Page 18 of The Truth

As he ran, he opened himself to the Spark and sent threads of Air through the surrounding streets, feeling for any vibrations: footsteps, shouts, breaths. Behind him the Arathínians made more noise than a herd of cattle, clambering over the cobbles, the children crying, the elders shouting. A fish could have tracked them in the desert.

As they drew close to the bazaar, a sharp shriek sounded in the sky behind them, followed by a horrendous scream, one that was joined by many. Fane grimaced, and against all logic he stopped. The thoughts in his head screamed at him to keep going. The books were what was what important.

He turned and found his fish.

Two of the Veyak had descended into the street and were tearing into the elves, spewing acid and swiping with winged claws. The rabble of elves had masked the sounds of the Veyak approaching in the air. He should have extended his threads upwards. That was a lesson learned.

“Go,” the voice in his head said. His better self. His logic. “There is no sense in slowing yourself down further.”

With the elves screams ringing in his mind, Fane ignored the voice and charged back. He opened himself to the Spark.

Acid blood. Brittle bones.

He lashed out with threads of Air, grasping both Veyaks’ tails and launching them down the street and clear of the Arathínians. The two beasts smashed against the cobbles to roll in a tumble of wings. But as Fane made to push threads of Earth into the creatures’ bones, a score of Karvosi emerged from an alley further down the street. Most were human, but a handful were Matarr – tall and lean with grey-green skin, flat noses, and smooth skulls that swept backwards like the plumes of a bird’s crest. Fane had never seen the native Karvosi before, but he had seen many drawings and read many accounts.

The Karvosi soldiers took one look at the fleeing elves and charged after them, the two Veyaks regaining their composure and following suit.

He was in it now. He didn’t have the luxury of time or choices. Fane slipped his satchel from his back and lay it against the wall of the building to his left. The books would be no good to him soaked in acid.

“Stay,” he whispered to the satchel, patting it for good measure. With that, he charged through the panicked and wounded elves, launching himself at the onrushing Karvosi and Veyaks. One of the winged creatures spat a glob of venom as it lifted into the air. Fane deflected it with a thread of Air without breaking stride. And as the creature soared over the charging Karvosi below, a thought came to him.

He drove threads of Earth into the Veyak’s body, pulling and pushing at the same time. The brittle bones shattered like glass, ripping through the Veyak’s flesh and causing it to crash to the ground, its wings mangled and broken. That had been a positive side effect of Fane’s thought. The true intention gave birth to a cacophony of horrid shrieks and wails as the Veyak crashed down over a pair of Karvosi, its blood spraying in the air. More than half the Karvosi fell on their hands and knees, flesh smoking as the acid burned into them.

As he had figured, all four of the Matarr emerged unscathed from the acid rain, the blood falling harmlessly on their smooth grey-green flesh. They continued their charge, leaving their companions writhing on the ground behind them. And as they did, the second Veyak screeched in fury and launched itself at Fane.

His knee smashed against a protruding cobble as he dropped to the ground, sweeping below the Veyak as it lunged from the sky. He twisted, wrapped a thread of Air around the creature, and launched it like a sack of stones towards the charging Karvosi. Just as the creature smashed into the two Matarr at the front of the group, he pushed threads of Air and Spirit into the Veyak’s body and in one smooth motion ripped it in half.

The two halves of the Veyak’s body tumbled and smashed against the ground, blood spraying in all directions. The twenty Karvosi were now six, the rest writhing in agony as their flesh burned, and the acid blood pooled in the cobbles, grey smoke sizzling into the air.

Six was a much more manageable number. Two humans, four Matarr wielding curved, sickle-shaped blades in each hand.

Fane closed the distance in a heartbeat. He pushed threads of Earth and Spirit into his arm, ducked below the swipe of a sickle set for his neck, and rammed his fist into the breastplate of the wielder’s chest. The force of the strike collapsed the breastplate inwards and sent the Matarr careening backwards, pale purple blood spraying from its mouth.

Whatever gave the blood its colour was much more weakly concentrated in the Matarr, for the stone where it landed didn’t sizzle, emitting only a tiny puff of smoke.

He turned the next strike away with his steel vambrace, twisting and grabbing his attacker’s forearm at the same time. Using his momentum, he carried forwards and smashed his forehead into the bridge of a Karvosi’s nose, almost finding comfort in the crimson of the blood that sprayed. As the man reeled backwards, Fane snatched the blade from his hand and spun it into his grip, the leather hilt feeling at home in his grasp.

One quick swing and he opened the man’s throat. A second and he severed a Matarr’s arm. Within moments all around him lay dead or dying, threads of Fire, Spirit, and Air shimmering.

Fane leaned over and snatched one of the sickle blades from the grasp of a dead Matarr. The hilt was wrought from some kind of bone or horn, embellished with silver and gold, the blade polished to a mirror finish. He proceeded to use that polished blade to slit the throats of every Karvosi who lay groaning and maimed by the Veyak’s acid blood. It was such a waste of life, such a pointless action. But he would not risk them giving chase, even if they somehow managed to overcome their injuries.

When he was done, he looked back at the elves he had been escorting. Six were dead, ripped apart by the Veyaks. And the elf who had been their leader lay injured, both his feet a mess of flesh and bone, the Veyak acid still sizzling.

He looked to the nearest elf. “We need to leave now. More will not be long in giving chase. And I cannot fight every soul in the Karvosi army.”

“What of Laraith?” the elf said, gesturing down to the leader who looked close to losing consciousness, three others huddled about him.

“He will not make the journey. His time is done.”

“His time is not done!” One of three elves tending Laraith’s wounds snapped to her feet, glaring at Fane as though he were Karvosi himself. He could only admire her fury.

“Will you carry him? From here to the gates?”

“If I must.” She did not back down.

“He will slow you down too much. You’ll die with him.”

“Then so be it.”