The Calamitous Bob

Celerin crossed the portal into the heart of the camp, his mind keeping the construct open behind him so the others could follow. He would have to close a few of the more distant ones. The burden was starting to tax him.

Rows of royal guards from half a dozen different houses formed a mighty path to the largest tent, like so many statues ensconced in heavy armor. They may as well be elaborate statues for how useful they were, for Nero could not be killed. It was a show, one for the numberless horde around them. Celerin walked, the Hopecrusher catching up before overtaking him. He had to always be first, at the front, first to speak too. Celerin let his lingering anger pass through him. He only had to tolerate them until the unification was complete. Retirement couldn’t come too soon.

The tent was massive, perhaps as large as a small castle. An army of attendants moved as well as a few of Nero’s concubines and advisors — the line sometimes got blurry. One of the newer vanguards lifted a flap so he could pass. Celerin nodded. He was pretty sure the vanguard’s name was Seol. Or maybe that was his brother. He would have to ask later.

Nero was here, standing above a large map while returning a list of forms to an attendant.

A long time ago, the view would have stirred something in Celerin’s chest, but decades of change had killed that flame. Celerin could love a man. He couldn’t love a legend, especially one who never put down his mask. Even as Nero was at his most majestic. With hair of dull gold and deep gray eyes, Oleander possessed features of exotic origins that only heightened his beauty. A chiseled physique, an impeccable posture, grace and control in every movement, Nero was the perfect hero stepping already formed out of a story book. Even the white armor and cloak, painted black and red at the bottom, were so perfect as to have been forged by a god. Of course, Celerin remembered him as that courageous man standing against impossible odds and carrying wounded friends on his back, his face sorry and his eyes feverish. That was a long time ago, however. Of that man, there was nothing left. That is why Celerin neither bowed nor smiled.

A shadow of annoyance darkened Nero’s august brow and the reaction pleased Celerin on a visceral, petty level. He politely bid them in. Even at this distance, the radiance of his leadership shone like a small sun. His voice wasn’t booming but it was still, and would always be, crystal clear.

“You have returned. Is it done?”

The Hopecrusher opened his mouth to bullshit something since the man was apparently physically incapable of admitting a failure. Celerin’s time was precious since only his efforts kept the gigantic army fed, so he cut to the chase.

“No. But you should already know why. I can feel it in your aura.”

They had talked about it. About the last condition required so Nero could path up. It had been a long time ago, back when Nero still allowed people inside of his defenses.

“I am ready to ascend,” Nero confirmed.

A few people gasped. Someone ascending to the sixth step happened once in every generation at most, back in the Shadowlands, and those were usually elders at the apex of their power. Here though, it was just one more improbable achievement to lay at the feet of an impossible man.

“Then you know. We met your rival.”

Nero made a sign. The gaggle of attendants left in less than five seconds. They knew better than to linger. Nero was polite but he was also demanding.

“Explain.”

The Hopecrusher stood forward so Celerin braced himself for some more grandstanding bullshit. He wished Nero would just cut to the fucking chase and ask him instead but it seemed like this would be a longer conversation.

“As we descended upon the Sandsong, she appeared, hidden treacherously inside of their abandoned city.”

Celerin rolled his eyes. Treacherously? Really? He listened to the Hopecrusher exaggerating the battle as a one sided slaughter, and how he and Celerin had pushed the caster back, almost vanquishing her.

“Horse shit,” he interrupted.

Celerin felt the Hopecrusher tense. He wasn’t worried.

Nero’s eyes traveled down to him. Celerin didn’t look away. The fact his former friend even applied pressure would have been appalling to him only a few years back, but too many summary executions and other atrocities had lowered Celerin’s hopes and expectations all the way down. Too many complaints had cut Nero’s trust in his previous friend. Now the gap between them would never be bridged. Celerin only wanted out.

“Celerin. Describe her.”

“Remember the continental analysis sent by Erezak’s spies? Such as they are?”

“I do.”

“Remember his complaints about a black witch with an uncanny ability to make trouble?”

Nero nodded. Then he made a note on a paper at his side.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Celerin hazarded.

“I am not. She was the most likely culprit with King Sangor and the Sandsong royals. What else can you tell me?”

“She is half elemental of the black, fourth step of her path which uses witch casting, by the way. Oh, and her list of titles rivals yours.”

Nero paused. The Hopecrusher shivered, perhaps remembering something unpleasant.

“When my tall friend here said we fought her, that is a lie. We didn’t fight her. We delayed her as much as we could while attacking Sandsong troops to keep her on the backfoot. It didn’t work well, by the way. We failed to kill the royal couple.”

“You have portals. Explain.”

“She has portals too.”

Nero blinked, this time clearly surprised.

“She also picked that path?”

“Oh no no no. Her portals are spells. Colorless spells. Not a skill.”

“She can open portals as spells? In battle?”

“Yes. So she was able to follow us at all times, at first. Not just that, but she feels them open and reacts immediately. Eventually, we tried to create some distance and then I locked space around us which let us learn that she can also teleport using shadows. Oh, and she killed Belem, Kras, Ilda, and I assume Kelt as well since he never returned from the fortress.”

“What?”

Oleander paused again. His brow furrowed. It made him look strangely human again.

“Two fifth steps and a squad of fourth steps and you struggled?”

“You’re not listening. We were not struggling. We were stalling. It wasn’t a contest. At some point she formed a black sun around herself and then she collapsed it on top of us with her still in it. The sun exploded and killed everyone in a fifty paces radius. She’s not afraid of close quarter combat, she’s very mobile, and at no point were we even close to denting the outer layers of her defenses. I tried to attack via portal in her blind spot. She portal parried my portal parries. Oh, and she has spells to bypass portal blocks, some sort of noxious cloud she can more or less direct.”

“Stop praising her,” the Hopecrusher spat.

“I’m not praising, I’m warning. I will list all of the capabilities we saw and then when Nero faces her, he will be forewarned,” Celerin patiently explained, even though he knew very well it was a waste of time.

The Hopecrusher’s mindset was one of hierarchy and power. He would never allow reality to contradict his belief, and everyone pointing that out was punished unless they were Crest.

“Three more things. One, her black spells were aggressive enough that they were eating at my portals which I had to permanently reinforce so take this into consideration. Two, she killed all of the vanguard in one spell each.”

Most vanguard had some measure of defense against spells. Blademasters could simply cut at them with mana-charged attacks. Celerin knew some of them had tried. It had been of no use.

“Three, here is what I found about her spell repertoire.”

He listed all he remembered: the black cloud he had mentioned, the black laser that followed people with unerring precision, the portals, the colorless spikes, the shield that exploded outward, the quiet spheres that exploded, taking a ball of matter with them as they did, the strategic spell that turned the sky into a vessel of death, the void blades. He made sure to mention the void blades with additional emphasis because he was pretty sure they could actually kill Oleander.

When Celerin was finished, Nero turned to the Hopecrusher. The man didn’t meet his gaze.

“So let me summarize, you took two fifth steps and a squad of fourth steps to engage the girl and you lost so badly, you were forced to avoid her and, eventually, retreat, losing four of the vanguard in the process?”

The Hopecrusher didn’t reply, but Celerin did because he was pissed off after trying to warn his former friend, was fed up with his intimidation games, and lastly because a part of him wanted to provoke Nero. See what he would do. Even if it were to be painful. Oleander needed Crest to keep his army from starving. It was a function no one else could replace. No one on their side anyway.

“Yes. Why?”

Animosity flared between them. Gods, but Celerin was ready to be done with it. He just had to see it to the end and then find some small island or something.

“I see…”

Nero didn’t try to discipline him. Perhaps being in private had nudged the stone in the direction of peace. He took that fake, benevolent face he did when someone failed but was still useful. He would go all fatherly while his gaze conveyed a deep, tired condescension.

“You have done well coming back considering the opposition. After all, she is the other Ascender. It is my destiny to defeat her in battle. Which means that we’re going after her. Now.”

Decisive as ever.

“Will you not path up?” the Hopecrusher asked with some surprise.

“No. The interface warned me that the class up would leave me unconscious for a while, but not for how long. I cannot take the risk of her taking a ship across the ocean, not if we can end this war before it even begins. Celerin, you’re with me. We will take the cavalry as well.”

“The Sandsong were retreating the last time we checked.”

Nero quickly assessed the situation. When he was focused on battle, he almost looked like his old self. None of the immortal king horseshit, just a confident man with a plan.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Hopecrusher.”

“Milord?” the servile fucker asked.

“Give me back my shield. We will all travel back to the pass with the light cavalry and a supply train. You will make sure the army crosses while Celerin and I fly after that witch.”

“Yes, milord.”

Celerin ignored the Hopecrusher’s glare burning a hole between his shoulder blades. The idiot thought they were fighting for Nero’s favor. He didn’t get it. He never would.

“Let’s go.”

***

The Sandsong army’s retreat would have been a disaster of a rout were it not for Sidjin’s foresight. He’d commandeered the capital’s carts to bring supplies and the One Hundred up north. Now, those same carts would be used to carry the many, many wounded across the dunes, down a dusty path to a portal he’d set up in advance. It was very cold now, and those who could still move did their best to keep the wounded alive under an uncaring moon.

“They made fun of us, you know? The Sandsong. They think a warrior should never sit at the back of a cart,” Sidjin told her as they hovered near the column.

“Right. Well at least we can save more soldiers. Although… How much room do we have on the ships?”

“I suspected you might collect more minions,” Sidjin said. “So I’d say we can take… maybe three hundred people on our five ships. And it will be crowded.”

“Damn that’s… not a lot.”

She kept quiet for a while. It had been a long time since she’d felt this helpless to change the outcome of a war, but then, as always, her mind worked towards solutions.

“I need a way to shut down Crest. He managed to prevent space from folding around himself. I don’t think we can do it as quickly as he can, but I was thinking we could use a field effect based on space, inertia, and viscous runes.”

“You… want to turn space into thick honey?”

Viv shrugged. It was a pretty good analogy.

“Sure. Or marsh mud.”

“I think he relies on coordinates more than on brute strength,” Sidjin replied with a half smile that said ‘unlike you’. “I suggest using ‘tremor’ and ‘chaos’ instead.”

“It’s going to make the field very unpleasant.”

“You can probably tune down the spell intensity if you use those runes.”

“Brilliant. I knew I was keeping you around for something.”

Sidjin pretended to bow. As she created a construct in her mind, Viv’s gaze traveled towards the small detachment of blue roses.

“Did you have to take horses? Wasn’t it inconvenient?”

Sidjin frowned.

“Well they eat a lot but otherwise no. Why?”

“I’d assume they would hate being cooped up.”

Sidjin shrugged.

“They have the horses move on the deck twice per day. I don’t think there is much issue?”

Viv shook her head. Maybe it was a skill to calm the animals down but she imagined horses wouldn’t like sailing very much. Yet another weird thing to add to the collection.

Interestingly, the Sandsong were moving faster and keeping their head high around the One Hundred, who stoically kept to their impeccable formation. Harrakan heavy helmets covered the face except for the eyes so the black mass of elite warriors exuded a calm sense of superiority that grated their guests. Even on the backfoot, the Sandsong still had their pride.

Viv sighed. She was distracting herself from what was urgent.

“Even if we add Sandsong ships to an ad hoc fleet, there is no way we can evacuate even a fraction of their army, not to mention their citizens. I need to talk to the royal couple.”

“I will keep an eye out.”

As she flew, Viv couldn’t help but check her options for pathing up. Even if she wasn’t going to pick one yet, she could still give it some thought.