[Ashborn-B1] 50. Rescue Mission (Patreon)

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Rescue Mission

The hems of Aurille’s light blue dress caressed the ice under her boots. Dozens of pillars jutted from the earth like teeth out a great mouth, their surfaces glistening in the unnatural light of the Maze. Her steps carried her around a particular pillar. Angles changed, allowing her to see through the glare. Layered, pale blue robes. A hole in the centre of the chest had ripped through the silver embroidery of a snowflake. The wound was no longer writhing from the inside, the mark of the curse frozen over together with everything else. Except for the eyes. Those still moved in their sockets and followed Aurille’s steps.

Though the light refracted through the ice, it didn’t catch within the pupils of her former clanmate.

Soft steps slid over the frozen ground.

“This isn’t what we were told in the briefing.”

Her silky smooth black hair didn’t bounce as she glanced over her shoulder. Tsall was wearing nothing but a thin robe just like her, though his was cut off at the shoulder to leave his built arms on display. Unlike his physique, his face was nothing special, but it didn’t get in the way of his appearance.

“We knew it would be dangerous,” she said and turned back to the pillar.

“One in five,” he repeated. “That part has proven mostly true.”

Their contingent hadn’t lost that many, but the movements of plenty of their locators had already grown unpredictable, an indication they had come to understand as the presence of Scorn.

“But there’s a key aspect missing,” Tsall said.

Aurille’s gaze narrowed. “She is being held up.”

Tsall didn’t snort nor chuckle. That wasn’t his way. Instead, he asked: “You believe the daughter of the Whirling Blade can be ‘held up?’”

A puff of too great a breeath escaped between Aurille’s lips. Not enough to call a sigh or for someone to notice—anyone that wasn’t Tsall.

The boy stepped up beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Your history is not unknown to any of us.”

His undertone drew her attention up the hill towards their camp. More than fifty disciples in icy-blue robes huddled together, sharing breakfast while telling stories of their fallen companions.

It was as close as a Snow Moon would come to crying over the lost.

“I am not being sentimental, Tsall,” Aurille said. “The opposition is simply too fierce. Pushing on without her or at least one other contingent will cost us more.”

“Yet we cannot sit still. Surely, you have noticed the patterns in their movements.”

The air around her storage ring shifted as her locator entered her palm. Two groups of those they considered lost hovered around their position. One in the west, the other in the east.

“They’re blocking our escape routes,” Tsall whispered. “I give us until midnight at the latest.”

And so they had to leave today. Preferably within the hour. But Aurille was hesitant to move, for that could see them go in the opposite direction of Caelia.

‘She’s not coming, you foolish girl.’

A fact that couldn’t be more obvious. And yet…

Her eyelids shut against the wind. The gale striking her face was similar to that on the balcony of the hall housing the gala. The ends of Caelia’s hair that were straight as a blade and normally unmoving waved in the gust unlike Aurille’s own, lending the tiny girl’s sharp appearance a touch of fragility.

Caelia’s voice had barely been a whisper, but that was audible enough for the both of them.

‘I’ll come,’ she said.

‘I’ve heard that before.’

She rubbed the back of her hand, where Caelia’s had touched hers.

‘Trust me.’

Eyes opened, taking the memory with them. A core, cold part of her soul latched onto the words and refused to let go. An even colder component froze and shattered that part like her mother had taught her to do.

“Signal the others,” Aurille said.

Tsall only nodded, his arm still on her shoulder. “If she truly is being held up, she’ll find us regardless.”

“You’re right.”

He held her gaze for another moment before he turned around—

A shadow swallowed their own before shooting past. Frost was already on Tsall’s lips, but Aurille stopped him with a gesture.

“She’s with us.”

Great wings swooped down. Claws hooked into the ice. A tall girl jumped down the avian’s back, her red hair dancing as she did so. There was another girl sitting on the back of the summon who didn’t share Ashe’s colours.

Aurrile watched the girl similarly dismount. ‘She’s with a monk?’ And if she was right, that girl was—

Ashe barking a quick command at the gathering of Dawnflames that’d joined their ranks overnight interrupted her thoughts.

Tsall leaned and whispered in her ear. “That must be the summoner?” He’d not been present at the meeting in Judith’s room.

“Yes,” Aurille mouthed.

The boy’s gaze narrowed. “She’s stronger than the report said.”

A lot stronger. Strong enough that Aurille doubted anyone in their camp besides her and Tsall could take her.

…

‘If Tsall even can at all.’

Her senses roved around Ashe. The disturbance in the energy spectrum was…strange, to say the least. It was what one would expect when two types of essence were clashing with each other, yet Ashe was alone. That, and the air was sinister. Dark. Brooding…howling.

‘Something happened to her.’

Good or bad. Whichever it was, it’d benefit them.

“Aurille,” Ashe said, approaching them. “It’s good to see a friendly face.”

“The sentiment is likewise. Come, let us discuss.”

Dim lights fell on the map unfurled on a a table that appeared crafted from a slab of ice. Aurille’s beacon occupied a metal plate in the centre. The locator hummed as lines ran across it, and multiple orbs flared to life on the map.

My brow raised. “We could buy those?” I asked.

“A shrine reward,” Tsall said. “One of our own was lucky enough to receive it. It changes the view depending on whose beacon is attached.”

Interesting. The beacons were made outside the Tomb. How were the shrines giving out rewards linked to them?

Though interesting, the question lost precedence against our current conundrum.

The map didn’t show any landmarks but more than made up for that lack by showing the position of every locator more clearly than one could envision them in their head. Not only that, but the locators were colour coded, showing different hues for different linked parties.

“You’re being surrounded,” I said. Which confirmed my earlier observations.

The signals to our west and east were numerous and zigzagged through what I assumed were tunnels as if they knew where they were going. I’d seen the Scorn move through the waterways so I needed no further clue than that to know it was them.

Beside me, Ren grimaced. Leah remained straight-faced.

“We think so too,” Tsall said. “Which is why we want to head out before the hour closes.”

That’s of course when I told them of Jake’s predicament.

They were both Snow Moons, so their faces didn’t grow dark. Yet the strand of strain tightening inside their skin was noticeable.

“He must be the small signal here?” Tsall’s white-painted nails tapped a group of dots to our south.

“That’s where I came from, yes.” And also where I could sense Rin’s locator.

“We won’t be able to escape the pincer if we turn back for him,” Aurille said.

She left her statement hanging in the air for her second-in-command.

“Leaving him is not an option,” Tsall said.

He sounded more convinced than I expected of him. Perhaps the two were good friends?

Leah raised her hand, and we turned to her. “Perhaps we can sneak through and behind the undead?”

I mentally projected the locations of the multiple groups of enemies onto the map.

The line to thread was small. Too small. Even with me looking from the skies.

“So we meet somewhere in the middle,” Tsall said, “then march north.”

Aurrile shook her head. “They’ll cut us off before we get close.”

Our contingent was a little over a hundred strong. An army of that size wasn’t sneaking past without anyone seeing them. Especially not when the Scorn knew this place like their back pocket.

A spell of quiet touched the room as we descended into thought.

Aurille was the first one to speak. “We’ll need to create a diversion.”

“Agreed,” Tsall said.

That was indeed the sole option. Draw the Scorn scouring the forest away, giving Jake the clear path he needed north. He’d be coming up on the army’s flank too in case we needed the help.

“But who would we sending on such a mission?” Ren said.

The force would need to be substantial enough to challenge groups of Scorn a dozen strong. Multiple of them. Not only that, but it’d need to be mobile. Sending a bunch of disciples specialised in tanking and slinging heavy spells wouldn’t work as those classes were not the fastest at our rank. I gave them two skirmishes at most before the Scorn surrounded them.

I held up my hand as I could already sense the idea building in the ice cultivators’s heads. “I’d be glad to go. However, I cannot incapacitate the Scorn short of tearing off their limbs.”

An affair too slow to take care of multiple groups in the span of time available.

Glimpses of the fight against the undead Black Fang and his companion, Nala, flashed through my mind.

Skul’s addition to my repertoire may have changed how that battle would go, but I had no previous experience to back that theory up. The uncertainty was too high to wager the future of an army on.

“So you’re lacking firepower…” Tsall cupped his chin.

Aurille’s pale eyes turned outside. The flaps of the tent were closed, but Ashwing’s presence blazed through the folds. The Snow Moon’s gaze narrowed.

Air tore on Ashwing’s physique and lashed against my face. The mountain-range-like landscape stretched below us, its denizens mere dots against the background.

Eyes sharper than my own rotated in their socket. Jake’s team crept through the forest like stalking predators, Rin among them. One of his own was using a long, circular device that followed my movements.

Good. They’re ready.

Eyes adjusted again, falling on the roving packs of undead. Less clusters than I remembered marched through the forest.

“They’re linking up!” I called.

My voice travelled down Ashwing’s side and under her belly, where the summon’s talon wrapped around Aurille’s middle. The Snow Moon preferred flying like this because it gave her sight on what was below her. A bit awkward, I’d admit, but whatever floated her boat.

The chick flying beside us watched her inspect the land below like she was looking at a wall.

“How many?” she asked.

“Some parties now have two dozen.”

“That’s doable.”

Her confidence trickled into my skin, chasing away the doubt hiding underneath. It was hard to gainsay her when I’d single-handedly seen her kill dozens during the skirmish.

‘While fighting Vyke.’

My belief in being able to fight an omen wavered in time with Ashwing’s pulsing bond.

I glanced down. A group of twelve or so Scorn were camping in the forest directly north of Jake. Most carried a melee weapon. Some staves. One was holding on to a tome wrapped in chains.

‘That one looks different from the rest.’

Their colours didn’t resemble any of the Pillars.

Ashwing’s gaze turned west. Another group of undead was dashing through the shrine.

‘Five minutes or so.’

That’s how long it would take them to link up. Less if they could move even faster.

“I’ve found our first target,” I said.

Aurille’s eyes were shut. Cold essence trailed through her like a displacing glacier.

“Ready when you are,” she whispered.