120. Wayfarer-on-Wayfarer

  [Designation: GULLOYNE—the Fjordstrider]

  [Steed Class: ZEALOUS]

  [Anchored Realm: PRETJORD (+1)]

  [Description: What manner of creature could possibly live up to the mantle of ‘the Realm Immortal’s Steed’? Enter the Fjordstrider, a reptilian behemoth whose rubbery feet are large enough to uproot the Realmtree itself. The beast is resilience incarnate, thanks to a quirk of Mundane biology called ‘epimorphic regeneration’. But do not be fooled by its pristine hide and royal regalia. This salamander has been at the frontlines of more titanic battles than most souls have years to their name—its war scars hidden from all but the most discerning eyes.]

  ***

  The Serac-Zacko-Renate trio was back together again, though for a much more nefarious activity than their previous outing.

  Renate, a subject matter expert who’d spent the better part of a decade evading capture by the Kronvakt, gave out scouting reports and hunting advice while hidden underwater. Serac and Zacko put advice into action in the only ways they knew how.

  Serac soon discovered, much to both her satisfaction and chagrin, that she was kind of good at this. Indeed, her tools and skills flew in the face of her moral misgivings, well-suited as they were for sneaking around and inviting mishaps.

  Some of it was down to the element of surprise. The Frostkrill was BIG, its numerous segments spanning several dozen Iskolle rinks’ worth of ice. Naturally, the Kronvakt hunters had spread out all over to avoid being caught in the same danger zone. This gave the outrealmer assassins plenty of room to do their work without ‘making waves’.

  One victim was the sword-and-buckler barracuda. He clearly had a lot of faith in his defensive capabilities, as he raised his shield to deflect a falling Frostkrill limb. Serac interrupted his technique by shooting his buckler arm. The man looked up at her, momentarily distracted and understandably furious. Zacko then slid in from the blind side with a [Staff] leg sweep. The barracuda fell, and never had a chance to roll away to safety.

  [5,704 ?]

  Serac kept a pained yet steady gaze as her fellow Wayfarer turned to Dust. She owed him at least that for the underhanded way she’d just sent him back to the Hubstation.

  Economy and efficiency were the name of the game (for keeps this time!). Team Serac couldn’t afford to be dragged into lengthy engagements. Not only would that increase their risk of an ‘environmental’ death, it’d also risk discovery of their ‘game within the game’, thus turning the Kronvakt against them.

  Swift and lethal, had been Renate’s emphatic advice. Leave no witnesses. And the best way to do that, ironically enough, was to use the Frostkrill against their fellow hunters. The aim wasn’t to fight the Wayfarers head-on but to ambush and unbalance them so they’d fall, roll, or slide to their own deaths.

  Yet, as far as Pathsight was concerned, a smite was a smite. Even now, Serac stood from a safe distance as she fired a triple burst. The surprise attack trapped a herring man in place, moments before he was flung into the sky by a giant prawn tail. The man died from lethal fall damage, yet the smite was credited to Serac.

  [7,816 ?]

  So it went. Wayfarers fell one by one to the Frostkrill’s callous immensity, with the leaked Karma all flowing into the conniving assassins in their midst. To the Frostkrill, these ‘smites’ meant nothing. The ants that swarmed and rippled along its length were nothing more than food—fuel for the upkeep of its defensive shell. It might crush some of the ants underfoot and send others flying, but there was no intent behind the fatalities.

  No intent except, of course, the plan concocted by the outlaw they called the Finless. Though Serac now reflected that the Heartless might’ve been just as apt.

  “Why is any of this happening in the first place?” Serac wondered aloud on her way to find another victim. “If the Frostkrill has these impenetrable shields, why do the Kronvakt gather in numbers and whack away like they could do anything about them? Do they have a different strategy in mind?”

  “Imagine yourself in Tyr Djofulsen’s fins,” Renate said by way of answer. “You’re a braggart and a layabout with no real [Hunger] other than to chase your next bit of vainglory. If you alone in the Realm had lived long enough to understand the trick to smiting the Frostkrill, would you share that knowledge with the rest of the Hunt?”

  Serac the conniving assassin gasped at the sheer scandal of it. Could it be? Mr King keeping the secret to himself, just so he can be the victorious Hunter every time out?

  But then her thoughts immediately turned to Mr Prince. Rathor continued to [True]-zip all over the place, looking for all the world like he could crack the Frostkrill’s shell, magical shields or no. It was largely thanks to his single-minded commitment to his task that Team Serac had yet to be spotted by the most dangerous Wayfarer on the ice.

  “Not even his own son, though?” Serac pressed the point. “Especially now that Mr King has hung up his hunting boots, you’d think he’d at least pass on the secret to his children, right?”

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  Renate gave no real answer. She instead made an odd noise, a half-snort-half-snarl and distorted by bubbles besides. Serac waited for a beat, then pressed on with her complaints.

  “Anyway, if it’s true these Kronvakt don’t know what we know, then this whole thing is even more unfair than I thought.”

  “Unfair?”

  “Yeah! Here they are, busting their asses to smite a boss the old-fashioned way, not knowing that a bunch of them have to die first before there’s any real chance! The least we could do is share our knowledge, right? And if they wanna come for us too, then that’s only fair.”

  “You want to play fair, Rakshasa? How about you take a look at who’s at the helm of that salamander? Then you’ll see just how much the Kronvakt care about your fairness.”

  Serac did, and knew right away what the frog woman meant. Seated atop Gulloyne’s head and holding its reins of braided vines was none other than King Tyr himself—accompanied, as always, by his faithful queen.

  Serac didn’t know what she’d expected, but the realization pushed her a little to Renate’s side of the argument. Sitting this one out, he’d said. Good luck to all, he’d said. Yet here the king was, in the thick of the action and aiding the Kronvakt by playing the ‘biggest’ tank this side of the Sanzu River.

  Oh, that does it. Serac made up her mind. I still wish there were a more pleasant way to go about it, but this is clearly every Wayfarer for herself. No more Mrs Nice Rakshasa; I’m in it to win it!

  Yet it was in this moment that something truly unexpected—and all too inevitable—came to pass.

  Serac watched as the distant, barely discernible figure of Queen Loha suddenly turned in her seat. Then their eyes, or whatever apparatus they used to perceive each other, met—spanning a great distance, shrouded in growing darkness, and across the haze of battle.

  Serac’s right temple flared with pain. Both of her horns shuddered under the intensity of the malice that rippled her way. In her mind’s eye, she saw Loha’s face as clearly as though the queen stood right in front of her. A Rakshasa ravaged by age, every feature contorted by rage and murderous intent.

  How many signs from the heavens did she need? Serac broke into a sprint, but not before bringing her teammates into the fold:

  “We need to get out of here! Now!”

  This wasn’t Zacko’s first rodeo. He hopped to right away, no questions asked. Renate, however, took some convincing.

  “What? Rakshasa, wait! I told you to be discreet!”

  “You swim away as fast as possible!” Discretion was the last thing on Serac’s mind. “Or dive down. Whichever takes you farther away from what’s coming!”

  “From what? What’s co—”

  A fleshy appendage the size of an ancient sequoia. Gulloyne’s prehensile tongue darted across the sky and into the ground, right on top of Team Serac’s heads.

  Despite the forewarning, Serac realized there was no dodge-rolling out of this one. In a fraction of a Ksana, she made the switch to the only action that could keep her Realmhunt hopes alive. She jumped in front of both Zacko and Renate, PULVERIZER raised to the sky.

  [711!]

  Poise-break! Of all the ‘one-shots’ PULVERIZER had managed to help her survive, this one hit by far the hardest. Indeed, it’d damn near been a one-shot anyway, even with the mitigation!

  But as Serac fell to her knees, she was gladdened by the sight of Gulloyne’s tree-sized tongue bouncing away. Before she’d committed to her gambit, she had no clue if she could tank the hit, let alone keep her teammates safe from damage. Luckily, it appeared to have done bo—

  CHOMP!

  A painfully familiar report. A set of spiral mandibles closed over Gulloyne’s neck, shearing its entire head clean off, tree-sized tongue and all. And even as Serac’s jaw dropped to the ice, she understood what had happened.

  It hadn’t been PULVERIZER after all that had repelled Gulloyne’s tongue shot. No, it was interference from the other titan, punishing its distracted opponent to maximum effect. Now, a giant salamander was less a head—and a giant prawn one salamander head fuller.

  Oh no, poor salamander! Was, bizarrely enough, Serac’s first thought. What happened to the royal couple? Was the next logical question. Yet, even from a distance, Serac made out two figures—one bulky, one slim—falling through the sky at speed, evidently having made a narrow escape. It certainly looked to be a lethal fall, however, unless…

  Unless they had a way to break the fall, in which case they’d be fine. And they were just fine, thanks to the gusts of wind that suddenly rose up around Queen Loha, slowing both her and her husband’s descent. The work of DIAPHRAGM, no doubt, Serac thought, but still no sight of the actual Instrument!

  “This isn’t good.”

  A bubbles-distorted croak at Serac’s knees. Renate had poked out her hooded head, only to gaze up at the sky in obvious concern.

  “What were they playing at, targeting us like that?” Renate exclaimed, sounding deeply aggrieved. “Now that the main tank is out of commission, the Frostkrill will want to choose a new ‘prey’, one who’ll almost certainly do a lesser job of it. This better not have ruined our plan…”

  Out of commission? That felt like an incredibly callous and casual way to describe what had happened to Gulloyne. Serac was about to lower her opinion of Renate even further, when—

  Gulloyne the headless salamander stood up on its four legs. It then turned tail and beat a hasty retreat from the battleground, far too deftly for its size—oh, and for the fact it was missing a head!

  By now, Serac had mended her Poise, but she was too stunned to pick up her jaw off the ice.

  “Gulloyne can regrow itself,” Renate offered a far-too-casual explanation. “Yes, even if it’s missing a whole head. That’s how it’s managed to serve Tyr Djofulsen for so long, and also how it’s grown to be so big. But epimorphic regeneration takes time, especially for damage as extensive as this. While we wait for Gulloyne to come back, we need another hunter to step up and take the Frostkrill’s agg—”

  A hunter did step up then. Or rather, [Flew] up. Rathor Tyrsen, previously busy surveying the integrity of the Frostkrill’s underbelly, now shot toward the giant prawn’s maw—still open and dripping with salamander blood.

  From where Serac sat, accompanied by her assassin friends, she couldn’t help but admire the view. The prince looked tiny next to his direct opponent. But he also looked plenty heroic. And boy, did he look dashing as all hell, with his ash-gray mane rippling in the wind.

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