Noble Arcana

After the unification of the thirteen kingdoms they turned their attention to the elves in the forests and the giants in the mountains.

Tolmey: The Early Histories of Drakthiss

Solomon stood with his sword extended forward, watching the merman in front of them who flared his gills and let out a low trilling sound. He saw another webbed hand reach into the edge of the porthole.

“We need to slay him and get the porthole closed before more come in. Even just one more could overwhelm us.”

Edmure looked at him with a bit of confusion, but nodded and they both moved quickly forward.

The merman sent out a few probing stabs to keep them at bay and Solomon slammed one of them to the side with a full forced slash that utilized all of his body weight to add additional heft.

The merman was unbalanced for a moment and Edmure rushed him with his dagger, driving it into the base of the creature’s neck.

It let out a gurgling sound and slashed the spear toward Edmure, but Solomon placed himself between them, the coral spear carving through his chest, but leaving no marks thanks to one of his noble homunculi back in Moonfallow.

The creature looked at him in confusion and he lunged, yanking Edmure’s dagger from its neck with a wrenching twist.

It fell to the ground dead and they turned around to see another nearly halfway through the porthole.

Solomon rushed it, shoulder first, and managed to knock it most of the way back out. Edmure followed up by aiming a perfect jab at the creature’s face, one knuckle managing to perfectly strike its eye.

It fell out and they heard a splash.

Solomon reached out and quickly closed the porthole again, standing at the ready and handing Edmure back his dagger.

He raised the sword in front of himself for a moment.

“Captain Trask, how do you fare?”

There was a momentary pause.

“The creatures have been almost entirely repelled. Please remain in your cabin and refrain from speaking to me again.”

Solomon could hear the annoyance in the man’s voice, but he felt it he needed to know. If the ship was being overwhelmed he likely couldn’t turn the tide with Crimson Command, but with his magic he could certainly make a difference and he’d choose that risk over a watery grave with ease.

Solomon kept an eye on the porthole while Edmure kept watch at the door. Solomon could see the occasional glint of scales in the darkness, but little else through the glass. After a little over ten minutes there was an orderly knock on the door.

Edmure opened it carefully, revealing third office Alanse in a bloody and torn uniform.

The man scanned the cabin with his dark eyes, raising his brows as he saw the two dead mermen on the floor.

“Alanse, how fares the Arabella?” asked Solomon, keeping his red blade unsheathed, but lowering its point.

“We’ve repelled the mers. There were only a few men found dead so far, though some may have been dragged off the ship’s edge. We won’t have a full picture until the headcount is complete.” He coughed a bit. “Would’ve been a lot worse without your warning.”

“It was all the sword,” replied Solomon, sheathing it.

Alanse gestured to the mer corpses. “I’ll send some men to help deal with those. You may want to wait out on deck until they’re done. They bring out a terrible stink after death.”

Solomon nodded, the scent already starting to permeate the room. He grabbed one of his coats and closed it around himself, walking out onto the deck with Edmure close behind.

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The sea air buffeted him and he saw a number of half-dressed sailors working to toss the bodies of mers overboard. Others were repairing some damage that had been done to the rigging, or gathering their own dead.

He walked over to the railing and leaned against it, watching everyone go about their work while he waited for the corpses to be dragged from his own cabin. The sun had only just begun to rise, but the smell of the rotting mer made it hard to enjoy the sight of it cresting up over the ocean flanked by clouds dyed lavender by its light.

Second Officer Lemuel approached him, his bald head hidden by his tricorn.

“How are you doing, lord?” he asked.

“I’m well.” He gestured toward a mer being thrown overboard. “How often does this happen?”

Lemuel sighed. “It’s very rare, especially this time of year. Normally the mer are nearer to coastlines. A full on attack on one of our vessels? I can count on one hand how often I’ve even heard of it happening.”

Solomon smiled lightly. “What a charmed trip I seem to have found myself on.”

The sailor laughed. “Well, I can tell you that your accommodations are ready for you again. The mer bodies have been removed. We left their weapons though. Thought you may like to have some souvenirs.”

“Thank you,” said Solomon, supposing he would get some satisfaction out of mounting the coral club and spear in his manor somewhere. He couldn’t celebrate any of his arcane accomplishments or victories openly, but this one was fair game.

He and Edmure made their way back down to the room. The foul smell still lingered, but the fresh sea air from the porthole was clearing it quickly. Edmure went to retrieve some breakfast and Solomon dressed.

Once he was alone Solomon placed Crimson Command on the desk. Something had changed when he’d killed the first of the attacking mer with it. He felt attuned to it now. While before he had been able to use it and draw it without issue, now he felt as if it was almost a living thing. Even as he looked at it he could see the mana within it reacting to his moods, responding to his thoughts

He drew it to look again at the deep red of the blade. He felt his breathing slowly sync with the pulsing mana of it and as he stared at the red it seemed to spread across his vision slowly, then he felt as if he was actually falling into it.

…

Brom dove, narrowly avoiding the explosion of flame behind him and rolling heavily in his full plate. He pushed himself up and dodged behind a tree. He leaned against it, trying desperately to catch his breath. Before he could even manage a full inhale the bark of the tree seemed to open up, forming jagged wooden teeth that gnashed at him. He threw himself forward, barely managing to hold on to his blade.

“We have to keep pushing!” yelled Havarn, running toward a wolf made of stone and smashing its snout with a swing of his warhammer.

Once again he was impressed by the Dentus family patriarch’s resilience. He forced himself back to his feet and joined the assault next to Havarn, several of the other knights joining them for the push. They’d been separated from their main force when the sorcerer had cracked the ground at their feet and brought flames up beneath them. From that moment on it had been nothing but a mad push forward.

The tower was in sight now, a massive structure of stone that seemed to be perfectly interwoven with the roots and branches of a great tree. Even as it came into view a number of mirror-like lenses shifted to point at them and beams of light began to rain down on them. The knight to his right disintegrated instantly and he narrowly avoided a beam by redoubling his charge directly toward the tower’s entrance.

Matthias managed to shatter two of the mirrors with well placed arrows, his golden eyes seeming to shine as he lined up a third.

Havarn was the first to reach the door, with Brom right behind him along with Mace, his white hair flowing madly. Brom wondered, not for the first time, how he’d managed to survive so long without a helmet. Perhaps it was some enchantment.

Havarn bashed the door down and they charged inside. Four creatures of root and stone were waiting for them.

Brom caught a flailing piece of stone at the end of a root on his shield and cut at the root with his crimson blade, managing to pass it cleanly through. He could see a set of stairs leading up to the top and fought to reach them, but was quickly cut off.

They were delayed long enough that more of the knights began to file in, and with their help they were able to push the constructs back and start to ascend the stairs. As they climbed they were buffeted by the cold winds of a blizzard, attacked by a swarm of locusts made of light, and pushed off by arms that seemed to appear from the walls at random.

By the time they reached the top only a handful of them were left, with Havarn still pushing them from the front.

They reached the top, a room which seemed impossibly large, with clouds swirling somehow above them at the ceiling, moss covering the floor, and their target sitting on a throne at the far end.

He was impressive, for an elf. Even seated he was easily taller than all of them. His skin was pitch black, his hair silver, and his eyes glowed white. He had on his head a crown of wood that had woven together into innate patterns. The throne on which he sat seemed to be made of marble and the entire room was pulsing with an energy that made every hair on Brom stand up.

“Magni! We have come for you! Your people are slain or exiled, your lands claimed, and your enchantments struck down! Surrender, and I may end your life mercifully here and now!” Havarn stepped forward as he spoke, his warhammer held tightly and his battlelust oozing from him.

Magni just regarded him silently.

“Something’s wrong,” said Brom, but before he could realize what Magni raised a hand and trees began to sprout between them and Havarn.

The knights were thrown back by the trees sudden growth and the last thing that Brom saw on the other side was Havarn charging the elven sorcerer king on his throne.