A Frigid Grasp - 10. Struggle

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Chapter 10: Struggle

Arden spun on his heel, dodging the quick lunge, before spinning on the other and kicking out Damal’s feet from under him. He waved a hand over Damal and his rigid body went lax. “Blood magic,” Arden muttered, tone carefully stoic. He felt something like a wave wash over him, but he brushed it off easily. “You need more than that to grip me, pet.”

He watched as one of the brutes had a fireball ready. He needed no enchantment, he stepped off of Damal and leaped into the air, spinning as he tossed his arm out the right moment, and a barrier parrying the lobbed fireball. He moved quickly, swaying his hips as he wove his hands in the air and snapped his fingers.

He strode from side to side with a dancer’s grace and finesse, dodging lobbed fireballs and lightning bolts with unwavering confidence. Hands wove in the air, feet glided over the cobblestone, his evasion was a work of art as he toyed with the two mages against him. He managed to even slap away a few spells with seemingly bare hands, but a closer look showed off barriers wrapped neatly around them. The entire display was provoking them, which Arden planned from the start. That and buying time. No doubt the nobles in the gardens earlier had now called for help.

Just in time, he heard Roland’s cry and shouts of orders to his men. Templars and Home Guards were swarming the area, and Arden ducked backwards as a bolt of lightning tried to sail towards him, striking the stone wall they raised behind them. He stood on his hands and lopped over Damal’s limp form and picked up a dagger in the process. With a turn on his heel at his landing, he shot it through the air. It sailed at one of his opponents, and the sharp blade dug into his shoulder, making them fall to their knees. The other mage quickly slashed his palm open, and the blood ran out of the wound. Arden realized it began to unfurl in the air, mingling with it as a dark sensation crawled over his skin. He looked around and watched people fleeing the scene, all save the Home Guard and the Templars. It was just so. Arden looked down at Damal’s limp form and hurried to move him out of harm’s way, swearing and muttering about everything tonight.

Roland had dealt with mages before, but never in a magnitude like this. He could almost taste the blood in the air, and Maker’s breath it made him sick. He felt dread crawling around him, strange sensations caressing his throat, a loving rapist toying with him before it ate him whole. The Templars looked just as mortified, but they were steadfast, more than his Home Guard. They had the training for this, probably have dealt with blood mages more, too. Maker, they were out of their depth here.

The ground shook as demons seeped in from the ground, slimy limbs dripping like hot tar and fur and bone peeking through the mess. In the faint light of the moon, one could make out the twisted, mangled form of a man in each one. Roland saw the visage as they writhed into being, twitching limbs and all.

The summoner was gasping for air in the middle of it all, blood dancing around him. His eyes were wild, darting between each warrior and archer in sight. His companion eyed their monstrous allies with horror. Not every mage was prepared for a demon summoning, it seemed.

Roland’s greatsword was drawn, and with a battlecry, ordered his men to charge. The Templars did the same, and it became a blood-tinged brawl as humans fought demons in a melee on a mansion’s garden. Roland tore through enemy ranks with wild ferocity, but the demons kept coming and their masters kept moving back from them. Every step Roland took, demons appeared and pushed him back twofold. It was barely going anywhere.

A demon emerged from the ground and took hold of Roland’s legs, before another clutched at his arms. Another demon slithered towards him, a decrepit arm reaching out to claw at him, when there was a flinch, and a shriek.

Arden had emerged behind the demon and had buried a blade into its skull. Roland, shocked, watched as Arden twisted the blade and kicked the monster aside. Arden shot more knives out to the other demons, forcing them back. “Sorry, had to hide Damal first.”

“Better late than never, I suppose,” Roland muttered, relieved to see Arden well. “I’ll handle those mages. Arden, you support the others.”

Arden nodded and dashed off to pick up his knives and set to work. Roland started cleaving through demons with the Templars, and for a moment, the waves of monsters seemed to dwindle. It was not enough to suppress the sights of the demons clawing and raking through his men and these Templars, watching them melt off flesh and metal with fire and slime. He felt his conviction waver as he considered what could happen. They could very well die here. Maker, he could die a horrible death from these abominations, devoured or digested.

Roland felt the wind zip past him as a knife sailed towards another demon. He looked back and saw Arden turning back to a flock of demons trying to corner him. Roland turned his attention back to the mages in time to see a hole, a portal, split open on the ground. A sinister demon made of corpses slithered out of the hole, limbs spun like bladed spider legs. Every mouth on its flesh wailed with it as it eyed the vicinity. Roland steadied his sword, even as his legs threatened to give from the sights he’d seen tonight. Severed limbs and charred corpses from a few cases did not prepare him for this, but he’d soldier on.

Roland gritted his teeth as he brought his sword down in time to parry an oncoming spell. He wished he had a shield on hand for this. One mage kept shooting a barrage of fire spells while the other kept up a lightning spell that pushed them back or killed them for trying. For a moment, he tried to recall what Arden did. The man danced a ways away from them, but he couldn’t imagine how he survived the onslaught.

Roland spat on the earth with all the shits he gave. With a warrior’s cry, he rushed them, running at full sprint with sword heaving behind him. The mages focused on him, but only a few hits landed and he tore through the spells as he spun and cleaved the space around him. He caught some lightning but tore a new one into the injured mage, spilling blood and guts in a wide arc. The summoner stepped away in time to only be nicked on the arm. Roland’s second swing smashed the earth, staggering the poor sod before he rushed up and punched a metal-plated fist into the man’s nose, making him squeal before pinning him down with a hand on his throat. A Templar ran up and put a hand on his forehead, arm glowing bright blue as the man screamed and writhed in his grasp. When the man fell limp, the Templar pulled back. “I silenced his magic, for now, at least,” he explained. “That should stop any more demons from coming.”

They looked back at Arden, watching him rally the Templars shielding some of the Home Guard archers. Roland quirked an eyebrow at the sight. The Templars had shields and were holding their own, redirecting demon spit and barring the claws. The Archers peppered them with what they had. Arden was giving words of support, and for some reason that pushed them on.

Dispatching the rest of the demons became short work as everyone joined forces. Arden huffed as he sat down on the cobblestones, pensive but relieved. Roland joined him after giving his men some final orders. Clean up would be a mess, and the Lancelots were expressing their displeasure to the Mages and the Templars, as well as apologizing to the remaining guests who stayed to watch the firefight. The Duke even came by to personally mediate the arguments. “You didn’t seem too fazed by the demons,” Roland remarked.

“Spirits,” Arden argued. “They’re all really spirits, just… well, it’s hard to explain.”

“You’ve had experience in this sort of thing?”

“More than I’d like,” he laughed ruefully. He matched Roland’s gaze, bright but wry. “Sorry. I know this was almost a first for you.”

“I’m a little shaken, but I’ll manage.”

“Need a bedfellow to help you sleep, then?”

“Those are welcome.”

“Let me just fetch Damal, then.”

“Let the man sleep,” Roland laughed. “The child just woke up to about a dozen corpses and the scent of blood. Besides, if he slept next to me, he’ll be dead in the morning.”

“He’s a good man, Roland,” Arden insisted. “And this was a terrible mess. I wish it didn’t escalate the way it did.”

“You tried to hold them off. I never expected you to be so good at dancing away from danger.”

Arden offered a helpless shrug. “One of the things they taught me at Bassan. I was adopted by a family that could afford a special teacher. I’m glad I picked up on it real quick.”

“What art was that?”

“It’s an estranged name. It was meant for would-be assassins meant to poise as entertainers. It blended well with my… skills,” Arden said carefully, eying a passing Templar. “I know how to use a knife, too. Dealt with them all my life.”

“Clearly.”

A Templar joined them, sitting down beside Arden. Roland knew him from earlier and maybe somewhere, but Arden recognized him better. “Knight-Captain Revir, is it?”

“You know of me, Ser?”

“Women speak of your good looks,” he teased. “Well, that and I heard your name in passing earlier.”

“If I recall, I heard yours, too. Arden.” Roland swore and Arden tensed. Revir only chuckled. “Relax, friends. I’ll let you two off just this once. But if your charade becomes known, I won’t take the fall for you.” Those eyes fixed on Arden warmly. “You handled yourself well with barely any magic. I saw that for myself. I’m impressed. Where did you learn that? Bassan?”

“Yes, though the art itself is from elsewhere.”

“It was graceful and beautiful. It invited danger, but you knew what to do, how to dodge.”

“Can we not discuss that here?” Arden begged. “I’d rather not be exposed. Like some seconds ago?”

“Fair enough,” Revir agreed. “I hope to speak to you soon, though. You and Guard Captain here.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps, when we’ve all rested from this mess,” Roland insisted. “I’m sure we all could do with some sleep.”

“Indeed.” Revir stood up with them as the Duke approached. “Your Grace, I wish we could have met at better circumstances.”

“I suppose I should be glad the danger is over,” the old man muttered. “Thank you for your service, Knight-Captain.” They shook hands, the Duke grasping more tightly than normal. “Things are not escalating well for us here.”

“Clearly,” Arden muttered, but he was dutifully ignored.

“What will happen to these apostate mages?”

“Sent to the Gallows. I don’t know if a public execution is warranted, however,” Revir explained. “We can’t trust these mercenary mages very well.”

“They have information,” Arden implored. “Perhaps they could be interrogated instead?”

The two looked down at him, and it was the Duke who finally spoke. “Your input is appreciated, Master Goulding, but this is out of our hands.”

“I’m just offering suggestions to the nice Templar here,” Arden argued. “They clearly have the means.”

“Even so, I think it will end the same as that one in the Gaol,” Revir reminded them. “We’re waiting for those envoys, aren’t we? From Bassan?”

“Minoire’s sent a response and an envoy is en route,” Roland explained. “If there is a response from Bassan, it hasn’t arrived yet.”

“We’re not sure how long we can hold them captive, but being in a hall full of Templars should discourage them.”

“Hopefully,” Arden muttered once more. “I’ll try talking to the prisoners tomorrow, see if there’s something we can ween off of them.”

“Fancy yourself an investigator?” Revir challenged.

“I’ve been known to be persuasive.”

Before Roland and the Valeria entourage left the estate, Roland, Rustan, and Arden decided to come to Cersei and her family to apologize. They found the woman speaking heatedly with a man in Templar armor. This could only be the brother. Cersei looked over to them and looked tired. The man, however, had frantic eyes, possibly having rushed from the Gaol to check on his family’s well-being. “Ah, heroes of the hour,” she greeted, her tone not meeting her eyes. “I’m so thankful for the Home Guards and the Templars for their quick action. I just wish we knew how and why this all happened. Anything to share?”

“Apparently attempted kidnapping,” Roland answered quickly, seeing Arden gear up for a reply. “He and Damal were cornered by them. We arrived on the scene just in time to see Arden hiding behind a wall of stone. The fight escalated from there.”

“Well, that is a shame.” She sized Arden up and down. “Well, this is an affront to my family, regardless. We’ll discuss this with the Duke. In the meantime, get this mess sorted out, Guard Captain. This will make people question the efficacy of the Home Guard. And the Templars.” She cast a glare at her brother before stalking off. The parents opted to comfort and assure the brother instead. Arden wasn’t quite certain what just happened, but it was clear everyone was displeased and frayed.

Roland’s fingers found his and held his hand. “Let’s go home,” he whispered. “I could use some sleep before I deal with all this.”

“Agreed.”

The next day didn’t fare anyone well. Arden was left schooling away gossipers and heralds from the Valeria household while Roland was swamped with reports and cases. The events of the House Lancelot Ambush had spread through the city-state in a matter of hours. By midday, it was the talk of the town. Thankfully, word of Arden’s heroics as Elliot were left obscure amidst the chaos of the night. But talk of safety practically echoed off the walls of every public place, from taverns to homes to each street and alley.

Arden was in such a sour mood when he entered the pub, practically startling Sven with the ferocity in his eyes despite the mask and the Elliot facade. “Rough day?” he asked.

Arden’s glare was enough to whither a strong-willed man on a good day. Luckily, Sven was made of sterner stuff. “If I ever forgot why I hated dealing with entitled snobs, I was sorely reminded.”

“Why not a tankard of ale to wash it down?”

“I wish I could, but I’m here on business.” Arden pulled out two pieces of paper from his person and slid them over the bar top to Sven. Sven investigated these, realizing right away these were very vivid sketches of two people. “Ever seen these men?”

“When did you learn to draw like this?”

“I didn’t; someone from the Home Guard did.”

“They could make some good coin out of this.”

“I told her as much, but she actually said she preferred guard duty.”

“Pity, but to each their own.” Sven handed the sketches back to Arden. “Those the boys who caused trouble last night? I’ve seen them here a couple of nights before shit went down. They met with someone, but I didn’t see their face.”

“No dice, then? Damn.” Arden gratefully took the ale Sven offered. “Thank you, but this leads us back to waiting for Minoire’s envoy.”

“They should be here soon, right?”

“If nothing happened to them. If no word comes in a week, they’re sending out a search party. Worst case scenario, I’ll take care of things personally.”

“You can do what they could, then?”

Arden was silent as he nursed his drink. Finally, he answered, “Let’s just say I have alternative methods.”

“Never took you for the type.”

“No one can guess right with these masks I put on,” Arden muttered bitterly, sipping his drink. “Say Sven, could I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“Do you know an easy way to get to shipping manifests?”