Vainglory 3.38 - On the Road

Here we go, folks! I'd say 6 to 10 more chapters to wrap this book. After that, I'll be taking a break from Vainglory. Just a heads up for those of you subscribed for only this story.

Thanks for reading!

-Plum

38 – On the Road

Ward’s taxi or, rather, “coach,” as the locals called it, was comfortable, and the driver said it would take nearly three hours to reach his destination, so he was tempted to try to doze. He couldn’t, though, for a couple of reasons. One, he wasn’t tired; he’d slept very well at Rose’s place. The other reason was that he had things to do, and the downtime in the vehicle was the perfect opportunity.

He made certain the screen between him and the driver was closed, and then softly said, “Grace? Are you there?” When she didn’t appear or say anything, he sighed and scratched his stubble-covered jaw in frustration. He was worried about her, but Rose’s assurance that she could still see her gave him hope that Grace was just resting, recovering from her ordeal.

With Grace unable or unwilling to respond, Ward reached into his pocket and drew out the artifact talisman. It was warm in his hand, and the light seemed to gather in the tiny filigrees etched into the golden surface. He’d been a little leery of the thing, even after meeting and speaking with Pallishae, but after speaking with Rose, knowing she could see so much more than met the eye, he felt like she would have said something if it was inherently “evil.” She’d even told him to go ahead with his plan, delivering the thing to the leader of the Umbrage, if he could find out who that was.

Ward gripped it tightly in his fist and concentrated, saying the spirit’s name, “Pallishae?”

This time, his attempt to communicate wasn’t futile. The amulet grew significantly warmer, and the air shimmered; suddenly, the tall, alien-looking man was sitting across from him. “Ward, you let me rest longer than I expected.”

“I got busy with something. How much time do we have?”

“I can speak for an hour or more.”

Ward nodded. “Good. Let me update you on what’s been going on. I’m currently on my way to meet with one of the Assembly members, Coral. I plan to confront him about his loyalty. Basically, I’m going to ask him to let me cast a spell on him, one that should provide a lot of insight into his intentions.”

“You hope to enlist his aid with regard to me?”

“Yes, I’d like to know if I can trust him with the knowledge of your existence and then, hopefully, get him to help me capture one of the known cultists.”

“Excellent. I assume you’ve prepared for the possibility that your ultimatum will result in violence?”

Ward shrugged. “As much as I can. I’ll try to get him alone so his sorceress won’t hear my demands.”

Pallishae frowned, nodding slowly. “I’m sure you’ll be cautious. You don’t strike me as a fool.”

“Well, here’s the thing, Pallishae, I’ve got other problems on my mind, and I was hoping you might give me a little help while I’m on the road.”

“Oh? I thought perhaps you’d want some instruction on the use of anima in spell casting.”

Ward grinned, nodding. “Sure, that’s part of it. I was also hoping you could help with something else. You see, you were right about Haley, my partner, she was afflicted with a corruption of her spirit when I brought her back from the dead…” Ward took a few minutes to carefully describe Haley’s situation to the spirit, then, deciding it was about time he laid all his cards on the table, he told him about Grace and how they’d helped Haley.

“Ah.” Pallishae sighed, looking into the air above Ward’s head, his eyes unfocusing as he contemplated something. “I should have known you had a passenger. I could feel the duality of your nature, but in my haste, I attributed it to your bestial bloodline. So, this passenger is benign? It doesn’t make demands of you?”

Ward shook his head. “She’s my friend. At first, yeah, we had some issues, but I’ve grown to care about her. She doesn’t, um, take my anima without permission.”

Pallishae nodded, tapping his long, slender index finger on his chin. “If you truly want to expedite her recovery, I would imagine an infusion of anima is what she needs.”

Ward sighed, leaning back in his chair as he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his palms against them, trying to relieve some tension. “I just recovered my anima.”

“I hesitate to ask how you lost it…”

“Okay,” Ward said, ignoring the passive question. “Let’s say I want to give her some anima. How would I do it?”

“She should be able to take it. I’m sure she’s desperate to do so, but if what you say is true, perhaps she cares too much about you and your opinion of her. Try granting her permission. Hopefully, she won’t take more than she needs.”

Ward considered the spirit’s words. Could the answer be so simple? Did Grace just need him to tell her it was all right to take some of his anima? Was she too stubborn or maybe too weak to ask? “All right, that gives me something to think about, I guess. Let’s talk about using anima for magic. I mean, assuming I’m left with any damn anima to work with.”

“Well, you didn’t ask for my opinion on the matter, but if I were you, planning to face off with a powerful order of corrupted individuals, I’d not do what you’re suggesting. I don’t know the full nature of your passenger, but I can’t imagine she would have given up her anima to save your partner if she didn’t have some way of recovering. Such a selfless act is truly antithetical to the nature of such parasitic beings—”

“Pallishae, I don’t like the way you’re talking about Grace. Let’s move on.”

The spirit sighed—a strange thing to hear from a being that didn’t breathe—shook his head, and said. “I’m sorry. There’s much at stake and, should you fall to the powerful enemies arrayed against you without enough anima to travel through the veil, then—”

Ward folded his arms, a low rumble of a growl in his throat as his wolf used his irritation to slip the bonds of his control. “I know what it means. Can you help me learn to use my anima or not?”

“Very well. In deference to the difficult task you are undertaking, the peril you are putting yourself into, I will endeavor to aid you. Let’s begin with some fundamentals. I’ll find it valuable to know the level of your understanding.”

Ward felt his tension slowly release, and he lowered his arms, nodding. “All right.”

“Good. I’ll use terms with which you’re familiar rather than those of my people. Tell me, when you prepare a spell and utter the words of power, can you feel your mana populate the words, charging them with magical energy?”

Ward contemplated the question, idly rubbing his chin as he thought about how it felt when he cast a spell. “I feel a release of pressure. I feel the words flow out of me, through my tongue, and then I hear them as they affect the world.”

“But you don’t feel the mana flow from your well and into the words first?”

Ward’s frown deepened as he tried to imagine what Pallishae was referencing. Did he feel it? Now that the spirit mentioned it, he was sure he did—a kind of tingling warmth that started in his chest and rushed into his head. The sensation was almost euphoric, but he’d always thought it was simply a side effect of casting spells. He said as much, and Pallishae nodded, his broad, thin-lipped mouth curling upward at the corners.

“That’s right, Ward. Your mana well, mana pathways, anima heart, and anima pathways are all constructs that exist within your spirit. If someone were to dissect your body, they’d find no trace of them. Your spirit dwells within that vessel, however, just as you feel you are in it. In the same manner, those magical constructs are in there. Here.” He pressed a palm to his chest. “As you utter the words of power, they draw mana from your mana well. You must learn to control that flow. If you can close off your mana well and, instead, open your anima heart, your spell would be powered by the anima.”

“Would it do the same thing?”

“Oh no! Anima is a hundred times more potent than mana. Sometimes that means the spell would be more impactful, but sometimes it might cause the spell to have a profoundly different effect.”

Ward nodded. “Okay. How do I do that? Control the flow?”

“It’s a matter of focusing your intent—your will. It’s difficult to explain in words, and more something that needs to be learned through doing. It starts with the control of mana, and I suspect you’ve already begun to learn that, though perhaps unintentionally. Tell me, what method do you use to gather mana?”

“I, um, ground myself, then I reach into the mana cloud. I kind of make myself open to it—to everything—and it drifts into me.”

“Mana cloud? As in the mana that rises from the recently departed?”

“Yes.”

“When you open yourself to the mana, do you feel it?”

Ward chuckled, nodding. “It’s like nothing else.”

“Good! Do you feel it only briefly?”

“I feel it as it flows through me.” Ward illustrated, touching his palm and then running his fingers up his arm and over to his chest.

“Excellent! So, you’re already aware of mana. Just as you allow it to flow into you, you should be able to halt its progress. You need to feel it in here, though.” Pallishae touched his chest again. “Your anima heart is very near your mana well. Once you train yourself to be aware of your mana, and you learn to exert some control, you’ll find the process far easier to repeat with your anima. That control is what you need to work magic with your anima.”

“So, again, how?” Ward couldn’t help some of his frustration slipping into his tone.

“Do you have a spellbook, Ward? Something to write with?”

“Yeah, of course.” Ward reached into his magic pouch and drew out his spellbook.

“I cannot manipulate that writing device, but I think I can still teach you a spell. We’ll write it letter by letter. It’s a simple spell, one of the first that children of my kind are taught. It will allow you to create a sphere of mana that you can manipulate with the power of your will. It’s a wonderful learning aid, and it also serves as a convenient light source.”

“Okay…” Ward turned to a blank page in his spellbook and held his pen over the page, listening.

“The word is spelled V, R, A, H, N, E, K.” Pallishae watched as Ward wrote each letter. “Now, I’ll show you the poses to prepare it. It’s very simple. Mark my body’s positions and then use your shorthand for noting them.”

Ward nodded, watching. Pallishae paused for a moment and then moved his body through three distinct poses. They were all simple compared to many of the spells Ward had already learned, involving only his arms and head. Pallishae’s body and legs remained still. After Ward had noted the positions, the ancient spirit looked at his page and began to snap his fingers.

“This is the rhythm for the poses.”

Ward made timing notations near each pose and nodded. “Okay, I think I’ve got it.”

“Good! Now, once you cast the spell, it will create a sphere of mana, just as I told you. At first, you might struggle to feel it or manipulate it, but once you open yourself and make the connection, you’ll begin to develop a sense for it. As I said, it’s something that requires first-hand experience; it’s impossible to put into words, at least for one with my limited vocabulary.”

“And this will help me control the mana and anima within me?”

Pallishae nodded. “Precisely.”

Ward inhaled deeply, nodding as a wave of guilt washed over him for his earlier frustration and shortness with the ancient spirit. “I appreciate this, Pallishae. I think I’m starting to feel the pressure—the, um, weight of all the…the shit piling on my shoulders. You know? Sorry if I was short with you.”

“I understand. The life of a harrowguard is often fraught with difficult burdens—knowledge that you must decide to bear in silence or share with the world, only to have them hate you for it. There’s a dark cloud hanging over Ordo Caelus, one that could spread through the entire system. Try to remember you aren’t alone in facing it. You’re making a good move today by seeking allies in the coming battle. I should rest now, but reach out to me again tomorrow. Let me know how things go.”

“All right.” Ward watched the spirit dissipate, shimmering and then breaking apart like faintly luminescent steam, then he stuffed the amulet back into his pocket. He stared at his new spell for a little while, contemplating giving it a try right there in the coach. “Why not?”

He cleared his throat, adjusting his position on the seat, and then set the book beside him, open to the spell page. He closed his eyes and began shifting his arms and head into the first pose, but then the coach lurched, and the hum of the mana-driven engine became a sputtering whine. Ward almost fell forward out of his seat, but he threw his foot up, catching himself on the seat facing him. Meanwhile, his spellbook was thrown to the floor of the cabin.

Ward made to reach for it, but then the driver threw the screen open, and his wild-eyed face appeared in the opening. “We’re under attack, sir!”

“Goddammit!” Ward growled, grabbing for his spellbook again as the coach lurched and veered to the left. “Don’t crash the damn thing!”

His warning didn’t reach the driver; the man’s face had already disappeared, hopefully to better drive the vehicle. Ward stuffed his spellbook into his magic bag and then drew his sword. He clutched the arm of his seat, watching the door as the vehicle coach lost velocity and the whine of the engine steadily grew louder. Suddenly, the speed ramped up again, and Ward leaned back, bracing the soles of his boots on the seat in front of him.

It turned out to be a good move because the coach’s momentum suddenly halted with a terrific crash. Ward grunted as his top half was flung forward, and he tried to stop himself from being slammed into the wall with his feet. His sword arm flew forward, and the point of the heavy blade buried itself in the cushion, but then it was over, and things were still. That was when he heard hooves pounding outside, and then he heard the coachman’s door open and shut, followed by a bloodcurdling scream.

“Enough of this shit,” Ward growled, yanking his sword out and smashing his boot into the coach door’s handle. As the door flew wide, someone out there yelped in surprise, and then Ward was out, his boots sinking into the damp grass and soft soil. The air smelled of rain, horses, blood, sweat, and the heavy musk of unwashed men.

One of those men was before him, a ragged fellow with a ratty, black beard, wild eyes, and a snarling mouth that reminded Ward of a feral cat. Not far behind him was Ward’s driver, forehead pouring blood, and a stubby crossbow bolt in his back. The downed driver was all Ward needed to unleash his frustration. He lunged forward, driving his sword in a brutal thrust that the man tried to parry, but failed. He hit the sword with his axe, but all he did was drive the point down so it punched through his gut instead of his chest.

Ward twisted the blade as he yanked it out, charging past the man and ducking instinctively. He heard a bolt whistle through the air, then he spun, scanning the rest of the scene of the crash. He saw his first victim’s horse and three more. The largest of the horses, a black stallion rearing up on spiked shoes, carried a leather-clad man who wore a wide-brimmed, leather hat sporting a red feather. Ward saw he was busily reloading a crossbow, so he shifted his gaze to the other two horses, both of which were circling the crashed coach to come at him.

The guy on the left was going to reach him first, so Ward charged him. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking, or maybe he wasn’t. The fact of the matter was that Ward didn’t have a lot of experience when it came to fighting mounted men. He was big and strong, but that horse had to have weighed fifteen hundred pounds. The rider hacked a curved cutlass at him, and Ward managed to parry, but then the horse smashed into him and he was sent sprawling, only to have the rider kick his heels and drive his furious animal after him.

As steel-shod hooves came crashing down around him, Ward rolled, hacking blindly, and then rolled again, away from the screaming, angry animal. Blinding pain erupted in his shoulder as the crossbowman managed to get off another shot, and then Ward, with fury, adrenaline, pain, and his inner beast tunneling his vision, lurched to his feet.

He snarled with cruel pleasure when he saw the horse was down, one of its legs hacked nearly off. He must have caught it with that wild swing. The rider was clambering to his feet, muddy and furious, and the other rider was circling around the other side of the coach; the tree that had caused the crash and the thrashing, injured horse had cut him off.

Roaring, Ward charged the man with the cutlass, hacking down with all his strength. The bandit—or assassin—wasn’t a slouch with his sword, though. He parried, using Ward’s momentum to shift to his flank, and brought the blade up toward his groin. Ward knocked the blade aside, and then they began to fight in earnest, exchanging hacks, parries, and thrusts.

In truth, the bandit was a better swordsman than Ward. He wasn’t close to a match for Ward’s speed and brutal strength, however. The other horseman interfered before he could close the deal, though, charging around his cutlass-wielding comrade to try to trample Ward. Ward saw him coming, pointed his left hand, and growled, “Vrakkun Khorvek.” A mana bolt erupted from his fingers, flickering with ghostly flames as it howled through the air to smash into the rider’s face.

As his words of power stunned the horses and the cutlass-wielder, Ward capitalized by stepping forward and thrusting his sword into the man’s throat. As the bandit fell, his life pouring out onto the grass, Ward grabbed the reins of the horse that had been about to trample him. The rider was slumped in the saddle—dead. He yanked him out of the saddle, and thudding hooves made him look up. He saw the crossbowman whipping his horse into a gallop, charging for the road—running for it.

“Oh no you don’t, you son of a bitch!” Ward threw a foot into the stirrup, pulling himself into the saddle. He kicked his heels and snapped the reins. “Let’s go!”