Lure O' War (The Old Realms)

mentioned in this chapter.

Lord Lidagulis the 'eyeless' - An Alafern elderblood

Ruanakoh - An influential Aken, one of the Sarco-Carasta generals. Suharto's rival in the war council.

Purbaseq - An Aken official and bonemancer out of Galith missing for a century whilst on a diplomatic mission to the Alafern.

Nagrudoh - A low-ranking Aken Bonemancer travelling the outer teritories

Vorgakoh - An Aken exploler and merchant operating in the former Kaletha Triarchy lands

Ivasaar

The tale of Ivasaar & Rikkusa

Part II

-Is anybody in?-

Around 119 years later

-

RRRRRREEEE

You're too old for me.

EARRD?

No.

LEEAEERRR

I meant fuck off.

Bully.

Bank right.

Hard.

Down… down… down.

Watch the sand dune's peak.

SHITE!

Twist midair and fire in the blind.

Crash right through.

Ka-blam!

Lots of sand.

In the eyes and ears.

Up the darn nostrils.

In the mouth and esophagus.

Turned to glass shards in teeth!

Crunchy.

Roll.

Screw roll, just bounce off of the ground.

Plop.

There you go girl!

Leap high.

RRRRREEEAHT

Something stuck in your throat?

Nope.

Here comes Momrir.

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP

Sore loser!

Yelp, I'm on fire baby!

LEEAARR!

Find the chasm in the blasted rocks!

The chasm.

GAAAHHH!

Ouch.

Is that Lidagulis guards?

How did you get past the mountains?

Still tumbling.

Coming through! Nothing to look for here lads!

Look away freaks!

Shit.

Argh.

Gulp.

Argh.

Stay the fuck away.

LEEARR!

Back off!

What's that?

Want to try it skinny dude?

Dick for brains?

Eh?

And the blind shall see?

Ouch.

Leap high.

….

Come on. Uh!

….

Eah.

….

Fuck it.

Run baby run!

TO THE TREES!

Squeeze through them trunks.

Oops! There it goes. TIMBER!

Argh, what's with the blasted arm?

Damn it.

I can see the bone.

Find the water.

Desert dudes hate it.

Keep moving. Get away.

Stupid Mormir! Horny sack of cack!

Coward!

Are you fucking kidding me?

A Hydra.

Race you?

Here, have some fire to warm your legs!

Spit-spastic lizard!

Gods and demons.

I hate my life!

-

The massive basin and region around the Midlake, hugged by the Desert Wall Range

3298 IC

Abandoned village near the ruins of Uherfort

Kaletha Triarchy

Ivasaar carefully positioned himself on the partially-collapsed rooftop, keenly observing the movements of the constructs clustered near the guard post at the castle gates right along the central road. The Aken loomed above them, perched behind the tower's parapets, also scrutinizing their actions. Ruakanoh, donning a wide straw hat to shield himself from the blazing sun, rested both arms on his staff, his painted white skin gleaming like marble from afar.

Not every construct under him was his and more than half were there against their will, under the watchful eyes of his soldiers. Their owners were willing to discuss the matter, those that could be reached, but some had no owners at all and were just trying to blend in.

Or slip away.

Like Marisha.

Ivasaar grimaced and moved towards the chasm on the roof to jump down a floor. He landed with a thud and rolled to a knee coming to a stop. Then Ivasaar got up and walked towards the stairs to reach the first floor of the abandoned hostel he used as his forward base.

Marisha, the Issir-looking female construct, was standing outside the destroyed door, but under the hostel's porch and watched the gathering as well.

"What is Ruakanoh doing here?" He asked her and she turned around to look at him with one black and one blue eye. Ivasaar had never asked her where she had found the blue eye and it had been years since she had lost the original.

You got to respect the other folk boundaries, whatever creature that other folk might be.

"Lots of Aken officials haven't reported back," she replied in terrible Imperial, but at least she was making an effort and Ivasaar appreciated that. "Purbaseq and Nagrudoh especially."

Purbaseq was Marisha's old master of sorts.

Bonemancers looking for coin frequently sold their constructs to other Aken. It was a good business back in Galith if you had the stomach for it. They just pseudo-tethered the construct to the new owner, it was just a simple command as Marisha had explained, but when the original Bonemancer died, the construct was freed. In this case Purbaseq had been lost in a different quest than Vorgakoh, the latter one of the explorers venturing away from the distant Galith and Marisha's owner. When Purbaseq died or something, Marisha had freed herself slitting Vorgakoh's throat in his sleep.

Some parts of him she had destroyed completely, others she dined on –again Ivasaar had refrained from asking. In the end Marisha made sure to leave no trace of him behind and then she fled to Irde, where they had first eventually met a while back.

It had taken old Eelco a very long time to trust her.

"Any of Purbaseq's own over there?"

"Not that I learned," Marisha replied blankly. "They wouldn't say."

"Yeah," Ivasaar sucked at his lower lip and stared at her. "You think he might stay around? Search the village even? They kind of blocked access to the castle already."

"He'll probably head to the lake. There's talk of a Hydra nesting there. If she breeds, the younglings might spread out looking for a place to nest, find the river's sources and swim towards Ikete."

"Aha," Ivasaar wasn't fond of Hydras, or very large beasts in general. Smaller beasts too, but those you learn to navigate with time. "What's the other option?"

"They might be worried about the Alafern making a foray beyond the mountains," Marisha replied. "They can use the bones pretty well. Learn things. Blood too. Mostly blood."

Of course.

"Right."

"The Desert Gates are well guarded," Marisha explained. "But they could always try a longer route."

"What about the peace talks?" Ivasaar asked. "Whatever happened there?"

"I didn't ask," Marisha replied.

"Well, given that it's been over a century since Purbaseq made the attempt, I guess the discussion went poorly? Even by Zilan standards that's a lot of time to wait for an answer or the return of your envois."

"Not for the Alafern," Marisha said and gestured for him to get back inside the hostel. "They sent a Zugruk this way," she told him. "The big guy?"

"Yep. Saw him. He stood out," the Zilan retorted wryly.

Ivasaar went inside to wear his weapon harness. He grabbed the fire-pipe as well, the local name was harquebus, a museum mystical local weapon Ivasaar had taken from Ikete. The Zilan had only used it once, after he'd primed the matchlock and lit it using a lightstone before pulling the trigger. The barrel had flew from his hands, the stock mauled his chest and his shot had gone astray to say the least. Eelco had told him that despite many attempts to reproduce the weapon, no working copies had been made and the few that sort of worked, they had eventually murdered their users after exploding.

Still, given the shock effect and mysterious but obvious potential, Ivasaar had opted to take the weapon with him and had initially used Eelco's late donkey as the designated 'black powder' carrier, after trading him two good horses for it.

Hadn't used it since.

"Hey," Marisha asked when they went inside. "You want to copulate?"

Ivasaar grimaced. "Sure, but it's kind of dangerous given the timing and all?"

"Um," she gave a shrug and walked towards an old chair to sit down.

"You know, we could arrange something for later," Ivasaar told her and she nodded without any emotion. Marisha wasn't bothered easily by stuff. Or anything. There was a reason for it and it had to do with the Mancer-magic used in her creation, but again Ivasaar had opted not to dig into it too much. Sex was nice, but the physical part was only half the fun for a Zilan and travelling into her head was pretty scary.

Hadn't done it again, other than that first time and it had been years since.

"The commander's barn collapsed last night," Marisha told him.

It was a building behind the old commander's place, a nice two story house.

"Didn't notice it when I returned this morning," Ivasaar said and went to check on the Zugruk. He had stopped near the first houses unsure on what to do. "I could check it out."

"Some of it is still standing. It has rats living in the hay," she told him dispassionately, but he could read her well enough by now.

Marisha was hungry, but also too scared to go out there alone. "I can hunt something nice later by the lake. Proper food," Ivasaar told her. "But I'll look around. Just stay safe."

"Nobody's is safe," Marisha replied and stood up. "Leave out of the back. I'll watch the road."

Ivasaar sneaked out of the abandoned hostel, crossed the side street after checking the corner for the Zugruk, and then hurried to the 'commander's place', where the old local official resided. Not the military officer in charge of the Castle's garrison, but the civilian authority of Uherfort. Just behind the brick building with the nice balconies was a barn and a stable. The barn, an elongated rectangular structure, was used as storage once upon a time with its more distant north-facing side playing the role of a blacksmith's workshop. The large chimney above the stone furnace had somehow survived the collapse, but two of the sides of the structure had partially come down –the south and east- with the corner –north and west sides- still standing, and effectively supporting the whole structure.

Half the roof had crumbled down also, with bricks and debris exploding outwards almost ten meters around the impact site.

The Zilan paused at the gaping chasm unsure on what exactly had happened to the building. It looked as if something had struck its southeast corner and half-blew two of the walls down, leaving a gaping hole behind. Ivasaar turned his head back following the trajectory of the 'missile' or 'meteorite' and noticed a round missing part of the main building's tiled roof lining up perfectly almost, as if something had clipped the first building before hitting the barn.

Bizarre, he thought and reached for a crossbow he carried on his back, next to a spear, a sword and the harquebus. Walking gingerly further inside the large barn –it extended for at least forty meters lengthwise with about half that for width- the Zilan armed the crossbow using a bolt from a quiver hanged from his two belts' left side. Ivasaar had also a small haversack over his right shoulder, in this custom heavy rig made out of various parts and tools he'd discovered over the years. The rest of his belongings were with the horses and the mule that wore the donkey's old saddle.

The Zilan hadn't had the time to unpack after he'd returned from exploring Eagle's Nest Peak to the east.

Parts of the old saddle anyways, Ivasaar thought and raised the crossbow towards the shaded part of the barn –and partially covered by the remaining roof- with a quick glance further inside at the square open furnace and the gaping large chimney over it that shot towards the ceiling. Something shattered beneath his boot, a fractured porcelain jug –ancient as dirt, causing Ivasaar to halt in surprise as the desert wind whipped against his back. It stirred up old yellow hay and gray dust, howled within the confines of the massive chimney, and even caused the heavy shadows on the west side of the building to shift ominously.

First the mind plays tricks on you and then the brain picks up on the frequency.

A weird scratching sound.

Ivory spikes on brick.

Whoosh went something, cutting against the air, as his ears turned even more sensitive to all sounds.

What are you? Ivasaar wondered and asked with a hint of razz.

"Is anybody in?"

Shush, a rough female voice said in his mind.

"Who is this?" Ivasaar asked snapping his eyes towards the shades dominating half the barn.

Over there, the voice crackled and the Zilan recoiled feeling magic leaking from the walls, out of the dirt floor.

The Squire… of Midnight.

"What in Luthos' old turd? I fucking hate this place man!" Ivasaar cursed, his long ears moving independently to catch every new sound and fresh hints of other creepy noises. The air whizzed around him, a ball of hay rolled down the empty road just out of his peripheral vision raising a small dust cloud and its smell carried the hint of rust, blood and brimstone.

The chimney… the voice added sounding disappointed and weirdly sassy.

Uh? Ivasaar grimaced, curling his lip upwards.

Blasted idiot.

"You expect me to fall for that?" Ivasaar snapped, but his ogling eyes darted towards the furnace and the gaping hole of the massive chimney over –it reached out of the roof to a height of at least ten meters- and caught sight of an arm coming out of the darkness as if to taste its surroundings afore retracting inside.

Holly shit, the Zilan flinched and swung the crossbow towards the furnace, turning his torso and the empty shades facing him came to life. A lot of the shades, from the corner's edge and extending well over ten meters across the wall. Ivasaar paused mid-move and pivoted the other way again, the crossbow turning as parts of a scaly body appeared out of the darkness. Red and sandy yellow, with touches of white. A whipping sound cut through the air, just as the hidden wyvern's head materialized and Ivasaar let out of a manly yelp escape his chest.

The next moment, the crossbow got smacked out of his hands and crashed on the half-collapsed wall over his right shoulder. Ivasaar dived after it, noise exploding as the massive creature unglued itself from the shaded west wall of the barn, talons digging at the floor as it gracefully turned its elongated body inwards to bring its scaly, adorned with three white horns, wedge-shaped head towards the retreating Zilan.

Fucking hells! A wild wyvern! A panicked Ivasaar thought dropping the cracked crossbow to reach for the spear as he turned to face the wagon-sized head, the fast-moving wyvern's moist nostrils bumping his chest hard to send him flaying backwards and onto the crumbling wall.

LEEARRRRR

The winged beast trumpeted over him as Ivasaar got up with his teeth clenched tightly in a manic snarl and his cock shriveling. He still had the spear and thought about taking a chance to pluck a yellow slit dragon-eye out, but noticed the hovering scaly tail over the wyvern's angular horned cranium and just blurted with a tensed gasp.

"Good girl."

He had taken a calculated guess.

The beast paused, huge nostrils blowing hot air on the Zilan's sweaty face and then those mauve lips pulled back to offer the grimacing Ivasaar a gnarly smile. A wall of black teeth and the heavy smell of brimstone greeted him in a disconcerting yet earnest manner.

You… heard me.

Is it the ears rabbit-like creature?

Ivasaar forced his distorted from the tension face to relax and dropped the spear that clattered down next to the crossbow.

"I am a stranded Zilan currently freelancing as an unpaid adventurer," he croaked in Imperial in the weirdest half-grimace half-grin ever pulled off by a Zilan in distress. "An Aniculo Rokae enthusiast."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The Wyvern pulled back her monstrous head and made to raise a clawed forelimb, but failed with a pained growl. Ivasaar noticed she had suffered considerable damage to her right membranous wing and elbow, while showing signs of heavy burns on the strange elongated lizard torso. Some blackened by fire, others melted by acid.

Need... to move.

The beast's voice said and then leaped backwards, her nimble body turning to pass through the ceiling's opening. In an instant she had disappeared from sight.

"Fuck me," Ivasaar gasped still shivering from the shock of the encounter and heard the wyvern landing outside. With a grunt he sprung to action again. He stooped to pick up his spear and cast a glance at the now empty chimney over the ancient furnace, before rushing outside after the fast relocating winged beast.

The Wyvern was heading for the palm and date trees copse behind the barn, right where the road parallel to the main street ended.

"Wait," the heavy breathing Ivasaar called after the very agile wyvern. "I can help you," he added, coming to a halt when the wyvern snapped her horned head around, moving her long neck backwards, but with her scaled torso still facing away from him.

LEEAARRR?

"Yeah," Ivasaar nodded, assuming they were in agreement.

The wyvern snorted and translated sassily.

Zugruk.

Ivasaar ogled sideways, half-turning similarly to the wyvern and spotted the four-armed Orc, clad in heavy armour stare at them blankly. The Zilan blinked to clear his hurting head and a presumed hallucination, but the dangerous behemoth was still standing there. Just the single-edged chopper the construct wielded in one of his four beefy arms, weighted at least seven kilos and he had three of them. He used the free fourth hand to scratch at his genitals.

Ivasaar breathed out and raised his left arm in greeting.

"Zilan," the Zugruk said in a surprisingly coherent manner, but horrible Imperial. He'd pronounced it 'Zaelan' which still didn't beat late Eelco's 'Zoolan'. "And a wyvern," the construct added, proving a lot of Imperial info and war tales to be a bunch of bullshit, since they insisted the big Aken constructs were completely brain-dead.

"My wyvern. I'm Ivasaar, a wyvern rider visiting from Wetull," Ivasaar corrected him, which was rather presumptuous of him and the Orc/Ogre hybrid stood back surprised.

"This is… absurdly improbable," the Zugruk murmured gutturally and Ivasaar realized he wasn't talking with the construct but with its handler.

"General Ruakanoh," Ivasaar guessed again. "Wetull sent me to propose a renewal of the treaties."

"Hah…hah, apologies… found it rather amusing… ah, and my constructs…. Haha, they have no sense of humor usually," the Zugruk guffawed. "You caught me… unawares."

"What is so amusing?" Ivasaar queried curling his lip.

"Ahm, Wetull is long gone Zilan. Sunk into the ocean, or burned by fires," Ruakanoh told him through the hideously smirking Zugruk. "Whatever your mission was it holds now no importance, if you're telling the truth that is. By the way, your beast is a bit too roughed up. A rare find."

Ivasaar was too stunned to respond to him.

"You see, when one of the two signatories… auspiciously ceases to exist," Ruakanoh remarked in the voice of the Zugruk construct. "The contract becomes null and void."

As in response to his words the Zugruk blinked, slowly shook his head, and then began to advance towards the astonished Zilan. He took two large strides down the dirt path when a searing fireball, as large as a wagon wheel, detonated against his chest with immense force, scattering melting pieces of armor, charred body parts, and boiling intestines all over the place.

The backlash from the explosion that had just incinerated the Zugruk was so powerful, a dazed Ivasaar was thrown backwards a full five meters, nearly cracking his skull against the barn's wall.

"Gaah!" Ivasaar cried out and opened his blurry eyes, his eyebrows singed and face-skin hurting, only to yelp in horror seeing the wyvern's mouth snapping shut before his face. "What?"

I thought… you died.

The wyvern explained and took a step back.

"Eh… no? Wait… were you just going to eat me?" Ivasaar asked, still rattled from everything that had happened in a day after twenty years of 'relatively' quiet exploring the lands by himself.

LEEEEARRR!

The Wyvern roared and then snorted loudly.

"I don't know what that means," Ivasaar said after a long dragging moment.

Heal… you claimed, the wyvern said in his mind, changing the subject.

"I've made healing potions," Ivasaar replied with a frown of suspicion. "They are in my bag. I might need one as well."

Forget about you. Will they work?

"Do you have a name?"

First… heal the girl. Name or date her… after.

Whoa… you're a lively one, he thought.

Ivasaar reached to unhook his leather bag that had just taken a beating and dropped it down to search for the vials.

"It might take a while," he explained with a grunt. "And probably taste like shit."

Worse than Hydra's flesh?

"Eh, never eaten a Hydra before," a grossed out Ivasaar admitted and uncorked the vial. "I'll reach inside and pour it in your mouth. Keep it open. Do not close those jaws," he added warningly.

-

Three hours later

Ivasaar left the healing wyvern inside the woods and taken a roundabout route in order to return to the ancient hostel. He looked to avoid Ruakanoh sending more zombie-soldiers after him, because the Zilan didn't exactly know how the Aken worked.

'Be careful… come nightfall long ears,' the injured wyvern had cautioned him before she got completely knocked out by Ivasaar's potions and started half-snoring half-whistling in her stupor. She'd managed to drink all five small vials –plus a bottle of old wine he'd kept in there for a special occasion, and this has left the rattled from the blast Zilan adventurer a little frustrated. In his attempt to locate the proper ingredients for the healing potions, Ivasaar's efforts had taken him to the distant city of Ikete where he'd no plans to return anytime soon.

The days were long near the shores of Mistland but then the nights also got longer once you headed further south. He spotted Riscor, one of the freed constructs living in Uherfort, talking with a dark-skinned soldier –a Nerot- and cursed under his breath. They were standing on the porch, just before the hostel's open doors.

Ivasaar grimaced and searched about the empty main street for more constructs, but nothing was moving except at the gates of the castle about three hundred meters away. So he tip-toed to the corner of the larger building, glanced at the sun now on its final descent in the sky, and tried to eavesdrop on the two constructs conversation. Riscor was the one facing his way, but he hadn't seen the Zilan cross the street, as Riscor's sole eye suffered from a case of deteriorating cataract and his vision was poor.

"What happened to Purbaseq?" The soldier asked, Ruakanoh that is did, the fidgety Riscor.

"She knows," Riscor replied.

Who? Oh, you sneaky 'n rotten piece of shite!

"Let me speak to Nagrudoh," the soldier insisted.

"He's sleeping," Riscor argued, talking of his own master, another low-level Bonemancer long dead by now. "Still recovering from a Lamia attack."

Look at you lying to save your skin. Fucking ruffian!

"Um. Marisha is freed it seems, though she hides it cleverly and I fear she has murdered Vorgakoh," Ruakanoh said using the mouth of the Nerot soldier. "If she came from Irde as you claim, then Purbaseq is gone also and she's completely unshackled."

"That's uncomfortable," Riscor commented, himself a freed construct and quite murderous in his ways. "A tragedy."

Ivasaar got on the porch and walked towards them hefting the warspear. Riscor saw him approach and a tick appeared on his teary right eye, but said nothing to warn the soldier.

Once a double-faced cretin, always a cretin, the furious Ivasaar thought.

"I'll know more soon, the moment the soldiers return from finding the darn wyvern. We had a blasted incident—" the Nerot's words were violently cut short with a deep shudder. The Zilan's steel spear tip had exploded out of the construct's upper left zygomatic bone with a gush of fluids and gore. Most of the blood, brain matter and bone fragments had doused the creepily unperturbed Riscor, who just slowly raised his hand to wipe the worst of it from his face. A large piece of bloody brain had remained stuck on the construct's forehead.

"I don't wish conflict," Riscor told the tense Zilan, who stomped on the shuddering Nerot's back to detach the spear from its distorted cranium, bringing the Aken soldier down in the process.

"Stay back," Ivasaar warned. "At least watch the street for more of them. Don't just stand there like a plinth!"

"What if they sneak up on me?" Riscor asked, turning around to look at the empty street. "You did."

"How about you make the effort," Ivasaar grunted. He then flipped the body around with his foot and plunged the spear into the construct's chest with both hands. "Ugh, fuck it. You're right. Ahm… help me bring him inside and then chop up into pieces."

"It's not my problem," Riscor argued dispassionately.

"Dude, I just heard you rat out Marisha," Ivasaar growled irate.

"Yes," Riscor agreed torpidly, not seeing the connection or importance of it.

"They are going to hurt her," Ivasaar snapped and signed for him to grab the Nerot's legs to bring it inside the hostel.

"They will," Riscor agreed again not really appearing too-bothered about it. He wasn't. "For sure," he added and finally moved to help the scowling Zilan.

"Cut the legs," Ivasaar ordered whilst sawing the construct's neck with a dagger to sever the head, but saw that Riscor had finished with the feet and had already moved towards the knees, with the help of Milatar's old navy axe. "Right. You're pretty good at butchering for a lily-livered cretin," he noticed wryly.

"Picked it up with time. Give me an incapacitated opponent and I can cut him up pretty fast. By the way it's useless. What we're doing. Just crash the head," Riscor said, but kept chopping up the Nerot with enthusiasm just the same.

"Eh, we could stop," Ivasaar offered.

"Some good meat on him still," Riscor argued and continued hacking. "Tastes funny because of the chemicals and partial necrosis, but it cooks nice if you're concerned."

The Zilan grimaced in disgust and got up. He looked for a towel to wipe the foul gore from his hands and not finding anything at the near, he walked towards his saddlebags to check there. The animals were parked behind the hostel, near the kitchen's door.

"Can we approach the castle during the night?" He asked Riscor who had moved on to the soldier's arms now, making a pile of the better body parts next to the bloody floor.

"They know something happened and they were already spooked. Best to leave the hostel," Riscor replied and gathered everything in his shirt after he took it off. "Can I keep the axe?"

"No. You'll help me rescue Marisha from Ruakanoh," Ivasaar snapped angrily.

"The Sarco-Carasta is on a mission, he won't leave. Forget about her," Riscor replied dispassionately. "Can I have her horse?"

"That's a… fuck no. What mission?"

"They didn't tell me. Wasn't too interested to learn," Riscor replied. "You ask the wrong query and you may find yourself speaking with a Bonemancer instead of a stupid soldier."

Aha.

Still, you are a sneaky motherfucker.

"Cut the crap. Get it out you cretin!" Ivasaar growled.

"Something with the Alafern. They got a reply or something. But they are worried about Purbaseq's fate," Riscor said and went to look outside. "They might send someone to investigate. You severed the connection and I'm a witness to what happened," he stared at the butchered soldier with a numb expression. As if it had just dawned on him this would be impossible to explain away. "Ah. I need to leave. Um."

"You won't go anywhere. Purbaseq is dead right?"

"Only Marisha can verify that."

Ivasaar grimaced. "If she does, it'll be a death sentence?"

"Only if she had been naughty. So it depends," Riscor replied.

"Help me and I'll give you a horse and weapons," Ivasaar offered.

"You can't best twenty Nerot, even if the Zugruk has been killed," Riscor said and smiled. "I can't fight. I won't. I'm not a violent person," he added still holding the bloody package wrapped with his shirt.

You are a gutless fucking zombie with half-a-brain.

Brutal by nature.

"I don't need you to," Ivasaar replied and unhooked the harquebus to load it. Always a tricky thing, a slow dangerous process that could go either way. "I'll bring reinforcements."

-

Some hours later

Night time

Uherfort's main gates

Just avoid the Aken, Ivasaar thought. Slip past the Nerot.

They had moved the horses out of the village and had approached the castle's walls from the southwest. Ivasaar left Riscor behind and walked fast under the heavy shade, the darkness thicker near the thick stone walls, until he reached the southeast corner of the castle half an hour later. The sun had already set for over an hour by that time and the two moons lit up the sky, but not enough for the soldiers to spot him moving near the walls. Crossing the dry moat had been the most difficult part, as he'd used the south bridges supports near the closed south gates to manage it and someone could have spotted him from above.

No one did.

As a matter of fact, no soldier moved on the parapets that he could see. The east gates, facing the nearby village's buildings, were still open and the drawbridge lowered. The mechanism probably had stopped working at some point.

No guards at the gates or at the barbican. Ivasaar moved cautiously, listening for noises, but other than the eerie creaking of metal, the rusty chains stirring at the portcullis, and the soft breeze whistling through the gate tunnel leading to the castle's yard, he heard nothing else.

The Nerot were a quiet bunch of creatures. Task-oriented and dull as fuck. But they were not vegetables and still produced some noise moving about.

Where are the blasted guards? Surely, not everyone is out looking for the wyvern! He wondered pausing in the thick dark at the inner entrance to the yard in order to examine the empty and long abandoned castle's buildings, surrounding the keep beyond the bailey. The stables and the barn. The blacksmith's workshop and the great hall building. The barracks on the northwest corner near the sturdy keep.

Not a soul was moving about.

The Zilan's eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the castle's yard, the upper part of the Keep looking grey under the moonlight. He wet his cracked lips and took a step into the yard. Another and he felt the tension rising in him. Ivasaar glanced at the black sky for the wyvern and prayed she would keep her promise.

Cling.

Clang.

Went the chains.

Dong.

An old rusty label over the blacksmith's workshop.

The Zilan walked towards the great hall, not wanting to enter the Keep. If they have taken Marisha there, then this might need a lot of firepower to crack open, he thought with a grimace. Sweat rivulets running down his neck and soaking his dirty collar. The night air heavy. Foul. At first he thought the stench of the butchered Nerot from before had seeped into his garbs, but then realized the yard reeked of death.

And rot.

At that moment he heard the buzz of flies and the night's insects.

Motherfuckers, Ivasaar cursed and paused to rest on the spear whilst he got his shortsword out. Don't tell me, Ruakanoh just killed all the stray constructs.

Where the fuck is everyone? He wondered and his words from before rang down the seemingly empty yard.

"Anybody in?" A voice asked in a solemn manner.

Ugh? Ivasaar recoiled and snapped his eyes high as the voice had come from above. He searched the Great Hall's rooftop and then the barrack's ridge, before twisting to his left to check on the blacksmith's workshop old tiled roof.

Fearing a trap, although he couldn't perceive how the Nerot or the Aken could have guessed he would dare return to the castle and not run away, Ivasaar took a backward step, but stopped again not wanting to leave without at least knowing Marisha's fate.

She's just a soulless construct, he mind told him. Not important. Just mere company and you could perhaps find someone else.

But you tend to form bonds with those being friendly to you in this land.

The Aken wasn't there when I said this, he thought and listened for any sound, the night appearing through a bright grey filter to his eyes, as his species night-vision had kicked in fully.

"Who are you?" He asked, his eyes darting right and left for any movement. Ivasaar saw no movement, but spotted now many corpses laid near the parapets, next to the gates where he almost walked over them and outside near the south walls of the great hall building. "Who the hells is this?"

He heard the chains rattling again behind him and turned around, caught sight of a chalk white face amidst the black of the tunnel, but it was lost immediately. Ivasaar gasped and the female with the shaved skull, straight and angular, also very-pointy long ears, appeared again. She was dressed in a tight coverall outfit made of black beads, tightly knit together to form a light-weight armour. The skin-tight full body outfit half-hidden under a thin cloak that floated around the skinny, deathly pale female. As soon as she had appeared walking towards him, the strange creature dissolved into nothingness yet again and Ivasaar heard someone run fast on the blacksmith's tiled rooftop. He twisted about and saw a second similarly dressed bald creature leap over the roof and land gracefully as if he was weightless, with the help of a long brandistock-type hollowed tip staff.

Ivasaar heard the sound of hidden blades clattering as the butt hit the ground, instantly recognizing the weapon. He had encountered it in Ikete when he'd visited the deserted museum. It was a weapon wielded by the Alafern. Only this time, these Alafern appeared to be of a different race, exhibiting some Zilan traits.

In a more ghoulish, deathly pale veneer.

Ivasaar turned to keep the emerging female Alafern behind him in his line of sight, and when his nervous gaze snapped back to the male, he noticed with a shiver that the grim-faced, unsettling creature was holding something else in his other hand. A severed human head, with the male's index and ring fingers plunged into the bloody eye sockets, gripping it like a macabre trophy, while gore dripped slowly from both eyes and the grotesque wound at the neck.

"A spirit of the woods," the male remarked with a hint of razz lacing his strange accent. He was speaking a variation of the Aken dialect, a mixture of archaic Imperial and the Witch Tongue of Cydonia Cazan. "Roams at the desert's edge, to visit the ruins of the Issir."

"The desert is far away. Beyond the mountains," Ivasaar replied and snapped his spear warningly at the creeping closer female. "Who are the Issir?"

"You scribble their cities initials in the sand and the name forms. Then the wind blows it away. Wiping them out. As for the desert, it stands closer now," the male noted ominously and Ivasaar realized in horror that the head belonged to Marisha. A severe spasm ravaged his face and the Alafern raised his brows amused.

"What happened… to the Aken?" Ivasaar rustled trying to keep his anger from spilling out.

"He faced the wyvern, Surydaris," the female intervened and Ivasaar snapped his head towards her.

"And survived," the Alafern with the strange name noted. "Why? Speak Zelvare."

Aha. It was you hiding in the chimney.

"I didn't see it. Only listened. I believe it was luck," Zelvare replied tauntingly, her skin glowing a bright white from up close. Her eyes sunken and the color of burning coal. "A rare Luthos appearance in the lands of the Painted God."

"Hmm. The Aken got the answer they deserved," Surydaris replied to Ivasaar's previous query and bending slightly send Marisha's head rolling towards the Zilan. It bounced like a gruesome ball over the yard's ground, until it stopped less than a meter from the seething Ivasaar's feet. "All loose ends were taken care of… with minimum losses. Silence and the unknown fate of their peoples shall strike fear into their hearts, but to make it materialize in full, all traces of what happened must turn mute. I saw her in the blood."

I should have let her get out of here. Go with her.

You killed Milatar looking for ways out of Mistland and years later, you are still at it mate, he told himself.

Ivasaar pressed his mouth tight and returned the Alafern's taunting stare, his ears moving to catch the sound of the wyvern. Hoping to hear her that is.

"A poor imitation of a weak species," Surydaris continued. "A blood bag, draped in deerskin. The materials used were pathetically cheap."

You bloody bastard!

"Nobody in," Zelvare added with a chilling chuckle, as the two Alafern shared a private joke, until the sound of something climbing the north wall of the castle interrupted their creepy moment.

"Who are you Imperial?" Surydaris asked looking towards the unseen north side of the castle, behind the great hall. "What are you really doing here?"

"You heard her verdict. The lass has it all figured out. Could she be wrong?" Ivasaar retorted and made a slow step to close the distance with the perturbed Zelvare, who immediately glared his way annoyed.

"We are the Squires of Midnight," she hissed as if he had insulted her deeply. "Myrmidons. Prince Lidagulis' guards."

"I'm an Imperial Zilan," Ivasaar replied haughtily, channeling the late Milatar's chauvinism. "We recognize no primeval species and no other sacred bloodlines than those ruling in Wetull."

"He summoned the wyvern," Surydaris commented, and turned around to face the beast seemingly rushing towards them from the north walls. He snapped the brandistock forward and two thin blades sprouted at the tip forming the letter 'V'. Ivasaar slashed wide with his spear to decapitate Zelvare but she dissolved into thin air, the spear screaming at the emptiness left behind and the wyvern dived shrieking out of the skies right over them to land on the recoiling Surydaris.

LEEEARRR!

The shockwave of the massive body hitting the ground send Ivasaar and Zelvare tumbling down and probably saved Surydaris from a certain crashing death. The armed vampire leaped sideways, twisted his body midair and sliced with the brandistock at the wyvern's snout, opening up the flesh between her nostrils.

At the same time Ivasaar attempted a double attack, first thrusting with the spear and then following it with the dagger, but Zelvare dodged both moving with uncanny speed. She followed each narrow escape with hard strikes against Ivasaar, first a kick against his midsection and then a punch that cracked the Zilan's nose splashing blood across his face.

Ivasaar's head was snapped back with a pained grunt, Zelvare turned into a puff of smoke and materialized right next to him, her long tongue lapping the blood from his ear. The Zilan turned to stab her with the shortsword, but the Alafern blocked his move and then opened the left side of his face with her nails from ear to the neck. She would have ripped the skin right off of his face but the growling Ivasaar managed to swing with the spear at the last moment, forcing Zelvare to duck down to escape. She pivoted on a bend knee extending her other leg outwards and swiped Ivasaar's legs from under him. With a frustrated yelp the Zilan went down on his back hard and the Alafern stepped on his spear with her right boot, kicking the shortsword away with her left.

Corpse-colored bitch finished the Phalanx training or what? The stunned Ivasaar wondered.

For gods sake!

Despite being decent with the spear in his youth, the trainers had kicked an ambitious Ivasaar out of camp after just two days, but not before beating him to a pulp.

About ten meters away, Surydaris did the same disappearing trick on the Wyvern, came out between her hind legs and opened a deep gush on the back of her scaly leg. The Alafern male twisted out the tail's way, leaped and then dissolved into thin air, but when he came out at a height of about four meters to be near the wyvern's head, the nimble beast had moved. The Alafern's wildly hacking brandistock found just empty void, felt the wyvern's horned head behind him and tried to get out of the way, but you really can't change direction while in the middle of a jump and whilst pushing against the empty air.

The wyvern's monstrous jaws snapped violently shredding both arms out of the Alafern as he'd tried to protect himself at the last moment and then as her head snapped sideways he violently struck Surydaris with the bloody snout and send him crashing to the ground.

To his credit he didn't make a sound.

"Master!" Zelvare gasped seeing the vampire standing up on unsteady legs and spraying gore out of both arm sockets. Tearing the spear from the Zilan's hands she tried to assault the returning wyvern -the agile beast had literally danced on its talons around its injured opponent- but Ivasaar tripped the female Alafern grabbing at her foot and thwarted her attack.

A sneaky Ranger move the snarling Zilan had picked up afore being kicked out of the Rangers training camp he'd attended the next year.

No more than seven meters away the shockingly injured Surydaris' shaking body was literally sliced in half by the wyvern's meter long black stinger, the upper part breaking up in smaller pulverized pieces of flesh and crashed organs, while the lower half of his butchered body collapsed spreading the vampire's innards on the ground. The wyvern had both disemboweled and cut Surydaris in half with a brutal single strike.

"Argh!" Zelvare screamed and attacked the wyvern with the slowly standing Ivasaar's spear, scoring once on the beast's ribs and dodging the wyvern's attacks twice, even managing to escape the sneakily thrusting stinger. "Stupid beast! What did you do?" The Alafern shrieked irate and popped out of existence to materialize behind the wyvern.

Ivasaar grimaced seeing the vampire burying the spear at the back of the frustrated wyvern's knee, but kept his composure and as much dignity as he could master with blood dripping down his chin. Ivasaar used the precious seconds of respite to arm himself with the harquebus, placing the stock on his shoulder and lifting the flared out alike a trumpet barrel. He then reached for the lightstone pendant hanged from his neck, the only thing of Wetull he'd brought across other than his shortsword and a pair of boots –now long destroyed from use.

In the meantime Zelvare had rolled away from the wyvern, who had been hurt badly at the right hind leg and was pretty injured to begin with, towards a bag and a pair of boxes left next to the barracks. She pulled a pair of long-bladed javelins out and returned towards the beast with a quick glance towards Ivasaar, who had now aimed the harquebus at the seething female Alafern. Zelvare raised a grey eyebrow on her chalk-white face, an expression of hatred mixed with scorn directed at Ivasaar.

"What is this foolish malarkey, feeble Zilan?" She asked with her mind on the much more dangerous wyvern and not the male she had thoroughly just thrashed, pointing a weird stick at her from ten meters away.

You can't be embarrassed if you don't give a shit about your audience or their opinion. Still Ivasaar had enough anger in him after witnessing Marisha's gruesome fate to retort plenty frustrated and in a hoarse manner.

"I've no idea," which wasn't too much of an answer, but became a great one after the matchlock blew smoke out and ignited.

Then the harquebus half-exploded half-fired with a bang in the stunned Ivasaar's arms.

The peculiar firing mechanism of the Issir museum-piece weapon disintegrated, with several fragments hitting Ivasaar's face, neck, and chest, while splinters from the wooden stock tore through his arms as he was hurled backwards like a ragdoll by the explosion's force. In an odd twist of fate, the long barrel stayed whole and discharged all six small steel spheres – akin to a slingshot, propelling smoke, a flicker of flame, and the aforementioned material straight at the recoiling, yet completely dazed Alafern.

Zelvare's marble face melted, the steel projectiles penetrated her cranium, shattering the bone and the weakened skull ballooned momentarily afore everything exploded out of the back in a cloud of gory mist. The Alafern's head literally disappeared in less than a second.

Whoa, the half-blinded Ivasaar thought, ears ringing and bleeding from at least ten places, before losing consciousness. The comment not because of what had happened to Zelvare, Ivasaar had missed the Alafern's grisly fate completely, but because he'd a piece of burning metal stuck in his upper palate.

The wyvern had her tongue in his mouth.

"Whaa… the hells?" Ivasaar cried out and snapped open his blurry eyes sometime later. He realized he'd a soaked in blood cloth shoved between his teeth and not a tongue, but the wyvern had used one of her talons to push it inside and prevent him from drowning in his own blood.

So some violation had occurred whilst he was out of for the count.

Eh.

Minor indiscretions aside, she told him her wing was opening and closing much better now, all the whilst licking the back of her bleeding hind leg, using her extremely long neck and general nimbleness to manage this impressive feat.

It's Rikkusa, the wyvern explained with a frown at the Zilan's strange initial reaction. We'll need more healing potions.

"The caves around Ikete… have what we need," Ivasaar grunted and tried to get up, after spitting a rugged metal pin out along a couple of his teeth. "Old piece of shite!"

Let's go to Ikete, the wyvern offered and it was a marvel hearing her in his mind.

"Are all wyverns able to talk?" Ivasaar croaked and finally stood up on shaky legs to perceive the empty, but death ravaged yard. The moonlight, now coming from directly above them, revealed the carnage the Alafern had caused. Ivasaar didn't care about the Aken or his constructs, but knew Marisha for well over a century now, and her loss pained him.

Of course. Not all wyverns want to though. Few are as pleasant as I am or as pretty, Rikkusa shrieked tipping her head back, her mighty roar tearing at the night sky and reverberating against the castle's walls.

LEEEARRR!

"Why did you do that for?"

Pent up frustration for a horrible month and a bit of bragging?

"Makes sense. What kind of wyvern is Mormir?"

Big, a crimson red. A right idiot roaming the skies. Very horny.

"Right. Ikete is too far away. Shit. I'm missing a finger god's darn it!" Ivasaar bellowed as the pain from his injuries started returning tenfold.

What's an Aniculo Rokae?

"Argh. Ouch… I'm gonna puke," Ivasaar croaked doubling over his shaking knees. "It's a partnership of sorts. Like a knight with a horse."

A horse? Partnership? Rikkusa asked turning her large wedged head to stare into his eyes hypnotically.

Ivasaar almost pissed himself in his weakened condition.

"More equal footing than… imagine a noble horse, with wings. Scratch that, it's a different... ahm, it can't compare. Not everyone can ride on a wyvern's back. Even with a saddle, which is an intricate… special thing, and not… yeah," Ivasaar stopped mumbling and touched the side of his face where the skin was dangling and leaking blood down his neck.

Um. Can you? Ride?

Ivasaar stared at Rikkusa's snout blankly.

It will make reaching this Ikete much easier, Rikkusa explained to the overcome with emotion Zilan trying to keep it together.

He managed it, because training in many things and failing repeatedly, while not something to brag on when out with company, it does build up character with time.

It was an adventurer dictum Ivasaar had read on the guild's wall.

This is it mate, his mind told him. Don't fuck it up.

"Absolutely," Ivasaar replied pursing his mouth determined to ride with Rikkusa to Ikete or die trying. A horrible, and likely crashing death.

But the banged up Zilan could see the glimmer of potential opening before him and the promise that somewhere down the line, when they were both more comfortable, a much further, long overdue journey could be also attempted.

For Milatar, Eelco and Marisha.

For his people, a whole race, now lost in water and fire.

Are you in pain? Rikkusa asked the sniffling Zilan and he nodded not trusting himself to speak. Ah. There's another construct sneaking towards us, bringing us much needed food.

It was Riscor finally coming to 'help', conveniently well after everything had been decided, and he was bringing Ivasaar's horses.

"We don't eat our mounts. They are noble creatures," Ivasaar told Rikkusa and the wyvern unfurled herself gracefully, now moving much better than before to move towards the paused in alarm Riscor.

Suit yourself, Rikkusa replied with her usual sass. More for me.