Millennial Mage

Tala watched as Mistress Vanga arrived beside the mess that had been Master Girt.

Rane and the fire-using arcane hunter were already there. Though, they both seemed to be just standing there, uncertain as to what they should be doing, seeming utterly in shock from what had transpired.

It wasn’t a long pause. Both were seasoned warriors, and despite the brutal, sudden death of their colleague, they knew there was work to be done.

The hunting cat, blue and yellow stripes rippling, came at Tala again, pulling her attention back away from the remains for a moment.

The feline was still unaugmented with no magic available in the area for it to draw upon—much like Meallain—but Tala didn’t have the same limitation.

I thought magical beasts died without magic?

-Maybe it’s like how a human would die without air, food, or water?-

Ahh, so magic is a need that has to be met more often than not, rather than a prop that is actively required at all times? Flow flicked out, taking off the front paw of the beast with a casual strike. Why is its blood green?

-Tala… You’re trying to distract yourself.-

Yes, I am. So? Do we really want to pass this distraction and face… So? Thoughts? She punched the creature in the head, its unaugmented skull still managing to stand up to her full powered blow.-Fine… Yes, magic seems to not be a prop. Now, finish this fight, Tala. You’re delaying. You’re trying to put off facing—-

Yes I am. Kindly let me.

-...Very well.- Alat projected the feeling of a sigh before she returned to the tangential conversation. -Yes, I imagine that magic is like food or water to magical creatures. Maybe more like air for the weaker ones, but these, at least, seem only to lack the enhanced portions of their nature.-

And any long-range abilities.

Alat grunted. -Yeah, I’m not seeing many of those. Well, not any more, and the most powerful creatures didn’t even seem to attempt them earlier. I would imagine it is because long-range attacks absolutely require a clash of authority against aware opponents at this level. The beasts would probably each have something to wield against lesser Mages at range, but against those here? It would have likely just been a waste of power.-

That… made sense actually.

Unfortunately, the beasts weren’t the only combatants without magic—Meallain wasn’t even the only one on the human side. Without power, the Talons were blessedly still a bit more than mundane while unfortunately still being less than unpowered Refined. Even so, Alat was just finishing the process of cycling all of them back into the sanctum to refill before bringing them out to finish their tasks once more.

Well, she only brought out those who were able to heal enough to be useful. Several stayed within Ironhold to eat and recover. They wouldn’t be of further use unless something went wild and the clashes lasted for more than a few more minutes.

But the Talons brought up another thought. They’d spent a lot of power, and even more had been summarily banished by Reality.

All told, with more than two-hundred Paragon-equivalent combatant’s worth of power spent from Irondale, Tala was faced with the greatest power deficit she could remember, even if it was still not too extreme, given the scope of Kit’s dimensionality, and therefore her reserves.

It would still take her a few days at the very least to refill the hold, and that was assuming nothing further demanded the expenditure of resources.

The cat was hobbling about drunkenly.

Tala felt a great contracting, magically speaking, and the few dregs of power that had come close were all sucked into Meallain—some even seeming to be ripped away as the feline tried to absorb them—before the elf stepped forward and rammed her spear—one armed—into the creature’s heart, killing it instantly.

Tala almost claimed the creature’s body—using the iron within it that was hers as an anchor—but from what she could see, the fighting was over, and she would greatly prefer to eat her stores back to full than simply sucking down a magical beast.

I’ve walked down a weird life path that such a thing is actually a choice laid before me…

She then gave Tala a disappointed look. “When did you start playing with your opponents? Clean, efficient kills whenever possible, Eskau. Their blood should come after they are dead on the ground.”

Meallain then looked over toward where Mistress Vanga was just standing up, her hands red from having tried a more powerful, direct method of healing.

The attempt clearly hadn’t worked.

Tala had known it wouldn’t work before the woman tried. Mistress Vanga had probably known it wouldn’t work before she had tried.

She’d tried anyway.

Tala closed her eyes against the sight, but her perception showed her regardless.

“Ah…” Meallain frowned. “You knew that man well, then?”

Tala huffed a bitter laugh, feeling the remaining beasts dying quickly, the Refined now obviously having full access to their gates once more. She could only muster a single word in response, “Yes.”

Meallain nodded. “It is a travesty for him to have died so. He was obviously a competent fighter.” She grimaced and shook her head. “No, a travesty shifts the blame. It was only my foolishness that created the circumstances in which he fell.”

Tala was about to whirl on the woman and scream at her, berating the elf and insisting that it was Meallain’s fault, but as she instantly and openly assigned blame upon herself? That took the fuel from Tala’s building, burning rage. Once again, she was only able to give a one word response, though this time it was due to sudden exhaustion rather than mounting anger. “Yeah.”

Meallain studied her for a long moment. “Will you honor your word to speak with me in your sanctum?”

Tala clinched her jaw, wanting to scream and also knowing it to be useless. Finally, she pulled her mind together enough to give a single nod.

The senior Eskau nodded once in turn before walking toward Master Meridius, who was already striding their way with purposeful steps.

As she walked, the totality of roiling zeme came crashing back in, laden with power before beginning to spread back out once more, leveling toward the magic density standard for the region.

Meallain pulled, marginally filling herself with power, even as Tala watched the woman’s soul scream at the pain of taking the action. Despite that, Meallain’s gait only waivered slightly.

When she was filled back up to Mature—a feat to be sure, in the scant power, and in so short a time—she stopped, seemingly unable to bear the pain of drawing in more, even if she’d been able to.

She couldn’t have refilled all the way to Hallowed, of course. Such would take much more power than was readily available and far more time without near that level of saturation ready to hand.

Regardless, a moment later, she stopped before the arcane hunter Paragon, holding out her one arm—her protian weapon becoming a thick band encircling her bicep and tricep. “I submit myself to the judgement of the humans of the cycling cities. With your permission, I will message my House to inform them of my indiscretions as well as my willing submission to you for restitution. I am responsible not only for the death of that man, but for many others in the forest to the south. As I am sure you might suspect, I will not accept death as recompense, nor do I believe, would the House of Blood. Even so, I believe that other penalties and restitution are due.”

Master Meridius regarded the elf before him with a critical, if not cold, gaze. “The forest to the south you say?”

“Yes.” Her answer was matter of fact, holding no hint of shame or trepidation.

The Paragon clearly noticed, and his features shifted toward a frown. “So, you are responsible for the research camps that have gone silent?”

Meallain sighed. “I do not know how many you have lost recently. It would be foolish to claim responsibility—or accept blame—for an unknown offense, but I was the death of some.”

Stolen story; please report.

“And you expect us to let you live.” It wasn’t a question, he seemed to simply be restating what she had conveyed.

The woman sighed, shaking her head. “You know as well as I, that if you were to kill me, the Houses would all take exception to your actions. The result would be more death and destruction, not less.” She met his gaze levelly. “This is a chance for you and yours to set a precedent that the Houses will abide by. This is your chance to impose a penalty that will set you as an equal to the Houses rather than an enemy by default. My actions were what they were, guided by a mistaken belief in the hopelessness of my cause.” She turned and looked back toward Tala. “That is no longer the case, and I would turn this disaster—caused unequivocally by me—for good, if you’ve the wisdom to try.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And if I don’t agree with your ‘wisdom’?”

Meallain took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then, she smiled, the look seeming to shift into a reasonable likeness of an exhausted mother about to smack her child for continued idiocy. “If you choose to walk that path, I will have my conversation with Eskau… Tala and die. At that point, all of this will no longer be my concern.”

Master Meridius frowned briefly, then seemed to shake his head as if to dismiss the notion for the moment. Finally, he huffed a short laugh, seemingly already decided as to what he would do, but curious as to her answers nonetheless. “And what makes you think that you will be granted such a conversation?”

Tala almost interfered, then—as did some of the others who were still gathering now that the magical beasts were all slain.

Meallain, however, barked a laugh. “Eskau Tala has given her word and reaffirmed it.” Her gaze sharpened, and she gave a humorless smile. “Woe be to the man who stands against an Eskau of the House of Blood. Woe be upon all who interfere with a promise sworn and confirmed.”

Master Meridus seemed to fight the desire to step back, away from the woman, and there was a definite ripple in existence at the utterance. It was not as if Meallain had done anything, more like her words had resonated so perfectly with how things were that Zeme had let out a silent chime of agreement.

In that moment, the scene before Tala took on a different cast—if only for a moment. It was not an elf, bloodied and defeated, submitting to capture in a bid to avoid otherwise inevitable death. Instead, it was an Eskau of the House of Blood, standing regally before difficult—but possible to overcome—odds and deciding to allow what was to come without further contest.

The arcane hunters were seemingly at least passingly aware of her past in the arcane lands—all such Archons were briefed years ago—but the revelation that she was still considered an Eskau was likely at least a bit surprising.

Tala almost felt like she should talk with the man, explain how things were, and help with the elf, but, as tears came up into Tala’s eyes, she could no longer fight what unerringly drew her focus.

Her Defender unit was gathering around Master Girt’s remains, and Tala flickered over beside them, leaving the situation with Meallain to come to a resolution without her.

Terry was already there, keeping his distance from the mess even as he gave a low, mournful keen. The cry was repeated several times before the terror bird curled up, eyes still on the remains of his friend.

Rane still looked a bit shell-shocked, and he was mid-sentence when Tala arrived. “—out of the way. We were both powerless, and he moved me.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “He body-checked me so hard, I almost fell into a berserk state.” His eyes were fixed on the sheet that someone had pulled out and laid over the area. “That should have been me.”

Tala shook her head, drawing the attention of everyone around the body, even as she gave a sad smile. “No. He was honoring his oath, and his own wishes.” She swallowed. “He knew the pain of losing a spouse all too well, and he—” She closed her eyes, swallowing again. “He wouldn’t have wished that on anyone else. He literally gave his life to prevent such.”

Terry keened again, and the others were nodding.

They fell into silence then, moving closer and exchanging hugs and light touches, taking comfort in each other’s presence.

Tala purposely didn’t pay attention to the end of Meallain’s interaction with Master Meridius—allowing her focus to stay on the passing of her friend—but Alat did, and that was good enough. It seemed that the elf would be taken into custody and after she was brought before others, she would likely be allowed to send a message southward.

But that was a potential disaster for another time.

After long minutes of subdued quiet, Master Clevnis suddenly barked a laugh, before shaking his head and apologizing. “I’m sorry. I… I just remembered something.” He drew a long, slow breath before he continued. “He bet me that I’d outlive him. I owe the rusting fool fifty gold.”

That got a round of chuckles, and it also started others telling short anecdotes about the man.

Master Limmestare worked as they talked, moving the remains into a more dignified shape with small panes of glass, keeping everything under the sheet.

Off to the side, Meallain was cuffed—with only one cuff, obviously—and locked to the flying vehicle without fuss or protest before the arcane hunters came over to the Defenders.

Alat had pulled the Talons back into Irondale for the moment, and Tala was vaguely aware that they were servicing their armor, getting checked over by others, and having a debrief on what had occurred.

She wasn’t interested in the details, even those broad facts were learned almost unconsciously.

As to what she was focused on, it turned out that the arcane hunters had known Master Girt, and they had some tales of their own to tell about the man’s antics.

Apparently, he had been far more widely known and well regarded than Tala had realized.

He and his wife had actually been arcane hunters as well as Defenders before her death, before Mistress Cerna recruited him. It had actually been Master Girt who had called Master Meridius and the others to come to Tala’s aid even before Master Grediv had reached out for volunteers.

There was so much I didn’t know about him… and now he’s gone.

-Now he’s with his wife.-

That brought a sad smile to her face. The expression drew everyone’s attention as such had usually preceded a story from one of those gathered at the impromptu wake.

Tala shook her head. “Not a story, not this time. I was just thinking about his soul as he died.”

That got raised eyebrows, and everyone focused more of their attention on her, even as Master Meridus passed out drinks from his dimensional storage—apparently from a batch of Master Girts favorite brew—and so Tala told them what she had seen.

Master Meridius was shaking his head in wonder by the time she was done. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like that myself. Though, to be honest, I might not have been paying enough attention when others have died near me. I was usually focused on putting down what got them. It might also be that not everyone is reunited before passing on.”

No one else seemed to have anything meaningful to add, so Tala just shrugged. “Either way. I am glad to know that he is with her once again. She must have been quite the woman.”

That got some laughs from the few who had known her, and started another round of tales, this time about Mistress Stonia.

Meallain didn’t comment about her sequestering, nor about having to sit on hard stone alone while they took comfort in each other and talked.

Finally, as night was beginning to fall, the fire wielder got confirmation from those present and burned what remained of Master Girt, rending him to ash and then burning that away as well without even harming the sheet that had been upon him.

There was a moment of silence before the sheet was taken back by Mistress Vanga. Then, there was an almost awkward pause as they regarded the too-clean space where the man had been.

The whole battlefield was a mess of blood and gore—the bodies entirely useless due to Reality’s hammer-stroke—but this one area was clean, purged with fire so precise that the stalks of grass remained untouched—if a bit flattened, though that was passing.

With a sigh, the arcane hunters went to retrieve their own battlements, pulling the wall-segments back into their various storages, each as a unit.

If Tala understood correctly, they’d have to have Constructionists unfuse them for reuse later.

It had been an expensive defense even without counting the life lost.

Tala was leaning against Rane—tucked under his arm, Terry on her shoulder—and they remained where they were for a long minute more, the other Defenders coming close.

“Thank you.” Tala gave a small smile even as she swallowed to try to wet her throat. “Thank you for coming when we needed you. The cost…” She closed her eyes again, fighting back tears. “Just thank you. It would have been awful trying to deal with this on our own.”

Master Limmestare huffed a laugh. “Of course, Mistress Tala. We were glad to be able to help.”

Mistress Vanga reached out and squeezed her shoulder, smiling. “I’m glad that we were able to come.”

Master Clevnis shook his head. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. I can’t say that I’ve ever gotten to see its like.”

Mistress Cerna rolled her eyes and hip-bumped her husband. “You do enjoy fighting in new and interesting situations.”

Master Girt… didn’t say anything. There was a gap where they all unconsciously expected him to interject, but of course, he never would again.

They all collectively fought back renewed tears as they realized what they’d just done.

Tala shook her head before wiping away a tear that had come free of her right eye. “Let’s go home.”

That got a hearty round of agreements.

As they moved toward the flying construct, Alat made a throat-clearing noise in Tala’s head. -I suppose it might be time to let you know that Kit latched onto Master Girt’s dimensional storage after he passed?-

Tala almost missed a step, but Rane’s arm—still around her—stabilized her enough to keep her moving as before. What now?

-She’s like a dog with a bone. She hasn’t integrated it—I’m not sure she can—but she isn’t letting it go, either. We should probably deal with that sooner rather than later.-

Tala sighed internally. That and the powerful, possibly no-longer-crazy elven Eskau…

-Yeah, her too.-

Tala let out a real sigh, then, causing Rane to look her way. “What is it, Tala?”

She shook her head. “We have a lot to deal with, don’t we?”

He grunted. “We do indeed.”

They boarded the construct with everyone else, and Mistress Cerna guided it into the air, pointing the nose toward Alefast, Waning.

Terry flickered up to his perch atop the windscreen, getting a few chuckles from their unit.

Things weren’t the same as before—nor would they ever be again, for a whole host of reasons—and there was still a lot for them to do, explore, and prepare for, but Tala felt a slow softening of the tightness within her chest.

Her home was—of course—wherever Rane and Terry were, but something about the cycling cities held a comforting familiarity to them.

Once again, she was coming back to them burdened by both tragedy and possibility, and they would accept her once more, exactly as she was, exactly as she needed.

That in mind, she found that her sadness over Master Girt’s passing was tempered with excited expectation over what was to come—likely allowed by her knowledge of his joyful reunion with Mistress Stonia.

Tomorrow would be a new day, full of all the wonders that Zeme had to offer, and while her friend was gone, he would never, never be forgotten.

Here Ends Outbound, Book 12 of Millennial Mage

The story continues in Book 13, Homebound