H - 118: Really? (Patreon)

“Why the hells is this happening!” a young woman shrieked without lessening the pace at which she threw fireballs into the oncoming horde of colossus spiders.

“Survive it, and then we’ll worry about why,” grunted the young man next to her, shooting them with high-pressure jets of water. He wasn’t inflicting debilitating damage but had enough force to knock them off the sides of buildings when they tried to climb.

All of them hunkered down as a huge burst of wind roared over them from behind, coalescing beyond their ranks into a cluster of dust devils that threw the oncoming creatures bodily away from the street, in some cases over rooftops.

“Calm, my young friends,” rumbled Bronzmun and suiting his words with action—not only modeling that calm for them, but holding onto the soothing and strengthening aura which was the main think keeping their fragile ranks from breaking. “You are all doing well. Trust your skills, trust one another, and we will get through this.”

The beleaguered recruits straightened, their resolve bolstered, and braced themselves for the next wave.

The Verdi Herons were well-drilled when it came to emergencies, and as soon as the alarm bells rang had already moved into their mandated deployment for dragon attack: most of the parties present at the guild’s headquarters had fanned out into the city to assist with evacuations and position themselves in a wide net to answer the smaller subsidiary crises which always kicked off in the middle of a huge crisis. The guild’s support staff had already evacuated into the office’s underground shelters along with a few specialized healing mages who’d drawn that duty shift today.

So when the spiders had come, all that remained staffing the headquarters of the Herons were a dozen or so young, unblooded recruits not yet trusted to deploy under their own recognizance, and an even smaller core of the guild’s most elite veterans held in reserve to distract the Dread and draw him away from the city, should an opportunity arise.

“Here they come again,” said a young archer grimly, setting the primed crossbow next to his feet ready to be snatched up and nocking a shaft to the powerful longbow now in his hands. “That’s…oh.”

It was a lot more this time. In fact, it was less a horde than a wave; whatever the source of the colossus spiders was, it had just disgorged more of them than this street could hold. The adventurers stared as a veritable wall of thrashing segmented legs came tumbling down the street at them, spiders trampling each other as they were pushed along by physics and their own mindless numbers.

“Retreat,” Bronzmun ordered. “We must get inside and brace the—”

They had only a split-second warning in the form of a shadow appearing over them, and then the ground shook as a dragon slammed to earth in the street, red and black scales looming over the adventurers like a shield.

Vanimax lowered his head, parted his jaws, and sprayed a continuous blast of fire directly into the oncoming horde.

In seconds it was over. The fire diminished, and stretching before them was only a familiar street charred black, its cobblestones partially melted in spots, flames flickering along the storefronts and eaves of the surrounding structures.

The dragon raised his head and invoked a simple elemental spell; water burst into existence above the charred street, splashing down in a single quick torrent that doused lingering flames and caused molten stone to erupt into steam as it flash-cooled.

“Sorry,” he rumbled. “I’m afraid we will need some support from your mages. We are trying to be careful, but fire breath isn’t meant for precision, especially in urban environments. My sisters and I can put out large fires if we spot them, but it would spare a lot of damage if you douse them before they grow.”

He spread his wings to take off, and once again magic flared around them.

Bonds of light flashed into being around the dragon, looping over his neck, around his legs and tail, and hardening into the forms of luminous white chains binding his limbs to the ground. They immediately turned rigid, forming restraints that pinned him firmly in place.

All the other recruits frantically backpedaled away from the casting mage, a young woman brandishing a glowing staff and gritting her teeth in concentration.

Every chain of light shattered into impotent motes as Vanimax turned around, moving as easily as if they weren’t there. He lowered his head to stare at the girl in a surprisingly legible expression of exasperation.

“Really?”

“Whoah, guys, it’s okay!” yelled a voice form higher up, accompanied by a waving arm as the taller of the two people riding on the dragon’s back gesticulated for attention. “He’s with us!”

“Riocco, what the hells are you doing up there?” Roscoe shouted from the doorway into the guild.

“I brought help!”

“No, you may not have a pet!”

“You!” the girl shouted fearlessly, brandishing her staff again. “It was you. Give us back our princess!”

“You mean Percy? She’s over there with my sister.” Vanimax raised his head and emitted a strident roar, causing most of the assembled mortals to cringe back and cover their ears. Bronzmun alone stood impassive in the street, watching with straightforward curiosity.

Seconds later another dragon descended upon them, this time from the front of their formation, giving the assembled recruits the opportunity to backpedal in panic as Pheneraxa extended her wings to control her descent, landing upon the structure across the street from them.

“Oh, good, you found adventurers,” she said. “Finally! Listen to me: colossus spiders are not carnivores. They won’t be hunting people. These animals were brought here by conjuration; they’re traumatized and panicking, and their instinct will be to try to get underground. I need you to sweep the streets in areas after they’ve been removed, look for any doors that have been forced open, and clear them out. At all costs they must not be allowed to get into the underground shelters! They don’t want to fight but if they find themselves trapped indoors with other creatures they will try to defend the space!”

Everyone stared up at her, stunned silent.

“Well?” Perseverance de Clairmont exclaimed from her perch astride Pheneraxa’s neck. “You heard the dragon! Verdi Herons, move out—Boisverd needs your aid!”

With a great rush of air, a third dragon arrived, landing with less care upon the roof of the Herons’ headquarters and dislodging a few shingles.

“Oi!” Vadaralshi barked. “Are we all having a nice break?”

In staggered near-unison, all three drakes raised their wings and took off, regaining the skies. Immediately more blasts of fire ensued as they began clearing nearby streets.

“Kid,” said Roscoe, stepping forward and resting a hand on one young mage’s shoulder, “that was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen, and a strong contender for the dumbest. If those dragons weren’t acting dramatically out of character today, you’d have just gotten everybody killed. Stick with the group, trust your allies, and we’ll all get through this. And then your ass is on probation.” He gave her one consoling pat and turned back to the guildmaster. “Sorry, Bronzmun. I know striking down animals who’ve already been abused has to hurt.”

“Even the gentle honeybee defends her nest to the very death,” the druid replied gravely. “We have people to protect, Herons; let us be about it. I need scouts and teleport-capable mages to move out into the city, find our parties in the field and update them with the dragon’s intel, and then do likewise with the other guilds and the city watch. The rest of us will sweep the district surrounding our headquarters. We will clear out stragglers and aid wounded; any survivors can be brought back here to our shelter. Lock down the structure so a token defense can hold it while the rest of us are on the move.”

A swordsman leaned over to the mage, muttering, “Did he really just call that thing a pet right to its face and then get on your case for pissing it off?”

“Apparently sass is a privilege of rank,” she grumbled. “At least the Princess is okay. But…how the hells did she get those beasts to help?”

“Speculate after work,” Roscoe said from behind them. “We have our orders, Herons. Move out.”

***

Personnel were already moving efficiently into the Palace’s shelter as everyone not deemed essential for the defense took refuge, but naturally the royal family and their escorts had a secure, private access, to avoid the risk of their path to safety being impeded by the throng.

It had never before been relevant that this created an interception risk by senior government staff who knew where it was and were not constrained by the normal boundaries of physical space.

As Henrietta, Franz, and the two soldiers who had escorted them from the throne room were crossing a short segment of hallway connecting two descending staircases, the space in front of them suddenly warped. A rush of displaced air made the wall torches gutter, and Cora d’Acron popped into being, staggering to one knee before she caught herself.

“Cora!” the Queen exclaimed as the group staggered to a halt, both guards instinctively grasping their swords. They did not draw, recognizing the Court Mage, but remained tense and ready. Cora’s current condition and demeanor triggered that reflex in any bodyguard.

Everyone in the Palace had seen her growing gradually more tense, hollow-eyed and stooped in the weeks since the Princess’s abduction, but this was something different. Cora stood in an off-balance half-crouch, as if she had started to assume a combat stance and forgotten how midway through. Her eyes were were wide to the point of bulging, but with pupils contracted to pinpoints. The eyes of someone glaring directly into the sun.

“Cora, what has happened?” the Queen demanded while the two soldiers carefully began edging between their royal charges and the Court mage. “Are you all right? Where is Perseverance?”

Cora had been apparently getting her bearings, disturbed eyes darting rapidly around the space, but at hearing the Princess’s name she suddenly staggered back as though it had been a physical slap.

“She—Percy—the Princess has betrayed us.” Cora’s uncertain stammer hardened into a hiss in the space of a second as she recovered.

“What?” Franz burst out. “Wh—how? What? Percy would never—”

“To whom?” Henrietta asked with more poise. “Cora, you’re not making sense. You don’t look well. Please compose yourself and—”

“I’ll show you,” Cora said, staring intensely at the Queen. “I’ll show you. You’ll have to see.”

She stepped forward, and suddenly both soldiers were between her and the Queen, swords fully drawn.

“Lady Cora, that’s enough,” the more senior of them said, keeping his weapon pointed at the ground. “Please step back. You don’t look—”

“I don’t have time for this!” Cora shrieked, clenching both hands into claws in front of her.

A spell circle flashed into being around their feet and pulsed once, and a blast of wind roared through the narrow corridor, quickly becoming a swirling tempest as the gust had nowhere to dissipate in these confines. Both guards were dislodged as she intended, but so were both royals and also Cora herself.

It was the mage who sprang back to her feet first, seemingly driven by some frenetic energy. She lunged at the Queen, landing awkwardly atop her and clutching at Henrietta with both hands. Space around them seemed to twist, and just like that, both vanished.

“Mother!” Franz shouted, bounding forward from where he’d been flung against the wall. “What in—what’s wrong with Cora? I know she’s been stressed, but…”

“Don’t know, your Highness, but you’re right—that wasn’t normal,” agreed the senior guard, stepping back over to him and sheathing his sword. “Come on, we need to get you to the shelter.”

“What—are you serious? Now? You just saw what happened!”

“Now more than ever,” the soldier said firmly. “Other personnel are present in the shelter and lines of communication are kept open; we have to secure you, and report this. The Palace guard have to be mobilized to find the Queen and…apparently, incapacitate the Court Mage somehow.”

“Right, good call,” Franz agreed. “You go do that, I’m going to get my mother.”

“Your Highness,” said the other soldier, stepping in front of him as he turned to bolt toward the door through which they’d come, “your safety is even more paramount if the Queen’s is in question. I’m sorry to be blunt, but if Boisverd is facing the loss of its monarch, it can’t afford a succession crisis on top of it.”

Prince Franz glared at her, and his royal displeasure failed to faze her in the slightest.

“We will do everything possible to protect our Queen,” the higher-ranked officer said, stepping up behind him, “and carry out her will, which we all know would prioritize your safety, your Highness. If duty demands that I knock you out and carry you and then accept the consequences, I will do that for Queen and country.”

Franz half-turned to direct that glare at him, whereupon it achieved even less. After a second the Prince sighed, allowing his shoulders to slump.

“Right…very well, you’re right. I see your—”

Mid-sentence, just as the soldier’s posture relaxed, the Prince suddenly jabbed a hand into his throat just above his breastplate. As the man staggered backward, choking, and his partner let out an incoherent yell and drew her just-sheathed sword, Franz swiftly moved to catch him, easing him back into the wall and reaching into one of his own pockets.

“Here you go, get this down,” he ordered, tipping a vial of healing potion into his mouth. “Try to swallow slowly. It will fix broken cartilage, but that’ll take a few seconds. Enough time for me to be gone. Unless we are about to have a problem?” he asked, turning back to the other soldier.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, then at her partner, and then sheathed her blade once more. “…no, sir. What’s your plan, then? We don’t even know where Lady Cora took the Queen.”

“Well, at least you see it my way, that’s a start,” said Franz, striding back toward the door.

“No, your Highness, this is foolhardy verging on disloyal and when we rescue her, her Majesty is going to turn you inside out. But I don’t think I can take you without using my sword, and it seems pointless to stop you from killing yourself if I just do it instead. At least I can make sure someone’s along to tackle you down and cover you if that dragon lands on the Palace.”

She glanced back into the corridor as they passed into the stairwell; her partner move the hand from his crunched throat to give her a weak thumbs up, still sipping painfully from the healing potion.

“Glad to have you on the team, Private Wurnst.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she expressed no outward surprise that a royal knew her name; Valefolk royalty were often suspiciously well-informed about the details of the people and events surrounding them. “As I said, then, what is the plan?”

“Getting topside, first. We’ll have to raise the alarm as we go. Something was wrong with Cora so I can’t be too sure of anything, but I doubt she would take Mother outside the Palace at a time like this. I hope not, anyway. It’ll be hard to mobilize a search with everything on lockdown, but something tells me whatever Cora does next will attract attention.”

“Good, that will give me time to lecture your Highness about how nobody who wants to live outranks their bodyguard. Also…Lady Cora is a conjurer, right? I didn’t know she could teleport.”

Franz scowled into the dimness ahead as he bounded up the subterranean staircase three steps at a time. “She can’t.”