IGS #4, Chapter 35

Scorio

“Then we’re agreed.” Scorio glanced around the small group. “Swear the Heart Oaths, and we’ll head out into the Unfathom.”

“Great!” Myla rocked onto the balls of her feet, hands linked behind her back. “Happy to swear anything that’s not weirdly personal or makes us your indentures servants or whatever.”

“Not what we’re looking for,” said Druanna, smile wry. “Just clear yourselves of the Herdsmen and we’ll be set.”

“Sure thing,” said Kuragin. “Do you have a set oath?”

“It’s pretty basic,” said Scorio. “Just swear that you’re not a Herdsmen or associated with them by some other name, and that you’re not working in their interests. That you’re willing to do everything you can to help us reveal the truth about them and bring them down.”

“Basic but comprehensive.” Kuragin glanced around the entry hall. “Want us to do it here?”

“Whatever you prefer,” said Scorio.

“I don’t mind!” Myla beamed. “Let me know if this suffices: I swear our most ancient oath.” Her voice swelled with power as her Heart ignited with Bronze. It was of moderate size, rough edged, oval. Scorio scrutinized it, curious, and could see the coppery flames dancing over its surface. His Heart senses were getting sharper: he could sense how it was a Dread Blaze Heart on some instinctual level. “I swear a Heart Oath upon my burning Heart, that what I now say is true: I am not a Herdsmen, or associated with them by another name, and I’m not working in their interests. I’ll do everything I can to help you reveal the truth about them and force them to help us seal the Pit or whatever else you think is best.”

Myla’s words rung with power. Scorio glanced at Druanna and Jova, then nodded in approval; as before, he could sense the veracity of her words, underscored by the fact that her Heart didn’t immediately shatter.

“Welcome aboard,” said Jova. She didn’t sound particularly enthused. “Kuragin?”

The large Dread Blaze glanced once about the entry hall. Everyone else had taken note of the oath ceremony and were watching with open curiosity. “Sure. I swear our most ancient oath.” His Heart incandesced in turn, large and ridged like a chunk of black flint. He repeated Myla’s words, and again Scorio sensed the truth behind his words, how their intent and letter were seared into his very essence to safeguard him against ever betraying them.

“Excellent.” Druanna looked to Scorio. “I think that means we’re ready to go.”

A stir at the back of the hall. Personages were descending into view through the staircase arch. Lady Krula, Artur, Asha, Aezryna, a handful others.

Jova raised her chin. “Looks like we’re getting a royal send-off.”

His companions rose from the table to move behind him, and together they watched Lady Krula stride down the length of her hall, nodding to the left and right as other Great Souls murmured their greetings and respects.

She stopped before Scorio, tall and aloof in the lantern light. Clad in sweeping robes of light gray and white, she exuded power, grace, deliberation. “Your visit has been a brief one, Scorio. Word has reached me that you intend to depart shortly.”

Had he erred in not making a point of saying goodbye? He sketched a shallow bow to hide his uncertainty, then straightened, expression once more poised. “We are. I didn’t wish to bother you.” Everybody was watching now, curiosity marked. “But thank you for your hospitality, Lady Krula.”

“Think nothing of it.” She’d subtly pitched her voice to carry. “You’ve chosen not to aid me in my personal quest, but I harbor no ill-will. I am glad to have met you, Scorio, and to have retained my head after learning of all your deeds. Am I the first ruler of a demesne that you’ve seen fit to spare?”

For a second Scorio was caught flat-footed. But she was smiling, so he managed a chuckle. “I—ah—had no cause, to… well—”

“I jest. Know that you are welcome back at the Red Keep at any time, and if you should come into any information that pertains to my quest for my lost sister, doubly so. I pray that your expedition be met only with unparalleled success, and look forward to learning of your exploits.”

“Thank you.” Again he sketched a half-bow. “You do me too much honor, Lady Krula.”

“Hardly. Would that there were a dozen more of you to shake up all of Hell.” She gazed about the watching crowd, her smile thinning. “But alas, the rest of us are but common Great Souls, fixated on far less noble quests. A question though: have you see or heard from Dameon since we last spoke?”

Scorio, thinking the audience was drawing to a close, paused. “Dameon?”

“Hmm,” agreed Lady Krula, raising a slender brow.

Scorio glanced at Jova, but she seemed as surprised as he. “I haven’t. Has he left the Red Keep?”

“He has. I felt an unusually potent disturbance in the Keep’s mana down below earlier, and now I find him missing. It would be easy to assume he chose to continue deeper into Hell, but he doesn’t travel on the Red Road, either.” She was watching him most carefully. Of course. Why wouldn’t she suspect him and Jova?

“That mana disturbance might have been me.” Scorio fought the urge to blush. “I was training with Aezryna. She can verify my account. But we didn’t see Daemon.”

“That was you?” Lady Krula raised an eyebrow. “Yet I see you remain a Pyre Lord. For a moment… but never mind. Well. Travel safely.”

“Thank you.” His thoughts were spinning. Had Dameon fled? But why? He was safest here. Unless some vision from his power had told him staying with Lady Krula was dangerous to his health? “Thanks again for your hospitality.”

And deciding a show of confidence was best, he stepped back, turned, and led his companions out of the Red Keep onto the broad landing outside the main doors.

“He’s gone?” hissed Jova, striding alongside him. “What the hell?”

Silverines took to the skies as they emerged to begin wheeling overhead like oversized vultures.

“That can’t be good,” said Druanna. “Then again, he’s removed himself from Lady Krula’s protection. Isn’t that what we wanted?”

“Yes,” agreed Scorio hesitantly. He rubbed the back of his head as he turned to regard to Red Keep. “I could have sworn he’d just wait here, but… the man’s dangerous. We’ll have to be extra careful heading out.”

“As if we planned to lower our guard,” said Jova. A huge plinth of stone arose into view, easily five yards on each side. “But unless he’s developed a means to fly, he’ll be hard pressed to bother us.”

A Silverine descended from the mass of flyers overhead. Slender, gray-skinned, and so flensed of fat as to be a walking anatomical lesson, it lowered gently to the ground without needing to beat its butterfly wings of silvery white. Great fin-like ears and a crest of sharp-tipped fronds framed its blank mask in which two menacing holes of pure black were punched out.

“This is Braxofitz,” said Jova. “He’s to be our guide.”

The Silverine was less servile than his brethren; he didn’t bow or fawn or immediately launch into a hurried mess of words. Instead he regarded Scorio with acute curiosity, head canting from one side to the other like that of a bird.

“You know which way we’re headed?” asked Scorio.

“I have been thusly informed,” said the Silverine, voice low and confident. “Your destination is verboten, but I can guide you along the vector till we reach the limit of where Great Souls are allowed to tread.”

Druanna crossed her arms. “And when we reach that limit?”

The Silverine regarded her in turn. “Then I shall warn you from progressing further. The consequences of which shall fall outside the scope of my services and protection both.”

“Fair enough,” said Scorio, trying to not let the fiend’s alien manner unnerve him. Almost he missed the duplicitous but effusive Sybelleo. “We’ll be flying but taking frequent rests. You lead the way. We’ll follow.”

“And remember that we’ve told Lady Krula that you’re our guide,” said Jova. “She knows our safety lies in your hands.”

Braxofitz deliberately raised both palms and shrugged, the gesture at once clear yet awkward, as if pantomimed. “The Silver Unfathom is a perilous place. I am your guide, but not omnipotent. You venture forth at your own risk.”

Druanna’s smile was humorless. “There are no dangers left in the Unfathom but Silverines.”

“We Silverines are fractious, fragmented, and fierce.” Still the Silverine spoke without inflection. “I can vouch for my own kind, but there are many who would wish to devour me for my inheritable power and wisdom as they would your Hearts. We sojourn together, and together we risk the dangers of the Unfathom.”

“Fair enough,” said Scorio, eager to be gone. “Then let’s away.”

Jova gave a sharp nod. “Kuragin, Myla, you’re with Leonis and me.”

Kelona, who’d been watching this exchange with avid curiosity, hefted one of the large dragon packs. “Druanna, will you be riding with us?”

Druanna raised a brow. “I appreciate the offer.” Her smile was darkly amused. “But I’ve my own means of conveyance.”

And her eidolon appeared before them all.

By the ten hells, it could still steal his breath. Scorio gazed upon the wondrous six-armed statue with awe. He could still remember as if it were yesterday how it had waded into Praximar’s dining hall to do battle with almost a hundred Great Souls, its hide impervious to every attack, its blades unstoppable. Six yards in height and made of smooth, polished jet, utterly black except where blue light seemed to reflect off its curvature. Its six scimitars caused the wind to keen as if sheared by passing over their blades, and cold mist fell in slow waves from its frigid surface.

Druanna smirked, stepped forth, then lightly leaped to place one foot on the eidolon’s knee as it half-crouched, and swung up to sit athwart its shoulders. The great statue rose to its full height, and Scorio felt again a sense of profound gratitude to have Druanna on their side.

Their party broke up, some moving onto Jova’s plinth, others waiting as he Ignited and shifted into his dragon form. Nyrix and Kelona busied themselves with hauling the pack straps over his shoulders, then climbed upon his back as Xandera found her customary position nestled between his shoulder blades and wings.

Braxofitz rose higher into the air. “Follow me.”

Scorio sank low onto his haunches then sprung up, beating his wings powerfully as he fought for height, to slip the greedy clutches of gravity. For a moment he strained, and then he swept forward, over the sharply descending steps, and out and up into the frigid air.

Jova’s plinth rose smoothly by his side, her mastery now such that she could keep pace with him without strain, even with her added cargo. Together they speared out over the silvery sands, and below Druanna’s eidolon began to lope forward, its arms and scimitars swinging back and forth as its huge legs ate up the ground with indefatigable speed.

Scorio rose to a height of some forty yards above the ground, then arched his neck to look back over his shoulder at the receding Red Keep. Already it fell behind, its Silverine guardians settling once more upon its facade and roof.

He was glad not to have found reason to fight with Lady Krula. There had been room for conflict—she could have pressed him into her service, sought to cajole or demand his obedience. But she’d made her request, then respected his refusal.

And he could respect her for that. In fact, he found his thoughts lingering on her enigmatic smile, her hooded eyes, her ageless visage. A fascinating woman. Terrifying powers, and trapped here for a century by her vanished sister.

A wonder of Hell in and of herself.

Looking forward once more, he powered on, following Braxofitz who flew forth before them all, upright and immobile, as if too dignified to pretend to beat his wings or go through the motions of flight.

Silver sands, heavy gray rocks, thick mist. The sky overhead obscured by low cloud cover, and in the distance, barely discernible through the fog, a distant range of rough hillocks.

Gladness swelled in his heart.

They were finally free of stone walls, of veiled conversations, of Great Soul politics. Back once more into the wild, to test their wits and strength against Hell and the Herdsmen.

Unable to restrain himself, he trumpeted an eager roar, and below Druanna laughed as her eidolon raised one fist to flourish a scimitar. He glanced to the side, and saw Jova shake her head with mock despair, but to his delight and surprise, Leonis raised a fist and gave him a firm nod.

Invigorated, eager, he powered on, through the mist, through the fog, and left the Red Road and its illusionary safety behind.

*

Flight.

Hours of the searing cold winds beneath his wings. Xandera curled up into a ball upon his back, Kelona working her Dread Blaze mana technique, Nyrix on rearguard, watching the skies behind them.

The Silver Unfathom passed endlessly beneath.

Vast hammered valleys of silver and gray rock cupped between towering mesas. A lunar landscape rent by the occasional ravine or plain of shattered rock. Fog that would sweep in and engulf them so that they flew as if lost within the heart of clouds, only to break before bleak winds that rushed up from the south to howl by.

Inhospitable landscapes of sharp escarpments and mountain ranges broken into sharp fangs. The gray skies occasionally peeling open to reveal dark depths high above through which perpetual storms of lightning ranged, so far above them that the thunder was inaudible.

And stillness. But for the wind blowing drifts of sand, there was no life but the Silverines. And Silverines they saw sometimes not at all for stretches of time, and then floods of them ranging across the land below. Huge herds a thousand strong picking their way over rock and desert, pausing only to crane their heads and watch the passage of the flyers overhead, sometimes parting before Druanna’s eidolon or swarming in and forcing Jova and Scorio to descend and rain absolute destruction upon them until they broke and fled.

It was terrifying to witness Jova’s new power.

She could tear the rock apart beneath the fiends’ feet, rip out chunks as massive as houses and send these flying only a foot or two above the ground through their ranks to churn and break bodies like some mobile siege weapon. These huge boulders she’d then shatter into a million fragments and thresh the remaining fiends, leaving them bloodied and broken.

Were they not Silver-ranked, she could have killed them all off without effort. Even so, she left them brutalized, their resilient bodies pulped and broken so that when Scorio flew low overhead to strafe them with dragonfire, they inevitably fled.

Druanna didn’t even bother moving to engage. She watched the carnage unfold about her and kept on course, her eidolon loping endlessly on, consuming the terrain with its mile-eating stride as her vortices flew hither and thon, directing the mana into her Heart and thus into her construct.

A problem that Scorio wrestled with. As vast as his reservoir was, he couldn’t do much more than use the Delightful Marinating Technique to drawn on mana that was immediately around him; mana that slipped by at great speed as he flew through the sky, so that the sensation was akin to trying to drink from a waterfall. And his dragon form, unlike his draconic humanoid one, drained him of his reserves with incredible speed.

Not that he could fly for too long without impacting Xandera; as such they landed every few hours for her to reconnect with the ground and allow him time to refill his reserves.

But his limitation was real.

He couldn’t hold his dragon form for as long as he should. Druanna seemed capable of running forever with her eidolon, her seven vortices flying in a constant pattern around her, and Jova herself had greater staying power with her huge plinth of rock. She couldn’t send forth any vortices yet, but with her mastery of the Dread Blaze technique, he knew it was just a matter of time.

And always, on the periphery of his mind, lurked the near-death experience he’d been saved from by Aezryna. He’d not spoken of it to anyone else. The way in which he’d caused all the ambient mana to burn simultaneously in the huge subterranean hall.

Staring into the pale silver flames of their campfire, arms looped around his knees, he dwelled on that moment. The others spoke around him, Kelona and Myla clearly developing a fast friendship, Leonis quietly ladling out the soup they’d heated in a large pot, Jova and Druanna off to one side speaking quietly.

A Pyre Lord was one who’d integrated their sense of self into a greater whole, and in doing so found mastery over their power suite, a mastery which allowed them to begin walking the road of mana dominion. Vortices were the expression of one’s will, the ability to tap distant mana directly, to direct it into one’s reservoir without needing it to flow across the intervening space.

But when he’d used Nox’s technique, he’d spawned scores of vortices. They’d begun generating new ones without his willing it, so that the entire hall had fallen into his Heart. The entire Hall had begun to burn simultaneously.

Scorio bit his lower lip, eyes narrowed as he stared into the flames. The truth, the trick of it, was right there on the tip of his tongue. He’d thought of vortices as definite objects, like ferulas, or his own hand. A vortex was a thing.

But then how had he spawned hundreds?

They were concepts.

Short hand.

Heuristics, just like the reservoir.

The truth lay beyond them.

If his reservoir was vast, everywhere and nowhere at once, then vortices were…?

Damn it.

The thought slipped away.

Worse, he couldn’t experiment.

The risk of flaming out and exploding his Heart was too great.

But the experience tantalized him.

For two paths lay before him: one the traditional, tried-and-true road walked by all Great Souls once they made Pyre Lord. The other? His weird, fiend-hybrid path in which he used the insights granted by Nox to accomplish… what?

Total conflagration?

Druanna sat down beside him and smiled at Leonis as he handed her a bowl of steaming soup. “What’s got you so wound up?”

“You’re a Pyre Lady.”

She eyed him. “You just figure that out?”

“What is a vortex?”

“Ah.” She raised a spoonful of soup, blew on it, then considered. “That’s one of those questions whose answer changes as you grow. Right now? It’s a portal I can send anywhere I need to drain mana.”

“Send. Like a rock you throw.”

Druanna considered, spoon lowering back to the bowl. “It was, at first. Now I can manifest them where I need them to appear.”

“But once it appears, it’s… what?”

She eyed him again. “Like I said. A portal to my reservoir.”

“Aezryna said reservoirs don’t exist.”

“Ah.” Druanna smiled ruefully. “Sounds like she tried to throw you into the deep end of the pool.”

“She wrong?”

“No. But we also know that Imperators can recall their past lives, don’t we? Yet we can’t. Theoretical knowledge will only get you so far.”

“So I should forget what she said?”

Druanna shrugged one shoulder and sipped her soup. “Prodigies can make leaps of logic that allow them to advance rapidly. Merely talented Great Souls like myself? I use each rung of the ladder. For now, that means thinking of vortices as portals to my reservoir.”

“Which exists, where?”

“The way I see it?” Druanna considered him. “A great sphere around me, which extends tentacle like arms to wherever the vortices are.”

“Like… a huge octopus?”

Druanna laughed huskily. “Yes, I suppose. But lately I’ve not been trying to visualize it so much. You know what it takes to make Blood Baron, I presume?”

“Actually, no.”

She eyed him again. “That’s a surprise. I’d have thought you’d have researched all that. To make Blood Baron your command of mana needs to coalesce to such a degree that you can condense it into a ferula.”

“That’s what ferulas are? Just condensed mana?”

“Just?” Druanna laughed again. “I’m sorry to disappoint. But yes. In a way.”

Scorio frowned. He’d never explored the technique of turning raw mana into physical objects. But he’d seen it done numerous times. Lianshi had been adept, as had others. They could fashion small, malleable objects with great effort. He’d never seen fit to try, however. “But Great Souls can condense mana even as Emberlings.”

Druanna swallowed another spoonful of soup and nodded. “Sure. But ferulas are sheathes of hardened mana around a permanent vortex. Or inverse vortex. Where we Pyre Lords send vortices out into the air, Blood Barons can summon mana to their ferulas.”

“Huh.” Scorio considered. “So they’re… conduits? For local mana?”

“Almost. You take the best mana you have access to, and fashion it around a permanent anti-vortex. When used, a Blood Baron wills local mana to pass through their Ignited Hearts into their ferulas, where the mana is enhanced to the ferula’s type, and unleashed as a bolt of deadly energy.”

“Blood Barons can convert mana?” Scorio stared at Druanna. “Like, turn Coal into Emerald?”

Druanna nodded as she chewed on a chunk of something within the soup. “Mmhmm. Which touches upon the whole mana and reservoirs and vortices not being what we think they are aspect we were discussing. Honestly, it’s got me stumped. It’s why I’ve been a Pyre Lady for several years now without progress.”

Scorio nodded sympathetically. “I can imagine. Huh.” He considered. “Ferulas are inverse vortices. That draw on mana that’s passed through your Ignited Heart but which isn’t burned or used up in the process.”

“Mmhmm.” Again Druanna swallowed. She was making short work of her soup. “I could go on about it, but that’s what’s the long and short of it. If you can make better sense of this puzzle, let me know.”

Scorio nodded and returned his frown to the fire.

Because Druanna was wrong. Aezryna had unwittingly done him a favor by sharing those advanced theories. There was a confluence there with the underpinnings of the Delightful Marinating Technique that sent a frisson of excitement through him.

A hidden truth he’d almost glimpsed.

Something about vortices not being portals, nor reservoirs even existing. It all came down to the will and the movement of mana. The relationship of his Heart to all mana, the act of Ignition and the malleable nature of reality.

For a moment the answer glimmered in his mind, right there.

If vortices weren’t portals, if he could burn all mana simultaneously, then…

But no.

It was gone.

“We ready?” asked Jova, crouching beside him. “We should try for one more leg before we take a proper rest.”

“Sure,” said Scorio. “Quick question, though.” Jova gave him a brisk up nod, clearly ready to get moving. “You got a handle on your vortices yet?”

“Yet?” Jova exhaled sharply in amusement. “I’ve been a Pyre Lady for little over a couple of days.”

Scorio raised an eyebrow. Druanna’s chewing stopped as she also eyed Jova.

Who was unable to restrain a slight smile as she raised her palm and birthed a vortex just above it.