I crossed the hall and pushed open the door to the armory. Buck had a bright light sitting on his desk while he held the brutal lightning lance and a large aether container. He eyed me as I entered and gave me a quick up-nod.
“What’s going on?” I asked, thumbing towards the door.
“Pool’s drained or cut. Both are bad news,” he said. He patted his lance and glanced around the room.
“This is my post. You’d better go find your team. They’d be rallying everyone in the lobby,” he said. I waved an empty medium and gestured towards him.
“Can I trade you for a full one?” I asked. He grunted and tossed me one of the box-batteries from a drawer in his desk. I left the empty one with him and took a moment to charge all of my lances, storing the smaller ones in my pockets.
“Any idea what’s out there?” I asked. Buck shook his head.
“Could be anything from a full-scale incursion to some idiot accidentally venting the pool into the air,” he said. He motioned to the lance in my hands.
“Those are a loan. Bring ‘em back when things are settled,” he said, giving me a stern look. I agreed and rushed to the door, cracking it open. No movement down the hall. I slipped out and stalked towards the stairwell in the distance.
Each room I passed was thankfully easy to check at a glance—they were all empty. The door to the stairs was solid and shut. I paused and leaned an ear against it. There was a slow series of sporadic pops coming from the other side. I positioned myself to have better cover from the door and then threw it open. There was nothing on the other side. The sounds were echoing up the stairs from below and were being washed out. I strained to listen. Was that gunfire?
My muzzle came up and I carefully took one step at a time, leaning to get angles down the stair switch-backs. The pops grew louder and sharper as I descended and they were joined by faint, unearthly whispers that tickled at the edges of my hearing. I gripped my weapon tighter and picked up the pace; the adventurers were fighting something down there.
I reached the second landing from the bottom. The whispers grew louder and seemed to come from everywhere at once. High-pitched shrieks and deep moans from below cut through the noise and sent chills down my spine. A hissing static and a hint of ozone built up, creeping closer to me. I took shallow breaths and stayed as still as possible, aiming down the stairs. The static grew to a crescendo and the edges of my vision fuzzed.
Halfway down the stairs, a translucent head phased through the solid metal stairs and gazed at me with empty eye sockets. Blue-green wisps of aether streamed off of it while a mixed vortex of red lurked behind its sagging skin and shone through where its eyes should have been. Its mouth yawned open and a bone-shaking moan rattled out, striking me with nausea and dizziness. I staggered against the wall, my hands shaking.
It rose through the stairs, revealing its desiccated torso and arms. Veins of red snaked through its body from the ball in its head to its spine and limbs. There was nothing but transparent, ragged flesh beneath its waist. It hovered in the air, gliding towards me. Its arms below the elbow were nothing but cracked bone with long red blades fused into them. It raised its weapons over its head like a praying mantis, prepared to lunge.
I screamed internally at my hands to move, but they were sluggish and refused to point the lance directly at the thing in front of me. The ghost leaped and stabbed its arms down at me. I stumbled away and tripped, slamming my back into the wall painfully. Its attack missed by inches and it screamed, making my ears pop and my chest tighten.
The butt of my lance hit the ground, nearly jarring it out of my grip. I got my knee under it and levered it up, bringing the barrel in line with the creature. It pulled back to jump at me again, and I squeezed all of my muscles at once. The weapon jerked erratically and went off. A bolt flew out at a steep angle, taking the ghost in the throat and blasting out the back of its head. Its head vanished, sending a jet of color shooting out of its neck. Its body crumpled and puffed into nothingness, leaving splatters of blue-green and red aether to coat the wall and stairs above me.
Aether Lances increased: 18 -> 19
I gasped and, all at once, my senses returned to normal. My racing heart slowed marginally and my arms trembled. I took several seconds to breathe and shake myself. Thinking about the fight, I frowned. The ghost had been frightening, but my reaction was... disproportionate. The demon had been far more terrifying but I hadn’t had any difficulty shooting it once I’d made up my mind. The ghost must have had a psychic attack, or a magical dread aura of some kind.
I got to my feet and reloaded. Yelling and lance discharges punctuated the chorus of undead voices coming from below. I gritted my teeth to steady myself, my mind racing. My best bet was to link up with the adventurers before another ghost or four could turn me into dinner. I crept down the last flight of stairs and found the door to the lobby closed.
There were no gaps between the doorframe and the metal door, so I gently eased it open by the thinnest sliver and stole a peek through. A veritable ocean of moaning specters surrounded a crackling bubble of hex panels where the adventurers huddled, clutching their weapons and taking quick swings at the undead. I spotted Sabine as she leveled her lance at a ghost and blasted it into a cloud of blue-green mist. The bolt flew through the creature and clipped two more before crashing into the ground and punching a hole in the stone.
Nearly a dozen bodies sprawled motionless on the ground. Most looked like they had been dead for decades and mummified, but a pair wearing nearly identical armor and masks rested in slowly expanding pools of dark liquid. Another three figures wearing similar gear were crouching behind overturned tables between me and the bubble. The ghost were completely ignoring them; I watched as one of the masked figures popped up and shot a small lance towards the shielded adventurers, cracking one of the hex panels, while two undead floated aimlessly past him.
My map showed four green dots clustered inside the bubble. Whoever these guys were, they were friends with the monsters and shooting at my allies. I pulled the door open a little more and stuck the muzzle of my long lance through the gap, carefully lining up on the closest figure’s back. His friend peered over the edge of the table and I pulled the trigger. My bolt punched through his back just below the neck, spraying his cover with blood as he crumpled into it.
I started reloading my lance as the second shooter ducked down and spotted the new body. There was a short pause and then he turned to look directly at me. He scrambled and dove to the ground, sending his spent lance skittering away. My charge display flashed full just as the other man pulled a second lance from his belt and swung it towards me.
Boom! Pop!
Our weapons discharged at the same time, sending aether blasts screaming in both directions. His bolt splashed into the wall above me, raining dust and stone chips on my head. My aim was better. The missile struck him in the shoulder and severed his arm from his body, the limb tumbling away in a cloud of red mist. He screamed and clutched at the horrific wound with his other hand, writhing in pain.
Farther away, the third masked man finally noticed his friends were in trouble and hid behind a stone pillar. The ghosts also caught on and a dozen turned to face me. Crushing terror and static flooded my mind and I dropped the aether container before my lance finished charging. I slumped against the wall and struggled to breathe, the gapping maws of the undead keeping me transfixed.
The sole living enemy leaned out of cover and took aim at me. His shot passed through two different ghosts and punched through the metal door just in front of my face. Searing pain bloomed from the side of my head and I collapsed to the ground, still staring at the tableau beyond. Sabine took a shot at the last man and he dropped out of sight.
The specters converged, slowly gliding towards me. Inside the bubble, the adventurers formed a line of blades and armor. Their weapons began glowing like ethereal beacons an instant before the shield vanished. The line surged forward and they cut down ghost after ghost with flurries of slashes. The monsters pounced at them, but were shredded by the warriors’ onslaught.
I lost track of the battle as a ghost closed with me and drowned all other thoughts from my mind. My vision tunneled onto its glaring red eyes as blood flowed from my wound and half-blinded me. My hand desperately patted the pocket with the smaller lance in it as the monstrosity swooped closer. I grasped the weapon’s grip and yanked it out, swiveling the barrel towards those hateful sockets. The muzzle smashed into the wall in front of me and sent the lance clattering across the floor as I lost my grip on it.
The ghost loomed over me, less than a pace away. Its mouth yawned open, beyond any human limit, and it raised its blades high above, preparing to skewer me. I shoved myself away from it and its weapons narrowly nicked my leg, sending a shock of cold pain through the limb. I kicked away, sliding my body closer to the dropped lance, but the one leg was sluggish and numb. The monster reared back and moaned, freezing me in place.
I begged every fiber of my being to reach out and grab the gun, but I couldn’t look away. My body wasn’t listening to me anymore. The ghost leaned forward and I could have sworn it was grinning. It had me and we both knew it. It drew back its weapons one last time.
The tip of a sword sprouted from the creature’s chest and ripped up out of its shoulder. I was covered in a spray of blue-green droplets that fizzled and misted as the ghost wailed and crumbled to dust. I wiped the stinging fluid from my eyes and squinted at my savior.
Carl stood there, cleaning his sword on his pant legs. He flourished the blade and rested it on his shoulder, giving me a Cheshire grin.
“Great timing there, Khan. You’ve seen better days, I’d wager,” he said. I swore and sat up, collecting my fallen lance easily.
“I don’t know; this is in the top three so far,” I said with a chuckle. Carl laughed once, a brittle sound. He motioned over his shoulder.
“Let’s get out there; that was the last ghost but we need to regroup. Take stock of our... losses,” he said, trailing off.
I pushed myself to my feet and retrieved my long lance. Carl waited for me to reload before he turned and led the way out to the lobby, with me limping behind him.
A thin aether mist tinted the air and cast a sickly gloom over the scene. The surviving adventurers tended to the wounded and checked on the dead. A mage sat slumped against the far wall, sucking in deep breaths and cradling her head while damp red hair clung to her face. A bronze staff rested across her lap and a tall man in armor stood next to her, watching the others work. Monty, Deckard, and Sabine were grouped together and poking the dead intruders. We hobbled over to them, and Sabine recoiled when our eyes met.
“Dai! Your head!” she gasped, pointing to the wound along my skull. It still throbbed with a hot, stinging ache.
“One of them grazed me with a lance. Any of you have water?” I asked. Deckard passed me a steel canteen and I carefully poured a thin stream of water over my eye and the wound. The stinging doubled and I groaned, nearly dropping the canteen. When the pain subsided, I blinked my eye and could see through it again. I turned to Sabine.
“How’s it look now?” I asked. She leaned in and inspected the injury.
“Better. I could have mistaken you for a zombie before, but it looks shallow. Head wounds are misleading,” she said with a sympathetic wince. I looked around at the other adventurers.
“Don’t we have any Healers here?” I asked. Sabine closed her eyes and rolled her head back.
“We did. Mandy... didn’t make it into the shield,” she said, opening her eyes and nodding towards a body. A red shirt clung limply to the corpse’s shriveled frame and a mop of blonde hair covered its face. Monty bowed his head.
“Nothing we could have done. They came from below and hit us all at once. Yaz’s bubble saved us all,” he said. I followed his gaze to the woman heaving against the wall.
“Who are these guys?” I asked, kicking an intruder’s boot. Deckard crossed his arms.
“Urallites, no question. It’s the same method as the other attacks, just... bigger,” he said darkly. I squinted at the dead man, trying to square Deckard’s claim with my experience on the altar.
“They don’t look like cultists—no robes, for one,” I observed. Carl scoffed.
“You expect them to wear their ritual raiments to battle? This is what they do. The ghosts slurp up all the aether around, then the Urallites pop the ghosts and harvest the mist. It’s heinously inefficient, but fast,” he said, a heavy weariness pulling on his voice. Sabine sighed and shook her head.
“With the pool drained, we’ll have to send runners to report to the Kingsmen. Our team’s all here, so it’ll likely be us,” she said.
I leaned back and stuck my hands in my pockets. My fingers brushed something cold and metallic. I pulled it out and blinked—it was the High Inquisitor’s coin from a lifetime ago. A description from my system displayed.
Messenger token (100%)
I was never going to use it for its intended purpose, but the Inquisition would want to know about the attack. My opinion of their organization was conflicted, but it was better to be on their good side and this seemed like easy points. I connected to the token and it prompted me for a message.
Adventurers guild in red district attacked—Urallites and ghosts. Attack repelled. Many casualties. 5+ cultists dead. Healers needed.
Message finished, the coin blinked rapidly and then went dormant. Its charge read 0%. Someone cleared their throat and I looked up. The four adventurers were staring at me.
“Dai, what did you just do?” Sabine asked, an edge creeping into her voice.
“I... called the Inquisition? We could use the help, and they’d learn about this eventually,” I said, a tad defensive. Monty gave me a skeptical look.
“And you can just do that? Call the Inquisition and have them show up?” he asked, suspicious. I held my hands up.
“It’s a long story. They won’t listen to everything I say, but they care about the cultists, so I think they’ll show,” I said. He laughed incredulously and threw his hands up.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Gone less than a week, and you come back with a direct line to the Black Fist. You’ll have to find time to tell us that story, later,” he said.
We checked the last of the cultists and confirmed they were all dead. The wounded adventurers were being tended to, so we picked a table that was mostly untouched and sat down wearily. None of us wanted the door to our back, so we all sat on the same side and rested heavily on the cool metal. As the adrenaline faded, exhaustion crashed over us and threatened to drag us into slumber. We kept each other awake with gallows humor and almost-witty banter.
A haggard Hadrian poked his head through the open door to the stairwell before trudging over to us. He had a small lance by his side and another two sticking out of his coat pockets. Sitting down across from us, he scanned the rest of the room before returning his gaze to us.
“I see the worst of it was here. A few wraiths made it through to Administration and we were forced to battle them directly. We lost a few souls before those of us further away succeeded in arming ourselves and dispatching the spirits,” he said, producing a small silver flask and taking a swig. He offered it to us, but Sabine shook her head.
“It’s not over for us yet. We’re resting for a few more minutes, then it’s off to the Kingsmen,” she said. Hadrian gave an understanding nod.
“Travis is building an improvised link to the Tower, but it will take some time. It might be weeks before the pool recovers,” he lamented.
“At least it can recover,” Monty said darkly, watching as the other survivors gathered the fallen adventurers by the back wall. Hadrian grimaced.
“They’ll be taken care of—their teams, as well. We don’t abandon our own,” the Fixer said.
Monty was opening his mouth to respond when a tickle of whispering voices slipped into our minds. Everyone froze for a beat before we all jumped to our feet, pulling weapons and swearing. We clustered close together and the other adventures rushed to surround the exhausted mage who struggled to her feet.
“Does anyone see it?” Deckard yelled. A smattering of no’s answered him as we all scanned around frantically. The whispers grew louder and a tinge of static joined them. A shout rang out and I turned to see a man with an axe pointing at a spectral face emerging from the wall. A pair of shots blasted forward and vaporized the head, spewing aether drops across the room. Sabine and another ranged fighter exchanged looks as they both reloaded their lances.
More ghosts phased through the same wall and I took aim at the closest. Its eyeless head turned to me an instant before my bolt punched through its chest and sent it shooting around the room like a punctured balloon, leaving a glowing trail in its wake. I ducked behind Deckard and reloaded.
Two dozen more undead poured into the room, overwhelming our rate of fire. A mage sent a stream of pale projectiles arcing over our heads to slam into the ghosts in a ragged volley. His bolts were weaker than ours and only slowed them down, punching leaking holes in their torsos. The psychic assault intensified and I nearly fumbled my aether container.
The melee adventurers formed up shoulder to shoulder and charged into the horde, scything through them and filling the air with a thick blue-green mist. A fighter in thick cloth armor tripped as the lines collided and went down, taking a swipe to the back from a ghostly blade. He screamed and thrashed on the ground, his legs flopping uselessly behind him. Monty lunged over and decapitated the specter before it could finish the man off.
The doors to the street slammed open and four more cultists rushed in with long lances up. They fired into the melee adventures, aether blasts shattering armor and flesh. Monty took a bolt to the hip and dropped, his enormous sword flying out of his hands.
Sabine screamed and retaliated, nailing a cultist in the head and vaporizing it. I shot a moment later and struck another man in the stomach, sending him to the ground in a pink burst. I dropped my long lance and pulled out the short one. Hadrian hit the third masked man in the knee as he tried to reload and another adventurer ended him.
The last cultist abruptly dropped his weapon and darted towards the open doors. I sent a bolt flying towards him, clipping him in the side, but he only stumbled for a few steps before sprinting outside. The melee fighters eviscerated the last of the ghosts. Carl rushed over to Monty; Sabine, Deckard, and I were only a second behind.
The big man was still alive, clutching the injured joint and groaning. Blood poured from the wound, between his fingers, and into a dark puddle under him. The metallic smell clawed at my nose and I fell to my knees, gagging. Carl shoved a glittery red vial into Monty’s mouth and the swordsman chugged it. The viscous waterfall from his hip slowed and then stopped. The pain on his face eased somewhat and he coughed.
“Go! Don’t let them get away—I’ll be fine. GO!” he shouted at us.
We gathered most of the adventurers and I took a moment to reload. We charged out after the fleeing cultist, weapons held high. Another batch of ghosts waited for us in the streets and we plunged into them. I hung back with the ranged fighters, taking pot-shots at specters while the frontline ran them down.
The mage next to me lobbed an enormous ball of fire over the crowd, sending it crashing on top of the cultist further away. The explosion thumped through my chest, even from that distance. Half of the street was covered in a black scorch mark while the newly created corpse burned, its clothing in flames. The caster whooped viciously and shouted something obscene at the body.
An aether bolt slammed through the mage’s shoulder from a high angle and he dropped to the ground wordlessly. My head whipped in the direction the shot came from and I caught sight of another masked figure as they ducked behind the ledge of a roof. Another blast came from the other side of the street and narrowly missed Sabine as we scattered.
“Snipers, high!” I screamed, an edge of hysteria creeping into my voice.
The last of the ghosts fell and all of us scurried to take cover under balconies. We traded shots with the snipers, but only four of us had ranged weapons and the cultists kept repositioning between shots. We took injury after injury—none lethal, thankfully—with nothing to show for it.
The melee fighters hacked away at the doors to the buildings, trying to breach and rush upstairs. The metal and stone construction here was sturdy and they struggled to make any progress. A few warriors held their shields high over head, screening the others. Across the street, a pair of burly men with long axes had better luck and slowly chipped away at their locked door.
After my fifth shot with the small lance hit nothing but clay shingles, I shoved the weapon in my coat pocket and drew the eight-barrel lance. I quickly adjusted its settings and crouched down low, waiting. The sniper popped up half a roof away from where I was pointing and sent another bolt towards the adventurers. My muzzles lined up with him just as he ducked behind the crest again.
I squeezed the trigger. All eight barrels discharged at once, seeming to merge their shots into one colossal super-bolt. It flashed through the air, as bright as a signal flare, and exploded into the structure, blasting a wide hole in the roof. A long lance flew out of the detonation and clattered down the slope until falling off the roof and smashing into the ground with a metallic ping.
Aether Lances increased: 19 -> 21
The adventurers on my side of the street cheered and I started the long process of reloading. The sniper above me fired again and another one of my allies collapsed to the ground with a shrill shriek. The rest of the adventurers on that side abandoned their attempts to force entry into the buildings and grabbed their screaming friend. All of them rushed across the street towards us and took shelter from the enemy’s fire.
A dozen blue shields appeared on my map. In the next instant, a pair of armored carriages rolled around the corner down the street and barreled towards us. The adventurers finally peeled the door open in a screech of rending metal and half of them poured inside. I finished reloading and put the lance away. The carriages ground to a stop in front of us and the side doors rolled up. Soldiers in black and blue uniforms jumped out and swarmed over to us, their long lances and heavy armor glinting in the aether light.
ID query override received, responding.
ID query override received, responding.
ID query override received, responding.
Several soldiers scanned me and I held up my empty hands. The adventurers still outside dropped their weapons and followed my example. The soldiers didn’t yell or even give us any commands—it was eerily quiet. I cleared my throat and pointed up with one hand.
“There were shooters on the roofs,” I said, projecting my voice. The newcomers exchanged looks behind their masks and half of them crouched down, swiveling their muzzles to the rooflines. One black-clad soldier nodded to me and a team of them took off after the adventurers in the building.
Tense minutes passed in silence. The sounds of distant lance-fire crackled up from time to time, but even that stopped and we continued to wait. The stress of prolonged fighting caught up with me and I struggled to stay standing. The others looked just as ragged; several were leaning against the wall with their heads lolled back.
Following a clatter of footsteps, the rest of our comrades eventually emerged from the building with the Kingsmen and Inquisition troops close behind. A carriage’s front door swung open and a familiar figured slid out. The dark eyes of the High Inquisitor scanned over us, falling on me. A faint smirk brushed across his face before vanishing. He walked directly up to me.
“Mr. Khan, I seem to recall giving you clear instructions on how that coin was to be used. Under these circumstances, I will... overlook its misuse. Do not grow accustomed to such leniency,” he said. I let out a hollow laugh.
“I’ll take that under advisement,” I said, rolling my eyes. He grunted and turned to the group.
“This area is secured. You fought well today, and the city thanks you. Make your way into the guildhall. Our Healers will be here shortly,” he said, raising his voice.
We collected our wounded and dead, shuffling towards the guildhall. Everyone was exhausted but glad the ordeal was over. It was a bittersweet victory, but we still couldn’t go home yet. One last arduous task waited.
The Inquisition and the Kingsmen spent the next few hours questioning everyone, cross checking our stories, counting bodies, and questioning us again. A pair of Healers in red joined us and worked on the wounded. Thirteen adventurers and four clerks had died in the fighting, most of them falling in the first attack. An entire team was wiped out, and a couple others were below half strength. Mine had been lucky to be sitting near the mage who cast the shield.
Monty was able to join us an hour after we returned. There was a jagged hole in his pants, but the skin underneath had healed. Deckard congratulated him on being able to take a nap while the rest of us chased the cultists. The others laughed and ribbed him good-naturedly. I just felt tired and numb.
I listened in to the stories the others told and learned how the attack started. The ghosts came from underground moments after the lights went out, ambushing the adventurers in the lobby and bypassing the stairs in favor of floating through the ceiling to the floors above. Yaz had run into the middle of the largest group of allies she could see and activated the shield while everyone else was still reeling from the psychic assault.
The people caught outside the bubble were isolated from each other and overwhelmed by the sudden attack, most dying before they could draw a weapon. The first team of cultists came in immediately after, flipping over tables and killing the few adventurers outside the safe zone who had managed to group up. Sabine and another lance specialist had reacted quickly and downed two cultists before they could take cover. They had then traded shots with the cultists while more and more ghosts poured in until I showed up and flanked the Urallites.
The debriefings wound down and the soldiers began trickling out of the guildhall. The Inquisition left familiar metal boxes in stacks along one wall and the adventurers gently loaded the bodies of their fallen into them. I caught Sabine’s eye and nodded towards them.
“What are they doing there?” I asked. She looked and then gave me a grim smile.
“Preserving the dead. The boxes are enchanted. Their families will have funerals for most of them later, and we’ll bury the rest,” she said solemnly. I bowed my head.
“I wish we could have done more—saved more,” I said. Sabine snapped her fingers and I jumped, looking up.
“None of that, now. We all got caught out. We’re lucky anyone survived an attack this well planned. Celebrate what we still have—let the dead pass in peace,” she chided. I sighed.
“I’ll try. Easier said than done, but I’ll try,” I said. She stretched and yawned before perking up and pointing to my coat pocket.
“I almost forgot to ask; where did you get that lance? It was incredible, the way it burst the roof apart—like, pop!” she said, putting on exaggerated cheer. I welcomed the change in subject.
“Buck lent it to me, from the armory. I tried it in the range and it was amazing. It’s too bad it’s so expensive, otherwise I’d want everyone to get one,” I said.
“With results like that, I’ll start saving up now, no matter how long it takes,” she said, laughing.
We continued chatting and joking until an Inquisition soldier announced the investigation was done for today and we were free to go. I said quick farewells to my new friends and reluctantly gathered my weapons, beginning the long climb up the stairs to return them to the armory. Buck was still in the cage and holding the lightning lance. I greeted him and passed each weapon through the slot above his desk.
“You look like death,” the large man observed. I gave him a sardonic look.
“You should see the other guy,” I said. He laughed.
“I’ll bet. How bad is it?” he asked. I told him. He didn’t laugh anymore.
“Night take every forsaken Urallite. We lose more than enough good folk in the Wastes as is. Now we gotta deal with brain-sick zealots too? Hope you got ‘em good,” he cursed.
“Yeah. A couple tried to run, but they didn’t get far. We put down a small army of ghosts with them,” I said.
We traded a few more words before I made my excuses and left the guildhall. My clock told me it was 8:30pm—my bedtime was coming up. I retraced my steps out of the Red district and passed through the arch. There were twice as many men in blue stationed there now and I was scanned several times. No one stopped me and I continued without incident.
As I got closer to the market, I could tell something wasn’t right. I slowed and drifted over to the buildings, listening for anything out of the ordinary. It was silent—no buzz of voices or patter of footsteps. I crept up the sidewalk, keenly aware of my lack of weapons and ready to bolt at the first sign of ghosts or cultists.
Blue shields popped up on my map and I relaxed a little. I inched closer until the market was in sight. It was a grisly scene. Most of the stalls had collapsed, their contents shattered and scattered. Thin bodies rested on the ground while the Kingsmen searched the area. One spotted me and gripped his lance.
ID query override received, responding.
The message came through and he relaxed, waving me to pass by. I took one last glance at the scorch marks and pitted cobblestones before taking his advice and making myself scarce. I hurried around the corner and followed the main thoroughfare towards Khan Manor.
The streets were empty; every shop was closed and no one was walking under the metal aether lights. I caught glimpses of movement out of the corners of my eyes—heads peeking out of windows as I passed and disappearing when I turned to look at them. The ominous atmosphere clung to me like a drowning sailor and I broke into a jog, keeping my eyes up and checking rooftops every few seconds.
I arrived at the manor without being brutally murdered. Paul was still at his post despite the late hour—and he had a new friend. Another man with a long lance stood with him, wearing a yellow coat and a tall, fluffy hat. I walked up to them—now slightly out of breath—and asked about the new guard. Paul introduced him as James, an employee of the Batai family and honored guest. I waved off questions about my appearance and hurried inside the house.
A maid greeted me, but gasped when she saw the blood matting my hair and dried on my coat. After assuring her that I wasn’t about to fall over and die, she told me Basil and Saison were in the dining room with “the guests”. I thanked her absently and made my way through the wide arch.
Inside, I found the Khans and Ester sitting at the table and chatting, along with two middle-aged people I didn’t recognize but who bore a strong resemblance to the younger Batai. Ester was the first to spot me and she jumped to her feet, rushing over. Basil screamed and I held up my hands in a calming gesture. It had limited effectiveness.
“Dai! You’re covered in blood—what happened? Are you lightheaded? Show me where it hurts,” Ester rattled off rapid-fire without stopping to breathe.
“You should see the other guy,” I said. If it was good enough to use once...
Basil all-but-tackled me, squeezing me and tutting over the gash on my head. Everyone politely averted their eyes, but I caught Ester sneaking a peek. Basil released me and I launched into an abbreviated version of the fight at the Adventurers’ Guild. When I got to the part where the lance bolt clipped me, Basil started crying and grabbed me again. Saison nodded along grimly but stayed silent. I was cut off when Ester raised a hand and her palm started glowing.
“Uh, what are you doing?” I asked, wary.
“Healing. Be quiet, and stay still,” she said.
She had a look of intense focus. Her light pulsed and wobbled, and I felt a tingle blanket the side of my head. With effort, I resisted the urge to reach up and scratch. The tingling shifted and stung slightly as she adjusted her pose. After half a minute, Ester’s light winked out and she dropped her hand, panting. She leaned on the table and smiled brightly at me.
“There, not so bad, huh?” she said. I tentatively touched the spot where I had been struck. No pain, at all. My skin was still tacky from the dried blood, but the wound was gone. I thanked her in earnest and continued my story.
Between all of the questions and needing to repeat myself, it took nearly an hour to tell the whole tale. I avoided some of the more macabre details but otherwise told them everything. Once I finished, they delivered their own news.
“It’s awful. There have been attacks all over the city. We don’t know how many; even the Kingsmen might not know yet. I was in the amphitheater when those abominations struck,” Ester said. The older Batai woman—Ester’s mother, Heidi, I guessed—spoke up.
“The fools. Just about every young man there—and some of the older ones—had a lance. Made short work of those heretics and their Night-begotten thralls, as I hear it. I’ve never been more proud of our little community,” she said, looking smug. From what I could tell, she wasn’t actually there and didn’t contribute at all, but I let it pass.
Ester finished her retelling: they hadn’t lost anyone and she was able to heal all of the injuries they did take. I stubbornly forced my mind not to dwell on the unfairness and praised her efforts. She took it with good grace before covering her mouth for a big yawn. Basil broke in and offered guest rooms for the Batais to stay overnight. They gratefully accepted and I took the opportunity to beg off, citing my need to clean up.
I climbed the stairs to my rooms and shut the door behind me. Exhaustion pulled at my eyes like lead weights, but I stumbled into the bathroom and approached the sink. Someone had removed the covering from the mirror and I paused. Should I risk it? No, that would be silly—I had survived enough battles for one day. I threw another towel over it and ran the water, dunking my head when there was enough to make a difference.
I cleaned myself up until I couldn’t feel any more blood and the second towel stopped collecting stains. I threw it on the washing stand and left the room, making it to the couch before collapsing. Shrugging off my coat, I wadded it up and made a makeshift pillow. I was out within seconds.