Chapter Thirty-Nine: Unsanctioned Convergence
***
“Kaelen, eyes up!” the female figure exclaimed, her crimson eyes taut in focus.
In that moment, the dire wolf, fangs barred, leapt into the air, skirting a protruding spike of earth.
The golden-haired elf’s eyes shot up, his hand raised his shield—a well-crafted implement etched with intricate runic glyphs, with a gem-like centrepiece adorned in the middle. The elf muttered as the shield flared with terramantic energy, solidifying into an ellipsoid of earth.
With a grunt of effort, Kaelan launched the projectile, aimed straight at the dire wolf. The stoic-faced canine continued his descent as he raised his paw. A split second before the spell connected with the wolf, it brought its forelegs down with surprising strength, shattering the earthen projectile into dust. The canine figure emerged through the cloud, fangs bared.
The wolf landed on the elf, who had barely managed to raise his shield. The weight of the dire wolf caused his knees to buckle.
With a swift snap of its jaws, the wolf's teeth sank into the shield. The sheer bulk and strength of the beast wrenched the golden-haired elf’s only armament—his casting catalyst—out of his hand.
Kaelan’s eyes widened as he traced his shield’s trajectory, watching it cartwheel lazily away from him.
Before the wolf’s fangs sank into flesh, a chunk of earth—the size of a fist—slammed into its open maw. The projectile shattered on impact, breaking apart into a cloud of fine dust, drawing a whimper from the wolf. Its assault paused as he shook his head blindly.
Kaelan hastily stepped back, putting much-needed distance between himself and the dire wolf. His hands were humming with magical energy, ready to retaliate against the beast that had nearly taken a chunk out of him.
He turned to his companion, her golden hair a mix of styled locks and cascades of loose strands. Her hand clenched around her unremarkable staff, just over her height, with a brown gem adorning its tip.
“Thanks, Kela, this crazy mutt needs a lesson!" As he slammed his fist into the ground, the force caused his hair to fall around his face.
A half-meter wave of earth, guided by brown terramantic energy, headed towards the staggered wolf.
The wolf, demonstrating an uncanny awareness that superseded any primal need to continue a mindless assault, leapt upwards, clearing the wave as if hurdling over an oncoming obstacle.
“Kaelos’s spark! This thing is insane!” the male elf exclaimed.
A protest came from the female elf: “Focus, before you become it’s next meal!” in response to his remark.
She pointed her staff towards the inert golem. “Re-attune to it before that bastard recovers! I’ll—”
A blue bolt of arcane energy flashed across Kaelan’s vision, ripping Kela off her feet and into the ground. Her staff tumbled out of her hand from the concussive force of the impact.
“Kela!” His gaze shot left, to the approaching figure—their would-be quarry.
***
Emmett’s assault had bought Selriph precious seconds, enough for the youth to steady his breath—the scent of ozone and char oddly soothed him, as he regained his composure.
The haze of terror that had clouded his mind since his near-death escape dissipated, and with it, returned his battle focus.
Selriph strutted forward, with a slight limp to his otherwise steady gait, a result of injury and the ebbing adrenaline from his brush with death.
His left hand—its skin blistered and scorched by the self-inflicted bolt—palmed outstretched, glowed with residual arcane energy as he approached the two assailants.
His Estoc now drawn, its tip held low, hovered just above the blades of grass.
The elven figure raised his hands, his terramantic energy forming into rocks in his palm, flinging them at Selriph as if there were snowballs.
Selriph did not meet his spell with his magic; instead, his eyes traced each projectile, his estoc whirling in a flash of steel.
Thunk Thunk Thunk Thunk
With a series of sharp cracks, the earthen projectiles cleaved in two or shattered in midair, exploding into clouds of dust and pebbles.
The male elf brushed the hair covering his face aside, as if confirming the sight before him, before resuming his assault.
All the while, Selriph continued his stride, his eyes studying both figures.
They practise terramancy. Do they have it on their arms…?
In the background of his consciousness, the rocks continued to shatter in the surrounding air, guided by the practised, almost subconscious movements of his estoc. His eyes scanned their limbs and faces for the symbol, the crest.
Yet he could not see the mark of divine grace, of the holy mages.
This means they aren’t aligned with the divine… but I need to subdue them first.
“Emmett!” Selriph bellowed out, the command clear and strong—an ironic mirror to the calls of his former tormentors.
The male elf’s brows raised in surprise as he turned, just in time to witness the wolf slamming into his chest, knocking him clean off his feet. The impact sent him reeling; his body crumpled helplessly onto the ground.
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“Hold him down! But don’t kill,” Selriph exclaimed. He hoped the words were enough, that the wolf somehow understood. Either way, his arcane energy flared, ready to bind the wolf in magical tendrils—a precaution in case he had overestimated his canine companion’s comprehension.
With an uncanny understanding of its companion’s command, the wolf loped towards the male elf, who had just managed to roll over on his back. It came to a sudden stop, its heavy paws pressing down on the elf’s chest as it bared its fangs in warning.
Good, one more to go…
The male elf raised his hands, palms outstretched. He squeezed his eyes shut as the hot mist of Emmett’s breath washed over his smooth skin.
“Kela! Get this thing off me!” he cried out in a desperate plea.
The intervention never came. Kaelan glanced over to see Kela half-prone in the dirt, a single hand propped and braced against the ground, her terramantic energy flickering uselessly as she attempted to muster a spell.
The source cause was obvious: a small, concentrated burst of blue arcane energy met each attempt at terramantic intervention.
Each desperate incantation met with a surgical dissipation of the collecting magical energy—a result of Selriph having finally tuned to the frequency that had held him in the deadly shackles.
The young elven girl turned to Selriph. Her face, a feminine likeness of the male elf, looked in fear as Selriph approached, each attempt at a futile mustering of magic blocked out by the precise needle of his arcane counterforce.
The seconds bled into each other as Selriph finally towered over the girl, her eyes now tearful and full of fear. Selriph guided her estoc to her throat, a mere centimetre from her neck.
Then, at last, the defiant attempts at magical exertion ceased.
An eerie silence filled the battle-adorned forest clearing. For a while, no one spoke, only undercut by the low growl from the dire wolf, and the faint rustle of the trees, as if the surroundings were watching in murmured anticipation.
Then a voice broke the silence, from Kela, the female, a fiery defiance now flared in her eyes, barrelled straight at the tip of the blade before her.
“What are you waiting for? Finish it, Eldeitian scum.” As she spat at Selriph, the droplets met his face.
Eldeitian… scum…?
Selriph’s eyes scanned the features, finding nothing discernible that indicated their allegiance—elves were commonplace within Eldeitian.
However, Selriph discerned it—the inflexion, the accent in their voice—it differed from anything he had heard thus far in his journey.
Selriph’s reply came between a query and a command. “Is Eldeitian an enemy to you?”
His question was met with baffled scorn from the female elven youth, as if the words themselves made no sense. But from his left, a voice full of protest cut through the silence.
“And I have two legs and nearly soiled my chaise, of course, Eldeitia is our enemy, you twat. What game are you playing?” his voice cut off by Emmett’s growl, salivation dripping freely onto the rough tunic.
They are hostile to Eldeitia? Then why did they…
Selriph lowered his estoc, the baffling confusion on the female elf now spreading like a contagion to his face. “If you see Eldeitia as an enemy, why attack me?”
The unexpected answer sprouted a flicker of doubt in the female elf before she answered, “Who else could you serve? This deep in the Empire?” A hint of rhetorical defiance cut through her initial bewilderment.
The male elf followed up, his voice softer, likely in fear of further provoking the dire wolf, “and who would strut up directly to the corpse of that damnable knight over there?” Although his voice lacked volume, deep pain laced it.
Selriph’s gaze landed on the marred corpse of Knight Aedan—the pieces of the surrounding situation slowly coalescing as the rush of battle made way for contemplative clarity.
So they attacked me because they believed I was aligned with Aedan. In that case…
Selriph backed away, sheathing his blade as his eyes flicked to Emmett. The dire wolf met his gaze, trotting over with a casual stride and stepping over the sprawled elf as if he were a log on the ground.
Clearly, this gesture was not interpreted as peaceful; the two elves, in a state of deep scepticism, remained still on the ground, as though expecting a theatrical execution.
Of course, it did not come. Kaelan pressed his arm into the earth before rising to his feet.
“What game is this, you righteous bastard? Suddenly grew a conscience…?” he asked, his body still coiled in tension.
“I am not aligned with Eldeitia.” Selriph’s reply came as he jerked his head towards the female elf, a silent approval for Kaelan to help his female companion up
The female elf shook her head as she helped herself up. “And we came out of our mother’s arse. What do you mean you’re not aligned with Eldeitia?” His question came as a mix of sarcastic rebuttal and genuine query.
“Exactly, sporting that speech just like your friend over there, we may be beaten, but don’t take us for fools.” The female elf protested.
The high Eldeitian accent…? The circumstances of my appearance? That’s why they attacked me?
“I only opened my mouth in the past minute. What if I were a curious merchant, an innocent passerby?”
“There are no innocent passersby in Eldeitia,” his voice once again brimming with fiery anger.
This guy…
A feeling welled within him, something that kept Selriph’s rebuttal in check, venom dripping from the elven duo felt all too familiar.
A sharp inhale filled his lungs with the pungent, woody scent of burnt pine mixed with the deep, earthy aroma of moist soil.
“Look… that is a fair statement. But I am anything but an innocent passerby, Eldeitia sees me as an enemy, and I reciprocate that sentiment.”
The young female elf’s brows started to furrow; her demeanour failed to mirror the full extent of her companion. It did not portray overt irritation or hostility, but? genuine contemplation and doubt.
“Wait, brother, perhaps we were indeed too hasty. This person—maybe he isn’t who we think he is.”
“Who else could he be, Kela…? Someone wielding the arcane arts freely within the borders of Eldeitia. That command of magic and that bladework — it could rival even father’s if he were still—”
Selriph’s interjection came plain, almost factual. “I am no holy mage or Templar knight. The Eldeitian hierarchy is no friend to me, and from the looks of it, neither are you.”
Kaelan shot a glance of disbelief, as if he had heard the ramblings of a jester.
“You take us for having sludge in our noggins, don’t you?” the male elf voice was low, gravelly, bitter.
“Kaelan, wait… perhaps you should listen to what—”
“Kela, the only thing this guy is listening for is information; he is the enemy. Playing with his food.”
Selriph did not indulge him with an answer; instead, he paced back, his free hand raised in mocked surrender as he carefully sheathed his estoc.
The sound of the tip of the blade thumping against the bottom of the scabbard punctuated his forthcoming statement. “Who do you think I am then?”
“Simple, you are one of those Eldeitian holy mages or something. “
“That is patently false.” Selriph’s reply came flat, lacking protest.
“And we should take your word for it…?” Despite the words, doubt finally began to creep over the male elf’s mannerisms, taken aback by the overt lack of hostility from their would-be executioner.
“No, I have proof.”
Selriph rolled up his sleeves as he pulled his shirt up—the female elf’s cheeks held the faintest flush for a fleeting second, before her eyes widened in horror. Revealed was a messy mosaic of scars across Selriph’s body—the cruel testament of his abuse and torment.
But more importantly, it showed the lack of any holy branding, a mark of divine sanction.
“As you can see, I don’t have a crest.” Selriph’s voice was calm, waiting for the inevitable relaxation of tension in the siblings’ bodies.
Yet placation never arrived; instead, a confused quip arrived in its stead. “What does that have to do with anything?”
He doesn’t understand the meaning of the crest?! Wait… of course…!
A wave of realisation dawned on Selriph, mixed with abject exasperation as he released the fabric. His shirt fell, like a curtain drawn once more over his ghastly scars.
A single sentence escaped his mouth, almost a mockery of his own mind for not coming to this conclusion sooner.
The question came, direct, sharply, precisely. “What is the nation you call home?”
The two elves glanced at each other before the female elf spoke, her voice tinged with pain.
A single word.
“Venthar.”
Friends or Enemies?
