The Blind Valiant

THE BATTLE DOWN THE DELL.

Anduin might’ve hated Marrąk because of his tragic past with the city. But he absolutely adored the Bazaars- though Old Bazaar held more of his affections.

His mama used to own a apothecary that also dabbled in mirrors, cosmetics and when Tiana had been in town, provided free rudimentary education.

 More than ten years later he still felt the same sense of shock and wonder when he walked down Phaedra Alley through the single street that connected Old Bazaar to New Bazaar. Flute and tambourine tunes welcomed any who knew their way around the city and crossed into this wonderland populated by native Marrąkan business owners.

It was only a wonderland to those who belonged; they delighted in it like it was their own slice of heaven. Others like the foreigners and the Echelon saw it still as a gutter full of vermins and heretic people.

 Under the dark arches the stalls shone, laden with bells and ribbons, gaudy with color: snake green, fever red, and the startling orange of flames.

Even in the nearing twilight, gambling houses teemed with raucous betting and airs of alcohol and smoked opium.

 Haughty females in revealing sheaths of corsets lounged under a row of pinkish walls, displaying their curvaceous wears alluringly as they cooed for passers-by to come away to their beds.

The streets were somewhat crowded today as news of last night's attack tore through the streets and the number of patrolling Echelon guards. Old Bazaar posed as that dream one tried to grasp tightly to remember when he woke.

Drawing many more after their first tour because no one would walk Old Bazaar and not want to return to experience another day of it.

 Even the Fells considered it the single jewel that could never to be snatched by their imperial masters up at the Reliquary.

 Though a few of the enthralled were Noirish and on the rarest of times, even Echelon nobles descended to enjoy the proclivities that were born in these streets.

 Even as Anduin passed, he caught three Potentates lured into the familiar crimson brick houses that was one of Old Bazaar’s most expensive brothels.

 Whether they were there for investigating the attack or otherwise, it was beyond his attention. He needed to find safe passage out of the city before he was tracked and arrested.

Anduin couldn’t believe Nadezdha had left without him; using the vortex runes without him.

 He walked briskly and as always drew lingering gazes the opposite of welcoming.

But he guessed that was because he looked more Echelon than Fell, in this body. Not that he liked taking other people’s bodies. Being in a body that wasn't his for too long left him uncomfortable with his connection to his aiyar.

 Anduin entered a tapestry shop. As he moved down the isle of hanging curtains and tapestries. A dark murmur threaded through the hum of conversation and spinning wheels all around him, cautionary glances slid to cut at his back.

Outsider. Echelon scum.

Anduin paid no mind to those errant thoughts and went to the country where an aged man with wrinkled pair of bat wings closed at his back, sat.

  “We don’t want no trouble, milord.”

Did Nadezdha not tell them I’d taken a different face? This is ridiculous.

“The heavens bare for the damned who seek redemption.” He recited the words in old Purgatic which proved who he truly was.

The ancient language would’ve burned the tongue off any Noirish who tried speaking it.

Silence reigned through the shop but the elderly Fell nodded and rose to his feet, taking a wooden key from his hooked wing and gave him. Anduin took the key and went for the crumbling mortar wall to his left.

Perhaps I should've used the fountain entrance.

It opened into narrow stone staircase that spun miles into the earth. Unlit torches lined the walls, and with a thought they illuminated his path downwards.

 Soon the old walls of the corridor opened into wider and more gaping vaulted passageways.

The sights of these brought a heavy dose of nostalgia to him. The west wall of Damaikar’s Temples.

 It was legend that the patriarch of the Infernals had designed these labyrinth of tunnels running through all of Evvoia; connecting the states and kingdoms that were closely allied to his people.

 Some might say it had helped thousands of Fells escape the terrors of the Echelon during the Cleansings.

Anduin remembered Nadezdha saying the Monger had laid down some stones to these tunnels.

So that when they used a different entrance to get into Marrąk days ago, he had been filled with regret, pride and the usual consuming rage that came with remembering the atrocities committed against the Fells.

 And they called us devils and monsters.

Now, underneath the cover of the dim tunnels and layers of ancient Infernal sorcery, Anduin peeled off the flame identity he had been wearing since the gala.

 Tumbles of auburn red hair fell to his shoulders as he filled out a bit more in size and height in contrast to the slenderness of his disguise.

He drew in a satisfying breath and smiled to himself, now very comfortable in his own skin. There was no way any Echelon guard would be able to track him.

 Now all he had to worry about was whether or not Nadezdha would abandon him at the crossroads if he got there late.

 Anduin made a right turn, using his own manæ to feed the sentient consciousness of the Temples so that it would read him as well as his destination and open the way there.

 It was a dangerous choice of escape, one that could very well end up keeping him trapped underground for however long the Temples wanted.

 But what other choice was there. His partner had taken the safer one without him.

 Again he cursed himself for letting Nadezdha talk him into coming back to the Kinship. He wouldn’t be in this situation if he hadn't, wouldn’t be nursing yet another betrayal.

As he regaled himself of his mistakes, he felt the sudden thinning of air and the surge of tense manæ in the tunnels as if a void had been opened somewhere down the tunnels.

 A harsh scent of brimstone permeated through the caverns of the Temples, the flames of the torches guttered high and brighter.

 No, not a void... a vortex. But that’s impossible, transportation spells do not work in the Temples.

Yet one moment Anduin was alone, walking down the corridor laid out to him by the conscious spirit of the tunnels and the next he saw a very familiar man stumbling into existence.

 Mortimer! But how...? I killed him.

Anduin grabbed for the weapon he had strapped to his belt and rushed forward.

 The young man looked to have gone through an ordeal himself; face stained with blood, burn marks on the guard uniforms that didn’t seem to fit him and his eyes were wide with panic and shock as he staggered to get his feet as after the he had just walked through the vortex.

 Uniforms? What’s a son of the Madrigal doing wearing a guard’s uniform?

But Anduin would have to ask those questions later. The more prying ones were how he had survived that dagger, how he had tracked him or perhaps the most important; how did he know about the Temples to even vortex into them?

 Anduin tackled the young lordling to the ground, knocking the dagger he had in his hand and pressing his own to his exposed throat.

 “Wait, wait! I didn’t do anything...” The Mortimer paused as his eyes trained on Anduin’s face and he gasped out in recognition. “You!”

 Anduin’s eyes widened at surprise of his recognition. That’s not possible. He couldn’t know it was me.

And yet, “You did this to me. You killed me!” He all but yelled and a force lashed out of him and threw Anduin over.

 Ow! He winced at the splitting pain across his back and scrambled back to his feet, he looked for his dagger and saw that the blade and been broken. The Mortimer lord kept him in his line of sight as he rose to his feet.

“What was that?” Anduin asked, circling him with more caution, eyeing him strangely. “How did you do that? How did you get down here, in fact?”

 “Why the hell would I tell you anything? You’re a terrorist... a murderer!”

 Anduin nodded and glowered back, eyeing the blood stains on his buttery yellow hair down to his burned bare feet.

“Yes a cold hearted one. So if you don’t want me to have a second go at killing you, tell me how you got into these tunnels.”

 Kyrillos was suddenly pushed up the wall, the Fell’s elbow pressing hard at his throat. And again, so close to the Fell’s face, he couldn’t help but find the shade and shape of his eyes familiar.

 Then the picture his father had passed around days ago came immediately to his head. The rebel who had been seen in all those attacks across Evvoia, who was wanted on several Echelon states.

 Kyrillos shook his head, and rambled. “I don’t know! One second I’m enjoying the gala and next thing you’re stabbing me. I wake up chained up in a dungeon and my family trying to kill me. I wanted to get out of the Reliquary, here I am about to be killed again by the same maniac.”

 Anduin’s brows creased with confusion. “What would you have done for your family to want you dead?”

And how the hell did you survive that dagger? Kyrillos gritted his teeth together, enduring the strangulating pressure of the man’s hold.

But there was no way I’m revealing anymore to this murdering lunatic.

“We can continue to have this delightful conversation and give the Potentates the time to find us or we can leave.”

 Anduin chuckled darkly, “There’s no we, lordling. And if those bastards could find us down here, we would already be in chains or dead. Damaikar protected these tunnels with powerful sorcery; no Noirish can get in here.”

 “But I got in.” Kyrillos pointed out.

He wore a consented look, “Which is what makes you interesting and useful.” Or you are not Noirish as you think you are.

 And before Kyrillos could anticipate it, he threw a punch into his face, hard enough to knock him out. Anduin swooped his crumpling body over his shoulders and made for his destination.

 Guess I’ll be taking a bargaining chip for the Kinship.

                                              ~♤~

I’m still alive. Albeit Kyrillos was not exactly enthusiastic about it.

  Everything hurt so much worse by morning. His wrists were one sharp, burning throb, his shoulders stiff and sore from all the hours he must've been stuck in this bound position.

 His stomach was actively trying to eat itself, and his legs were useless with pain.  

  Oh, and I’m bound to a tree branch ten feet off the ground!

 The only silver lining were the few mouthfuls of water the Fell had brought to him -one of which I accidently poured all over myself rather than in  my mouth.

 It’s no wonder their kind is so detestable.

  “‘By Heaven’s mercy, it is a different game when we remain unchallenged,’” Kyrillos muttered under his breath.

 The line from the Hymnal of Divinity came to him from memory. The meaning of it had been worn down like river rocks from time and overuse, but he spoke the words as if to beseech whatever deities to help him now.

 “‘We watch, we build, we remember-’” his voice cut off when he saw the Fell rebel.

  Last time he had properly seen him, the man had been dressed like a knight, but now even his face was different than the one he had worn at the gala.

 It was more rugged and like Genoa had denoted- handsome. Red hair limp and dripping wet along his face, four dark horns curled around his head like a crown.

 He must’ve gone to wash by the lake. If Kyrillos could find more landmarks to tell him where he was, it would be easier to plan an escape.

 But to where? My family tried to kill me at the Reliquary. He hadn't even tried to process what he had experienced and gotten from Severa that night.

He hadn’t had time between trying to stable his raucous mind and enduring his hostage situation.

 “I am going to untie you from the branch, lordling,” he said by way of greeting, “but mark me: if you try to flee, I will shoot you, then drag you back here.” 

 Kyrillos stared at the deep V of his dark shirt, catching just a glimpse of the belt with sheaths of knives attached to his narrow waist.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked.

 Kyrillos blinked, and his gaze moved to the rebel’s face.

“If I bolt, I’m dead. I heard you.” His brows furrowed and he studied Kyrillos for a second longer before grunting. With that, he pulled out a knife and un a fluid and strong throw, cuts the branch clean.

 Kyrillos fell but he was caught by the scruff of his neck like he was a flailing puppy.

To that he very nearly pinched the rebel. Using one of his booted legs, Anduin ignoring his apprehensive state of mood about the fall kicked a stone for him.

“Sit.” Kyrillos grimaced at him but does as he commanded. 

 The Fell strode away from him, opening the satchels he had stored to his side and pulled out a loaf of bread and an apple.

“Do be quick or you’ll have to eat while you run,” he continued, giving him the food. “I’ll not be wasting time for any breaks today not till I’ve put enough distance between me and Marrąk.”

  Kyrillos wolfed down the bread, whether it was a day’s stale he didn’t mind as far as it curtailed his hunger.

 When he had bit into the apple, the rebel yanked on his bindings, making for the horse Kyrillos had taken no note of till now.

 And he had to scramble to grab the fallen apple from the ground.

While Anduin tied him to the back of his saddle, Kyrillos managed to stuff two thick bites of apple into his mouth before throwing the remaining aside so to keep his attention on catching up.

 Immediately, Kyrillos was aware that today will not be like yesterday. His entire life had pivoted into this mess of confusion and danger since the gala.

 Because of him… he killed me! That no doubt would’ve something to do with what strange things had been happening.

 His legs were too sore and his energy too depleted. Each step was agonizing, and no amount of fear could force him to run as fast or as long as he needed to. 

  Kyrillos made it twenty, maybe twenty-five kilometers before he fell, hitting the road hard. The horse jerked against his weight, and he let out a scream as his arms were violently jerked nearly out of their sockets.

 The rope dug into the flesh of his wrists and he shrieked again at the blinding agony. And not for the first time, he tried calling that windmill of power that had gathered for his aid. But that had proved unsuccessful.

The pressure in his shoulders and wrists was nearly unendurable.

He gasped out a breath, ready to scream some more, but it’s all so violent and sudden that it took his breath away. 

 The rebel must know I’ve fallen, he must feel the resistance, and I know he’s heard my shouts. But he doesn’t so much as glance back at Kyrillos. 

  Kyrillos hated him before now, but there was something about this cruelty that cut more sharply than any dagger in his heart.

  He’s here to destroy the Echelon, what else did I expect? 

 Kyrillos had to lift his head as his body dragged along behind the horse to prevent it from getting injured.

He could almost feel the layers of the thick coat uniform disintegrating under the force of it. Once it goes... he didn’t know how long he could last like this.  

  He never got the chance to find out. Before Kyrillos felt the bite of the road against his bare skin, Anduin stopped the horse in front of what looked to be a ruined stone cottage, with its east wall completely burned in.

 Kyrillos leaned his head against his arm, utterly exhausted by the pain. Dimly, he was aware of the Fell untying his restraints from his mount.  

  His footfalls came to his side, then ominously stopped. “You’re slowing me down, lordling.” 

   He glared at him from where he laid. “Then let me go.” Or kill me. Honestly, death might be the kinder option at this point. 

 “Have you forgotten my words so quickly? I don’t intend to let you go, I intend to use you as hostage to pass any barricade your family has already ordered ahead of us.”

 Hostage. “You’re doing a good job. I might end up dead before you get to play that card.” Kyrillos replied quietly. Not bothering to tell him how worthless he was now to a family who wanted him dead.

 And I need to find out why.

  Anduin’s disapproving look only deepened at his words. Strange, I’d thought you’d be pleased by that.

“I need you to untie my hands first,” he added, raising his bound arms to him. His gaze narrowed all distrustful-like, but he came over to Kyrillos and undid the rope.  

  He didn’t step away just yet, leaning in close. Anduin rasped, “No tricks, lordling.” 

  Because I’m so sneaky at the moment.  Once his wrists were free, blood flowed through his hands, the sensation agonizing. A low groan escaped Kyrillos’ throat. 

  “If you want my pity, expect to be disappointed.” And Kyrillos felt the kick at the back of knees as he was urged forward to the cottage.

It was empty; dust covered scattered debris, chairs and patches curtains, dead flowers in tepid vase water. And yet Kyrillos only noticed the pile of charred bones which clearly belonged to a family of four. There were children remains as well.

 With a quick glance to front door hanging on one hinge, he saw the white mark of the Echelon painted on its post.

 A Cleansing. But there hasn’t been one for fifty years. But the remains looked as recent as less than a year.

 Anduin shoved him into the house. “What is this?” Kyrillos asked as he was pushed to sit by the empty hearth.

 “This is what it means to be Fell. No doubt the family tried to protect one of their children who was born to the Left Palm, and they were burned for it.”

 After that, Kyrillos couldn’t speak to him. Not that he would respond as he went on to enchant a paralyzing hold on his limbs before he started gathering the bones of the former owners of the cottage.

 When Anduin came back in, Kyrillos could smell the dirt and sweat from him. And he figured the rebel had gone to bury the remains.

 “When we die, and not afforded the proper rites, our bodies leave a blight on the living; a curse that lingers to corrupt the world. The worst was said to have happened when the Infernals were killed.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Kyrillos interrupted with a hoarse voice.

  Anduin paused, washing his hands in a bowl of rain water stagnant for however long. “Don’t you want to know why we were at the gala? Why I stabbed you?” he asked.

 “I already know why you killed me, Fell.” Kyrillos’ voice was sharp. “Your people are against progress and order. The continent has been doing well since the Echelon took over. All these justifications you are spewing aren’t for my benefit, they’re for yours.”

  Anduin laughed darkly, brows furrowed down distastefully.

 “Has it been good though, this progress you say your kind has brought? Better than the Diluvian Era? Or do you believe that bullshit your father fed to the people at the gala?” he walked up to Kyrillos, so close they each could see the flecks of colors in the other’s eyes.

 “The only progress your government has made is that of enslaving the other half of the continent and building it on our backs; burning our priests and murdering our children. And for what, to keep us leashed and submissive. Not anymore; now we rise.”

 And he strengthened the hold of his power on Kyrillos’ hands and legs, so tight that he squirmed from the painful pressure it dug in his joints before Anduin left the cottage.

It was soon dark and it obscured a lot, but it couldn't hide the disheartened rebel prowling outside.

When Kyrillos looked well enough through the cracked windows and couldn’t find the pacing silhouette, he raised himself up with much effort.

 He’s gone.

  Kyrillos didn’t give himself time to wonder where his captor had slunk off to. He got who knows how much time until he returned.

  Not going to waste it. Hurry, hurry. Before he comes back.  

 With much concentrated effort, delving deep and desperately into himself for that erratic power that had once saved him. And when he felt its coarse and cold surface of it, he tugged like one would do a taut string.

 Its recoil reverberated a surge of black aura outward and released the spell on his legs and hands. Kyrillos smiled with triumphant freedom and padding softly to the window.

He wiggled the pane open, wincing against the blast of frigid air that blows in, stinging his lungs and rustling against his face.

Kyrillos hesitated. He wasn’t sure were the Fell actually was in the vicinity. Or where his family would no doubt be hunting for him.

 I could stay with him; he’s not trying to kill me after all. No but he’s abducting me for safe passage.

Who’s to say he won’t kill me afterwards. His mind made up, Kyrillos punched out the rest of the window screen. A moment later, he heard it thud softly as it hit the ground below.

 He swung first one leg, then the other, out over the window ledge.

Outside, it was raining again, the sleet downpour going steady for some time now had already flooded the front of the cottage and the road ahead.

His feet slammed against the ground. Slowly, Kyrillos straightened and quickly glanced about for the attraction to the noise he had made.

 Nothing. Just secluded ruin in the countryside with no thoroughfare of the town in sight.

 Kyrillos already knew they had been heading west since after he had woken up from the tunnel. So he assumed they'd been westbound since...

 That means Goya and further west across Montparnasse, would be Kabwe. That’s very well into the Old Lands.

 Now sure of his geography, Kyrillos sprinted for the road, even though his body was in no condition to run.  

  I’m free!

 Behind him Kyrillos heard a faint, slick hiss, a sound he mistook for the flighty wind until what felt like a knife slammed into his back, just below his right shoulder blade.  

 He choked against the pain, his feet stumbling as warmth spread out from the wound. Blood, his mind put together. You’re bleeding because there’s a knife embedded in your back.

  Kyrillos should’ve known better, but when he had seen the chance, how couldn’t he not act.  

  Hope is a damnable thing. And now—by the Divines, the burn of the wound seized up his windpipe. Kyrillos didn’t bother to glance behind me as he forced his feet to continue moving. He knew what he’d see.

 A proud, relentless Fell rebel, sighting him like a hunter in the woods. If I stop now, he’s got me.  

 Kyrillos didn’t falter but continued to run, puddles of rain splashing under his boots as he made for the tree line ahead of him.

He was almost to the woods when the next dagger struck him, the tip of it driving into his lower back.

 Again he stumbled, nearly going to his knees. This one felt like it hit more than just muscle. There was a sick, tugging sensation that felt wrong every time he moved.

Behind Kyrillos, he heard the gallop of hoof beats. 

Move! He snarled at himself as rain pelted, washing the soaking blood from his wounds around him. Kyrillos staggered to his feet, forcing himself to keep going. 

But his strength was quickly flagging, and when he tried again to reach for that helpful power- there was none. He felt more blood soaking into his ripped clothes, the fabric quickly turning icy.  

 It took Anduin less than a minute to reach him, his mount’s breath steaming in the night air.

Kyrillos could feel the Fell’s burning gaze on him, even though he didn’t dare look at him. Escape was now futile, but he still wouldn’t force himself to stop. 

 He heard the heavy weight of his dismount from the horse, the splash from his landing in a puddle and his advance. In two long strides he’s upon him.

 His hand wrapped around the hilt of the dagger stuck into Kyrillos’ back.

  “No—”  

  Mercilessly, Anduin yanked it out. Kyrillos screamed as the blade of it cut into more muscle and sinew as it was removed.

He tossed it aside, never saying a word. Kyrillos felt another sickening pull as he grabbed the other one lodged into my back.

   Please.

It was on the tip of his tongue to beg him, but Kyrillos had a feeling that was exactly what he wanted—for a Mortimer to plead for his life the way he had seen many of his people do.

Kyrillos grinded his teeth together. Damn him, I won’t give him what he wants. 

  When Anduin yanked the second dagger out, the pain had Kyrillos’ legs folding out from under him.

He couldn’t feel rivulets of his blood dripping down his back, but he could smell it on the earthy scent of the rain; the sickening scent setting his teeth on edge.

 But when he looked down to where his blood and the rain mingled, swirls of crimson and murky water formed images and faces; of a little girl with cocoa dark skin and honey colored hair, her clothes tattered and broken shackles at her wrists and ankles.

Then the voices added to the vision.

 “Take the eye! You’ll need it more.” Something about that voice was dreadfully familiar.

He couldn’t see the speaker as it was like looking through someone else’s eyes in the puddle.

 The little girl was soaked down to her tattered dress in sewage mud and blood, shaking from fear but for the man talking to her. No, she trusted him.

 The girl shook her head fervently, hugging herself and raising her face to show the bloodied eye sockets from which someone had ripped out her eyes.

“I can’t... what about you... you said they were using sorcery to make you forget. They will kill you because you helped me.”

 “No they won’t. They need me alive more, till the book is remade. They’ll always need me. Now take it, keep it safe till I come for it. For I will come for it soon.”

A hand patterned in shimmering purple scales pushed something into the dirtied hand of the girl, she opened her palm to reveal the gorged out eyeball with a merigold pupil.

 “Keep it safe and it will protect you, Eyvina.”

Kyrillos gasped loudly, jerking away from the pool of blood as the hallucinations was now fading away, the movement spearing the pain of his wounds throughout his body.

What was that? Another delusion?

  “Because you’ve proven yourself to be every bit as conniving as the rest of your kind,” Anduin hissing voice drew his eyes back to his real predicament. His tone just as cutting as his weapons, “you will no longer sleep. It’s a luxury you can no longer afford.” 

  Roughly, he grabbed Kyrillos’ hands, pulling a rope loose from where it had been secured at his hip. And he raised it to his lips, muttering an incantation.

 He had two open wounds at his back, and the rain was so cold it ripped through his clothing and burned his skin. “Why are you doing this?” The question was almost feverish.

 Anduin shrugged, “It’s nothing as bad as what you’d do to me if the situation was in reverse. What your people have done to mine.” The bindings were re-tied to his saddle.

  And the steed began to trot away, and Kyrillos only had one swift second to get his feet properly under him before he was forced to move to continue their hell-bound journey.