Herald Of Ruin (4)

Ismail hurried out of Vthuma Palace with Azadine slung over his back.

Arrows and spells flew from behind, but thanks to Mediam blocking them, he widened the gap without once looking back. He felt that if he looked back, his feet would stop right there.

It was also not a situation where looking back made sense.

—Kurrurung!

A building beside the road collapsed and came down over Ismail. Still carrying Azadine piggyback, he conserved every scrap of strength, dodged it, and scanned the area.

—Hiiiing!

A horse whinnied somewhere.

“Ah… damn it!”

Ismail ran toward the sound on the chance he might be lucky, then despaired.

A horse with its belly ripped open and entrails spilling out screamed.

Its hindquarters, apparently warped by the Nether’s influence, had transformed into a grotesque monster and was chewing up what had been part of itself a moment before. The monster, still attached to the horse, tore into its own flesh; the horse that should have died long ago could not die, and writhed in agony, crying out.

At the horrific sight, Ismail turned his head and pressed on.

The Light of the Crown that Azadine and the Emperor’s Voice had somehow forced forth had driven the Nether apostles back to their otherworld, but traces of their descent still lingered here.

And… there were Naga too.

“Kr-r-r!”

A band of sea-serpent Naga spotted Ismail while roaming with spears in hand.

“…Mm.”

Ismail kept his composure instead. The sea-serpent Naga had formed an alliance with the Aragasa; perhaps they might even give him aid with green-mana healing now.

“Hey. We’ve got a wounded man—can you treat him? We’re Aragasa!”

“Kr-r….”

But these Naga either did not know human speech well or pretended not to; they only scratched their heads.

Ismail glanced around and saw a figure who looked like a Naga thaumaturge crushed dead beneath the rubble of a fallen building behind them. Likely the shaman who had been commanding this group had died in the quake.

“Damn. Then what about a horse? Have you seen a sound horse nearby?”

As Ismail spoke with hands and feet, one Naga tried to edge out of his line of sight. He backstepped to keep the Naga in view.

“What are you doing?”

Among the remaining Naga, the one who looked the most senior growled and flicked the frill along his neck.

“The alliance… with Aragasa… is over. You… broke promise. Great kings… did not come. Failure.”

“That’s… not true. If you look at the palace right now—”

“We withdraw. Aragasa finished anyway. Not many left. But before that…”

The Naga’s eyes flashed. They were targeting Ismail.

Ismail lowered Azadine and searched the ground for anything he could use as a weapon. All he could lift was a window frame from a collapsed house—a broken beam that had once been part of it.

Just as the Naga snickered and rushed him—

—Thwock!

Arrowheads burst through their chests from their backs.

“Khak?!”

A shadowy figure flickered in and out of sight, vaulting from building to building while loosing arrows with brutal force.

“Kh—Aragasa!”

“Run!”

As the Naga scattered, an Aragasa courier descended: a member of Arael’s faction, one of the Four of Flowers–Birds–Wind–Moon—Indim of the Moon.

“Y-you are…?”

“Azadine—you’re alive? Thank the heavens.”

Indim ignored Ismail and went straight to Azadine, glad to see him, and felt for a pulse at his neck. He clicked his tongue.

“His pulse is far too weak. Kid, what happened to the throne?”

“The throne was purified. But… a residue of the apostles still remains, and it’s immensely strong. Also, Sion Ethar killed Hathir.”

Ismail himself had killed Hathir, but because it had been under Sion Ethar’s order, he phrased it as Sion’s doing.

Indim, however, showed little surprise at his report. Perhaps he had expected Sion Ethar to kill Clan-Head Hathir.

“Good. However much they call him ‘Sightless’ Azadine, he’s still Kazas’s disciple—and Lady Arael’s younger brother. He pulled off the impossible.”

“…It was immense.”

Ismail felt a flicker of dislike at how Indim slighted Azadine.

Ismail himself was no fan of Azadine, true—but he did understand Azadine’s greatness: how strong, devoted, and principled he had been. Indim’s belittling, despite an achievement so plain, rubbed him wrong.

“I’ll take Azadine. What about you? Will you serve Lady Arael? Or will you go your own way?”

“If I serve Lady Arael… what happens to me?”

“Aragasa is finished now. I mean, the Aragasa the Senate ran is finished. Lady Arael will still… mm, no. You should leave. When the world settles, Lady Arael will raise the Aragasa again—meet us then. Right now would be… difficult.”

With that, Indim hoisted Azadine. But Ismail had no intention of leaving Azadine.

“Can you save him? At least… I have to see whether he lives or dies—”

Mediam had staked her life to save this man. But he had been unconscious, and would not know what she had risked for him.

When Azadine woke, someone would have to tell him that Mediam had steeled herself for death—for him—and likely had died.

Of course, Ismail burned to go straight back and see what had become of Mediam. But he chose not to.

Even if he returned, he could not save her. No—doing so would lower her chance of survival.

If no retainers or other Aragasa were still on site, Sion Ethar might—given his nature—pretend the incident never happened.

To bury the fact that Mediam had openly rebelled, Sion could simply kill every witness among the retainers and Aragasa he could not fully control.

It was a hopeful read, but Sion Ethar was precisely the sort to do such things. There was no reason to go back now and increase the number of witnesses.

“…Fine. Follow me.”

Indim said, hefting Azadine.

“If you can keep up!”

He sprang away. Unlike Ismail, he moved lightly even with Azadine slung over him, opening distance in an instant.

“Ugh!”

Watching, Ismail fumed at his own foolishness.

The reason Indim didn’t want to bring Ismail to their hideout was obvious: Arael was injured.

If he brought Azadine in like this, a boy like Ismail would likely be forgotten altogether.

What should he do? Turn back now and try to save Mediam, or at least see her fate?

Or chase after Azadine and see his fate instead?

“Damn it. He’s looking down on me!”

Ismail ran after Indim along the road. He ran who knew how far, then glanced back and muttered:

“This place is…”

He recognized it. Identical buildings flanked both sides in a grand avenue designed to dramatize the approach to the palace gates.

On top of the quake-toppled buildings and split earth lay fresh scars of destruction.

Was this where Arael and the elders fought?

On impulse, Ismail scaled a quake-tilted exterior wall and scanned the surroundings.

He drew a breath.

“Hff…”

The devastation was plain at a glance.

“The Aragasa are finished.”

He hadn’t seen it coming out of the palace—but here, looking from the spot where Arael must have unleashed her power back toward the palace, it was obvious.

Clan bodies lay everywhere. Arael’s unleashing must have been beyond fierce.

Ironically, the Brutuma royal army had inflicted almost no damage on the Aragasa.

What had hurt the Aragasa was internal strife itself. The clash between Arael’s faction and the Senate had brought about the clan’s ruin.

“…Then why does Arael want Azadine?”

The question struck him.

He knew Azadine’s abilities were tremendous.

But whether Azadine could even live now was in doubt. Even if he survived, without being flooded with tremendous healing—or unless a Lord of the Eight Thrones shed their own blood to save him—the result would surely be a broken man.

Lord of the Eight Thrones, huh. Hm. Surely not…

Ismail shook his head.

“Keep tracking.”

He began to move warily in the direction Indim’s presence had vanished.

“Nrgh…”

Azadine opened his eyes. Someone had slapped his cheek hard enough for him to feel it through the pain that made his whole body feel like it would shatter.

“You’re awake.”

“Kh—Indim?”

Azadine panted.

He was so cold. He had bled so much that his body shook.

Dizziness and a body-ache that felt ready to break him to pieces washed over him.

Something like a flame wavered before his eyes, pouring light from above.

A lamp? In that case the swaying meant he was on a boat?

But he couldn’t be sure. The vertigo was so bad he couldn’t tell whether he was really aboard, or on level ground but felt as if he were swaying.

Amazingly, even now, green mana stirred within his body; the regenerative spell Shati had set on him strained to mend his wounds.

But he lacked vitality itself. He was drained so dry there was no life left to draw upon for that regeneration.

With injuries like these, he would not live long.

Wounds might seem to knit closed for the moment, but in time they always fissured there first and broke. Like a patched pot whose solder fails earliest, so too with the human frame.

“Did you save me?”

Azadine asked. Indim snorted.

“No. The boy who used to be your apprentice did.”

“Ismail? Ngh…”

A brutal headache drove Azadine to lie back down. He couldn’t even hold up his head at will.

But he had to understand his situation—

“Hathir? Aldis? How long has it been?”

“That’s too much at once. One at a time.”

“……”

“First: a week has passed.”

“A week?”

“You were unconscious the whole time. We ground sugar and medicine and fed you, and cleaned you up when you did your business—be grateful.”

“……”

Azadine checked his body.

Both arms had their muscles and ligaments torn. Paradoxically, the left—severed at the wrist—was the better of the two now.

The right arm, which had taken Sion Ethar’s arrow, had split vertically and was barely hanging together.

The rest of him was a ruin as well. Without a miracle, recovery looked impossible.

Azadine turned his head away. His own state was too gruesome to look at.