striking at him, the flames of his spear heating up Casarius cheek. He stepped back, spun and ducked. Resettling and focusing, properly on the duel.
“Focus Casarius, battle waits for no mind,” Master Garendos intoned the worn reminder as he began to circle the squire.
“Good thing I don’t wait,” Casarius said as he jabbed forward and then spun around Master Garendos, angling to have his spear at his Master’s back but the Knight was faster, despite his great size and they were face to face, spears angling for openings as they circled each other in the courtyard.
A slow clap jolted Casarius’s focus from the duel, causing him to look up to the veranda upon which Abramalion stood, watching them. He felt heat against his throat and then Master Garendos said, “tradi?”
“Tradi,” Casarius sighed, accepting defeat.
“Focus,” Master Garendos said, stepping back and sheathing his sword, before nodding toward Abramalion, “Master Alchemist, good day,”
“Young Casarius is back,” Abramalion said. His tone was mild and as he directed the comment to Master Garendos, as if Casarius was invisible, it made the squire wince in anticipation for one of Abramalion’s tongue-twisting lectures.
“Sorry, I was going to go straight to you but I got…”
“Waylaid by an important lesson. He’s right my boy, you lack focus. My arrival
should not cause your mind to stray any more than the passing mention of
Castalia.”
“We do know Castalia is breaking their neutrality pact though Abramalion. That is huge! That is something the Guild can use isn’t it?” Casarius said, using the rare opportunity of Master Garendos’s presence to buffer a report he knew would not leave Abramalion happy. Although, knowing Abramalion he probably already knew and was just waiting for Casarius to embarrass himself further.
“Why did you not kill that woman?” Abramalion said, leaning with deceptive casualness against the balcony balustrade. Casarius grimaced, amending his earlier thought. Having Abramalion standing up above him while being admonished was worse than being alone.
“You had a confrontation?” Master Garendos said from behind Casarius, his voice had a note of surprise.
“We talked. It wasn’t a confrontation. That taberna’s small. It’s not easy to move around,” Casarius said with a defensive tone, annoyed to be told off by an alchemist who’d never lifted a weapon in his life.
“My business is weapons, my boy. I may choose to not be vulgar enough to slice heads and wring necks but I still kill. When the intention is strong enough, the size of a space does not matter.” Abramalion said with a calm and measured tone.
“Is she a mercenary, who is she with?” Master Garendos asked, clearly more interested in the intelligence gathering than Abramalion who had insisted upon it to begin with. Casarius grimaced and crossed his arms. This was not how he’d wanted his day to go, cross-examined by both his mentors, at the same time.
“Don’t know. She was in all black, tons of weapons. Probably mercenary,” Casarius hedged, trying to keep a casual, calm facade.
“Would you bet your life on probably?” Master Garendos admonished, looking at Casarius with a knowing frown. He had heard this before from the Knight and sighed.
“No. Okay, so I didn’t learn anything definitive. That happens. I’m sure you’ve not known anything from a single look at someone before. Isn’t intelligence gathering supposed to be about not learning everything at once?”
“You’re not everyone, Casarius. You are powerful. Why not use it? We are the Guild, we can do anything,” Abramalion oozed his way into the conversation between Knight and squire.
Master Garendos shrugged, looking back to the Abramalion for a moment before turning back to Casarius and said, “he’s not wrong. We can’t let Castalia gain a foothold. The Emperor loves new tech, but he doesn’t care who it comes from. If Castalia steals the Guild’s work as their own, they’ll be in his pocket. We need to stay in the Emperor’s pocket.”
“It’s just one set of plans. Besides, I am certain that Mallik Parnesse has them now, so he’s the one I’d need to go after,” Casarius said looking up at Abramalion.
The Master Alchemist gripped the balustrade and said in a stern voice, “finish what you started with the woman and then go after him if you must. Show me you are worthy to stand on equal footing to the Black Knight,” Abramalion folded his hands into his robes and continued his questioning.
“Are you worthy of being a Knight too? Show me you can control your power. Channel your full force into your actions, do not let someone like that woman stand in your way, take her down. To be Knight is to let go of fear and take what is yours in whatever way you must.”
Casarius’s eyes widened at the chance to prove his worth, but immediately following his elation was the very fear Abramalion warned him from. He’d gotten better at controlling his power, channelling it through his fighting, but today had been the first time he’d found himself in a fight without Master Garendos nearby. He’d frozen, he knew that, he’d known he was doing it in the moment.
“I’m ready. Thank you Abramalion. Master Garendos?” He turned to the Black Knight who’d trained him these past years, looking for his opinion.
Master Garendos’s face was blank and unreadable, something Casarius envied him for. The Knight shrugged, showing no opinion. Then he bowed to Abramalion and walked out of the courtyard.
“Well my boy, you’d best be off. I expect those plans to be in my study by the end of the day,” Abramalion’s tone was stern, despite the familiarity of his address. Casarius bowed, feeling like this was something he’d need to start doing if he was to show how adult and controlled he could be.
As he left the courtyard the same was Master Garendos had gone he furtively looked about for the huge knight, wishing to ask him why he’d not even given encouragement, let alone an opinion. Did he think Casarius could fulfil Abramalion’s order?
These thoughts swirled about as he hurried to his room to redress and gather everything he could potentially make use of.
Someone knocked on his door. Surprised, Casarius listened to the energy and identified it as Master Garendos. Even more surprised and curious, he opened the door to the Black Knight who had pieces of armour draped over one arm.
“For you,” he said, passing Casarius all at once. Casarius juggled them all and finally deposited them onto his cot. He wanted to examine each and speak with Master Garendos more but as he turned back, the Knight said, “don’t be stupid.”
It was the closest Casarius had ever heard Master Garendos get to admitting to any emotions. The squire grinned, “I’ll be back by nightfall with the plans and you’ll be knighting me tomorrow.”
Master Garendos grunted, held up a hand in farewell and turned down the corridor.
“Wait!” Casarius shouted after him, “I wanted to say —”
“Control yourself,” Master Garendos tossed his reply over his shoulder and turned a corner, disappearing from Casarius’s sight before he could say anything more. Sighing the squire turned to the armour Master Garendos had given him.
The armour was made of olix-hide, flexible and able to withstand pulses from blaster fire. On the shoulders was a star metal pauldron with the Black Knight’s symbol etched in it. There was also a tunic of star metal thread to protect any close blows from weaponry formed of lemaerian crystals that would otherwise go through the animal skin.
A pair of boots and trousers also of olix-hide, a short cape with a cowl reinforced with star metal thread on the inside and last, a helmet shaped like the skull of the bird of prey from whom he drew his name, complete with a rather ostentatious beak. Casarius rolled his eyes as he tried it on, Master Garendos’s hidden theatrics were absolutely the influence behind its construction.
And yet,
as Casarius put it all on, he felt any traces of fear falling away. In this new
armour, he wasn’t Starling Swan, the scared runaway, nor was he just the Squire
of the Black Knight. He was Sir Casarius Rath, the Winged Knight. He grinned at
the name as it popped up in his mind.
First, he buckled his ignispear on his back and daggers and alchemic tinctures
of poisons and bombs, about his belt. The last thing would be waiting for a
thunderstorm and catching lightning for a stormsword, but that he could do as
his official initiation.
In the meantime, he meant to live up to Master Garendos, and prove to Abramalion he could control his power and could channel it at will. He would be worthy to be Knight; the best balance between the powers of the Druadins and the knowledge of the alchemists.
Casarius opened his door and stalked down the corridors, standing straight and proud, grinning under his helmet as his neighbour, Rillian, an apprentice alchemist, crossed his path, froze like tiny puta bird with oversized eyes, and darted the other way. In that moment, Casarius felt like he was not at the mercy of trouble, he controlled trouble. He was not afraid.
Stepping into the main courtyard of the Guild’s grounds and buildings, Casarius contemplated saddling his construct and knocking on whatever front door behind which Parnesse hid but rationality, preference and the build of his armour reminded him he’d be better served leaping to the rooftops, pinpointing Parnesse’s location and surprising the Azurite first.
Mind made up, Casarius made a two-handed gesture to pull in the air and he used it to augment his leap as he aimed for the top of the stables. From there he ran to the Guild gate-keep and then over to the roof of a nearby shop. He paused and took a few deep breaths, centring himself.
He focused in on the flow of the elements, sifting past the thick threads of the thousands of people who lived in Mellis, searching for the unique signature of the woman. A dark, chaotic tag that as he pinpointed it, gave him the visual of a tall adasonia tree with a broad trunk and branches only near the very top with spiking leaves fanning outward. Identical to the one he and Lila had been climbing that day.
Casarius shook his head, as if the action would help remove the memory from his mind. “She’s not Lila anymore. I’m not Starling anymore,” he said out-loud before taking a running leap and using the air currents to buoy him as he followed the dark, chaotic tag.
He had a mission to complete. One, which when completed would be nothing in comparison to standing equal to the great Black Knight, to being the Black Knight. Casarius held on to this thought as he felt the chaotic roll of the elements increase above a building in the eastern end of the city, just on the edge of the barrister’s district.
He slowed, focusing inward to pinpoint the exact building and room. Found it and leaped to the ground, landing in a dirty alley full of empty wine amphoras, the woman — he refused to think of her as Lila — was in the bottom floor of an caupora, where travellers stayed and somewhere in the commons area.
He stepped around to the front entrance, and pushed open the door with slow care, taking in the scent of cooked meats and the scentless warmth of fire sticks probably all around the room. Far cleaner than the taberna this morning.
Inside, there was a thrum of voices, a large group of individuals with mismatched clothing took up the central tables. Casarius kept to the edges of the room as he searched for the woman, or even Parnesse.
The group had to airship pirates, they were rowdy but had the tenseness of permanently coiled muscle and roll to their gaits as one got up to gather more drinks that spoke of life in the constantly fluctuating uncertainties of the sky.
In the centre of the group, Casarius spotted the woman. He let his head tilt back, as the difficulty of his mission notched up. Distracted, he did not feel the approach of a short man who stepped into his space and growled at him
“What are you looking at?” The man sneered, coming up close to Casarius, but having to tilt up his head so he could look at Casarius’s helmeted face. He wasn’t built like an olix, but he was tall.
“Been on the road. It’s busy…I’m, not used to crowds,” Casarius said the first thing that came to mind and winced when he realized he was wearing new armour. The short man didn’t buy it and he shoved further into Casarius’s space.
“You thinking about taking the Night Orchid’s? Think again, less you like getting beat by a girl and have Terrio’s gang after you.”
“What girl?” Casarius said, stupidly. Berating himself the moment he stuttered out his reply. The short man squinted at him, as if he was second-guessing Casarius’s bad lie or counting how many feathers short of a brain he was despite the dramatic helmet.
“Captain Chrysa Delphinian,” shorty said, his voice taking on a note of reverence.
Casarius decided he may as well continue playing up his stupidity, “nope, not ringing a bell.”
“No? Hey Captain! Got new blood for you to meet!” Shorty shouted and his voice carried. The noise quieted and the occupants of the caupona commons all turned to look in the direction of shorty and Casarius who pressed back against the wall, wishing that wearing black meant you could literally blend in with shadows.
He’d have to ask Abramalion if there was an alchemic enhancement someone attuned like himself could use to do so. If the Master Alchemist didn’t skin his head for failing first.
Visions of what Abramalion might do spurred him into action and before any sort of plan could even hope to form he pulled out his ignispear and called, “Captain Chrysa Delphinian, vosmit itmos!”
“Whoa, scurro!” Shorty used a slang term for brash actors,” hold your rudder, you don’t just — ”
“Shut up Trillion,” Chrysa said, stepping through the parting throng of airship pirates. “We have unfinished business, he and I.”
She stepped up, unsheathing two curved electro-blades, crackling with violet static on one edge, “nice mask. Makes you look less like a befuddled tree.”
“Big words for a pirate,” Casarius said, bending into a crouch. He started to circle Chrysa.
“Some of us learned to use them so alchemists wouldn’t use us,” she said, moving into a crouch as she mirrored Casarius’s movement. She turned her blade, violet side out, elbows bending.
Casarius recognized the move and found the adasonia tree flashing back into his mind but this time it incongruously sat next to a cliff’s edge where a young Starling and Lila held sticks and were play fighting as a Druadin versus an airship pirate.
“Some of us became more than what we played at as children,” Casarius said. Feeling a surge of pride as he tossed the insult at Chrysa. He was never very good with words and yet, around this woman, he felt them roll of his tongue without thought.
Chrysa stiffened and she straightened her crouch. “Then I expect you aren’t too far off either, though you move like an olix. I thought even a Druadic squire would be quick on their feet?”
“We can be, but I’m keeping this fair,” Casarius said, watching Chrysa carefully. Her energy was boiling up, gathering and he sensed she was about to attack. Sure enough, a second later she swung at him with blade, twisted around and he felt the other come up toward his back.
Despite Chrysa’s insult, Casarius was in fact rather quick and he ducked just in time, although he felt the heat of her second blade too close to his shoulder as he twisted away from her in turn.
He spun on his heel, jabbing out with his ignispear, sending his energy into the weapon which made it begin to flame. She dodged and slashed back, one blade, then the other. Casarius dodged, faster this time.
They continued like this until Casarius was relying completely on his attunement to the astral to know when to counter a strike, when to dodge and when to jab forward. She was as fast as he was, if not faster.
Casarius could feel himself lagging, although he wore armour that was relatively light, it was still more layers and weight than the olix-hide garments Chrysa wore. He started to jab at her in a repetitive motion, stopping their circling dance and instead, driving her back until she rammed into a table.
This paused her long enough that he landed a deep strike into her shoulder. He froze, shocked that he’d landed a hit. She glared at Casarius, thrusting the spear out of her shoulder with both hands, only a slight twist to her lips indicating the pain of grasping a flaming blade, even with gloved hands.
“Tradi,” she said, and Casarius took a step back. In that single pause, Chrysa slashed toward him, with both blades raised high, violet sparks almost blinding him, breaking the sacred rules of a duel initiated on vosmit itmos.
He reacted on the instinct of six years of training with the Black Knight and knowing Abramalion could always be in his head and watching. He jabbed forward and this time his spear struck Chrysa in the chest.
Her eyes went wide, then narrowed, “you…” she said.
“Lila,” Casarius’s spoke before his mind could catch up as he watched her slump forward, the wound already cauterized by the fire of his spear. Two pirates darted to her either side, catching her.
As they settled her to the ground and Casarius could feel the pirates all around him bristling with anger and fear, Chrysa looked up, squinted and said, “Star…ling? Heh, should have known you weren’t dead. Cowards never do.”
Casarius opened his mouth, closed it, opened it and then backed away. His earlier breeze of acting before thought had stalled entirely as he watched his childhood friend really and truly die, by his hand.
Well done my boy. Well done, Abramalion’s voice simmered in Casarius’s mind, causing him to flinch and step back from the pirates and Chrysa. His movement, triggered the pirates to turn their focus from Chrysa to him. Their energy bristled with anger as Casarius found the room suddenly pointing blasters, swords, daggers and someone had the leg of a chair.
“Sorry, I’ve got to go,” was what tumbled from Casarius’s mouth before he hauled himself backward and turned, pulling air around him for a barrier against blaster fire. With both hands he shoved at the front door and ran down the middle of the street, causing people to trip and tumble from surprise or hitting his barrier of air.
He didn’t look to discern the difference, as he ran on adrenaline with the refrain of: “I killed her, I killed her, I killed her,” circling through his mind.
You did well, my boy but I’m afraid there is one more trial before you take your knighthood. Hurry.
Casarius ran faster. Abramalion actually sounded concerned. The alchemist was never concerned. He was the calmest, most unflappable human Casarius had ever known.
As he neared the Guild buildings he saw smoke rising and could smell the acrid scent of melting plaster, metals and wood. He jabbed the lock of the front gate with his ignispear and crashed through, following the trail of Abramalion’s energy.
Casarius skidded to a stop just as he saw Rillian scramble down the corridor ahead of him. The younger apprentice spotted him and shrieked, “Don’t hurt me! Stay away!”
Casarius frowned and stopped walking toward the boy. “Slow down Rillian. What has happened?” Casarius rested his hands on his hips and glared at the apprentice who flinched back. Belatedly Casarius realized he still wore his helmet, he pulled it off with both his hands, shaking his head in an attempt to un-stick his sweaty hair.
“What happened Rillian?”
“You aren’t going to…” Rillian was looking at the ground and peered up at Casarius through hair coated in plaster dust.
“No. What happened?” Casarius repeated.
“Master Garendos, he, he…he confronted Master Abramalion. They started fighting. The other Masters stood with Abramalion and their dead. Eris got killed too!”
Casarius assumed Eris was another apprentice but was more stuck on what Master Garendos has done. Tried to kill Abramalion? Was trying to kill?
“I need to go. Get out Rillian,” Casarius said as he slipped his helmet back on. “Go!” He repeated with the apprentice remained frozen, staring at Casarius. Casarius took off, feeling into the astral for Abramalion and Master Garendos. They were in one of the basement laboratories.
As Casarius ran he passed other apprentices who fled in the opposite direction upon seeing him and he dodged breaking plaster and a wood beam as it collapsed, full with flame. It was as if the Master Alchemist and the Black Knight had fought all the way through the Guild.
Hurry my boy! You must hurry! Abramalion’s voice rang through his head as Casarius clattered down the twisting stairs that led toward the laboratory where he sensed their energy. He pulled a ball of air and sent it shooting ahead as he neared the door, causing it to crash inward.
He followed, almost stumbling over himself as he slowed and took in the scene. The laboratory was a disaster of small fires, broken glass, leaking chemicals and Abramalion on the floor against the fall wall. Master Garendos stood over him, his stormsword crackling and pointed at the Master Alchemist’s throat. Abramalion had helped him find a place to belong, a place to be who he was, without fear.
“What are you doing?” Casarius said, stepping toward the man who had become more of a father to him than Swan had even been. Master Garendos turned, his face was bare and bloody, revealing a wild expression but his eyes were full of determination.
“Saving you,” he grunted before turning back to Abramalion.
“What?”
“Do you want to know why the Black Knight never took you up to the Blue Mountains?” Abramalion spoke, with barely a shake to his voice, even as the Black Knight’s sword touched his throat, but did not pierce it.
“What?” Casarius was not processing anything anymore. Too much had happened in too short of a time. Only this morning, the worst thing had been sitting in a sticky, smelly taberna.
“To make your stormsword, to be a true Knight of the Empire of Kingdoms like the Druadin of old?” Abramalion continued. Master Garendos seemed frozen. Casarius could see no flicker of anger for the lie, or remorse for the truth. Just a flat expression of determination.
“Squire. What do you choose?”
It is obvious isn’t it? Kill the Black Knight and take his name, become one with your great power.
Casarius felt confusion, fear, despair building in him, rushing together and building up against the only thing stopping the rush, and that was the gratitude he owed the two men in front of him.
“Why Master? What is happening?” Casarius asked Master Garendos, pleading for an explanation that would explain this conflict.
“What do you see, Squire?” The Black Knight said, not looking at Casarius. Casarius felt his confusion and fear boiling up, he could feel the ground shifting.
He took this sword from our vaults you know, I allowed it. You needed to be trained. But now, he’d gone too far, he’s killed our apprentices. He’s burned down our home. Kill him Casarius Rath. Be the judgement, just as Kithar and Kithrin Rath once were.
“Snake,” Master Garendos said to Abramalion in an emotionless voice. Casarius’s fear turned to terror. He knew that voice, Master Garendos had used it only once when he’d been tasked with hunting down a criminal to the Guild and meting justice. Casarius had watched.
Under his feet, Casarius could feel the ground shudder as his only control on his emotions began to break. The remaining beakers and jars not yet broken, tumbled off shelves and shattered.
“Master! Don’t kill him, or I’ll have to, I’ll…” Words failed Casarius. Abramalion and Master Garendos were frozen in a deadly tableau. People were dead. Casarius had killed his childhood friend.
The dam holding back everything broke and Casarius felt the air within the laboratory crash outward. The walls shuddered and crashed as the force of the element smashed into them.
The ceiling came down in a shower of stone and plaster, Casarius had a second to pull the air around himself, Abramalion and Master Garendos as the building came down around them.
As the debris settled, Casarius felt his emotions twisting around him like a wind tunnel.
You know what you must do. Abramalion’s eyes met Casarius from around the crackling stormsword and Master Garendos’s tense form.
“Master Garendos, vosmit itmos,” Casarius said, drawing upon the energy of the stone debris to ground and root himself enough to speak through his roiling emotions.
“So it comes to this, Master Alchemist.”
“Kaerasta, Black Knight,” Abramalion said, using the term for when an opponent corners the lord piece in a game of tafltar.
Master Garendos moved with the speed of a serpent, striking Abramalion in the shoulder before turning to face Casarius in the crouched stance of defence. Despite his earlier energy, it seemed he was not going to slaughter Abramalion. Casarius did not yet know if this was something to feel relief over. In the moment he mostly felt fear.
“Well? Don’t fly away on this. You owe me your full focus and power, Squire.”
Casarius pulled his ignispear from his back, let his energy flow into it and flames lit upon its tip. He stepped forward, bent his knee and said, “I will.”
Then he charged, thrusting forward with both physical strength and a boost from the stones around him, deep and strong. Master Garendos stood as Casarius charged, he slashed his sword out and around even as Carsarius struck, his spear going through the Black Knight’s chest.
There was no blood because of the cauterizing flame and yet Casarius froze, his hands gripping the spear, eyes transfixed on point of impalment. He could feel the spark of Master Garendos’s stormsword burning against the armour protecting his side. If he’d not had the armour, he would be just as a dead. He caught the Black Knight’s gaze as he lifted his eyes from where his spear entered the other man’s chest.
“Well done Squire, you might make a Knight yet. But beware the alchemist, he plans —” the Black Knight fell to the ground as his life faded.
“Well done, my boy. Well done.” Abramalion clapped behind Casarius. Casarius was aware of the alchemist but he felt like he was drowning in the picture before him, of Master Garendos on the ground dead.
The behemoth of a man, the one had stuck up for him, encouraged him, taught him, been beside him, been a father. Had he really betrayed the Guild? What had he meant about the alchemist?
Casarius felt his emotions boiling up again; confusion, fear, despair and a deep, yawning hole that was opening up, threatening to swallow him. He levered his spear into the ground, fiery tip pointing toward the sky and used to anchor himself.
He felt threads of fire running through the earth, deep magma roiling and boiling. He lost himself in the chaos of the day. Time fluctuated around him and he was aware of a dark hole rising before him.
Contain yourself Black Knight! You are not a child! Abramalion’s voice ripped through his mind, yanking him from the mental abyss.
Casarius startled back to the space around him, and immediately stumbled back as a literal chasm cracked through the ground in front of him, straight through the rubble of the Guild laboratory.
He looked around, but he was the only one. Casarius could not even feel the presence of the Master Alchemist anymore and Abramalion had been injured. But the spotty fires were growing, multiplying, he could hear screams and shouts.
The ground rumbled and shook. There was a distant roar. The air felt hot and there was a scent of sulphur swirling between the plaster dust and evaporating chemicals that made his nose wrinkle.
He sneezed and the mundane action startled him to stumble forward and stand, one hand still gripping his spear stuck into the shattered ground. He cast his senses out, feeling through the astral.
The city of Mellis was a cloud of chaos and the feeling it continued beyond the city, toward Mount Vitreous. The volcano that had not erupted in over a thousand years had woken up.
Yes, my boy. You did this. Now, contain yourself. Come to me. We have real work to do, you and I. The Black Knight must ride once more.
“He’s dead. I killed him. I killed her. I’m a murderer,” Casarius spoke to the air but he knew Abramalion would hear him.
You are the Black Knight, Casarius Rath, ancestor of the great and terrible Kithar Rath.
“Not truly. I’m just a Swan. I bring trouble where ever I go, even when I don’t intend it. I just wanted to be something more.”
Marlo was not just a Swan, Lucien was not just a Swan. Tthey were heroes who prevailed against titanic odds. You have the blood of Druadins and magicians, pirates and knights within you. You, Casarius Rath have brought the sky down. You are more. You are more than them all. You are all the elements in their most pure and powerful form.
Casarius did not reply. Beyond the city, Mount Vitreous was spewing fiery rock, smoke, and ash had begun to float through the air. It mixed with the plaster dust around Casarius. Lava was inching down the curve of the volcano.
He needed to run. Once again, Casarius had to run away and once again, Casarius did not know to where he would run. He only knew he had to get away. Far away. Where ever Abramalion was not. Where ever there was no one.
He did not know what to think, what to believe other than what he had done by his own hand.
He looked to the body of Master Garendos, the stormsword had shuttered off when it had fallen from the man’s grip. Casarius picked it up with reverence. He’d always wanted one. He’d wanted to be someone; to be just like the Black Knight. With care, he removed the sheath for the sword from Master Garendos and strapped it to himself.
He would take the sword. It was not safe to leave for just anyone to find. Druadin weaponry was dangerous and unstable magic if not wielded with training and control. Both of which he’d not truly finished, but he was better than some too curious street urchin. If any were still alive in the chaos he’d created.
He did not know what or who to believe, but he would take up the stormsword. He would take Master Garendos’s title and carry on the man’s legacy. He would become the Black Knight and his first mission would be to find out what happened to Abramalion.
Was he dead like everyone else, and speaking to Casarius from beyond the aether or was he yet alive and hiding from the destruction wrought by Casarius.
Trouble always started small for the Swans, before it would grow beyond their knowing. Starling Swan was no different as he took off at a jog, running away with a burning city behind him and one hand resting on the pommel of his stormsword, for he was Casarius Rath, the Black Knight who brought the sky down.
THE END (for now)
Author’s Note: Stay tuned for another Lighthouse Story on March 15th, which will be back to the usual standalones. Although, you can expect a return to this universe in other stories soon!
[…] Continued in Part 3 […]