“I figured I would snag that broken arrow while you were distracted.” A smile played at the corner of Maven’s lips as she spoke. Vlad leaned on Areth as he gritted his teeth in response. Maven closed her eyes and moved her hands as if she was operating an invisible puppet. Her mouth formed words, but no sound escaped them. Maven opened her eyes with intensity and her irises, which would be white or black on a normal person, were white ringed with red. She was a blood mage and with each casting she performed, her irises would become more and more ringed with red until finally the white portions of her iris would disappear, and she would go insane or worse if she tried to use too much power at any given time. The blood flowing from his wound seemed to ignite and burn with a small heatless flame, and in moments, Vlad was able to put pressure back on his injured leg. Though it was not fully healed, the wound was no longer open or bleeding and more importantly, he knew it would not fester.
As Vlad tested his knee joint and stretched, Jenn joined the group. She was just as striking in appearance as Maven, but they had less in common than a stalk of grass and a tree trunk. Where Maven was striking for her muscular frame, Jenn was slight. Where Maven shown bright with her ivory skin and dark contrasting hair, Jenn glowed dark bronze with thinly braided black and blonde hair, and she was covered in tattoos common to her culture in the sun isles of the Southern waters of the Aurum Empire. Where Maven had red-lined irises, Jenn’s were purple.
“Lord Marshal.” She said with a curt nod, the nose ring chain connected to her ear chimed with the movement.
“Jenn, can you sense any mage power outside of Maven?”
Jenn nearly froze as her eyes closed and she reached into the veil in search of Source. She remained unmoving, arms by her side, palms down as if she were trying to push off from the earth somehow. Her full mage attire was striking, by comparison, to the armor of Vlad, Areth, and Maven. Dark layers of cloth draped upon her shoulders that cascaded below her knees, matching her cowl that swathed and nearly hid her entire face and hair in the shadows. She shuddered and opened her eyes before speaking again. The purest purple of an amethyst set upon by the sun itself ringed her silver irises – her eyes always caught Vlad off guard.
“I can sense another mage, but only vaguely. I taste smoke, like the staleness of a campfire in the air that has long since burned out.”
“So, it is a fire-elemental mage, huh? Can you confirm where it is?” Maven stepped up to ask.
“It may be a fire-elemental, but something seems off. The energy seems to be coming from inside the city, but the city is not big. So, it is either a weak mage with little control over their Source or they’re masking it somehow.”
“You can mask your Source?” Vlad asked, concerned.
“Not that I know of, but it seems purposefully dulled somehow. It is hard to explain.” She nodded to Maven for agreement.
“Not that I know of either. If this mage can somehow pull off masking itself then it is strong, and neither Jenn nor I will be of much use to you.”
“Well, that is reassuring.” Vlad stated with distaste.
“Didn’t you say that you did not want to take the city as easily as you took Fynalon.” Areth posed sarcastically.
“Always one to throw my own statements back in my face, huh?”
“Always!” Areth purred as he followed Vlad and both mages towards their meeting with the city ruler.
“His Lordship, Rhuminor Dyro, son of Dyro Tazosad, son of the great conqueror Tazosad Bosriah, welcomes you to his palace. He is preparing to greet you shortly, I assure you.”
“I do so apologize but his Lordship is Lording over nothing more than this palace currently. He understands this, no?” Vlad’s Northosian was rough but much improved after ten years of campaigns on the continent. The different dialects still troubled him, and he gathered he would never be able to speak it without a thick Azhuran accent, but it worked for what he needed to accomplish.
“I am sure that is not the case. You must be mistaken, Master…”
“Field Marshal Vlad, and I am no Master.”
“Sorry, Commoner Vlad, but I am sure you are mistaken, no? We have guards stationed all over the city, much like the group that brought you into the palace to meet with his Lordship, Rhuminor Dyro, son of…”
“Let me stop you there.” Vlad’s sword was now drawn and pointed toward the man who Vlad assumed had to be the court Jester at this point. “Look out that window. Go on, I will not stab you in the back.” The man hesitantly moved towards the opening, pulling the curtains back. “I am sure what you see are thrashed gates, unmanned battlements, and streets swimming in armor. The sunlight glints off of the gold-plated warriors as they move to and fro outside your precious little palace. Do I sound mistaken now?”
“I-I-I must be…” He spluttered as he took a seat on the floor with his head in his hands. “His Lordship assured us that we would be protected and that we would win. He locked himself in there days ago, telling us he had a plan.” He pointed towards the double set of doors they stood in front of currently.
“You are protected. Protected by one of the Kings of Northos, whichever one paid us to squash the rebellion that your lordship instigated by refusing to pay taxes. There are too many Kings these days to keep up with. Just open the door. Make this buffoon pay for his mistakes, instead of you. No more Northosian blood needs to be spilled today.” The two guards who brought Vlad and his compatriots up the stairs and into the palace had been shadowing the movements of the so-called greeter. One of them tossed a key to Vlad as he threw down his helmet and spear. Before he could start removing his chest plate, the other soldier, a minotaur with clipped horns, also threw his spear down while huffing strongly through his nostrils. Once the rulers of Aurum, minotaur’s had nearly been driven extinct by humans and elves in the great wars.