Verdan stood hunched over a large table that was covered with sheets of paper, most of which were covered in blood. Some had burn marks or rips in them as well, but thankfully most of the issue came from the blood.

  It was far from a pleasant sight, but at least it was something he could deal with, one cleaning spell at a time. The rips and burns were annoyingly outside of what he could repair, at least without risking further accidental damage, but the stains were manageable.

  A good portion of the documents he was working on were from the handwritten alchemy notes he’d found in the workshop, but not all of them. While he recovered from losing his eye, Verdan’s allies had been hard at work scouring every inch of the Brotherhood stronghold they had captured for any useful information.

  Unfortunately, the battle for the stronghold had been exceptionally violent and bloody, which in turn had meant a lot of incidental damage.

  The door behind him swung open as Barb came in, her arms full with the next set for Verdan to work on. “Got some more, Boss. Ash and dirt, for the most part, nothing too bad.”

  Barb was the only one of Verdan’s guards that had come south with him, and with how busy everything was, she’d been acting as a sort of assistant as well. Barb was a stocky, dark-haired woman of Kranjir descent, made evident by her Caelin, the ritualistic facial scars that defined her in Kranjir society. Barb had added a few more since she started working for Verdan, which had pleased her no end.

  Barb dropped the new documents off to one side with a dull thud as the edge of her prosthetic hit the table. She’d lost her left hand defending his estate what felt like an eternity ago, and Verdan had made her a prosthetic. It had been one of his first forays into crafting since he had awoken from his cursed sleep, but the hand she wore now was a far cry from that early design.

  The Brotherhood had pushed Sigil usage forwards quite a way, and while a lot of what Verdan had found had been for alchemy, he’d seen a few things about Sigils as well. Once they were back in Hobson’s Point, he’d have to see about making her something even better.

  “Thanks, Barb. Any news from everyone else?” Verdan asked, leaning back stretching his back with a grimace. He’d spent the last eight hours in this small room, working through each document in turn. He’d used a significant amount of Aether in creating, maintaining and supporting his Legion, let alone in the combat spells during each fight. If it weren’t for that, he’d use a more powerful cleaning spell and finish this work in half the time.

  Unfortunately, with daily healings for a half-dozen people, not to mention himself, and how much of his reserve he’d used up, a stronger cleaning spell was a waste. They had to spend the time here anyway while they waited for Cullan to heal enough to travel, so he didn’t mind too much.

  “Nothing much, Boss. The two Queens have left, as you said they would, so there’s only about thirty Vespa still here.”

  “Thirty?” Verdan echoed, letting out a low whistle. They’d allied with the Vespa to take down this stronghold, on the understanding that they would release the three Vespa Queens imprisoned here with their Consorts. One of those Consorts had died in the fighting, but the rest had survived. Now, with two of the pairs gone, Verdan had expected the Vespa to be down to a mere dozen or so, not thirty. Clearly more Vernals, the young Vespa males, had arrived at the Queen’s call than Verdan had realised.

  “Elder Vaijon has expressed some concern about bringing them north,” Barb said, the slight hint of worry in her voice telling Verdan that she felt some of that concern herself.

  “I understand, but we’ve all been victims of the Brotherhood, and now that I can act as a translator, I hope that that any future problems will be easily dealt with.” Verdan knew that a good portion of his desire to make the Vespa their allies was nostalgia for the Vesperai he had once known. Still, there were logical reasons as well.

  “Whatever you say, Boss.” Barb nodded, but Verdan knew she wasn’t fully convinced. That was fine, though, trust would come with time.

  “Alright, I’m going to get back to this,” Verdan said, picking up the pile of cleaned documents and splitting them into two. The alchemy and Sigil documents would stay with him, while the rest would go with Barb to be thoroughly looked over for any useful information.

  They’d do the same with the rest of what they’d found eventually, but Verdan was the only one with the technical knowledge to really understand what they would be looking at.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  -**-

  Five days after the battle, Verdan pronounced Cullan fit to move around, albeit with a brace on each leg and a solid cane. Cullan’s left leg had been worse off than the right, and would take longer to heal, even with regular healing spells. Another few days, though, and Cullan would be able to travel, just slowly and carefully.

  “I’m not sure you’re taking these precautions seriously,” Verdan said, looking down at Cullan with folded arms.

  “Yes, yes, be careful or I’ll die, I know,” Cullan said, waving for Verdan to hurry up. “Just give me the cane and let me up. I need to move around.”

  “Fine, here.” Verdan passed Cullan the cane they’d made before he and Barb helped Cullan up and out of the bed. Even with the two of them, though, it was an effort.

  Cullan was an Idrisyr, a descendant of Idris, the last of the giants. His powerful bloodline gave him incredible strength and resilience, even more than his seven-foot frame would suggest. His red hair and green eyes were also thanks to his heritage, along with less visible things like a near immunity to heat.

  Grunting with effort, they managed to get Cullan on his feet, and Verdan had to marvel at how quickly the big man had healed. The strength of his bloodline truly wasn’t to be underestimated.

  “There, see, no problem,” Cullan said, taking a few hesitant steps with a pale face and great difficulty. “Now let me out of here. I want to see the sky.”

  Verdan reluctantly moved aside, cursing under his breath as he bumped into a table on his left. Rubbing his right temple, he waved aside Barb’s concerned look and focused on Cullan. His issues with losing an eye were nothing new at this point. It was getting better, he just wasn’t quite there.

  Helping Cullan out and along the corridor, Verdan heard distant voices echoing down to them. It was hard to tell who exactly it was, but there was a certain agitation to it that was concerning. Motioning for Barb to keep on helping Cullan, Verdan hurried on ahead, absently wishing that he’d been able to keep the Legion active.

  The spell was just too expensive, though, so all that was left was Rocky, his champion and the culmination of months of research and work. Unlike the stone and earth constructs Verdan had used for the Legion, Rocky was made from sterner stuff and had countless Sigils carved into him. A high number of those Sigils were purely for Aether gathering, which just about let Verdan keep Rocky permanently active without draining his magic.

  Having a huge, armoured construct that could go toe-to-toe with someone like Cullan around was always useful. Especially because Verdan’s own strength couldn’t be so easily displayed.

  Rounding the corner, Verdan saw Sylvie and Blane arguing with Vaijon. The argument was quickly growing heated, though, and neither side seemed to be backing down.

  “What’s going on?” Verdan called out as he jogged over to them.

  Vaijon went to answer, but Sylvie spoke up first, folding her arms and glaring at the Elder as she did. “There’s a group of Sorcerers and Sect retainers out there, heading roughly this way, in fact. We didn’t get too close, but I caught the scent of Elder Lucil.”

  “I did as well,” Blane said, nodding firmly as he mirrored his sister’s posture.

  Both Sylvie and Blane were Airta, a race of shapeshifters who could shift between being either in a wolf or human form. From what little Verdan knew, the Airta had been created by the same person who had caused the death of the Neisar, the change of the Vespa and the birth of Sorcerers. Melnin Hyne.

  Exactly how all that had been done, Verdan had no idea, but the Airta’s magic relied on Parada, rather than the Aether that Verdan used, which seemed to influence souls.

  Sylvie was a short, slender woman with silver hair and a few ugly scars around her neck from where she’d once worn a Darjee bone collar. Verdan had managed to heal almost all of them away, but a few still lingered. She also had some more recent scars along her right arm from the assault itself. Sylvie was the leader of the Airta that had moved to live around Hobson’s Point, but she always led from the front.

  Blane, by contrast, was a few inches taller and had a compact but powerful build with dark hair and eyes. Blane was a Draskir, a type of Airta who bound Fraktiri, the Airta term for their canine cousins. Friga, Blane’s bound frost wolf, sat patiently behind him, waiting for when they would move on.

  “Alright, so what’s the issue?”

  “We think that it would be dangerous to contact them, especially given what you told us about your time in Iranda,” Sylvie said, giving Vaijon a pointed look.

  The Elder rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Yes, yes, I understand what you’re saying, but my point is that Lucil was on our side, more or less. If she’s come out in force, then the chances are that she’s looking to help us. This is a golden opportunity to know more about what’s happening in the city.”

  Vaijon was a thin, bald man with countless long-healed burns and piercing grey eyes. Though he lacked the physical power of someone like Blane, Vaijon was a particularly dangerous fighter. As an Elder in the Disciples of Adamar Sect, Vaijon specialised in melding his fire and pressure Essences with Parada. All of the Disciples of Adamar could do so, but in Vaijon’s case, he was able to use Parada to create vials of pressurised flames that would explode only when he allowed them to.

  “In this particular case, I think Vaijon is right,” Verdan said, absently reaching up to shift the patch over his left eye. “We’ll be leaving soon, but some information on the state of the city would be good. Could you lead them here, Sylvie?”

  “I’ll have them here within the hour.” Sylvie nodded before tapping her brother on the arm and heading towards the ruined entrance.

  “They’re right to be suspicious, of course,” Vaijon said once the Airta were out of earshot. “The mere fact that Lucil’s group got this close to the stronghold means that she either lied before, or has since learned more.”

  “Well, only one way to find out,” Verdan said, sharing a wry smile with the Elder. “Let’s get a reception ready for the good Elder.”