The Tears of Kas̆dael

“Ihra can take care of herself.” Footsteps thudded outside the tent as Tsia finished speaking and S̆ams̆ādur burst through the flaps.

“There’s another fire on the horizon. As big as the last.”

All thoughts of self-pity were set aside as Jasper jolted to his feet. “Another attack,” he started to ask, but he caught himself. “But the mage is dead. Why would the Atrometos be attacking now?”

The durgu’s face darkened. “I didn’t even think of that. It could be another trap from the assassins.”

“Or the mage could have given the orders before he was captured,” Tsia pointed out. “It’s only been a few hours since we captured him - he could have given the order this very morning.”

She had a point, and Jasper nodded his head in acknowledgment. “It could be either, then. I suppose…we need to stick with your men this time, just in case,” he added reluctantly. The idea of not rushing straight to the fire bothered him as, if it was an Atrometos attack, every minute that passed would likely lead to more deaths, but he wasn’t willing to risk blindly stumbling into an ambush for a second time - once had been enough to learn that lesson.

Fortunately, the durgū were good at tearing down camp. In less than half an hour, they were on the road again, racing across the plains toward the pillar of smoke rising on the horizon. An hour later, they were within sight of the source, a small village set beside the banks of a sluggish river. Damn it - it was an Atrometos attack.

It was hard not to feel guilty as they rode through the village’s burning gate - the place was an inferno. Everywhere Jasper looked he saw nothing but fire and thick clouds of billowing smoke, yet something about the village seemed off. It took him a moment to identify the problem, but when he did, he knew they’d been had. There are no bodies. No noise either - and the Atrometos aren’t exactly quiet. “It’s a trap!”

As he called out the warning, dozens of shadows emerged from the burnt-out homes and swarmed toward them, creatures of darkness and smoke, with eyes that glowed a deep amber, and limbs that ended in long, curling claws.

Unbound by mortal form, they crossed the space between them in a flash. Screams filled the air as the shades tore through the durgu, unharmed by the axes the dwarves wielded, but Jasper had no time to worry about the soldiers as the bulk of the horde focused on the prince.

Shooting Star. There was no need to aim the spell as a wave of shades descended upon them, and he quickly cast a second, doubling the number of fiery orbs that surged toward the specters.

*pop* *boom* *crack*

At least magic can hurt them. Grim satisfaction settled over Jasper as the orbs ripped through the shades. With each pop, a shadow was dispersed in writhing tendrils of murky smoke, and Tsia’s spells only added to the devastation, as her wind blades sliced through their ranks like a scythe through the harvest.

He cast Shooting Star again, further winnowing their ranks, before he realized something was wrong, as the tendrils of smoke pulled together and the shades reformed. Crap.

Another spell dispersed them again, but his spirits sunk as the writhing tendrils remained. The magic seems to hurt them a little, but not enough to destroy them. Unless it’s just a matter of outlasting them. “Any ideas?” He screamed over the fray, throwing a hasty glance at Tsia and S̆ams̆ādur.

The girl shook her head grimly, a barrage of wind blades leaping from her hands as she kept the shades that had attacked the prince’s men at bay, but the prince cocked his head.

“Might know what these are,” the man shouted back. “Can you get me into one of those houses?” He jerked his head toward the burn-out husks of the village, where flames still smoldered amongst the charred timbers and piles of rubble, and Jasper nodded.

“Tsia, you protect the men, and I’ll keep them off S̆ams̆ādur.”

With the prince glued to his side, Jasper fired off a pair of shooting stars and bolted through the temporarily cleared ranks of the shades toward the nearest of the fallen cottages. The building felt like an inferno as they approached, and Jasper cast a worried glance at the durgu, for while he was immune to the flames, the prince was not. “You sure you can handle this?”

S̆ams̆ādur's face resembled a waterfall, with fat beads of sweat hanging from every line and wrinkle, but he scowled at the question. “Stop wasting time.” Pushing past Jasper, he stumbled through the still-burning door, holding his hand above his face in a futile attempt to filter out the clouds of smoke.

Unfortunately, his fire resistance did nothing to blunt the suffocating effects of the smoke, and Jasper's lungs and eyes were burning by the time he caught up with the prince, who was crouching on the floor, hacking at something with his axe.

Oh god. His stomach turned as Jasper spied the objects of S̆ams̆ādur's attacks. A pair of bodies lay on the ground, but they hadn’t died from the prince’s axe or the flames and smoke. Instead, a grimmer fate had befallen them.

Their hands and feet had been nailed to the floor and their body flayed. The bloody strips of skin had been arranged in a circle around them and encrusted with mounds of salt plus a black powder Jasper didn’t recognize - a circle glowing with eldritch power.

Choking back the bile that filled his mouth, he quickly took his position between the prince and the entrance and waited for the shades to strike again.

Like clockwork, the tendrils reformed and swarmed toward them. They ignored the door, passing through the burnt-out walls from every direction. With a curse, he fired off a row of Shooting Stars in one direction, while, drawing his glaive, it swept through the other side, praying that the icy runes would be magic enough to stop their advance.

His prayers were answered as the wraiths dispersed again, with two of the writhing tendrils dissolving altogether. “Is every single shade attached to a body,” he asked with growing horror.

S̆ams̆ādur's grim look was answer enough.

Jasper’s anger and revulsion only grew as they fought their way through the village. Every home had its own atrocity. Sometimes there were just two bodies, sometimes four or five, but no home had been spared the defilement of the flayed dead. With each cottage they cleared, the swarm of specters was diminished, allowing the group’s progress to pick up, but the sickness roiling in the pit of his stomach just wouldn't dissolve.

The only saving grace, if there was one, was that Jasper had yet to see a child’s body - though he found it hard to believe that anyone who could sink to these depths would truly draw the line at killing a child. But then where are they?

Fearing another trap, he began to conserve his essence, relying on the glaive's glyphs instead to keep the wraiths at bay - a decision he was glad for when he finally got his answer. A single cottage stood just beyond the burnt-out walls of the village, unscathed by the fire that had destroyed its kin. A dozen small faces were glued to its windows, their eyes wide and frightened, but Jasper’s were focused on the all too familiar shadow standing guard in front of the cottage’s door.

This shadow was all flesh and blood, a giant of a man clad in pitch-black armor and holding an axe nearly as tall as himself. His eyes had been scooped out, his face twisted and tortured, yet there was a smile on his flayed lips as he stepped forward to greet them.

“You picked up another mage.” His tone sounded reproving, like a father scolding a child caught cheating, and he shook his finger. “No matter. I knew there was a possibility the shades wouldn’t end you. That’s why I took precautions.” He paused a few feet away from them and planted the shaft of his axe firmly in the ground.

“You aren’t going to hurt those children,” Jasper ground out.

“Of course not.” The man grinned unpleasantly. “But my colleagues in the cottage, on the other hand,” he paused dramatically, “have been given orders to kill the children unless you agree to my conditions. Now I know what you’re thinking - ‘we’ll just rush him - there’s no way he can fend us all off-’ and you’d be right,” he chuckled. “I'm sure I can't beat you all. But, I promise you, you won’t reach them in time.” He gestured toward the window, where a black-robed man held a knife pressed against a child’s throat.

“We don’t bargain with terrorists.” The words slipped out almost automatically, but as Jasper saw the pale face at the cottage window again, he knew they were a lie.

The assassin knew it too. “Now, now,” he said with a sneer, “You haven’t heard my conditions yet.” Hefting up his axe, he pointed it straight at S̆ams̆ādur. “We all know why I’m here. I won’t waste your time by demanding you just hand him over, but I’ll offer a compromise instead”

“Choose a champion to fight me. If you win, my men will let the children go, and if that’s not enough, you should know that with me dead, it will be a while before our leaders can send reinforcements. You’ll likely get a reprieve from your doom for a few months - what man wouldn’t want that,” he added, keeping his eyes glued on S̆ams̆ādur.

“And if you win? There’s more than three hundred of us - even if one of us fails, that’s no reason to hand over the prince,” Jasper pointed out.

“If I win, then there’s one less annoying mage to deal with when you inevitably pile on,” the man replied with a shrug. “Let’s face it, the prince is a mind mage who’s neutered himself, too afraid of his power to truly embrace it. Once I get rid of you and the girl, it’s only a matter of time before we harvest him.”

“That’s what all the shades were for,” Jasper realized with a muttered curse. His voice rose angrily as he continued. “You slaughtered an entire village just to drain our essence before the fight, didn’t you?”

“You can catch on quick,” the warrior mocked him. “But then wanna-be heroes like you are easy to manipulate. All you have to do is walk away. Save your skin. Leave the children to their fate. But you won't do that, will you,” he added with a cruel smile. “Oh, the leather their skin will provide will be so soft.”

“I’ll do it,” Jasper and Tsia spoke over each other, and the man chuckled.

“Of course you will.”

Ignoring the man's taunts, Jasper shook his head at Tsia. “I’ll do it,” he said firmly.

“But I have more essence-”

“I’ll do it,” he replied again, willing her to remember that he had something she did not, something that he did not wish to mention in front of the assassin. Sliding off Dappelgrim’s back, he drew his glaive out of his bag and approached the bastard. “But only on one condition, that your men come out of the cottage. Otherwise, you’ll just have them kill the children while we’re fighting to distract me, or something like that."

The man’s smile grew, his split lips forking to reveal a row of sharpened teeth. “You got me,” he said with a shrug. “But fine, why not? You’re going to lose anyway.” Placing his hand to his mouth, he emitted a piercing whistle. A few seconds passed before the door to the cottage opened, and seven black-garbed assassins filed out. “Satisfied,” he asked.

“Not really,” Jasper replied. “How do I know there aren’t more of your men in there?”

“That’s my offer, take it or leave it,” the assassin replied bluntly. "You can't expect me to give up all leverage."

Jasper pursed his lips unhappily, but after a moment’s hesitation, nodded his head. “I guess that will have to do. But, Tsia? If anything happens…”

“I’ll take care of them,” she promised.

With the terms resolved, Jasper approached the man of Mut-La’is with his glaive already.

The man watched with an amused smile as he approached. “How many spells you’ve got, mage. Two, three, left in you?” he jibed.

“More than you’d think,” he replied truthfully. Thanks to his earlier paranoia, while he was nowhere near full of essence, he wagered he had perhaps ten spells left in him. More importantly, though, he had an ace in his pocket. Taking a stand before the man, he lowered the glaive, pumping just a touch of essence into it to make the glyphs frost over. “Any last words,” he asked.

The man’s sneer dropped away, replaced by a look of pure hatred. “Ana Mut-La’is!” he roared, springing forward with a sudden lurch designed to catch Jasper off guard.

The axe thudded harmlessly into the ground as Jasper swayed to the side, and with a flick of his wrist, cast the spell he’d been holding. “Hand of Judgment.”