Light Magic
The light magic carriage rocked violently. The horses neighed in terror. Fireballs grazed past it time and again, detonating close enough to strike directly. Second-class magic.
At least twenty of them. Isaac's senses picked up the enemies' numbers. It was a synthesis of the horses' snorts and hooves, the sudden surges and condensations of mana, and the silhouettes emerging from the darkness.
Eight mages among them. Five aura users. Just beginners. From the forces he'd assessed, Isaac could already guess who had sent them. Viscount Boatmer. He'd dispatched this many men thinking this time he'd finish the job properly.
The rest—
Whoosh—thunk!
An incendiary arrow lodged into the carriage. Through the window, Isaac spotted a rider swinging a hooked chain. Hooded and masked, the man hurled the hook toward the carriage.
The carriage veered sharply left. The hook missed. Carlson had anticipated it and yanked the reins.
The rest are just tricksters.
Whoosh—boom! Boom!
Fireballs rained down relentlessly, hammering the ground around the speeding carriage. The horses screamed, and the vehicle swerved wildly.
"They're herding us toward Baylden!" Carlson shouted from the driver's seat.
The carriage, originally bound southwest for the capital, had been forced southeast. They hadn't yet left Binvelt territory, so the surroundings were open hills and plains—for now. Soon, the Gray Forest would appear. Baylden.
Baylden was a swampy wetland thick with willows, riddled with bogs. Once they entered, it wouldn't be long before the carriage sank into the muck.
Clang—Sparks flew from the sword Carlson had drawn. A pursuer had closed in on horseback and thrust at him.
Carlson gripped the reins in one hand and swung his blade with the other. The attackers doggedly targeted only the driver's seat.
"I'll take the driver's seat..."
"Wait. We don't know what they want yet."
Raphael tried to open the carriage door mid-ride, but Isaac shook his head.
Inside, Enet and Gaspar huddled frozen in fear. Isaac glanced out the rear window slit. The baggage wagon carrying Bishop Alquin was still keeping pace. Pursuers dogged them too, but not with the same intensity as his carriage.
F-F-Fire!" Enet screamed.
Flames from the earlier incendiary arrow had caught, steadily consuming the carriage roof.
"Hellhounds not here yet!?" Carlson yelled.
It was a tricky spot for aura. One misjudged burst and the horses might panic, flipping the carriage. In Carlson's view, the hellhounds appearing now would be ideal. Their mere presence could terrify the enemies' mounts.
But Isaac had no intention of using the hellhounds.
In open terrain against eight mages and six aura users—plus skilled archers and grapplers. The hellhounds could shake them off, but most would die. They weren't forces to waste here.
Isaac sorted his thoughts swiftly.
If Boatmer sent these pursuers, they think Bishop Alquin—poisoned—is in this carriage. Or already dead. So what's their goal?
They're not missing on purpose. They're deliberately avoiding hits. They want to stop the carriage, not destroy it. They're avoiding killing everyone inside.
Boatmer bought off Gaspar. He can't afford to lose the man who'll perjure and forge records. The goal's probably securing Gaspar and slaughtering the rest—including Raphael. That comes after Gaspar's secured. So...
"Carlson, stop the carriage!"
"Have you lost your mind!?"
"I said stop!"
Isaac's judgment defied common sense. Stopping meant encirclement. They'd be swarmed by dozens. Certain death.
But as always, Carlson decided to trust him.
Neighhh—
Carlson yanked the reins hard. The harnessed horses scraped their front hooves in the air, struggling to halt. But the panicked beasts were beyond control. Speed didn't drop.
"Hold on tight!"
Carlson severed the traces linking carriage to horses. The front axle shattered and flew off. The carriage nose scraped the ground, kicking up dirt. The body lurched sideways; Gaspar tumbled across the floor, and Raphael's body lifted off.
In the abruptly halted carriage, Enet barely clung to consciousness, gasping for breath—but Isaac allowed no such luxury.
"Enet, lesson time."
"Y-Yes?"
Isaac gripped her wrist.
Should've practiced more if I knew it'd come to this.
From Enet's grasp rose thick indigo mana. It condensed toward a single point. A blue glow smaller than a marble flickered.
Pure mana crystallized, untouched by any element.
Enet swallowed a scream. Pain like slicing her palm with a knife followed. The pinpoint mana refracted lantern light, stirred a breeze, tugged her hair. Tinnitus drowned all else. Her palm felt like it would tear. Blood seeped from her bitten lip.
Unstable vibrations rippled at the mana core. The blue light shifted to white radiance, growing blindingly bright.
"Everyone, cover your eyes!" Isaac shouted.
Enet's vision filled with white, then plunged to black.
Rumble!
A roar pierced the ringing. Thud—thud—splat—
"Ugh, urk."
Beltran clutched his head and opened his eyes. Thud—thud—splat— The distant sounds grew nearer.
The night sky brimmed with stars, the moon bright. Such a night.
Why am I here...?
He recalled events. The faction colluding with steward Valdek had rebelled. His father died; Beltran inherited as family head to survive. Then he met Viscount Boatmer.
Long, angular face, prominent cheekbones—a middle-aged man. His soft voice offered Beltran a deal. No, a threat.
Secure old scribe Gaspar. Kill the other papal investigators. Fail, and House Buhitner falls.
So he formed a pursuit team with Valdek. Selected combat mages from mercenary band Akanlaufer, loyal Buhitner knights. Two second-class mages, six first-class. Five Buhitner knights fresh to aura use, eight skilled bounty hunters.
Plan was simple: Flip the carriage. If not, herd to Baylden swamps. Then execute the viscount's orders.
The two carriages far from Binvelt camp, the op seemed smooth. Skilled riders herded toward Baylden, incendiaries set the body ablaze. Panicked horses bolted free of control. They even halted it—the lead carriage's front wheel gone, two holy knights from the baggage wagon dismounted, auras flaring in white surcoats. Formidable foes.
Pursuers encircled both. The lead carriage stayed still—except for an oddly leaking glow.
But when the door opened, Beltran panicked. His hooded, masked eyes widened.
"Enet?"
The girl from Goethe's tourney, who captivated him at first sight, stepped out. Her wrist gripped by the noble boy riding with her. A pure white glow lingered in her hand.
"Take her out," Valdek ordered the crossbowman beside him.
"Wai—"
Beltran tried to halt the shot. Then the white light in Enet's hand erupted.
Beltran sensed crisis, cast a ward—but it blocked magic, not sight or sound. Blinding white overwhelmed vision. No light or dark discernible. Ears rang piercingly.
"Hngh—"
He felt himself lifted. His startled horse had thrown him. White vision blackened.
And now.
He had no clue what happened. Senses returning, he turned his head.
Thud—thud—splat!
"Val...dek?"
If not for the full moon's brightness, it might've been mercy.
Steward Valdek of House Buhitner—his skull caved before Beltran's eyes. Some mace crushed it beyond endurance. Eyeballs popped: one on cheek, the other half-sunk into cracked cranium, dangling. Like fruit pulped under wagon wheels. Skull shards pierced skin like jagged weapons.
"Gah—!"
"Hm? You're awake."
A low, raspy voice pierced Beltran's ears. The veined man's hand gripped the mace; flail chains dangled with torn flesh and bone.
His cross necklace gleamed unnaturally in moonlight.
"Baron!"
"Yes."
"Someone's come to."
Isaac wiped blood from his face, approaching Raphael. Blood dripped from his sword tip. He'd been about to finish the blinded foes.
Raphael stripped Beltran's hood and mask.
"Beltran?"
Isaac looked surprised.
"Y-You know me?"
"Someone you know?"
"House Buhitner's second son."
"Buhitner?"
"Our vassal house."
"Betrayal, then. The price is clear."
Raphael matter-of-factly raised his mace.
"Hold on."
Raphael paused, mace aloft, at Isaac's word.
"We need one alive."
"Hm."
Raphael lowered it. Beltran sighed in relief—too soon. Raphael reversed grip, clubbing his head with the haft. Darkness claimed Beltran's sight again.
The kingdom was an imperial vassal, but a nation still. And the capital was the capital.
Most striking from afar: massive walls and towers. The kingdom's east gate hugged a long river, drawbridge installed, iron grates and huge wooden doors barring entry. Beyond sprawled fertile fields and pastures; inside outer walls lay barracks, stables, cathedral, central square, markets.
Armored guards patrolled with spears and crossbows; checkpoints dotted key paths. Well-paved roads teemed with horses and carts. Musicians and jesters performed in the square amid throngs of onlookers.
Isaac's group rode three straight days to reach the capital, settling in a quieter upscale inn. Lavish, as befitting the city—Raphael covered the steep room and board.
Two days later in the capital. Bishop Alquin, with cathedral priests' aid, received treatment from a skilled physician. Gaspar and Beltran languished in church dungeons.
"The castle's visible from everywhere in the capital."
Isaac gazed from the inn's second floor. At the city's heart on high ground, the royal palace dominated every view.
"Always the same. Radial districts fanning from the palace."
Raphael stood calmly by the window, surveying the street.
"You've slept nonstop since we arrived."
"Must've been exhausted."
Isaac blinked his half-lidded eyes.
"Not gonna explain how you pulled it off?"
"The light magic?"
"Even I know no divine power handles light. Light and dark are phenomena, not substances."
"Light's the substance. Darkness, the phenomenon."
"Why?"
"I told you. I'll explain after seeing His Eminence the cardinal."
"......"
Faint displeasure crossed Raphael's face. A weighty theological matter for him. Not Isaac's concern.
"Young master."
Enet knocked.
"Come in."
"A reply arrived."
Isaac took the letter from Enet.
See you at the academy. - Marcel Reich