Chapter 129: Volume 3 - CH 5.5

“Tonitrus!”

Up swung the silverstaff, down showered the levin-shafts; a stampede of pillars rampaging right my way.

I threw myself aside in an instant, and in the next, witnessed numberless flashes slashing through where I once stood. Air burned white, earth smouldered black. In my ears: the cackle of electricity. In my nose: a stench like sweet, seared iron.

Tonitrus—one of the basic magicks, but mastered by Felicia unto a fatal monstrosity. Its speed, its spite, all surpassed dauntingly aught a common caster could ever dare. In that briefest of moments, whilst illumined by the lurching levin, my thoughts turned to the 5th’s Sorcery Brigade.

With the war effort whipped to a fever following the recapture of Mt. Godrika, the 5th saw then a sudden influx of new personnel. Days of late found the Sorcery Brigade burgeoned to five divisions, each helmed by lieutenants of genuine ability. But high above them all loomed their leader: the brigadier, mightiest of the 5th’s sorcerers.

That very soul was afore me now: Felicia, a lieutenant at sixteen years of age, a brigadier at seventeen. For two years thereafter did she hold fast her position, her youth yielding not a seam in her supremacy. Though she’d long stood in the shadow of Emilie’s heroic strength, no mistake was to be made: my sister was a prodigy without peer.

All magick-apt recruits learn first the Globus Igneus spell. Felicia was no different. Only, she’d conjured hers to thrice the size of her senior’s example—to this very day, an episode fresh in the minds of the 5th.

A sister full-bloomed from bud to flower-field… Perhaps I ought rejoice.

Or perhaps not.

For over her skyward staff now floated a flaming sphere: fearsome and phenomenal, a veritable sun sent down to this plane…

“Globus Igneus!”

…to immolate this mortal unto embers.

—Gwofh!

The fireball flew. The air rippled. A glimpse of its magma-red mantles gave away an affrighting truth: this spell’s fivefold size belied an odyllic density manyfold more tremendous.

Struck by such strength, I tumbled away in terror… only to find myself aface yet another sphere—Felicia’s twice-incanted trap was sprung. Caught in the ensuing explosion, blows burned and blasted at every facet of my body as I was thrown through the air. Into the dust I crashed, and laid there scorched and soiled, limp and lifeless, a sight formerly witnessed many a time upon the training grounds of the 5th.

…Such was the scenario scribed in my sister’s mind. “Felicia’s infallible offence”, she might’ve fancied it. How utterly wide her eyes went, then, when they beheld instead not her brother in flight—

“Humgh!”

—but his black hewer plunging into the heat of her flames.

Boom!

Hiss.

…Hush.

Hot winds coldened unto calm. Snuffed was the summoned sun. Felicia’s fivefold sphere of flames—twained to naught by a single, sooted sword.

“What…?” she gasped, ill-tracing what’d transpired afore her eyes.

The look of sound astonishment—and chance. Seizing it, I speed through the distance between us, bearing the blackblade low.

“Ah—ech!” Felicia stammered. Only half a second now separated us, but alas: my sister sooner snapped from her confoundment and scrambled forth another spell. “F-Flagrāns Vallum!”

Bright fences of flame unfurled right afore my face, barring my warpath. With a stamp, I halted—“Szyah!”—and sheared straightway through the blaze, only to find in its extinguished wake my quarry gone from sight. Quickly I began to scan about, but no sooner did a sound then strike my ears.

“A ruse…?” began a breathless murmur. “Is this some ruse you play?”

There, from many paces away to the side stood a freshly fled Felicia, gasping and glaring at me as though haunted. To which I readied not words, but my weapon once more.

“Some sleight of the sword?” her doubting continued. “My spells… snuffed from all sight?”

“If such be what your eyes’ve seen, then best start believing them—soon,” I answered at last.

“N-no!” my sister cried. “A bald lie! I’ll not believe it…!”

“Then why the fear? The flight?” I said, ever slowly stepping closer. “Come—meet my blade. Your precious paling ought shield you, shouldn’t it?”

“This can’t be…” she muttered again, incredulous, “…it cannot…”

Never have I liked such a line. The “impossibles”, the “this-can’t-be’s”—mere admissions to an unimaginative mind, oft spewed by the more pious of the population. Lambs, doubting adamantly aught they deem deviant from their shepherd’s designs, sooner seeing a hill for its grasses than the wolves prowling its slopes.

Naught but escapism, I say. But that Felicia herself had fallen victim to that same vice… As her brother, a pity.

…But for her opponent, an opportunity.

I bolted forth again, keen to close the distance before my mark could snap out of her stupor.

But too late: “Hht!” she gulped, flourishing fast her silverstaff. “Feriēns Flagrum!!”

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Shrieking now against the air: a geyser-whip of grinding waters. By Felicia’s might, it looked ready to rend through rock and armour alike—and make mush of an ungraced, given chance. Halting, I steadied myself and my nerves, and facing the scything surge, sent against it the sword of soot.

There: the spell’s angle of attack, aimed not at my neck, but my ankles—seeming proof that not yet had my sister mustered the resolve to reckon with her brother. But for her, it served well enough. Having forced her foe to pause and tame the torrential whip, once again was Felicia able to flee all danger.

“Gh…” she panted from afar, watching her waters unravel against my sword. “…Brother!”

At a loss for words, she puckered her sweat-beaded brows. Fatigue seemed to have set in, but not on account of consecutive spellcasts, no. More likely that a weariness was weighing heavily on her mind, with much thought spun to grasp this absurd situation.

“What… what is this? How…?” she pressed with broken breaths, but again I dared not an answer, choosing instead to study the distance between us. In so doing, I caught a clearer glimpse of her distress: the countenance of a cornered mark. Yet reality knew a different score, for in truth, not once had I gained her enough to attempt an offence.

Ever am I disposed to the counterattack, but such proved small avail against a capable spellweaver. Here, my sword was my sole weapon, the game of cat-and-mouse my sole recourse—one finding my foe free to fire upon me at pleasure.

There must be a better way. But what? Likely would I be pinned down, and very soon. Forced into error, nailed by a direct blow—my fast defeat, then and there. Exhausting my mark’s stores of odyl was one idea, but worthy only against the stock sorcerer. No, Felicia’s reserves were unfathomable; a waiting game against her would dig my early grave.

The chase it was, then. Begrudgingly, I crept forth, scraping my soles against the gravel and glaring at the gap between us.

“‘What is this,’ I said! Explain at once!!” shouted Felicia, soured by my silence.

“Explain what?” I returned. “Clean up your questions, will you?”

“My spells…! Severed by your sword! How!?”

“You’ve said it yourself, haven’t you? I severed—snuffed them out of sight.”

“…Gh!!” Her face reddened with rage. A sincere response from a soul most sincere since her earliest days. Indeed, ever was my sister easily thwarted by guile and negotiation. Of course, never have I wished her rather grown to a more cynical and scrying sibling, but to see her so handily heated by a few words well-stoked my worries.

Not that worrying for her was any right of mine. No longer, anyway.

“Quit your japery!” Felicia cried back. “You’ve no such strength! None! None at all!”

With a twirl, she then held her staff forward and flat, calling unto herself accretions of odyl from all around. The air in their courses coldened unto clouds of diamond dust, glittering and dancing. A stance of artistry—and a favourite of Felicia’s.

“Glārea Pruīnae!!”

At once, the cold collected into fist-thick hunks of floating hail. Summoning five was already a feat, yet my eyes sighted a greater count: ten—nay, even more so. Rapid chirps next pierced the air. They had bolted, speedy blurs now bound for my midst.

Whether inspired by preference or perception, Felicia’s was a shrewd hand to have sent the Glārea Pruīnae against a foe such as I. Sundering spells was my winning card; not without swinging the svǫrtaskan could it be played. Then perhaps her mind was to employ a spell unanswerable by swordsmanship. Not a flying ball of fire nor a bulwark of flames, but veritable gunne-stones of ice, smaller and many in number, fired all at once to pin down her prey.

But just as my sister was no stock sorcerer, so was I no stock swordsman. With scant time left, I stood poised, taking up the low guard and locking my gaze upon the line of fire. Eschewing focus upon any one missile, I took them all instead for a single flock, that I might scry the mind behind their movements.

Twelve. That was their count. Eight were aimed elsewhere, to strike me in my escape—or root me down for the remnant four.

So be it. Daring no motion, I immediately emptied my lungs and eased my every sinew. Only a slice of a second now till contact, a meagre span for the preparation to follow. But I could not panick. Not here. A misstep and I’d be blasted to bits. Taming my nerves, I relaxed the last lengths of my body and melded my mind into the very air about me.

…

..

.

…Done.

In my eyes: ice, flickering in reflection.

In my body: sinews, surging asudden.

In the air: the sword of soot, soaring.

“Hhhupf!!”

—Kkhaakkhnn!

A shriek of shattered ice. Four tones in tight unison. Struck out of the air by the blackblade, the halved hailstones dissipated into a fine mist. Beyond it was Felicia’s form, standing stunned. Assailed by one absurdity after another, hers seemed a mind scarce caught up to the moment. The feeling was mutual, to be frank, as still was I reeling from our reunion here at the horntip of Londosius.

A reunion not of love and levity, but violence…

Or perhaps I ought see the silver lining, instead. “A life in want of certainty at least never wants for excitement.” Yes. A jolly motto to follow.

…Nay.

Such naïveté ill-lives in so wicked a world.

Stung again by the mercilessness of Man’s machinations, I instinctively clenched the sword of soot with renewed resolve.

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