Lost and Found

The ground erupted beside Avii’s head as the magical shot tore into the earth. Slowly opening his eyes, he caught a glimpse of the caved-in skull of the soldier that loomed over him. A trickle of blood dripped in steady drops from the crushed eye socket, spilling over his armour like spring bursting forth from a rockface. Buried into his head, a glowing hammer pulsed with energy, suddenly scattering bone and brain to the side, painting the second Kovik soldier with gore.

“Aye, how ‘bout that, lads!” Ragart yelled out, pulling the weapon back into his grip. “Care to see how us Estarians tend to our mules?!”

Winding the weapon up, the dwarf threw the hammer forward, connecting it with the armoured chest of the soldier. Avii watched as the victim sprayed blood from his mouth, the reinforced cuirass caving inward enough to shatter his sternum and burst his heart. Bulging eyes looked down at the mule, as the walking corpse reached for him before finally tumbling to the ground.

But the dwarf was not yet done. With a flick of his wrist, the warhammer returned to his hand. It was only then that Avii realized that the haft was not as it seemed. In fact, the head of the weapon was attached to a metal chain that hardened into a solid helve when wielded. Then, the moment the dwarf threw the tool, the handle became a reinforced whip once again. Runes ignited across the chain, flaring a pale green as the man swung it overhead and threw it towards the four remaining unarmoured souls.

Still on his back, struggling against his malfunctioning suit, Avii listened to the screams of terror as Ragart’s weapon shattered bones and silenced the fiends for good. Within seconds of his arrival, the dwarf had cleared the remaining torturers with brutal force and elegance. All the while, laughing excitedly.

“See, mule, that’s how you do it!” He announced, positioning himself above Avii as he eyed him closely. “There are only a few things a soldier should be doing on his back, and fighting ain’t one of them. The first involves being beneath a cart, and the other, a beautiful woman. Hah!”

“Thank you, Serjeant,” Avii remarked as he finally adjusted his posture enough to look down at his leg. “I hadn’t planned on being in the mud this evening.”

“What are you even doing here, mule? Were you not instructed to remain beyond the wall?”

“I was but—”

“Gah!” Ragart groaned as he knelt to investigate Avii’s armour. “And you’ve gone so far as to bugger your knee.”

Avii watched as, without a second thought, the man reached into a pouch in search of something. A second later he withdrew a small piece of clay and began warming it between his fingers before slipping out a chisel. Rubbing the first into the damaged rune, Avii observed as the expert worked. He moulded the new stone on the spot, using the chisel to transcribe runes into the clay before placing the object down.

“Earth and water,” He grumbled through the nearly finished cigar. “Fire and air. Cure this clay to stone and infuse it with the power of arcana itself. Draw from the world the lifeforce needed to make it so and give life anew to this sigil of old.”

Looking down, Avii caught sight of the clay quickly hardening before turning into the replacement needed to fix his armour. In an instant, the magical power from the arcanzcore charged through his leg and he felt as though he could move again.

Ragart stood from the dirt and patted his hands to his side as he observed his handiwork with a grin that wrinkled the edges of his eyes.

“There you go, lad,” He spoke, hoisting the hammer over his shoulder with a single hand as he extended the other to Avii. “Good as new. Now, let’s get you up and out of here. This is no place for an unarmed mule.”

Avii stared at the hand for a moment, a feeling of warmth settling in his chest as he reached up for it. He couldn’t help but be reminded of his youth in the mines. Of the dwarves that he had toiled alongside day-in and day-out as they participated in friendly races to dig deeper. Taking a firm hold of the man’s forearm, Ragart began to lift Avii to his feet.

“Thank you, Ragart.” Avii began appreciatively. “But I mus—”

But before Avii could finish, an explosion knocked him back to the ground as a sanguine cloud coated his body. With a gasp, he wiped the blood from his eyes and looked down at the object he held in his hand. It was Ragart. Or, at the very least, what was left of him.

All that remained of the dwarf was the forearm and hand that he had been extending to help Avii. The ground where he had previously stood was devoid of any evidence he had existed aside from the blood that had begun to pool following his death. Searching the area, Avii soon saw it. A dozen feet away, the fragments of the ballista bolt that had torn through his core, releasing a small detonation on impact and turning the man into mist.

They hadn’t seen ballistas during their survey. Avii thought, looking down at his bloodied boots. Did Kovika manage to steal Estarian stealth magic? Was that how the cloudriders got so deep into Estaria without being detected?

Whether or not he had been genuine, Ragart had at the very least shown Avii enough kindness in those last moments to help him with his armour. There had been a joviality in his words, and he had even gone so far as to extend a hand out to him. Whether it was because he saw Avii in that moment as just another one of the machines he needed to fix, or potentially as a soldier in suit, Avii was grateful for the second chance the man had given him.

“Serjeant,” Avii spoke as he stood, scanning the horizon for the enemy siege weapon. “Rest in the good graces of whatever god you pray to. I will avenge you.”

A sudden glint of light gave away the next bolt, allowing Avii just enough time to sidestep the shot. Rolling across the sanguine puddle, he plucked Ragart’s hammer from the blood-soaked muck and primed it to throw. Behind him, the bolt struck feet away from the first, a small explosion expelling a plume of mud and stone that he could have used to escape. But Avii had no intention to flee.

Instead, now knowing where the soldiers hid, he threw the hammer with all his might. The runes along his armour glowed brightly as an odd sense of loss filled his chest and fueled his fury. In the moments before it left his grasp, the hammer glowed brilliantly, the chain following behind like the trail from a pale green comet. It sailed over burning tents and through wispy clouds of smoke, finding the eastern emplacement, now faintly visible in the flickering light of the camp’s dying moments.

A detonation temporarily lit up the sky as the siege weapon’s arcanzcores erupted. A cloud like a mushroom rose, alit with flame and shadow, before fading into the night. The world seemed to hold its breath for that brief moment before the chaos of combat once again took control of the night.

With Ragart’s final strike made and his legacy immortalized, Avii reached for the nearest weapon he could lay his hands on. Cracking the whip he decided on, he watched the spark of light where it landed mark its damaging strike. He grinned at the thought of using the weapon of his captors against them, but he wouldn’t rest in that pleasant mindset for long.

“Harbinger,” Avii commanded. “Where is the Maldainian?”

“Six hundred eighty-three feet to your right.”

Sprinting off to find his quarry and equally not wanting to be around when Sebastian arrived, Avii cut through the burning tents. The smell of cooked flesh hung heavy in the air as sizzling bodies pinned beneath burning beams reached for salvation. But they would not find it in Avii. Kovik and slave alike cried out for help, but he ignored them. There was only one person he wanted to find. One soul he needed to save.

“Mule?” He heard a familiar voice call out as he passed the large central tent. “Mule! Get back here!”

But Avii didn’t have time to discuss with Ostave. He didn’t want to plead his case or ask permission. All he wanted was to find the Maldainian that would prove he wasn’t alone in the world. So, he charged forward, cutting through burning tents to save time, and trampling souls that got in his way, all the while listening to Harbinger count down the rapidly closing distance.

Finally, he saw them. A battered and broken body, arms tethered to the side, head bound in a cage. The flames heating the metal so much that it seared the skin and melted away the hair. Their bare back was burnt badly and all but exposed aside for the bands and metal cords that made up the early-generation exoskeleton that functioned as a Kovika MULE.

There was no doubt that the figure before him was one of his own, but he needed to be sure.

“Oi!” He cried out, clearing his throat and trying to remember his native tongue as best he could. “Maldy! Bum a ciggy, mae’?”

The limping figure froze, turning to face Avii and revealing a horrid visage framed by flickering flame. Bloodshot eyes, forced open by metal pliers, bulged as they locked with his. Lips, surgically peeled away, revealed a permanent smile of missing teeth that clattered together as the man struggled to speak. But Avii knew nothing would come back to him at his distance. Kovika practice was to remove the tongues of Maldainians almost immediately, preventing any chance of them using complex magic. A torturous experience and one he had survived already.

Clearing the remaining distance forward, Avii extended his grasp and took hold of the man as his exhausted body suddenly gave out. Weak whimpers cried into his armoured chest as he held him.

“You are,” Avii muttered, holding the shell of a human close. “You are Maldainian. I’m not alone. We’re not alone.”

Then, as though the world remembered the damage their people had done to it, the ground quaked and a moment later, swallowed them both.