The Tears of Kas̆dael

“Missed!” The assassin laughed as the spell shot past him, blissfully unaware of the shimmering crack that had manifested where it landed. With a quick half-step, the man of Mut-La’is closed the gap between them, and with a quick upward sweep, hooked the curved edge of his axe around the shaft of Jasper’s glaive. Then he pulled.

Jasper hissed in pain as the glaive was ripped from his hands, bouncing along the grass until its blade got stuck in the mud. The assassin paused with a mocking smile on his face. “Come on - is that all you got? One spell?”

The crackling behind him intensified, and the man finally glanced behind him. His eyes widened slightly as he saw the large, clawed hands grasping the sides of the quickly widening tear, before morphing into an expression of pure delight. “Maybe this fight won’t be a total waste of time,” he crowed. Ignoring the emerging Ophan, he turned his focus back to Jasper and positively blurred forward.

Jasper had no chance of evasion against such preternatural speed, but, fortunately for him, the assassin was in the mood to play. It was the shaft of the axe, rather than its wickedly sharp blade, that hit him in the chest with enough force to send him flying through the ranks of the durgu like a bowling pin through pins.

The durgu scattered in all directions as the man charged forward, swinging his axe in an almost lazy circle as he closed in on the stunned Jasper. “I wonder, if I kill you, does that thing go away, or will I still have to fight it.” The man mused as he stood over Jasper. “You know, I hope it sticks around.”

He raised his axe to deliver the finishing blow but it fell wildly askew as the Ophan, having torn its way free from the portal, finally entered the fray. The man cursed as its claws raked against his side, scoring a row of ugly gashes in his armor, but he held onto his axe, and spinning around, hammered it into the creature’s chest. The head dug into the Ophan’s scorched flesh, sinking deeper than Jasper had expected as a thin trickle of blood ran down the gilded blade, but the Ophan seemed unfazed.

With another angry growl, it backhanded the assassin, staggering him, and followed up with a swift swipe across his chest that tore more weeping wounds. The man of Mut-La’is recovered quickly, blocking the next blow, and then it was his turn to score a hit, carving a chunk out of the Ophan’s hip with a particularly fast strike of his axe.

But Jasper wasn’t out of spells yet. Scrambling to his feet, he quickly cast Circle of Forgiveness, sealing his and the Ophan’s wounds, and followed up with a second. Purge.

With a growl, the man of Mut-La’is tore his attention away from the Ophan and, tanking another blow of the creature’s razor-sharp claws, turned his attention back to Jasper. “A sore throat ain’t going to kill me, kid,” he roared, but from the sudden, harsh rasp of his voice, Jasper knew it was a little more than sore. Strong enough to hurt him, but not enough to kill him, he concluded. Fortunately, he hadn’t been counting on that spell to be the one to do the man in.

As the assassin closed in, he cast the second spell he’d been holding. Scourge of Despair. The man saw the spectral whip manifest in his hand a step before he reached Jasper. As agile as he was strong, it took him less than a heartbeat to redirect his step but it still wasn’t fast enough to take him out of the reach of the ghostly scourge. In an instant, it flickered forward, raking across the many small wounds the Ophan had inflicted, and as the scourge drank in the blood, the wails of the hungry ghosts echoed through the burnt out village.

They swarmed like flies on rotten meat, only to be driven back as the man of Mut-La’is conjured the same eldritch wave of fire he’d used against Samsadur. As the ghosts scattered before the green flames, his own wounds sealed up, and he catapulted himself back toward Jasper.

Spectral Wings. As Jasper soared into the air, he saw the situation had devolved into a melee. Tsia was backed up against the cottage door, lightning leaping from her hands as she fended off the rest of the assassin’s men, while the durgu had formed a defensive line around the prince, sealing him off from attacks. His moment of inattention cost him though, as a throwing knife hammered in the ribs, knocking his course astray.

But the Ophan cut the man off, and tanking a blow straight to its face for its efforts, grabbed hold of the axe shaft with an iron grip. The two struggled for control of the weapon, a struggle cut short as the howling ghosts regrouped and swarmed the assassin again.

Abandoning his weapon, he darted to the left, and twisting to his side released a second pulse of eldritch fire that burned through the pursuing specters. This time the flames stuck, and their howls slowly guttered out as the fire reduced them to dripping piles of goo.

Massartu. Pain shot through Jasper’s temple as he summoned his second guardian, and he knew he only had another two or three spells left in him. The Ophan was keeping the man busy, at least, but had failed to inflict any serious damage, and the ghosts had been a bitter disappointment. How do I end this?

Metal glinted on the ground behind the man, who was currently weaving between a flurry of blows from the Ophan, and Jasper recognized his glaive. At least it doesn’t use essence. Rising into the air, he circled round to the left and swooped low above the grass. His hands snagged the glaive and, keeping low to the ground, he cast one of his final spells. Flame Charge.

An involuntary spasm wracked his face as his essence drained to nearly nothing, but the spell took hold nonetheless. Shadowy, white flames exploded from his hands and rapidly spread across his entire body as he accelerated toward the assassin from behind.

“Hold him,” he ordered the Ophan, and the creature obeyed without hesitation. Rather than defending itself from the assassin's blow, the Ophan grabbed shoulders and held on even as it's stomach was split open.

“You’re giving up?” the man of Mut-La'is̆ roared in amusement. “I thought-”

His words cut off with a gasp as a burning glaive punched through his back and out the other side. “I thought…” his words slurred as he gazed down in confusion at the white flames that rapidly spread across his body, instantly incinerating the blood that gushed from his wound.

For a second, Jasper thought he had won. Then the man roared. “Anaddin balata ana Mut-La’is!”

The glaive was ripped from his hands a second time as a circle of eldritch fire erupted from the man’s abdomen, tossing not just Jasper, but even the Ophan, a dozen feet away from the man. The white and green flames fought for space on his body as the man staggered toward Jasper, his axe dragging in the grass beside him.

“Anaddin balata ana Mut-La’is!” he roared again, inciting another burst of flames that sealed the wound around Jasper’s glaive and banished the last of the white flames. “Anaddin ba-”

A searing bolt of blue light struck the assassin dead in the chest as the maṣṣartu took a protective position over him. Taking advantage of the cover, Jasper crawled from beneath its legs and readied one final spell. Seraph Burst. The spectral wings were superseded by the spell’s metallic monstrosity as he surged forward. The white flames of Flame Charge trailed behind him like some sort of shooting star as he closed the gap between them and collided with the man of Mut-La’is.

His bones crunched beneath the force of impact, but it was finally to stagger the man. Ripped off his feet by the iron wings, they twisted rapidly before being thrown back into the ground, and there, for once, luck was on Jasper’s side. As the assassin landed on his back, the shaft of the glaive was thrust through his rib cage while somehow missing Jasper altogether.

The man’s flames guttered out, his eyes wide and milky, but Jasper took no chances. Pinning his arms to the ground with his knees, Jasper ripped the man’s mouth open and, with what little essence he had left, breathed flames down his throat. His thrashing tossed Jasper aside, but no sooner had he fallen off, than the Ophan moved in and, with the assassin no longer able to deflect the creatures below, the Ophan’s claws shattered his rib cage and wrapped around his heart.

The creature paused then, looking to Jasper for permission to eat, and he hesitated only a moment. This bastard came back from a beheading last time, he reminded himself, before nodding grimly at the Ophan in approval. “Eat him all,” he commanded, though he turned away as the Ophan ripped the heart out with relish and began consuming its offering.

He struggled to his feet grunting in pain as the blinding headache of essence deprivation fought a fierce battle with the half dozen breaks in his arm for dominance, but he didn’t dare cast Circle of Forgiveness. Instead, he fished a potion out of his bag and sucked down the sickly sweet liquid with a grimace, grunting as he felt a few of the bones pop back up into place. It wasn’t enough to fully heal him but, unable to find another potion in his bag, he was forced to endure.

Leaving the Ophan to its meal, he surveyed the battlefield anxiously, looking for Tsia. “Tsia?”

He spotted a moment later, slouched against the wall of the cottage. She sat in a pool of blood, her armor torn to shreds, but S̆ams̆ādur crouched over her, holding a potion of his own to her lips. He limped in their direction as quickly as his battered limbs would take him. “Is she- is she okay?”

“She’ll be fine.” Tossing the empty bottle aside, Samsadur arose with a sigh. “We intervened as soon as I saw she had run out of essence, but I didn’t get here quite in time. Nothing that won’t heal though.” He cast a critical eye over Jasper and swiftly produced another potion. “You forget how to use one of these,” he asked wryly.

Jasper accepted it with a muttered thanks and forced himself to chug it before replying. “I guess I’ve gotten a little too reliant on my spells,” he admitted. “It’s been a while since I’ve been so essence-deprived that I couldn’t just heal myself.”

“Spells are good, but there’s nothing wrong with having backup,” the prince replied.

“Yeah, back-up…” Jasper’s mood soured as he looked up at the prince. “Could have used some backup in that fight.”

The durgu winced, pulling at the edge of his collar awkwardly. “Sorry about that - my men were a little too zealous in my protection. By the time I broke free, the fight was over.”

It was a lame excuse, but Jasper was too exhausted to pick a fight, so he let it pass. Dropping down beside Tsia, he double-checked her pulse, just to soothe his mind, and found it was steady as the durgu had said. She must be passed out from essence deprivation, he decided, remembering the same thing had occurred the only other time she’d suffered it. At least this time, there’s no evil cult waiting to kidnap her. Probably.

Satisfied that she'd be fine, he propped himself against the cottage wall and, closing his eyes, waited for the headache from essence deprivation to go away, until he suddenly recalled the reason he'd agreed to the fight in the first place. The children. It felt like an anvil hit his head as he leapt to his feet, but he ignored it and pushed his way through the gathered durgu until he found S̆ams̆ādur. "Where are the children? Are they okay?"

“They're fine,” the durgu reassured him. “Tsia kept safe until I got there, and we're taking care of them now." He gestured to a few of his men who were lighting a fire beneath an old copper cauldron. "I told them to make some soup for the kids. No idea what we’re going to do with them in the long run, though.”

“We'll have to take them to Deḇur,” Jasper sighed, dreading the thought of returning to the small town they’d left so unceremoniously. “It’s the only safe place around.”

“Maybe not,” S̆ams̆ādur countered. “With the mind mage dead and the assassins scattered, the villages should be safe for the moment. Let me talk to the children and see if they have relatives in any of the nearby settlements.”

“I doubt they’re going to want to talk,” Jasper replied, but the prince just shrugged.

“They won’t need to - that’s what I’m good at, remember,” he said, tapping his forehead with a finger.