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Shadows in the Smoke - 34 - All You Do Is Talk
🕑 Added 2025-12-05 00:11:14 +0000 UTCShadows in the Smoke - 34 - All You Do Is Talk
“The lifeblood of the Republic is coal and iron. Our mines are among the most productive in the world, using the ingenuity of our Citizens to dig deeper than any of our neighbours could hope to. Productivity is ensured through Svendsenite efforts on the part of miners, inspired by the Agnar Svendsen who notably mined over fifteen tons of coal in only six hours.”
The Struggle for Freedom by Bjarne Midthun
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“My surrender?” Lindholm sounded like a man under her illusion spell, but her voice still had the same harsh, grating undertone. “I think there has been some kind of misunderstanding here. For all your knowledge, you seem to be under the delusion that you are winning. I was going to ask whether you would be willing to remove yourself from the Republic in order to avoid bloodshed. See, I am not as unreasonable as you, I merely ask you to leave, not to surrender.”
“Ha ha ha.” The liche’s laughter echoed through Ester’s skull, a rhythmic noise utterly devoid of any humour. The way its mouth stretched into a facsimile of a grin exposed perfectly straight, white teeth. “You would make a better jester than soldier, but you are certainly brave. We Askians respect bravery. However, there is a point when bravery becomes idiocy. Think, Commander Sundt. You could have an honoured position in Askia, perhaps even ascent to immortality in due course. Your men would live and be safe. Or, you can suffer. I do not say die, for I would personally make sure that death was not an option for you, however much you begged for it. We are the masters of life and death after all. Think hard, for I shall not make this offer again.”
Lindholm’s grin faded. “No one with the slightest modicum of sense would ever accept an offer like that. Masters of life and death, ha! You fled from life and chose something worse than death.”
“Disappointing. If you have no interest in negotiation, then why did you come here? Choose your words with care, mortal, for I do not appreciate having my time wasted.”
“Intelligence, I suppose.” Lindholm made a show of yawning and leaning back on her chair. “One should know one’s enemy.”
“And what have you learned? That you face the insurmountable power of the Sovereign Kleomens? That defeat is inevitable, however much of a show of defiance you might make.” The liche turned its gaze onto Loga. “What about your companions? Arcanist-Captain do you wish to die and then serve in my armies? Life is enjoyable for those with the Talent in Askia. We respect power rather than forcing a semblance of false equality upon those who have it. You could join us.”
Loga met its eyes and then spat on the ground without replying.
“What about you, Cantrist-Sergeant?” Its head turned too smoothly, like some kind of mechanism, to face Ester. “Perhaps you will take my offer back to your fellows in the fort and they will choose to reject their officers’ mad orders? You have the Talent too, you could rise far among us.”
Ester forced herself to meet its eyes, doing her best to project silent defiance through them as magic bubbled through her, begging to be unleashed.
“Interesting, you do not look Itrian.” Ester felt its attention truly focus on her. Its eyes were completely unmoving in their sockets, pointing wherever it turned its face, yet it felt like they were crawling all over her. “Once, long ago, I was born in the Empire, before I transcended my mortality.” It turned its gaze back to Lindholm as ice crawled its way up Ester’s spine. That thing used to be a subject of Her Eternal Majesty? Was that would Duke Marcni wanted to become? “Are you trying to fool me, Commander Sundt? Has the Republic given up on its principles and gone crawling to the Empire for aid? You reject my generous offer, but go crawling to the crown-lickers? That is what you call them is it not?”
“Not at all.” Lindholm shrugged. “The Republic is a diverse place, we welcome anyone who wishes to live a better life and over the years many have made that choice. Even crown-lickers.”
Crown-lickers? Ester suppressed her flash of fury at the term and kept her voice level, doing her best to imitate the almost melodious Itrian accent. “Indeed, my parents moved to Nilrava just after the revolution to escape the crown-lickers.” It didn’t take much effort to grimace, the treasonous words tasted like ashes in her mouth and only added to the rage that was bubbling up inside her.
“Ha ha ha.” Again, the liche laughed rhythmically. “The moment you open your mouth, you confirm my suspicions, Cantrist-Sergeant. Thank you, now I have gained some truly valuable intelligence too. Was there anything else you wished to discuss, Commander Sundt? Or shall we bring this farce to an end?”
“That sounded almost like a threat.” Lindholm sounded as relaxed as ever, while Ester’s stomach felt like it was trying to escape up her throat. “Surely the great Sovereign Kleomens would not go back on its word?”
“If you will not accept your position, then there is no rea-”
Magic flared with shocking suddenness, a blinding white line that vanished as fast as it had appeared. Ester stood frozen in shock for a fraction of a second, before blinking to try to remove the streak seared into her eyes.
The liche stumbled backwards, its body momentarily uncoordinated, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. A thin line was sliced across its face and, as she watched in stunned horror, the whole bottom of its head fell away to dangle on tendrils of inanimate flesh.
Was that Lindholm? Ester needed to strike, the spell died on her lips as the liche straightened up, its hanging jaw drawing back up to its face, alabaster flesh knitting together with unnatural speed.
Lindholm nodded once to herself. “Interesting. That would not have staggered an actual Sovereign.”
“Yet it would have decapitated a lesser immortal.” The liche somehow managed to speak despite its face being in ruins. If it felt any pain, it showed no sign of it. “I should be the one saying this is interesting though. An unvocalised spell of enough power to rock me. I had understood Commander Sundt was barely more than a Cantrist. Foolish of you to waste your one opportunity at a surprise attack, I wonder who you truly are? No matter, I shall find out when you kneel at my feet and beg for death.”
Why was the liche still talking? Ester glanced at the two Republicans and then back at the liche. Were they all insane?
“As it is,” the liche’s rich, dead words came out, steady as falling tombstones, as its flesh finished healing, “you should not have wasted your opportunity for a surp-”
“Saig.” Ester spoke the spell to add weight to her will. The liche was cut off mid-sentence as it vanished amidst a towering column of fire. Ester didn’t wait to see the results. She was already shifting sideways, blinking light out of her eyes.
Between one second and the next, the roar of Ester’s flames vanished as the liche tore her spell apart. She took an involuntary step back as it turned its gaze on her. Burnt flesh was sloughing off its face and body, its robes had been turned to ash. It didn’t seem to be affected beyond that though. Blackened, empty eye sockets fixed on her and suddenly overwhelming power was crashing against her. It wasn’t a spell, or anything coherent. Just waves of unfocused necromantic magic beating down on her, breaking her concentration, demanding that she give in and kneel. There was a buzzing in her ears, her limbs were losing strength, her mind going out of focus.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Lindholm’s harsh voice cut through and the pressure on Ester vanished as quickly as it had come.
What had happened? Ester tore her eyes from the looming, burnt form of the liche to glance at Lindholm, just in time to see her move.
This wasn’t like at the Academy, or even when Ester had fought Mohsen. A blink and she’d have missed it. Lindholm flashed across the yards that separated her from the liche. “Cuvlug diwaien’fa.” She snapped the words just as her fist impacted with it.
The crash of the impact was matched by an explosion of runes around them. The liche was sent tumbling through the air, Lindholm sprinting after it.
“Well.” Ester’s attention was dragged away from the liche when Arcanist-Captain Loga stood up from his chair in a smooth movement, shooting an irritated look at her. “It would have been better if you hadn’t stolen Sigrid’s thunder, Mage Mazar. The Empire might think it is the be all and end all of magic, but you are no match for a liche. Now, keep quiet while I deal with these two and I’m sure Sigrid will be back in no time.”
Ester ignored the man. Why would he want to try to make some kind of political point right now? They were about to fight for their lives. Was he an idiot?
She wanted to look at the storm of magic she could feel moving away from them, where Lindholm and the liche were fighting, but she wasn’t going to take her eyes off the enemies in front of her. Not now that the liche’s overwhelming presence was further away.
For a few long seconds the four of them stood there, studying each other. Necromantic magic crawled over one of the two. A vampire, it must be. The other showed no signs of magic at all, just an ordinary looking man. As pale as any of the Republicans and well dressed. His blonde hair was long and tied back, framing a face that could have been chipped from ice. Human though, there was no softness to him, but equally nothing causing Ester’s instincts to scream warnings at her.
“I wish to taste the girl.” The vampire’s voice was deceptively normal. “You take the Republican.”
“Do you fear to fight me, vampire?” Arcanist-Captain Loga sounded almost amused. What was wrong with these people? Creatures? “I will destroy both of you.”
“No, Silas.” The necromancer ignored Loga. “I wish to test myself against an Imperial Mage. Her head will make a fine trophy.” Anger warred with incredulity. Did people here never stop talking? This was just getting ridiculous. Ester had had enough, but he just kept talking. “You deal with the Arc-”
Her patience snapped. “Gan dojeen’fa.”
Ester’s spell seized a stone the size of her fist and threw it at the necromancer with enough force to smash him off his feet, only for magic to flash briefly around him as a Schema absorbed the blow. Ester didn’t wait for him to retaliate, she started moving sideways, putting distance between her and the vampire without taking her eyes off the man who seemed to think it would be entertaining to fight her. She’d seen how fast the other one had moved, the last thing she wanted was to be close enough for it to strike easily at her.
To her side, Arcanist-Captain Loga shot her a furious glance and muttered a curse before launching himself towards the vampire, his enhanced speed kicking back a spray of dirt. Did he just dislike her because she was from the Empire?
Then, the necromancer started to cast and Ester had no time to think. He intoned a spell with a grim smile, unfamiliar words of power tumbling out of his mouth. The magic formed around Ester, turning the air green for a brief moment before she tore it apart with a gesture. There’d been power behind it, but it wasn’t particularly strong or cohesive.
“Njadh ai’saigok gan cuvlug.” A trio of flames burst into being in the air above the necromancer and then slammed down into him, only to be deflected as his Schema exploded to life again, a sphere of magic that briefly surrounded him, shielding him from Ester’s fire.
He didn’t seem fazed at all. “Not bad, Mage, but-”
“Xànjar diwaien’fa.” Ester’s spell smashed into his Schema.
“You will soon see tha-”
“Tambrgh saarde’fa.” The earth under his feet lurched and then blasted up, taking him off his feet and sending him tumbling.
“For fuck’s sake, w-“
“Saig gan cuvulg.” Ester struck again. How was his Schema still working? It couldn’t hold forever. Hopefully it would be intact enough for her to look at how it was designed, there was no way hers could take such a beating.
“Dachaid.” This time he used disjunction. Instead of attacking Ester though, he pulled something from under his coat and threw it to the ground. “Ébair.”
Another Schema? Ester wasn’t going to give him the chance to do whatever it was he wanted. As the necromancer splayed his hands out across the ground and started to chant she hit him.
“Saig.”
“Xànjar diwaien’fa.”
How was his Schema so strong? The necromancer reeled off words of power, half of which Ester didn’t even recognise. It wasn’t working. She needed to change tactics.
“Dachaid.”
Ester tried to disrupt his spell, but it was slippery. Diffusing streams of magic and runes into the dirt under his feet. It seemed to be feeding off the Schema he’d thrown on the ground and her disjunction slide off it. Something was happening around them, she wasn’t sure what, but she could feel the magic of his spell flowing through the ground, pooling in spots. Her mind was racing, she needed to stop him, but battering down his Schema wasn’t working. Should she take the time to speak a more powerful spell?
Ester pursed her lips, she needed something that would stop him. In a flash she changed tactics.
“Spiëkk jel’saarde’fa vlidsich gan.”
She felt the strain as a couple of hundred pounds of mud yanked itself from the ground, compressed into a ball and flew at the necromancer.
As he finished his spell, he just had time to look up before it hit him. His Schema flared once more, taking the blow, but it didn’t stop its momentum and he was sent tumbling across the ground in a painful roll.
Ester wasn’t going to give him the chance to recover. She opened her mouth to follow through when the ground under her feet shifted. Without thinking she leaped sideways, spell forgotten, but not quite fast enough. Something clamped around her ankle, stopping her mid-leap.
She hit the ground hard enough to drive the breath out of her lungs and leave her head swimming for a second.
Why had she fallen? Ester tried to get up, but her leg was stuck. Her eyes travelled down it and she stifled a scream. Rotting fingers on her ankle, leading to a hand and arm, grey decaying flesh hanging off it, stretching out of the ground.
For an infinitesimal, horrifying moment, Ester nearly lost the focus she needed to cast. Then, with a desperate gesture, she severed the hand at the wrist.
A frantic look around her saw the ground heaving as corpses hauled themselves out of the cold soil, leaving strips of flesh behind them torn off by the friction of their digging. She needed to-
Ester’s world went white as a spell hit her Schema with a crash loud enough to leave her ears ringing. She needed to focus!
She scrambled to her feet, blinking the light out of her eyes. Corpses were pulling themselves to their feet, straightening up and starting to move. In front of her the necromancer had raised his hand, fingers splayed and was chanting a spell as the eerie green light of the Weiryd boiled around him.
How had this gone so wrong? The necromancer thought he could test himself against a Chartered Mage? Ester pursed her lips and brought her mind into focus. She was going to make him regret that choice. Briefly.
Comments
Antony Claughton
I enjoyed the chapter. But one thing felt off. Lindholm would surely discuss the plan with Ester before going out there. Otherwise things could occur that weren’t part of her plan. Such as triggers to attack and who was Ester’s responsibility. And common defences and offences the necromancers use. Now, if shes testing Ester it would be understandable, but a very weird circumstance to do it unless she was 100% certain she and the other officer could win regardless.
Antony Claughton
he’d thrown on the ground and her disjunction slide off it. ==> he’d thrown on the ground and her disjunction slid off it.
