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90. [Uicha] Fear and Loathing
🕑 Added 2025-03-04 22:09:39 +0000 UTCUicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 6th Renown, representing the Forgotten One, has changed since Ambergran
Bric de Orak, a man of no particular renown, the Flamingo Islands, his grandfather
Battar Crodd, Death Knight of the 13th Renown and Quill of the Orvesian Witnesses, doesn’t do well in the sun
Athur Buss, Bone Mage of the 10th Renown, the Orvesian Witnesses, creepy little guy
***
14 Rainest, 61 AW
Sugarfoot, one of the Flamingo Islands
76 days until the next Granting
Uicha woke up with a start when his grandfather dropped a mug. The ceramic shattered next to the living room window where Bric had been standing, though as Uicha opened his eyes the old man was stumbling backward in a painful lurch. It was morning, sunny, a pleasant breeze setting the curtains to swaying. Cradled by the hammock, Uicha couldn't exactly spring to his feet.
Outside, someone screamed. Gulls shrieked in the sky.
“What's wrong?” Uicha asked as he untangled himself from the canvas and stood.
Bric's face had gone ashen. His hands were shaking and the muscles in his neck stood out, like he was trying to hold in a scream of his own. The old man looked at once terrified and enraged that he'd lost control of his emotions. Although he’d only known him for a day, Uicha didn't get the impression that his grandfather was a man who easily gave into fear.
“Out there,” Bric croaked, pointing shakily at the window. “Blackbirds.”
So, it was time.
Uicha picked up his scimitar and tied the belt around his waist. He nodded once, then stepped over the shards of Bric's mug and the spreading puddle of black coffee. He peeked through the curtains.
The urge to flee struck Uicha immediately. A queasiness came over him that almost caused him to lose his bowels. His knees knocked together and, without thinking about what he was doing, he grabbed the musty curtain and tried to wrap himself in it, like a child hiding underneath his bedspread. A rational part of his mind understood this terror was unnatural, but knowing that did little to stop his body’s response.
Uicha forced himself to stay in the window and look out. He caught sight of a mother and her small child who had been playing in the sand. They were fleeing south, the mother outpacing her tottering, crying child. She couldn’t best the panic long enough to scoop the boy up. There were footprints in the sand from others who had already escaped. Birds wheeled away in the sky and even nearby fishing boats appeared to be turning back from the beach. Everything within view of the two black-clad men on the shore was in retreat. Soon, the area would be clear.
There were tears on Uicha’s cheeks from the effort of standing still and half-moons in his palms where his nails had dug in. Those wounds, at least, closed quickly thanks to his [Greater Regeneration].
There were two Orvesian Witnesses standing on the beach, a capsized dinghy behind them that Uicha was sure came from the Noyegan ship that had been loitering out at sea. The first man—if it was even a man under that feather-covered hood—Uicha did not recognize. He was crouched in a strange position so that his knees jutted up nearly as high as his head, reminding Uicha of a spindly cricket. The Orvesian seemed unbothered by the panic around him. His long hands were at work arranging a semi-circle of bright white objects in the sand. Shells? It was hard for Uicha to tell through his blurred vision. He wouldn't have blamed anyone from fleeing the strange Orvesian, but Uicha sensed that the sensation of [Fear] emanated from his companion.
Battar Crodd. The death knight Quill of the Orvesians hadn't changed since the last time Uicha had encountered him. Maybe there was some fresh sunburn across his bald head and pale cheeks, standing out sorely between the stripes of ash that covered his face. Battar wore his feathered caftan open down the chest, wide-shouldered and muscular, his broadsword slung across his back. Though he looked completely out of place on the Flamingo beach, the tall Orvesian stood with a loose-limbed, patient dignity. Like a teacher waiting for a dawdling student to approach the chalkboard.
Crodd cocked his head. He must have seen Uicha in the window.
Like a tide rolling out, the [Fear] ebbed away. Uicha let out a shuddering breath as his muscles uncoiled. He glanced over his shoulder. Bric remained pressed against the bungalow's back wall, his rickety legs trembling as he tried to will himself forward. The fear had been lifted only from Uicha.
“Stay there,” Uicha said. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“I’m fine,” the old man snarled, but he seemed relieved to sink back against the wall.
“It’ll let up,” Uicha said. “Just—”
“Uicha de Orak!” Battar Crodd bellowed from outside. “It is time that we talked!”
Uicha breathed out through his nose. He’d gone to sleep knowing that this would be coming. He was tired of being chased around and now he would do something about it.
“I gave you the night to acquaint yourself with your family!” Battar shouted. “I am not without sympathy. But we have traveled long and far for this meeting, and I will suffer no further delays. Come out! Or my bone mage Athur Buss will send his minions in to fetch you.”
Uicha took a step back from the window and steadied his breathing. He dropped a hand to his scimitar—once, twice—getting a feel for how quickly he could reach the weapon. Thanks to [Swordplay+], he was sure it would be faster than Battar could grab that huge sword of his.
“Back window,” his grandfather urged in a hoarse whisper. “They won’t know you’ve gone.”
“They’ll just keep chasing me,” Uicha said.
He started for the door.
“What you're considering is foolish,” said Kayenna Vezz.
The witch manifested in front of Uicha. Of course she had. The Orvesian spirit infesting his body only seemed to show up when she wanted to scold him. He stopped in his tracks to size her up—wild, dark hair, the deep wound around her neck from her beheading, her stout and short body. From Bric’s perspective, it probably looked like Uicha was hesitating.
“We might yet have need of that man,” she said. “He is strong.”
Uicha kept his mouth shut, letting his thoughts do the talking. Back in Ambergran, she had basically told Battar to leave her the hell alone. She'd shown no interest in returning to her people, or of helping Battar with his pursuits. In fact, while at sea, Uicha had sensed nothing but revulsion when they had passed by the gloomy coast of Orvesis. Kayenna disdained the state of her own people.
“Be that as it may,” Kayenna said, “we may rely on his protection at the Granting.”
We. Uicha snorted softly. As if they were some kind of partnership.
“Fine,” replied Kayenna sharply. “Consider, then, that he may know how to separate us.”
Uicha's lips curled back. He gained nothing by playing host to the witch. She only knew how to use the old ways and, the last time she'd tried that, he had nearly been killed from the costs inflicted on his body. His power came from the Forgotten One now. From chanic. She was nothing more than an unwanted guest. But, Uicha remembered the brutal ritual Ahmed Roh had been using to pull Kayenna from his body. There were gaps in his memories because of that tampering. He would not risk something like that again, and certainly not with a madman like Battar Crodd supervising.
“Then I am your prisoner, it seems. My survival tied inextricably to yours,” Kayenna said. “In which case, I beg you to exercise caution. You surprised the archmage. The champions on the boat underestimated you. These encounters do not make you a warrior. You are yet a child.”
“I'll surprise him, too,” Uicha said aloud. “Or, you will.”
“What?” Bric asked shakily, thinking that Uicha was talking to him. “Surprise them coming out the front door?”
“Never mind.” Uicha turned to him. “I might be leaving in a hurry after this, grandfather. I’ll send word to you when I can.”
“Wait—”
Uicha opened the front door of the bungalow.
And stepped outside as Kayenna Vezz.
The woman’s body came to Uicha almost as easily as his own. He had Kayenna’s memories to draw on and his [Shapeshifter] ability did the rest. Uicha felt like he could hold this shape for a long time. Although he’d reduced his height, added curves, and gained a grisly scar around his neck—Uicha felt no different physically. His body was still his own, underneath the illusion. The breeze ruffled the folds of Kayenna’s black dress. The only detail that he made his own was the scimitar, the belt and sword snug against Kayenna’s waist.
Uicha stepped off the bungalow’s porch with Kayenna’s chin held high. He mimicked Kayenna’s haughty cadence.
“I warned you in Ambergran, Battar Crodd,” Uicha said in flawless Orvesian, slipping into the language easily. “I warned you to leave me be.”
The grin on Battar’s face was huge—spread somewhere between elation and wolfish hunger. He draped a hand across his midsection and tucked himself into a deep bow.
“Ashes remember,” Battar whispered. “It’s you.”
“Her,” tittered the bone mage on his right. “Truly, her.”
“Regretfully, mistress,” Battar said as he straightened. “I cannot leave you be. I am a man drowning and you, mistress, are a lifeboat.”
As he padded slowly forward on Kayenna’s bare feet, Uicha flicked a look toward Athur Buss. The bone mage rocked back and forth on his creaky heels, almost like he were having a fit. The objects arranged around him weren’t seashells as Uicha had first guessed. No, they were bones—of course, they would be bones. Bleached knuckles poked up from the sand next to mandibles separated from heads and other assorted parts. Uicha did not like the look of all that. He allowed the disgust to register on Kayenna’s face.
Then, with a dramatic sweep of Kayenna’s hand, Uicha used [Ice Mastery].
Chunks of sweating, crystalline ice exploded up from the sand, swallowing and crunching the bones Buss had so carefully laid out. A waist-high wall of ice pickets formed before Buss, separating him from Battar, and ultimately sending the ragged mage somersaulting backward into the surf with a cry.
“You’ve done it,” Battar said. He’d barely flinched at the assault on his fellow champion; he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Kayenna. “The old ways are still strong.”
“What you want from me, I cannot give,” Uicha said, as Kayenna.
Battar’s eyes glistened in the sun. “But this is proof that you can, mistress. Look at you. Restored.” He paused. “What has become of the boy?”
“His body is mine. I make use of it as I will.”
Beside him, the true Kayenna snorted resentfully. “You mock me with this performance.”
Uicha ignored her. He drew closer and closer to Crodd. Unlike when they’d met in Ambergran, Uicha could now read the sprawling whorls of Ink that covered Battar’s chest and shoulders. His eyes danced across the symbols.
The Orvesian had many defenses. If Uicha was going to succeed, he would have to be fast. He would have to strike as he had done with Ahmed Roh. He would have to make sure the odds were tilted in his favor.
He aimed Kayenna’s fingers at Battar and used his [Telekinesis]. The Orvesian stumbled forward as Uicha ripped his broadsword out of its sheath and sent it flipping down the deserted beach. Battar laughed giddily.
“I am the son of a historian, mistress,” Battar said. “He spent his life studying you and I have followed in his footsteps. He wrote of how you sought to remove the Ink. He thought you were close. He found papers that suggested you began this research before the gods changed our world. And now you have done it, yes? You and the boy. A miracle.”
“It never worked,” said Kayenna. “I never finished.”
These words meant little to Uicha. He didn’t care about Battar’s obsession with Ink, but he could use it to his advantage.
“Do you want me to remove your Ink, Battar Crodd?” Uicha asked in Kayenna’s husky voice.
“You…” His blue eyes widened. “You could do that?”
Uicha glanced briefly past Battar. Athur Buss was still on his belly amidst the teeth of ice Uicha had raised, his forehead pressed into the sand. An obsequious worm. He wouldn’t get in the way.
“Kneel,” Uicha said.
Immediately, Battar dropped to his knees, just as Uicha arrived before him.
“You asked me to seek the ones who created your urn’chan and I have regretfully failed to find that information,” Battar said hurriedly. Uicha could suddenly imagine the man in his role as a scholar, a pupil eager to please. “But I have something else for you, if you will return with me to Orvesis. I have the Crying Otter.”
Uicha nearly laughed at this strange, meaningless sentence, but then he rocked to one side, as if buffeted by a strong wind. It took him a moment to realize that Kayenna had shoved against his sense of control. The witch had never done that before—not without asking. Uicha held her back with merely a thought, but her apparition’s shouting made his ears whistle.
“Yes!” Kayenna yelled. “Tell him yes, damn you, you insolent boy!”
“Mistress?” Battar asked. He had seen the flicker of hesitation and surprise upon Uicha’s face—upon Kayenna’s face.
“We will discuss that,” Uicha intoned, recovering himself. He thought, for a moment, of the murdered people of Ambergran, and that was enough to shut out the frustrated screams of Kayenna Vezz. “First, a demonstration and a punishment.”
Uicha activated [Ink Thief] and thrilled at the screams that tore from Battar’s throat as he ripped away the Orvesian’s [Greater Shield] ability. Uicha couldn’t chance Battar getting up some kind of defense. The man’s [Regeneration]—a lesser version of Uicha’s own ability—wouldn’t matter if Uicha killed him quickly enough. Even Battar Crodd could not grow back a missing head.
Spit flecked from Battar’s lips. “You’ve done it! Ashes, you’ve done it! Take it off me, mistress! Set me free!”
Uicha used [Disloyal]. He made himself an [Orvesian Witness]. He held onto Kayenna’s form so that no new symbol appeared on her scarred neck, even if Uicha could feel it upon his own.
And, as Battar’s Ink flowed through the air toward him, Uicha unsheathed his mother’s scimitar. With [Swordplay+], the motion was smooth and practiced. A backhanded killing swing.
The blade bit deep into Battar’s neck.
A fraction of an inch more through meat to the spine. That was all Uicha needed.
Battar’s hand snapped up. He wrapped his heavy fingers around the sword and held it there with unnatural strength. His Ink settled on Uicha’s chest, but neither of them noticed.
“The gods don’t protect me,” Battar said, mystified, blood bubbling up over the back of his tongue, and dribbling down his chin. “I am liberated.”
Uicha added a burst of [Telekinesis], but even that was not enough to finish the stroke. Battar wrenched the scimitar free from his neck. His palm was flayed and his little finger flopped into the sand, but still he snatched the scimitar away from Uicha. Dark, rich blood spewed from Battar’s wound, spraying across his feathers and coating his Ink.
“I am liberated,” he repeated, his voice a rasp. “But I am not ready to die, Uicha de Orak.”
The death knight stood.
“And now,” he said. “I will educate you.”
Comments
iridium248
I mean, a sucker-punch was the best chance he had, and he almost pulled it off!
Joseph
Gotten way too cocky and blood thirsty to be going for a kill when it’s not necessary
iridium248
Oh damn
