Necrophobia (17 page)

“Fall back Alvis!” Aether shouted as he ran towards Inquisitor Mia. “You know you can’t harm it with magic!”

Razakel ignored him focusing more and more bolts of lightning towards the dragon, the air around him crackling with energy and swirling around him. Lost in focus as he stood his ground.

<
He’s right Alvis, you can’t beat it alone!>
Isobel spoke directly into his mind once again. She flew towards him trying to warn him, but her mind was weakening and her projection fading. At the shore waves crashed into the ship as the winds were distorted by Razakel’s magic, the woman — Natascha yelled at some of the cultists not enthralled to withdraw and the ship began to leave port. Inquisitor Mia Pietas tried rallying her own forces, torn between defending against the dragon and preventing the ship from leaving port. Too far away to reach the ship and caught in the open with little cover she signalled any who would listen to fall back to the prison itself. Valdgeirr flew towards the stationary wizard heedless of any incoming magic and opened its cavernous maw. Billowing blue-hot flames burst forth towards the solitary figure still channelling magic and exploded upwards, the wizard disappearing within the flames.

Isobel heard Aether and Mia shout his name as they retreated, some of her followers peppering the dragon with crossbow bolts that shattered against its scales or were lost to the winds. Unable to do anything to help in her intangible form Isobel cursed, Razakel was a friend to both her and Eleanor during their earlier years. She thought of Eleanor, and the magic she made look so easy, competing with Razakel in contests of spell-casting and their fascination with esoteric magical concepts. The loss and hatred dulling her mind as she soared after the dragon pulling up from its murderous dive.

<
You’ll pay for that one.>
She sent at Haures as him and Falkner steered the undead dragon towards the fleeing Inquisitors below. Beneath them an owl flew upwards from the dying flames, sheathed in a translucent blue bubble.

“I didn’t think it would be that easy.” Haures shouted at the grey owl flying after him. The dragon turned with unnatural speed despite its huge size, to chase after the owl. Another blast of super-heated air scorched where the owl had been seconds before but the owl avoided the blast with ease. Its small size confusing and infuriating the dulled and ravaged mind of the undead dragon. Each gout of flame missing the small bird as it circled and dived away from the larger creature.

“Enough of this. Kill that damn bird.” Haures yelled at the silent Falkner. The traitor Caelite glared at him with thinly veiled contempt and with reluctance unleashed his own lightning magic at the tiny owl. A blast of electricity missed the transformed sorcerer by mere inches sending the owl into a tailspin as it lost altitude and accelerated towards the scorched earth out of control. The dragon renewed its own attack chasing after the bird as it fell out of the sky opening its maw either to eat the bird whole or burn it to cinders. Isobel chased after them feeling ineffective and watching in horror once again, unable to break Haures’ control over the creature or save Razakel as he fell. The dragon’s sleek black form accelerated after the owl as the ground rushed up towards them, gaining on the small bird.

Inspiration struck first and Isobel launched herself into the dragon’s mind, whereas Haures was shielded and Falkner within his shield radius the dragon was not. She dove into its murky veiled thoughts controlled by necromancy and driven by a mixture of hatred and despair, feeling pity at the once noble dragon. Haures connection was too strong, his foul spell-work bound the dragon entirely to his will and she had neither the time nor the knowledge to free the bound creature. Instead she sought to interfere, slowing the creatures thoughts, and tearing into its motor control. With great resistance and the sluggishness of an undead mind she managed to wrest control of its flight muscles and hinder the creatures’ co-ordination veering the dragon off to the side as Razakel tried to regain his own flight. She closed the dragon’s mouth and tried to send the creature into a terminal dive as the owl escaped. Razakel swooped down towards the prison and through the narrow passage ways within the walls to safety.

<
You can thank me later.>
Isobel smiled as the dragon hurtled towards the stone courtyard. Haures’ fearsome power ripped her from the dragon’s mind as he reasserted control and pulled the dragon upwards to slow its descent. Her mind exhausted beyond words her projection began to disintegrate as she drifted away from the dragon, she could feel her mind pulling back into her body miles away. The pain and disorientation she felt was immense as her projected vision faded. The last thing she saw was Valdgeirr flying low across the ocean drawing up a tidal wave in its wake that crashed into a Night Watch ship heading towards the island. Agony followed as she awoke back in her living room shivering with the cold and exhaustion, her senses addled and disorientated.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Claire’s big blue eyes stared her in the face as she tried to ease the elderly woman back into her chair. “Take it easy.”

“Eleanor?” Isobel asked, her throat dry and hoarse. As her vision cleared up and foolishness crept over her. “So much like your mother.”

Claire watched the world pass by as the horse-drawn carriage pushed on steadily through the streets. Though uncomfortable given the uneven twisting roads; riding in a carriage had a certain style she had to admit. With Sevaur and Adrian trying to locate Reiner and share some of Isobel’s information; she and Isobel headed towards the Night Guard’s main station. Their absence was tangible; the elderly woman beside her remained exhausted from her psychic search and spoke little. Wrapped up in a long coat the former Inquisitor’s colour was returning; she’d refused to wait at home to recover and insisted they alert the Night Guard.

“You’ve never been to the city before have you.” Isobel asked after a while. “It’s not much to look at I’ll grant you but it has its charm.”

Claire nodded in response. “It’s different. Bigger than I expected.”

Isobel chuckled. “You should see some of the other cities. This miserable place can’t hold a candle to some of them.”

“Where are you from? If you don’t mind me asking.” The journal had been sparing in its descriptions; the briefest contact details and several records of cases together but rarely anything personal.

“Lohrheim. Far, far to the east.”

“I’ve heard of it.” It was hard not to, given its role as heart of the Empire, and home to notable colleges, academies and innovations. “That’s where the Inquisition is based isn’t it?”

Isobel nodded. “That’s how they picked me up and recruited me. They noticed my talents and took me in.”

“I thought they recruited from the church?”

“They can do. Being devout helps but it’s not as necessary. Back in the old days sure it protected the interests of the church but the changing times have forced a refocusing. Now they seek out talented individuals to keep the empire stable.”

An odd statement — given their reputation of hunting for heresy and rogue sorcerers. Members of the Inquisition were always to be feared and obeyed; perhaps their role as the Church’s weapon and executioner was exaggerated. They seemed to serve the Kaiser more than the church these days to help protect the newly founded empire between nations. The Inquisition was one of the oldest institutions on Vesta, predating even the last cataclysm. None of the admittedly few Inquisitors Claire had encountered met her expectations of zealotry. Claire believed in the four gods, you only need see the power bestowed upon the Caelites to believe they were real and tangible. The greatest of the Caelites could become Avatars of Caelus during a crisis, channelling their divine power and becoming a living conduit to wage war upon their enemies. She followed the teachings of the gods but she’d never felt the call to true piety like some of the other towns folk; merely an acknowledgement and respect for them. Perhaps the Inquisitors were similar.

“What does it take to become an Inquisitor?” She realised she’d been fiddling with the ring on her left hand and pulled her hand away.

The older woman smiled. “Ah, perhaps you were considering following in Eleanor’s footsteps?”

“Maybe.” Claire shrugged. “I’ve thought about it sometimes.” She didn’t see the point in lying about it — Isobel was a mind reader after all. Whilst she considered herself an honest person she did miss the option to lie even if she rarely took it.

“They’ll recruit any talented or distinguished individuals from any background if their skills benefit the Inquisition. Forgive me if I sound like one of their recruiters.” Isobel braced herself as the carriage crossed over uneven terrain; the uncomfortable thinning fabric seats left little to grip onto. “They’re nothing if not pragmatic.”

Her mother had a natural talent for magic that caught the Inquisition’s eye at a young age, a speciality Claire apparently failed to inherit. It was also clear Isobel’s potent psychic powers also drew their attention, it was hard not to feel her talents of archery and bow-making were less flashy.

“You’re a hunter like Jorge, aren’t you?” The question seemed more of a formality, given Claire’s outfit and weaponry Isobel already knew the answer. She chose to interpret it as an unspoken implication that Isobel was refraining from telepathy perhaps to be polite.

“We have our differences.” She hesitated. “He prefers trapping. I’ve got better aim and I’m probably a better tracker by now if I’m honest.” He relied upon his instincts and an intuitive understanding of his quarry using his years of experience and intuition. Often he’d lectured on the importance of waiting rather than chasing — a principle she’d taken to heart. “I’m less likely to tell tales about wrestling dragons and fighting bears empty-handed.”

“That’s a pity. He’d use lines like that on Eleanor when they first met.” Isobel shook her head and her smile faded. “Being able to track may very well come in handy. It has in the past. What weapons do you favour?”

“Bows mostly, with a dagger as a backup.” In truth she wasn’t keen on using the knife as a primary weapon, if the enemy got that close she was in trouble.

“And that sword of yours?” Isobel pointed towards the sheathed rapier with her walking cane.

“I’m alright with it.” She shrugged as she reached for it. “Had to use it during the undead attack and Sevaur’s being helping me practice.”

“Good to know. May I see it?”

Her brown eyes widened at the intricate metalwork on the rapier — the ornate dragon motif, the wings forming a handle and a spear tip as a pommel. The blade itself was spotless and well-maintained, unsurprising considering its former owner. It was always cold to the touch and though Sevaur strongly suspected it was enchanted it was difficult to find out how. Any attempt to conjure magic from it or activate some hidden power had failed. The blade remained still and inanimate, almost mocking in its reticence. In the end they’d settled on it being an expensive custom sword with perhaps a mundane sharpening enchantment. Given her impressions of Knight-Commander Rhae it was likely Amelia preferred utility over the flaming swords and spectral weaponry found in legends and children’s stories.

“How did you come by a weapon like this?” Isobel held the sword before her eyes and inspected it with care before re-sheathing it.

“It was awarded to me by the Caelite Commander. She said she didn’t need it anymore and that I might find it useful.” It was a fine weapon at the very least and an honour to receive even if her sword skills left a lot to be desired.

“I imagine you will.” Isobel replied as she retrieved her own metal walking cane and steadied herself as the carriage came to a halt.

“I just hope this one won’t melt in my hands like the last.”

The former Inquisitor eased herself upwards, leaning heavily on the cane and opened the door allowing the cold air to rush in. “We’re here.”

Alvar collapsed onto the ground clutching his breastplate as crossbow bolts filled the air. Bolts missed Reiner by mere inches as he sought cover; impacting on nearby gravestones and trees.