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Matabar. Chapter 52 - Staff of Demons
🕑 Added 2025-01-18 18:52:00 +0000 UTC“Bandits?” Ardan repeated, disbelief flashing across his face.
For a moment, he thought it might have been a lingering dream and he’d misheard, but the conductor’s jerky nod dispelled any such delusions. Or had it? What would bandits be doing out here in the steppes, and during the New Month no less? Here, with temperatures dropping below ten degrees, the ground had frozen several centimeters deep, turning as hard as stone. The winds blew so fiercely that even seasoned marshals and patrolmen had to wear layers of fur coats topped off with the thick blankets usually reserved for horses.
No one dared venture into the steppes for more than half a day in winter. For about five weeks at the heart of winter, the Empire’s plains practically died out. Only the Wanderers, the Shaggiers, and a few other hardy creatures of the local fauna could survive such conditions. Even the orcs didn’t wander during winter; they set up camps and waited for the snow to melt.
That was why the railroad had been built in the heart of the plains, far from the forests where one could seek shelter from the cold. That was where the bandits would typically hide — wintering in huts or makeshift shelters. Sometimes, come spring, marshals would find whole abandoned settlements scattered across the plains, places where the bandits had waited out the winter.
And yet here was the train, at a standstill, which made little sense. If bandits were planning a robbery, they’d usually do it while the train was moving.
“What are you transporting?” He asked.
“What?” The conductor’s confusion seemed genuine.
Ardan rose, staff in hand. Twenty pairs of eyes turned toward him, belonging to the occupants of both the second and first-class cars. Considering the time of year, that was almost everyone on the train.
“They haven’t robbed anyone,” Ardan nodded toward the crowd huddled at the back of the car. “It’s winter. Bandits would have frozen stiff before they got this far. And the train’s stopped. So answer my question: what are you transporting?”
Ardan squinted at him, and the mustached conductor shrank back as if bitten.
“S-s-i-i-r i-investigator?” He stammered.
Ardi said nothing.
Whispers rose behind him as the conductor swallowed noisily.
“And you d-don’t know already?”
“I’m not an investigator,” Ardan frowned. “What are you-”
“I forbid you from speaking!” Came a high-pitched voice from behind them.
Ardi turned, expecting to see a woman, but instead found a thin, short man with red cheeks and a long, beak-like nose. The man was shaking a bit, his fingers jingling with rings. His finely-embroidered, three-piece suit sported a set of white gold chains where buttons should have been. Only his trousers had any sort of a flaw — a slightly dried stain at the crotch.
“How many were there when they broke in?” Ardan asked, ignoring the man’s shout.
“How do you-”
“Can we get to the point?” Ardan’s tone grew sharp as he turned back to the conductor. “The train’s at a standstill. And there’s no light.” He pointed to the extinguished lamps overhead. “They must have cut the Ley cables. The generator’s down, which means that we’ll start freezing soon.”
“You-” began the mustached man.
“I forbid-”
Ardan turned and bared his teeth, a hint of fang showing. The thin man instantly went silent and tried to blend back into the crowd, though the others wouldn’t let him pass. Interesting… After spending so much time among the Cloaks and living in the Metropolis, Ardi had almost forgotten how effective this little gesture could be.
“There’s a safe with a pure yellow Ertaline crystal in the armored car,” the conductor finally admitted.
“You’ll answer for this-”
“Sir,” said Ardan without turning around, “I’m about to hit you. It will hurt. And I’ll be ashamed. But I’ll still do it.”
The thin man fell silent mid-sentence.
Ardi took a moment to think. Ertaline was essentially crystallized Ley embedded in ordinary iron ore. Usually, these fragments were tiny crystals and smaller than a child’s fingernail. Occasionally, there were larger ones the size of a finger — or even ones as big as a saucer. Those, of course, were highly valued on the market, as they made excellent accumulators. Purity was also key — the fewer impurities in the crystal, the better.
And, naturally, color played a part. The crystals corresponded to the colors of the Stars.
This particular piece was yellow, which meant it was of the fourth Star. And it was without any impurities. A highly-valuable material. But even if the safe held a piece weighing ten or fifteen grams (which would be worth roughly four hundred exes judging by the prices in reputable shops), that still wasn’t enough to…
“It weighs 216 grams,” the conductor finished explaining.
Ardi was suddenly feeling very hot, tugging at the collar of his sweater, and the shirt beneath it. He’d have pulled his skin back as well if it would have helped him breathe easier.
And, judging by the sounds coming from behind him, the other passengers shared his sentiments.
“You’ll be held accountable for disclosing commercial secrets!” The thin man shouted. “You signed a non-disc-”
There was an unpleasant thud and the sound of a body hitting the floor.
“Apologies,” Ardi said sincerely, lowering his staff, which had struck the thin man between the eyes, rendering him unconscious.
The crowd recoiled, faces pale.
“He’s alive,” Ardan assured them calmly. “Would someone mind lifting him onto a bench? And putting something under his head?”
No one moved.
“Please,” Ardi added, flashing another hint of fang.
A few men in suits emerged from the crowd, lifting the unconscious man and settling him onto a nearby bench.
“That was unwise, sir Mage,” the conductor shook his head. “That’s Lex Man.”
“Man?” Ardan turned sharply toward the mustached conductor. “As in…”
“As in Bri-&-Man,” the conductor nodded. “He’s some kind of distant cousin or something of Trevor Man.”
Ardan cursed inwardly. He could only hope that a relative of one of the richest men in the Empire, and indeed, the world, wouldn’t remember the face of the mage who’d struck him.
“And there are no guards for this cargo?”
“The entire guard team is in the armored car,” the conductor said, regaining his composure.
“An armored car…” Ardi muttered, scratching his head with the end of his staff. “They’d need an armored train for that much… There’s nearly seven thousand exes’ worth there…”
“7249 exes and 76 kso, to be precise,” a soft, slightly velvety voice corrected him. “And that’s before it’s refined into an accumulator.”
Ardan turned, expecting anything but what he saw next. Emerging from the crowd was a young woman of about twenty, dressed simply in a long, black winter dress with a warm shirt underneath, layered with a knitted vest sporting the playful pattern of a smiling deer. Her face was framed by thick-rimmed glasses, her hair had been pulled back into a tight bun held by a black ribbon, and in her hands, she held a small book. She had a pleasant, soft-featured face, and though her chest was nearly nonexistent, it only served to emphasize her slender figure and the width of her hips.
“And you are…?”
“Alla Tantov,” she introduced herself, adjusting her glasses. “Assistant to Mr. Man.”
Ardan cursed inwardly. But not too severely.
“My apologies for striking your boss, I-”
“The other Mr. Man,” Miss Tantov clarified with a smile that was perhaps better suited to the nightmares of children.
Ardi cursed again. This time, he did so far more vehemently.
“The one and only, right?” He asked, resigned.
“Yes, the one and only,” she confirmed.
His grandfather’s stories had sometimes featured those born under unlucky stars. Perhaps Ardan was one of them? After all, what were the odds that he’d end up on the one train carrying a fortune to the capital the one time it was doing so?
But on the other hand… Ardan glanced once more at the magnate’s assistant.
Seven thousand exes was a fortune to almost any resident of the Empire. Emphasis on almost. Once, Ardan had overheard a conversation between the housekeeper of the Anorsky estate and Tatiana. They’d discussed how heating costs had driven house expenses up to nearly seventy exes a month. While that was only one percent of the crystal’s worth, even so… That one percent was still just the cost of maintaining a household.
Seven thousand exes was certainly not an amount that would send Mr. Man’s assistant on such a journey. And during the holidays, no less.
“So, I suppose they’re trying to break into the car right now?” Ardan asked the conductor.
“Yes.”
“How many of them are there?”
“Eight.”
Ardan shook his head. Eight… was too many…
“There are a few of our people in the car,” Miss Tantov moved closer, lowering her voice. “But only two.”
She then pulled Ardi and the conductor a little farther from the crowd, some of whom were fussing over the still-unconscious Lex Man, while others… were praying and marking themselves with the symbol of the Face of Light. That was just how people were — most of them only remembered their faith when there was no one else left to provide hope.
“What about the other conductors?” Ardi asked hopefully.
“They’re locked up in the first-class car,” replied the mustached man.
“And the engineers and crew?”
“Also with them.”
“Sleeping Spirits… Where are the marshals?” This question was directed at Tantov. “Surely you hired marshals for protection?”
“No marshals, mister mage, nor private guards,” the assistant shook her head. “Only our two people with revolvers.”
“Revolvers… So the bandits must have…?”
“I saw a few army rifles,” the conductor confirmed his fears. “And some industrial explosives.”
There had been no explosion yet, so they hadn’t used those.
“The car is protected by a stationary magic shield,” Tantov explained. “It’s connected to a small Ley generator inside. As long as they don’t disable it, they won’t be able to blow the car up. Nor can they reach the door.”
“A shield? Does that mean… they have a mage with them?”
The conductor shrugged, and Tantov spread her hands out helplessly.
“All right,” Ardan surveyed the situation. “We need to unbolt these benches from the floor. We’ll barricade the windows so that if they blow the car up, the resulting shards or bullets won’t hit us… We’ll also set some up in the entryway to avoid unwanted visitors. And-”
“You’re not going to go after the bandits?” Tantov interrupted him.
“Who, me?” Ardan asked, genuinely surprised. “Why would I?”
“To stop them!”
“Stop them from doing… what?” Ardi was beginning to understand why he was attracting so much attention. “Stealing the crystal?”
“It’s worth seven thousand exes!” Tantov protested.
“And it doesn’t belong to me,” Ardan retorted. “I only have one life, and there are eight of them! They might even have a mage. The best thing we can do is sit tight and wait until they get what they came for and leave.”
“But if-”
“If they’d wanted to rob someone, they would have done it by now,” Ardan cut the conductor off, gesturing behind him. “The gentlemen’s clothes aren’t even wrinkled, and all their jewelry is still on them. And, as I understand it, they haven’t killed anyone?”
“Not yet,” Tantov hissed.
“And they won’t,” Ardi countered, recalling the Empire’s laws. “Robbery and robbery with murder are entirely different charges. For one of those, they get sent to the labor camps, and for the other, the gallows. So, if we don’t provoke them, soon enough, we’ll be able to free the engineer and the machinist, try to repair the generator, and get the coal furnace running.”
“But you… You’re a coward!” Tantov nearly choked with anger.
“Because I won’t risk my life for someone else’s exes?” Ardan looked genuinely surprised. “Then yes, call me a coward. Or whatever else you like. But I’m not going out there.”
“But you’re a mage!” The assistant wouldn’t relent. “Surely you’ve trained for combat!”
Ardi suddenly felt a bit like Mart, the healer, back when he himself had pressured him to treat the northern settlers. Oh, the irony… It was also clear to him how little people understood about the actual abilities of Star Mages.
“I’m only in my first semester at the Grand,” Ardan explained, far calmer than before. “Not even six months in. Our combat training has only just-”
“Your first semester?” Tantov seemed to shrink, leaning against the wall for support. “Those fangs… Oh, of course, you’re not entirely human, are you? Apologies… I thought you were a fully-trained mage in the Imperial service. You’re not wearing any regalia… You look older than your age. You’re what, seventeen?”
“Eighteen next month,” Ardi nodded.
“Eternal Angels… forgive me,” Tantov shook her head.
Ardan realized belatedly that he hadn’t donned his regalia. But in his defense, wearing a fur coat with a cloak and epaulettes wasn’t exactly comfortable. Or rather, it was completely impractical. Sure, he could have bought specialized winter gear for mages, but that would’ve cost money. And he hadn’t thought to ask his mother to make some for him. Considering everything that had happened recently, it hadn’t been a priority.
“Does anyone else have a knife to unbolt the benches with?” Ardan asked.
Three hands rose into the air, belonging to the same men who had been sleeping in the seated car when Ardi had entered. That made sense… Why would the wealthy carry knives?
“Let’s get to work then,” Ardan unsheathed his own and started on the first bench.
No one needed further instruction, so soon enough…
“We’ll pay you,” Tantov whispered in his ear. “One hundred and fifty exes.”
Ardan’s knife paused just above the bolt holding the bench in place. That sum… It was more than substantial. Especially considering the fact that he’d planned to send the Anorsky estate the remaining balance of his debt once he’d reached the bank. But thanks to that Aean’Hane elf, all his exes had turned to ash.
“Not interested,” Ardi waved dismissively.
“Two hundred and fifty.”
Ardan nearly choked, his hand slipping from the bolt. That kind of money wouldn’t only pay off his debt to the Anorsky family — it would also cover his rental fees for the practice grounds in the Grand, and even the city itself. Yes, those grounds were more expensive, but there was no need to wait days for his turn. At the university, the issue wasn’t just the cost, it was the sheer number of students vying for space.
But still…
“What use is money to a corpse?” Ardan shrugged, finally securing the knife on the bolt and getting to work.
“Three hundred exes in cash and two military-grade Blue accumulators, each with sixteen rays,” Tantov murmured softly. “Altogether, that’s…”
“Nearly a thousand exes,” Ardan whispered, stunned.
His head spun a little. He might never make that kind of money in his lifetime. Certainly not in a human lifetime. And as for the military accumulators, they couldn’t be found in open markets. Civilian versions didn’t work well for magic experiments. Their Ley density differed, and the rays restored through them suffered greater losses, which meant that they ended up being far more costly than the military grade ones.
Checking his surroundings to ensure everyone else was focused on the benches, Ardi turned to Tantov, but avoided meeting her gaze. He suspected that she was shielded from his Witch’s Gaze. How did he know?
Her glasses.
They didn’t distort her face. There was no optical illusion shifting her eye sockets sideways. The frame held normal glass. Or maybe not so normal…
“So, what’s actually in the safe?” Ardi asked, barely moving his lips, his voice a quiet murmur.
Tantov had a slight shudder go through her but quickly regained her composure.
“You already know-”
“You’re lying,” Ardan interrupted. “I can sense it — your heart’s racing. And if I think about it a little more, seven thousand exes isn’t worth sending Man’s own assistant, plus that thin fellow, out here. Add to that the fact that there’s no escort or extra personnel, and that the car was hitched to a passenger train, and it all screams of secrecy. Way too much trouble for a sum your company probably considers negligible. So, what’s really in the car?”
Tantov squinted, studying him like one would a curious artifact.
“Are you sure you’re not an investigator?”
Ardi remained silent. The magnate’s assistant paused, then sighed in defeat, gathering the hem of her dress as she crouched down beside him.
“We are transporting the crystal,” she whispered. “But… in another train. It was meant as a decoy, but somehow, the bandits got the details anyway. Maybe it was a leak, or… never mind. In the car is the Staff of Demons.”
“The staff of… what?”
“Demons.”
“Be specific?”
“It’s the Staff. Of Demons,” Tantov repeated, a hint of exasperation in her tone.
Ardan only shrugged, the strange name meaning nothing to him.
“It’s an artifact from the Aean’Hane. From the time of the War of the Birth of the Empire,” she clarified, rolling her eyes — a strange gesture in this context. “It belonged to Lady Talia, one of Sergeant Mendera’s team. Have you heard of him?”
“I know of him,” Ardi nodded. “And of Talia, too. So, what’s special about this staff of yours?”
“Besides the fact that, for many years, it was believed to have been lost in the Dead Lands near the Enario Theocracy? Besides that — nothing much. Also, it’s priceless because such things can’t be bought. And, of course, it holds Star Magic seals of demonology — a branch studied only in Makingia, Enario, and Scaldavin!”
Ardan glanced at the knife in his hand, then back at Tantov, and then at his knife again. He had a gut feeling that some connection existed between this Staff of Demons and the events on Fifth Street in Baliero. And if not for that feeling, he would never have agreed to this venture, no matter how high the offer.
“Bandits, you say?” Ardan snorted. “And if we’re being completely honest?”
Tantov didn’t try to dodge the question this time.
“I don’t know, mister mage,” she replied honestly. “But two of them have strong Castilian accents.”
Well, that changed things…
Apparently, the train was transporting a staff containing knowledge that must never fall into the wrong hands. And for the second time (or third, if he counted his first journey to the Metropolis) within a woefully short span of time, Ardan was facing demons.
The word “demon” itself originated from the faith of the Face of Light. The Aean’Hane taught that demons were merely Fae who had lost their way. They came from the ranks of both the Sidhe and the lesser spirits. Those who had not sworn allegiance to either Winter or Summer — the Homeless — often fell prey to the lure of dark names, losing their path and turning into… demons.
It was all too much. First, he’d encountered an artifact used to mask demonic traces during an attack on a train. Then that Makingian statuette in the house on Fifth Street. And now, he was on the same train as the staff of Lady Talia, the last demonologist in their country. Since the the War of the Birth of the Empire, this branch of Star Magic, along with others similar to it, such as human chimerization, had been outlawed.
Ardi spun the knife in his hand, smoothly sliding it back into its sheath.
“Three,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Three accumulators,” he clarified. Then, after a moment’s thought, he added, “And a ten percent discount on all my purchases from your company’s stores.”
Tantov went pale and seemed ready to argue, but instead, she simply nodded with reluctant resignation. Ardan, who’d not expected his bluff to work, inwardly thanked Timofey Polskih, who’d taught him — though not with good intentions — to haggle for every kso.
Since his youth, Ardi had known that money didn’t simply fall from the sky, so if he was putting his life on the line yet again, he intended to milk every benefit from the situation he possibly could.
“One moment,” Ardan said.
He returned to his belongings, pulling out a revolver, a belt of cartridges, and a holster from his bag. Securing the iron at his hip, he attached his grimoire to its chain and came back to Tantov. He wasn’t much of a shot, but the weight of the revolver that was slightly dragging down his thigh provided a small boost of confidence.
And considering how little confidence he had to begin with, it would have to do. As for Tantov, despite her slight frame and gentle face, she lifted her vest to reveal not one, but two slender revolvers. They were elegant, with long barrels and white bone handles, each having a four-chambered cylinder longer than the standard type.
The weapons shimmered with engravings of mythical creatures, making it seem as though Tantov held not firearms, but art pieces.
“Miss Tantov,” Ardi hesitated, a little taken aback, “it would be easier if I-”
“Call me Alla,” she murmured in a meaningful tone.
“Ard.”
“Then call me Alla, Ard,” she finished, turning toward the passageway. “I’m going with you, and that’s not up for discussion.”
Ardi didn’t argue with her. Together, they entered the passageway. It was cramped, with metal walls lined only with thin rubber inserts to prevent freezing. Ardan took the smokers’ urn and braced it against the entrance to the last car.
At the woman’s puzzled look, he explained quietly, “So no one follows us.”
Alla blinked slowly in agreement, then carefully opened the next door, quickly aiming a revolver with her right hand as she moved forward.
Ardan felt no embarrassment at letting Tantov go first. Judging by her steady movements and the firm grip she had on her revolvers, the girl was more than just an assistant. It was no wonder she’d been sent here. The only question was… why did she need Ardi?
Step by cautious step, they moved through the sitting cars. They were empty and almost abandoned due to the generator’s shutdown, which had allowed the icy breath of the winter steppe to creep in. Traversing them felt like wandering through a surreal, dreamlike realm. A rather chilling dream, at that.
Ardan gripped his staff tightly, mentally reviewing every battle spell he knew by heart. There weren’t many. Ice Arrow, Ice Barrage, and two shields. One was the universal spell, and the other his own modified one — Water Shroud. Unfortunately, that last one wouldn’t help much against bullets. Ardi had been around mages for too long and had stopped thinking about simple firearms.
Incidentally, it had turned out that the Water Shroud wouldn’t be able to protect him against anything that wasn’t made entirely out of Ley. It was quite the flaw in its design, but then how…
Lost in thought, Ardi almost tripped over his own staff.
“Quiet,” Alla whispered. “We’re almost there.”
Indeed, they had already passed through the second-class cars and the dining car. The pair entered the passageway, where the door was braced in the same way — with a smokers’ urn. Gently pushing the obstacle aside, Alla and Ardi entered the first-class car, which differed only slightly from the ones he’d already seen in second class. Here, the compartments were larger, looking more like rooms and without any upper shelves, and the lower ones were folding couches. Otherwise, everything was the same.
“Keep it down,” the woman whispered when she noticed the nearest prisoner — the cook.
In the corridor and the open compartments, untouched by the intruders, were the conductors, two controllers (a kind of senior conductor), the cook, and the waiters. Altogether, it was around twenty-five people. They stared at their unexpected visitors with a mixture of hope, surprise, and faint skepticism. As they passed, Ardan was surprised that none of the captives even stood up, let alone asked what was happening, even though the door to freedom was open.
Instead, they remained huddled together on the floor, trying to stay close to anything sturdy enough to stop a bullet. Perhaps they’d been trained to do so?
Approaching the next passageway, Alla tried to use the wooden handle, but it refused to budge.
“We’ll have to go back and exit through the exterior,” she whispered.
Ardan looked out the window. The sky, as if on cue, had cleared, with not a single cloud and not a breath of wind. Out on the white blanket of the steppe, they’d be as visible as cockroaches on a dinner table.
“They’ll see us.”
“So what’s your plan, Ard?”
Without answering her, Ardan nudged her aside, pressing his palm against the handle. Taking a steadying breath, he opened his senses to the surrounding world. Ardan could feel the faint groan of metal under the creeping frost that wound along the walls and windows, the murmur of the earth sleeping under its snowy blanket, and the quiet sighs of freezing passengers who did not yet realize how thick their breath was becoming.
Ardi gathered these fragments, molded them into a small but cohesive name, and Spoke it.
The wood of the door handle instantly froze solid under his hand and crumbled into a fine, white powder. A cold spot appeared beneath the door, frost spreading along its surface until, at last, there was a brittle crackling sound.
Hoping that there were enough cars between them and the bandits to muffle the noise, he bent down and struck the frozen door with his elbow. It didn’t break at once, but soon, a small hole appeared in the frost-brittle surface.
“After you,” Ardi stepped back.
Alla, though surprised by the sight, managed to shake it off, slipping her hand through the hole and shifting the urn aside with some effort. The door slid into the wall with a long, drawn-out creak, dislodging pieces of brittle, icy metal onto the floor. Alla glanced between the frosty fragments and Ardi but said nothing.
Ardan, breathing heavily, leaned on his staff to rest for a moment. Freezing something through several millimeters of metal wasn’t the same as crafting moving figures from snowflakes.
Beyond the first-class car was the staff dormitory — a movable barracks where, instead of compartments, rows of three-tiered bunks lined the walls. There were a few nightstands, two wide cabinets, and a separate toilet near the passageway. Next came the kitchen car, filled with pots, metal containers, trays, an ice chest, and a couple of Ley stoves with pans still resting on them.
Ardan’s stomach growled loudly, and Alla immediately shushed him, pulling him down behind a cart draped with a tablecloth.
Ardi only had a moment to hear the faint murmur of voices and the shuffling of footsteps near the passageway before the unusually heavy, rough sound of springs announced another presence.
“They’ve already made it inside,” Alla whispered, checking the hammer of her revolver and the cartridges in its chambers.
Then, with a smooth spin, she slipped off her knitted vest, revealing a firm corset beneath… that was fitted with two holsters and crossed bandoliers.
Just an assistant, hmm?
“So, what’s the plan?” Ardan asked.
“Our men wouldn’t have gone down without a fight,” Alla peeked over the edge of the cart. “There’s blood on the floor… Looks like they killed them. I just hope our guys managed to take a couple of the bastards down with them.”
Honestly, Ardan wouldn’t have minded staying put and talking for another few minutes. Or even longer. Say, an hour. Just enough time for the bandits to finish their business and disembark.
“So, about that plan?” Ardi repeated.
Alla crouched down, closed her eyes, and took a few steadying breaths.
“Not a single one of them can leave here alive,” she murmured, opening her eyes. Her pupils had elongated into narrow slits, and a faint wisp of black smoke escaped her mouth. The very same black smoke Ardi had seen coming out of Yonatan’s mouth.
“And how exactly are we going to accomplish that?” He asked a touch uneasily.
“I’ll start shooting and buy you some time. Meanwhile, Ard, you try to conjure up something that’ll blow open the passage door. Preferably with those bastards behind it.”
Easier said than done… and then it struck him.
“You can see in the dark?” He asked.
“Not perfectly, but yes.”
“Then, when it goes dark, start firing. I’ll be right behind you so you don’t accidentally hit me.”
“When it goes dark?”
She started to ask something else, but Ardi wasn’t listening. He flipped open his grimoire, scanned the pages, and found what he was looking for. Fixing the diagram of the seal in his mind, Ardan mentally traced it, drawing in the Ley as warmth drained from his hand and into his staff. Then he slammed his staff against the floor.
For a split second, a crimson seal encircled by a blue outline flared beneath his feet, before thick clouds of icy darkness began streaming out from his staff.
The spell Cold Shadow, the seal of which he’d learned from Nicholas the Stranger’s book, engulfed the train car in shadows, coating every surface with a lattice of frost. A foggy breath escaped Alla’s lips.
“An Imperial mage!” A voice cried out, thick with a noticeable accent. It might’ve been Castilian, though Ardan couldn’t be sure. “Shoot! Enchil, copy it faster!”
“I’m almost done!”
Gunshots exploded from the passageway as bullet after bullet tore through the shroud of darkness, a deafening cacophony in the confined space. Dishes clinked, pots clattered, and the door itself became a sieve, ending up peppered with dozens of whistling projectiles.
All the while, Alla remained perfectly still. Crouched on her right knee and using the cart to brace herself, she held her guns at the ready, her focus unwavering and fixed on the passageway. Even when one bullet carved a deep red gash across her left thigh, she didn’t so much as flinch.
Ardan, for his part, kept a shield spell in reserve, remaining vigilant as he stayed hidden behind the mutant’s slight frame.
As the door was turned into a perforated wreck and the intruders’ rifles ran dry, the accented voice ordered, “Denis, check it out.”
“On it,” came a response in pure and unadulterated Galessian.
One step was heard, then another.
“Ready,” Alla whispered.
Then came the sound of a boot kicking the door open, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. A tall man — Denis, presumably — stood in the doorway, a revolver in his right hand and a discharged rifle slung across his shoulder, peering blindly into the dark.
Behind him, visible through the open doorway, four bodies lay on the floor, two with bullet-riddled heads and two that had been hacked to death by an invisible blade.
At the center of it all, suspended by chains, hung a long, carved staff. It looked ageless, untouched by time, and it was glowing faintly, emitting an unsettling, dark energy. Its surface had been etched with a complex array of seals, which a man nearby was hurriedly copying into a grimoire at his feet.
A mage.
But before Ardan could process any further details, the remaining bandits reloaded and began firing wildly into the dark cloud in front of them.
Denis never even realized what had happened. The muzzle flashes from Alla’s revolvers were swallowed by the darkness faster than the eye could track.
By just standing behind her, Ardan could feel the powerful recoil of her strange weapon. The bullets, tearing through the veil of darkness, surged forward.
The first struck Denis squarely between the eyes, and all that was left of his head was a spray of flesh and bone fragments erupting from a blood fountain of a neck. The deadly lead cone sped onwards, crossing the threshold right in front of the staff and narrowly missing the mage with the grimoire. Unfortunately, Alla’s bullet fell short of dispatching both targets, dissipating in a cloud of black ash, while Lady Talia’s staff twitched slightly, as though… licking its lips.
The second bullet pierced straight through Denis’ chest, leaving a wide, gaping hole behind, then continued its deadly path into the abdomen of a man standing behind him, before finally crashing into the shield of the mage beside the staff.
There were two mages among the bandits…
“Enchil!” The other mage called out.
“I need thirty more seconds!” The scribe shouted.
Not counting Enchil, there were now three adversaries facing Ardan and Alla. One Castilian mage, and two other bandits. One of them, a man barely older than Ardan, reloaded his rifle swiftly and was about to aim it at them when another thunderous report sounded.
Two bullets whizzed out from the barrels of Alla’s revolvers. One sped toward a thin man with grizzled, gray stubble and a cigar stub that matched his hair color, while the other targeted the mage.
The Castilian mage raised a shield, a spectral, armor-like barrier, which shattered Alla’s bullet into a shower of sparkling metal dust. But as for the second…
Without even removing his cigar stub, the grizzled man drew two short, curved sabers, slashing them in an X pattern. In a feat that Ardan had previously thought impossible, he split the heavy lead into four pieces, three of which clinked against the walls and ceiling of the armored car, while one lodged itself directly in the eye of the young bandit with the rifle.
In less than ten seconds, only five people in total remained.
Alla swiftly cocked her guns, pulling the triggers in rapid succession. The shots echoed in the tight quarters, each blast punctuated by the sharp ringing of bullets cleaved mid-air by the grizzled man’s sabers.
Ardan knew instinctively that no ordinary person could do such a thing. And yet the man wasn’t a mutant or a vampire. Ardan could smell his sweat, hear his steady breathing, and sense only a slightly elevated heartbeat.
Here stood a perfectly normal man, deflecting heavy rounds with nothing but twin sabers that remained razor-sharp, without so much as a nick along their blades.
“Well, lanyer Tisin,” the swordsman spoke with an accent that was different but distinct. “That’s proof enough that the Empire’s still dabbling in mutant experiments, though this one here still falls short of the Tazidahian level and-”
“Less talking, Darton,” Tisin cut him off, holding his staff and open grimoire before him. “Or are Selkadians incapable of staying focused?”
Selkado… Castilia… Ardan felt like he was in some sort of twisted nightmare.
“I’m sorry, Ard,” Alla murmured unexpectedly. She spun her revolvers in her hands before holstering them, and then drew two short, broad-bladed knives with intricate grips designed to serve as knuckledusters. The knives had been hidden at her thighs, beneath the skirt of her dress. “If that’s a Knight, we’re probably going to die.”
“A Knight, miss?” The swordsman chewed on his cigar stub with a slight smile, his demeanor unruffled. “If I were a Knight, you’d be meeting the Eternal Angels already. No, I’m only a humble Squire. I hope to one day ignite the Yellow Star, but for now, success in that endeavor eludes me. Still, it’s only a matter of-”
“Shut up!” Both Alla and Tisin snapped at him in unison.
With a graceful leap, Alla cleared the cart and, in a single, fluid motion, launched herself a full two and a half meters forward, aiming to drive her left-hand knife into the swordsman’s throat. He dodged to the side by leaning his body away, attempting a counter with his saber. However, his blade, though relatively short, was still too long for the cramped confines and got snagged in the armored wall, slicing nearly a palm’s depth into the metal.
Both of them moved so swiftly that even Ardan, with his hunter’s eyes sharpened by the trails of the Alcade forests and mountain paths, struggled to keep up.
Even so, he noted a peculiar detail: as the swordsman moved, faint seals flared on the skin beneath his sleeves. Ard had heard tales of how the military mages of the League of Selkado could apply Star Magic in a unique way, but he’d never seen it in action before.
“Allow me, mister Imperial mage. Let’s make things a bit brighter,” Tisin sneered as his partner transformed his saber into a blurry silver flash, deflecting Alla’s relentless attacks as she spun like a whirlwind before the Selkadian.
The mage slammed his staff against the ground, and a blue seal flared to life before him. A moment later, the cloud of icy darkness was sucked into the staff’s head, which was crowned by a small, murky yellow crystal.
“A mutant indeed, and…” The mage’s gaze shifted from the dueling swordsmen to Ardan’s face. “A pathetic half-breed? I’ve never understood this Galessian fondness for inferior life forms.”
The Castilian scoffed and slammed his staff down once more. A complex seal flared to life, and Ardan managed to catch only a glimpse of the array of runes responsible for absorbing and redirecting the Ley energy.
But that was enough…
The darkness coiled around the man’s staff, twisting into a long spear of shadow which then shot toward Alla. Ardan was ready.
A transparent veil of water unfurled around his staff, casting a protective layer over the mutant woman. When the spear struck it, rather than impaling her, it melted into the Water Shroud, only to then harden into a jet-black frost and surge back toward the Castilian.
“You missed,” he said coldly, not even raising a shield as the ice shard was about to shoot past his right leg.
Ardan, every muscle tense, hurled himself forward. Tisin’s eyes widened in sudden realization, and he started to summon a shield, but it was too late.
The Water Shroud, now infused with the power of two spells and strengthened by Ardan’s connection to winter, slammed into the pouch Tisin was carrying at his side. Ardan had recognized the industrial-grade explosive pack instantly.
As the walls of the armored car bulged and blistered like boiling milk from the force of the blast, and a roaring torrent of flames surged out, Ardan was already pressing Alla against the far wall, shielding them both from the raging fire with a shield spell. He maintained his focus despite the sharp pain from the deep cut the Selkadian’s saber had left on his side.
Neither of the Castilians had time to scream, instantly turning into blackened torches along with their clothes, grimoires, and staves. As for the Selkadian, who still had one saber wedged in the wall of the car, he let out a bellow reminiscent of a wounded bison. Ardan, who was too busy pouring every bit of energy into his Universal Shield, couldn’t see what happened next. He only heard the fire devouring everything in its path, and then the shockwave rolled through, tearing the kitchen and staff cars to shreds, as well as shattering windows in several other cars along the way.
If not for the armored passageway and the wall shielding him and Alla, they would have ended up like overheated balloons — first charred, then burst. Those brief moments — no, fractions of moments — during which the chemically-induced inferno raged within the enclosed space felt like an eternity to Ardan. Not to mention the searing pain as tongues of flame licked at his body, finding gaps in his cracking shield.
And then… silence.
Blackened by soot and smoke, the cars stood still after the furious explosion. Ardan, still squinting, drew his revolver since his magic reserves were depleted. Instead of the Selkadian, all that was left was a severed, charred hand gripping his sword’s hilt. The swordsman himself was nowhere to be seen. As for the Squire’s comrades (that seemed to be what the man had called himself) — only their charred bodies remained, twisted in terrible agony. Their eyes had melted, their skin was smoking and had nearly turned to coal, and in places, their cracked bones protruded through bubbling, seared flesh.
“What about… the staff?” Alla asked from behind him.
Ardi, holstering his revolver and clutching his bleeding side, turned around. Behind him, the mutant had slid down the wall to the floor. Long but shallow cuts left behind by the Squire’s other saber now marked her arms and torso, but they couldn’t possibly have been the cause of her current condition.
Alla’s skin had turned ashen, her pupils so dilated they nearly eclipsed her irises. She was breathing heavily, gasping for air like someone who’d nearly drowned.
“Shouldn’t you worry about yourself? What happened?”
“Too… long…” She gasped, her words coming out in short bursts. She was likely referring to the time she’d spent in her transformed state. “The staff… What… about… the staff?”
Ardan tried to lift her, but the look she gave him — her glasses somehow still firmly in place even after all the fighting — made him hesitate, leaving him feeling slightly unnerved. Shrugging, he left her lying in the passage and hobbled into the armored car.
The metal was twisted and bulging out in warped bubbles, charred bodies were scattered about, and the familiar stench of burnt flesh, a smell Ardan had hoped to forget, lingered thickly. And yet, through it all, the staff and the chains that held it had remained entirely untouched.
Something on the soot-covered floor suddenly caught his eye. He bent down, surprised at what he saw.
The grimoire page that the second Castilian had been using to copy the artifact’s engravings just before the explosion was also undamaged, bearing nearly all the seals from the staff’s surface.
“It’s intact,” Alla said breathlessly. “Praise the Eternal Angels...”
Ardan himself didn’t quite know why he did so, but he discreetly took the page, and as he straightened up — just before turning to the slowly-recovering Alla — he slipped it into his inner pocket.
The woman looked slightly more alive by now. Her skin had lost its grayish hue, and her pupils had returned to a normal size. Despite this, her wounds continued to bleed.
“You need a doctor.”
“One of the train staff should be… trained to provide… first aid,” Alla replied, her strength gradually returning. “The Selkadian got away.”
“But without the copy of the seals that this gentleman was working on,” Ardan gestured to the charred corpse beside him.
“He might have remembered something...” Alla shook her head. “All right, let’s go back, Ard.”
She tried to push herself away from the wall she was leaning against but nearly stumbled. Ardi stepped closer and offered her his arm. Alla grasped his forearm, and together, they started heading back.
“You do understand that you cannot speak of this to anyone?” She asked quietly.
“I understand,” Ardan replied.
“Good.”
If he were being honest, he didn’t see what was “good” about it. He’d said he understood, not that he wouldn’t talk.
Skusty would’ve approved.
Ergar would have as well, he supposed.
And, surprisingly, Ardan found that he was somewhat proud of himself, too. More so, he could feel the weight of the seals copied from the Staff of Demons in his pocket. He’d need to decide what to do with them.
“Thoughts for tomorrow.”
“What?”
“A saying of the Matabar.”
“I see…”
***
They managed to repair the generator by nightfall, thanks to the engineer and machinist, who were experienced and resourceful. But by the time the Ley current had started flowing through the cables and the coal furnace had begun working again, allowing the train to resume its journey, everyone had frozen to the bone.
Ironically, they’d found refuge outside, huddling around makeshift bonfires built from broken benches. There, Ardan had joined a few of the hardier men (layered in coats and sweaters) in unhooking the damaged cars that would have prevented the train from moving forward.
As for the staff from the armored car, Alla and Lex Man had carried a “certain package” to the last first-class car and relocated all the other passengers to the second-class ones. Those who’d grumbled were quickly silenced — not with threats, but with promises of a triple reimbursement for their tickets.
By the middle of the night, the damaged cars had been separated, the others reconnected, and the train had begun its journey once more.
Ardan’s wound, hastily bandaged by a conductor, was starting to heal, the edges of it covered in fresh, pink skin. It still ached, but he was grateful for the quick healing granted to him by his Matabar blood.
Over the remaining day and a half, they didn’t see a single station. Their route, evidently, had been planned to minimize stops. That was likely why the train had carried six coal cars instead of the usual three, and two water tanks instead of one, aiming for a direct run from Presny to the Metropolis.
In all that time, Ardan saw no signs of Alla, Lex, or even the mustached conductor.
He spent the remainder of his journey back in the same car, quietly musing… about blackberry pie. He should’ve probably been thinking about demons, foreigners, and conspiracies. But all he could think about was food. The kitchen had been destroyed, leaving nothing to eat.
Finally, well into the second day, the lights of the Metropolis broke through the car’s windows. The train slowed as it pulled into the station, which was surrounded by guards. Firemen, Cloaks, and a few inconspicuous civilians hurried toward the cars.
Ardan stepped out to meet them.
“Mr. Egobar, you never miss a chance for excitement, do you?” Said Сat, tipping his hat at him as he led the group from the Second Chancery over.
“Food.”
“What?” The Cloak looked taken aback.
“Do you have food?” Ardan clarified.
Cat chuckled.
“Come along, Ard. If we’re quick, we might still make it to dinner at the Black House. The Colonel’s waiting for you.”
Cloaks surrounded him and led him toward a discreet door at the edge of the building, away from the main entrance. Meanwhile, the passengers were being led out one by one and separated into groups. Reporters crowded in behind the guards, shouting questions and scribbling furiously in their notebooks. Cameras flashed.
As Ardan inhaled the Metropolis air, he coughed.
How did anyone ever get used to this?
