Corrupting Power
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The Threadbinders - Chapter Six
🕑 Added 2023-06-07 01:13:52 +0000 UTCChapter Six
They were somewhere over the Nomadic Sea when Sophia decided to approach Yasha. “Have… have I done something to offend Arkady?” the human asked the elf, trepidation in her voice. The dwarf was asleep in the back of the chamber atop Quiesh as they flew through the moonlight. “He’s been… a little curt the past few days, and I’m worried I’ve said something to upset him, so I thought I might come to you, since you’ve been together so long.”
“Mmm,” Yasha said, sipping from her tea as she watched the murmur of the waves far beneath them as the two moons cast dueling paths across them. “It’s not you, my dear. My husband has a somewhat conflicted relationship dealing with pixies, and your new companion, Moonweave, is a reminder of a particularly difficult time for him. I imagine it will pass in time, but neither you nor she should take this as a reflection upon either of you. When you have lived through as much history as my husband has, sometimes it can take a toll upon you in the most unexpected and unusual ways.”
“I keep forgetting that even among your highly long-lived species, both you and your husband have remained extremely youthful through the aid of your magics.”
“Threadbinders and Threatbinders are sizable investments in knowledge and power,” Yasha said, “so that comes with the expectation that we will pay back that investment over the centuries, both in great ways and small.”
“Can I ask what problems Arkady has with pixies?”
Yasha sighed, leaning her slender frame against the railing that circumnavigated the edge Quiesh’s carriage. “Problem is perhaps a poor choice of words. Arkady fought alongside an entire battalion of pixies, but none of them survived, and during that time, he’d grown quite fond of them. Because of that, he came to associate their kind, completely unfairly I will confess, as harbingers of ill-omen, despair and death.” Yasha placed a hand on Sophia’s shoulder. “He knows it is silly, and that it is without merit, but that war still haunts him to this day, and he has yet to be able to fully shed its wear and tear upon his soul.”
“Should I advise Moonweave to steer clear of him then?”
“No no,” Yasha said, waving her hand. “I will not see your companion feeling rejection because my husband is still dealing with grief. Just caution her not to take Arkady’s gruff demeanor personally, and assure her that he will, at some point, work through it. We’ve not had cause much to be around pixies over the centuries, so it’s likely time that he begin the process of moving through the grief rather than stuffing it in the cupboards of his mind.”
“Might I ask another question, m’lady?”
“Sophia, my dear, we’re partners now, so I think that you should definitely drop the ‘m’lady’ unless absolutely necessary,” Yasha scolded with a slight smile of amusement.
“Very well. Yasha, what the bloody hells is that?” Sophia said, pointing over to the left of their path where a ribbon of blueflame cut through the sky in a threatening volley, landing upon a field of soldiers off in the far distance.
The elf squinted her eyes to focus them on the far distance and she could see a familiar wrinkle she’d not laid eyes upon for centuries, a rounded insectoid shaped tank with a large cannon on the back of it, a piece of Zincolum magical technology that was thought long destroyed. They were known as Rackows, a sort of military tech now banned by polite society. Even at such sizable distance, she could make out the distinct lapis lazuli carapace, a sight she’d seen during the Cosmion Wars, and hoped never to see again. The six spindly legs looked as though they had been reconstructed, cobbled together from whatever materials could be found. A far cry from their hayday, this one looked to have been on its last legs several lifetimes ago, and yet, the very sight of it still instilled a sense of primal fear deep in the back of her skull, as she remembered seeing their cannons shredding through soldiers by the legion. If anything, she mostly found herself glad to be only seeing one of them, and not a full squadron of them on approach, even in its dilapidated state. Despite how long they’d been gone, she found the very sight of one causing her unrest.
“That, dear Sophia, is forbidden magic,” Yasha said, a sliver of nervousness in her voice. “And something we, sadly, cannot just ignore. Go, wake Arkady and your new companion. We’re going to need all hands on-deck, although this is far more my field than it is his.”
“I’ll get him.”
A few minutes later, Quiesh had changed course and was drifting through the air currents over towards the battlefield, which looked as though it had quieted down, the battle having broken for a time, each side retreating to their lines, leaving the empty battlefield between them mostly scorched earth and untended corpses.
Both Arkady and Yasha had significant military experience, but they came at it from two entirely different angles, and in entirely different eras. Arkady had fought in old wars, before he was a mage, and before he was properly armed to deal with them, so he had the frontline battle experience. Yasha, by contrast, had developed all of her initial military knowledge while becoming a Threatbinder, and had spent centuries refining those skills, so she was far more equipped to think tactically.
The dwarf scowled, looking down at the Rackow with clear disdain in his eyes. “I thought the humans were supposed to know better than to go mucking about with that kind of dangerous thing,” he grumbled. “They’re just as like to blow themselves up as they are to damage the enemy. And wouldn’t that just be a fine thing.”
“Why were they banned, dear Arkady?” Sophia asked, leaning against him, resting her plush curves into his back. He recognized that she was trying to butter him up but chose to let the physical contact continue uncommented on.
“Blueflame scars in ways that fleshmenders cannot tend to,” the dwarf said. “Its burns are irreparable, often fatal, but even the wounds that do not kill cause lingering pain that is near impossible to quell. I once saw a dwarf lop his own hand off at the wrist rather than endure the eternal singing of pain from half-functioning fingers. The fleshmender even complimented him on the willpower to follow through on the correct decision. Blueflame weapons were deigned… too cruel to be allowed for civilized usage. Most were said to be destroyed centuries ago, when the Accords were adopted, but I suppose the wreckage of some of them must’ve lain beneath the earth, simply waiting for some poor sap to dig them up.”
“And what are we going to do about it?” Moonweave chirped in happily as she zipped on her tiny wings in the air before them. “Bend them over your lap and rap upon their bottoms until they learn how naughty they’ve been?”
“As amusing as that might be, little one, I somehow do not think they will be eager to engage in such ideas,” the dwarf said, annoyance in his voice. “But we need not give them a choice in such matters. The accords are quite clear on what any mage who encounters a blueflame weapon is supposed to do with it. So, we don’t really have any choices to be made, other than how, I suppose.”
“It appears as though they might be doing some form of parlay at that tent in the center of the battlefield, Arkady,” his elven wife said to him. “We could go and lay down the terms of the accords in front of them.”
“I’m keen to just go and destroy the Rackow, but I suppose perhaps we should go and inform the humans that what they’ve done are in violation with accords that were signed before their grandparents were born,” Arkady grumbled.
“Forgive them, lover, for they know not what they do,” Sophia said, trying to placate him.
“Hmph,” he snorted. “When has that excuse ever been good enough for anyone?”
The griffon circled in a downward spiral towards the tent, and for a moment, Arkady thought the two sides might consider firing arrows at them, but they had the Threadbinder flag painted clearly on one side of Quiesh’s carriage, and the Threatbinder flag on the opposite side, so that it would always be clear they were independent mages, and not to be brash in assuming their intentions.
“Should I go and scout ahead?” Moonweave asked, always eager to offer her help.
“No, I believe we can make our own entrances,” the dwarf said, before his wife nudged him in the shoulder. “But thank you for the offer.”
“Of course! I am in the service of my lady, who is one of your partners, so I am in service to you just as much, Lord Threadbinder!”
As they moved down the stairs and over towards the tent, there were two guards standing watch, one on either side of the flap. The two couldn’t have been more different. The guard on the left was in somewhat tattered armor, the weapon chipped and worn, no hint of a uniform, just strong protective clothing strapped together for dear life. The guard on the right, however, was in a crisp, sharp uniform with piping, filigree and inlay. His weapon was sharp and ready, having probably only seen combat a couple of times, but polished within an inch of being able to be used as a mirror. “Halt!” the guard on the right said, eager to show off his bluster and bravado. “This summit is not for outsiders to participate in.”
She couldn’t help it. Yasha laughed at the man’s staggering overestimation of his ability to intimidate them. “You do realize you’re speaking to a Threatbinder?” Yasha said, watching the man’s confidence wither and die within moments, the look of steel behind his eyes reduced to sand.
“Sorry, m’lady,” the man said, although all the fire and spark was gone from him. “We were instructed to keep people from disturbing the summit, but I suppose that does not apply to your kind. Would you prefer me to announce your entry?”
“No no,” Yasha said. “We can make our own presence known.”
The four of them moved through the flap, Yasha stepping through first, as the member of the party whose skillset was most relevant here, even if Arkady had far more upclose experience with blueflame weapons than his wife had.
“What is the meaning of—oh, my apologies Lady Threatbinder,” the more elegantly of the two women standing in the center of the tent said. The two women in the tent, much like the two guards out front, represented polar opposites of class and wealth. One of the women was in commoner clothing, a long skirt that had several patches on its surface, threadbare in many spots with boots that had been resoled multiple times; the other was in what could only be royal’s clothing, silk and lace and refinement. While both were likely the same age, the one in the commoner’s clothing looked so very much older, the years having been harder on her than they had been the noblewoman. “I was unaware that my opponent had enscripted your services.”
“I’ve never met this woman,” the commoner said. “Why are you here, Lady Threatbinder?”
“One of you has an army with a Rackow in it. Which would that be?” Yasha asked.
“A whatnow?”
“The large insectoid object that was firing blueflame not too long ago,” Arkady interjected.
“That would be our army,” the commoner woman said. “I am Monera Bimus, the elder of the village of Pickering, and we cannot stand for their overly cruel taxations, so when they began sending their troops in, pillaging our land to cover this new ‘taxes’ they have imposed, we struggled to find any weapons we could use in order to protect ourselves from their cruelty.”
“The announced tax increase has been on display at the castle for the past two seasons,” the noblewoman sighed. “Lady Amanding Rhyphian of House Rhyphian, your Ladyship. We felt half a year would be plenty of time for those folks in our fiefdom to get their affairs in order, so that they were prepared for the increased needs of the castle, which is a dire state, and desperately in want of repair and reconstruction.”
“And as I keep telling you, Lady Rhyphian, you cannot simply post notice and expect all the villages to know about it without sending messengers to each and every village. That is your responsibility, as the presiding Lady of the fief, to make sure such decrees are given ample chance for discussion. Had you brought this to our notice when you posted it, we would’ve informed you that it had been a harsh winter, and that this year’s crop was predicted to be quite light, a rebuilding year, rather than one in which we could afford to spare our profits to gild some noble’s cage!”
“If you can’t be bothered to take an interest in local affairs, Madam, I’m not sure how you expect for me to bothered to have the slightest drop of sympathy for you,” the noblewoman huffed. “But because of the horror and devastation you’ve inflicted upon my troops, we will reluctantly withdraw and allow you to have your year of lean deliverance, with the expectation that next year, we will not be having a similar conversation.”
“Actually, gentle folk,” Yasha interjected. “We don’t care about any of that. We’re here to destroy the Rackow, the blueflame tank, and ensure that it cannot be restored or used again.”
“That is our only defense regarding the lady’s intolerance!” Monera moaned. “If you destroy that, she’ll only march her troops in here as soon as you’re gone. Her word cannot be trusted!”
Yasha looked over the noblewoman and sighed, as if realizing that such an outcome was not only plausible, but likely. Blueflame weapons had often been the tool of the oppressed, used against wildly better funded and more deadly armies, but that was also what had made them so very dangerous to behind with. They were designed to inflict the maximum amount of carnage and disfigurement. The weapon had only been fired once, but the once had been enough for Lady Rhyphian. Without the threat of the weapon held over her, though, the accord would hold no real bearing. “And the word of a Threatbinder? Is that enough to ensure whatever deal you have is binding?”
“You have no skin in this game, elf,” Rhyphian said. “You should remain out of the matter.”
“Mmm,” Yasha said. “That doesn’t seem like much of an option now does it? I need to destroy the Rackow and I do not want to interrupt these negotiations. So I will come back in a year’s time, and if the agreement’s not been held to…” Yasha looked down at her hand, as a tiny ball of orange flame moved like a comet across the surface of her skin, the heat of it warming the tent, casting light across the surface of the inside. “I will burn your entire kingdom down to ash and let those you have oppressed take possession of the burnt land.”
“Isn’t that in violation of the rules you people follow?”
“We are obligated to dispatch blueflame weapons but we are entitled use whatever sort of discretion we want for settling the dispute,” Yasha said. “And I’m itching to let loose on an army, so the idea of being able to use the destruction of your castle as a selling point is rather a delicious one.” The ripple of fire sparkled bright and beautiful.
The noblewoman considered her options for a moment before sighing. “A year’s delay only, yes? If I need to come back in two years with raised taxes, how will I know that you won’t descend upon me and my home like a plague of locusts?”
“You don’t,” Yasha said, a wry smile crossing her lips as the rivulet of flame corkscrewed up along her arm and then moved to halo around her head. “But you have my word that as long as a fair agreement is reached, I will refrain from interfering.”
“Ah, but fair in whose eyes, Lady Threatbinder?”
“All parties involved, or, barring that, to a neutral arbitrator. I can have one come by every year for a couple of years if both parties would feel more comfortable with that.”
Arkady had always been amazed by his wife’s level of patience regarding this sort of bullshit. It was the kind of thing that made him want to pull his beard out, people wanting to convince themselves they were too important for compromises to be made. Being a Threatbinder came with a surprising amount of diplomacy, and Arkady found it all so tedious. He was capable of diplomacy, but it certainly wasn’t how he enjoyed spending his time, nor did he like how long it typically involved.
“I suppose it will need to be good enough,” Lady Rhyphian acquiesced.
“We will go and dismantle the Rackow while you two hammer out any remaining details,” Yasha said, as they made their way to the exit of the tent, heading over towards Quiesh. “I can—”
“No no,” Arkady said as they stepped back up onto the carriage. “I already bear the scars from a few of these weapons on my psyche, my love. There’s no need for you to take on one while I have all the others. I have learned how to manage it and would rather you continue to sleep easy.”
“What scars is he talking about?” Moonweave asked Sophia.
“I don’t know, Moonie,” Sophia whispered back. “Ask Yasha.”
The pixie flitted over towards the tall elf’s ear, hovering near there as her tiny wings flapped frantically. “M’lady, what scars is he talking about?”
As Quiesh lifted only somewhat into the air, Yasha directed their friend to head over towards where the Rackow was situated on the front lines. “Blueflame weapons are created using dark magics, things that involve ripping souls from living creatures and imbuing them into the weapon itself. To destroy them, a mage must destroy those souls as well. They cannot be salvaged or saved; they are lost to the infinite void forever. And when a mage destroys those souls, there’s a certain amount of grief that passes through them. We’ve dismantled about a dozen blueflame weapons over the centuries, but it never gets any easier to do. My husband will be… overly dour for a while after this.”
The griffon stayed low as loads of farmers and craftsman looked up in awe, a couple of them reaching up, as if hoping to brush their fingers against the majestic creature’s feathers, even though they were far too high above them. Griffons were uncommon over these parts and Quiesh was maybe the first of her kind that any of them had ever seen. When she landed down near the Rackow, many townsfolk slowly crowded around her in amazement, although none of them wanted to get close enough to touch her, for their own safety.
“Do you want company for this?” Sophia asked the dwarf, as he moved to descend down the stairs from the carriage.
“No no,” Arkady said. “It’s probably best you don’t see any of this. It can be… taxing on even the strongest of souls. This is work for those of us with steeled constitutions and reinforced minds. It’s not work that humans are generally suited for, and I would rather spare you from the taxing repercussions of all of this.”
Sophia placed her hand on Arkady’s shoulder, holding tenderly for a long moment. “We’re partners now, Arkady. You need to let us take care of you when you’re hurting.”
The dwarf sighed, bringing his hands up to his eyes for a moment. “We can discuss this when I’m back. It won’t take all that long.” He stepped away from her, but stopped as he felt her arms wrapping around his neck, giving him a firm hug from behind before kissing his cheek, releasing him to do his horrible task.
He much rather would’ve preferred to let Yasha do this, but he also knew the toll it might take on her, and he wished to spare her carrying that additional weight upon her soul, because, in for a nugget, in for the whole claim. The dwarven mage could recall the first time he’d destroyed a blueflame weapon, the mental agony and torment he’d endured for the weeks that followed, the afterimages of the souls he’d destroyed lingering like the memory of lightning seen first-hand.
Two humans moved to step in front of him, guards standing at their post. They were barely more than boys, spots still on their faces and nary a decent dream of a beard between them. “Sorry, master mage,” one of them said, “but we’re supposed to protect this thing with our lives.”
“The accords are being signed right now, boy,” Arkady said, his patience already exhausted from his voice. “But as part of them, this weapon is to be destroyed. It’s forbidden magic, dark and unholy spellcraft, the sort of workings that were supposed to have been eradicated centuries ago. Surely you felt that horrible tremor on your soul when it was fired earlier this day.” He could see the two boys nodded, the fear beginning to seep in. “Those were the souls that were used to create this horrid thing, crying out in anguish and intense frustration, unable to die, not permitted to escape this world, but instead trapped to cause suffering and disfigurement upon others.” He sighed, raising his hand to brush them away from his path. “Depart and let me destroy this cursed thing, before it wreaks any more damage upon you, your colleagues, your opponents or even just the innocent bystanders caught up in the crossfire.”
The two boys looked at each other, then shrugged, stepping aside, something that didn’t especially surprise the dwarf. He was used to people being deferential to him, simply because of his status as a Threadbinder. Even if he was a mage who focused upon affairs of the heart, he was still an accredited and accomplished mage, which meant arguing with him was often a futile affair. He could’ve put both young men in their place if it had come to that, but instead they had seen that look in his eyes that said they should steer clear of him and chosen to respect it.
Past the two men, the Rackow sat basically unattended, and seemed so much more harmless than when it was in use. The cannon itself comprised most of the weapon, although the insectoid tank around it gave it mobility, so that it wasn’t an easy target. Rackows had been generally crewed by three – a spotter, a gunner and a pilot, but it was a cramped fit for three humans, and whenever the weapon wasn’t it use, it was clear they wanted to be as far away from the horrific thing as possible.
Arkady moved to the back of it, sliding his calloused hand over the thing’s pockmarked surface. Despite how old it was, he found it in remarkable condition. He suspected it must have been barricaded in a cave somewhere and forgotten about until desperate farmers had found themselves willing to chase down even the scantest of rumors to find something to help them turn the tables against their oppressors. But this weapon would bring ruin upon not only those who it was used upon, but the wielders themselves.
The dark end of the tank had a single curved metal panel covering the large heart of blue crystal at the center of the machine, which was easy enough to remove and beneath it was the devilish core he needed to destroy. He placed his hand across the cool surface of it and could immediately feel the anguish of the trapped souls within.
His fingertips began to summon dissolver magics to them, and he could feel the crystalline structure of the gemstone beneath his touch start to crumble, and the wailing of the damned began to choir in his ears.
The crystal turned into a mass of ember and snarled remnants but the devastating chorus of souls crackling into oblivion only grew louder and louder in his ears while it happened. No one other than him could hear them, but for him, they were the only thing he could hear, and not only hear, but all of his senses were being overwhelmed by the sensations of these eternal souls being snuffed out one at a time.
In the final moments of the heart of the blueflame weapon dying, a tiny figure, that of a young human girl no more then five or six appeared before him with imploring eyes, begging for salvation that was beyond his ability to give, so he offered her the only thing he could – escape and termination.
When the flames had stopped, the memory of the little girl’s dying shriek continued to echo in his ears. He could still feel her presence lingering on him as he walked away from the husk of the weapon, now completely and forever inert, and headed back over to Quiesh, walking up the stairs onto the carriage as Yasha moved to slide her arm around his shoulders, not taking it personally when he twitched and recoiled slightly at the initial contact before letting her arm fold around him.
“How many?” the tall elven woman asked him.
“Eighteen,” he whispered quietly, his voice lacking all the strength and resilience it normally carried with it. “The oldest was in his sixties; the youngest, maybe six or so.”
Yasha’s breath caught for a moment before clinging to her husband even more than she’d expected to. Most blueflame weapons were created by using the souls of the old, those people who were nearing the end of their lives, but any soul served the same purpose. “Children?”
He nodded, stepping over to the front of the carriage, wanting to get Quiesh back up into the air and away from the spot as quickly as possible. “It was from the final generation of blueflame weapons, where they were being built in secret and constructed by the least scrupulous of mages,” he said, shaking his head. When he gave Quiesh the signal to get airborne, the griffon eagerly took back to the sky, as if being anywhere near the destroyed weapon was toxic and unpleasant for her.
“Savages,” Yasha said. “I can navigate us for some time if you’d like, husband.”
“I… yes. I should rest.”
The dwarf moved from the deck to head inside of the carriage, moving to lay down on the bed, as Sophia climbed in after him, wrapping her arms around him, while Moonweave moved to start braiding his beard for him, hoping it would help distract him from the horror he’d witnessed.
It didn’t help much, but it helped a little.
Comments
Joe Topp
Interesting stories enjoying them all
Ronan
Nota big magic fan, but really enjoying this series.
JC
brilliant as usual! so glad to return to this world.
JC
bookmark.
