It was a hard-bitten crew. Most folks just nodded or muttered their agreement, but Scorio didn’t see anyone cavil.
“This is where I repeat myself,” muttered Naomi. “And you then spout some nonsense about how our no-doubt imminent deaths will make a difference in the life of some Bastion guttersnipe.”
Scorio’s grin was rueful. “Guess we’re starting to understand each other.”
“Hey.” Merideva stepped in, Fyrona, Nyrix, and Himiko beside her. “What say you both to us Dread Blazes sticking together?”
“Sounds good,” said Scorio. “Though right now I feel more like a Tomb Spark than anything else. Who’d have thought fighting and running day in, day out would take a toll?”
“Don’t worry,” said Fyrona. “Plassus will treat us right before we head out. The man’s famous for his bottomless reserves of pills and elixirs.”
Scorio eyed the distant Charnel Duke. “He doesn’t have a pack.”
“Starting at Charnel Duke we manifest the ability to create ‘pockets’,” said Merideva. “Miniature versions of an Imperator’s Sanctum. Plassus no doubt has a large wardrobe of resources at his disposal. A Crimson Earl might have a cottage-sized space, and Imperators can create entire estates, or whatever they want, I suppose.”
“Oh,” said Scorio. “And those just follow them around?”
Merideva nodded. “They’re tethered to their Hearts. He wouldn’t have run us like this if he didn’t plan on reviving us with something good just before the fight.”
“Time to find our fiends,” called Plassus, tone brassy with false cheer. “If you’ve any final prayers or goodbyes to make, this is the time. I’ll give everyone a hundred count, then we’re hunting.”
Scorio’s heart pounded powerfully in his chest. He looked for and found Naomi, and she was staring right back at him. Without thinking he extended his hand to her, and she took it, and then stepped up against him, pressing her face to his chest.
They stood thus till Plassus clapped his hands. “Time’s done. Everything before this has been a prelude. Now the real fight begins.”
Chapter 43
Plassus reached into a shimmering patch of air and drew forth a heavy leather bag. He undid the drawstrings and drew forth a fat, golden pill. “I’m not prone to largesse; it depletes my personal reserves and builds unrealistic expectations in my followers. But this moment warrants an exception. C’mon, you lackluster fools, get in line and I’ll dispense a little treasure to aid in the coming fight.”
People did so gladly. Scorio and the other Dread Blazes were last in line, and when their small knot stepped up Plassus eyed them wearily.
“Still alive, eh? I’ve a mind to send you home. The fight that’s to come isn’t for the likes of you.”
“But you won’t,” said Scorio.
“No, you’ve the right of it. We need everyone we can get, even if they only serve as distractions.” Plassus studied them from under his heavy brows. “But the fact that you’re still alive and willing to fight speaks volumes to your spirit. Bright and bold it burns. I’ll not try to dissuade you. But mark my words: there’s no shame in fleeing the battles that are to come. Don’t mistake stupidity for suicidal bravery.”
“You’ve convinced us,” said Naomi. “We’ll part ways here.”
Plassus flicked her a Bronze hexagon that size of his thumbnail. “Glib, aren’t you. That’ll keep you on your feet when all you want to do is keel over. No, don’t take it now. Now let’s see what I’ve got.”
He rummaged in his leather rucksack and drew out a small pouch, which he tossed to Merideva. “Distribute those amongst yourselves. Got them from a graxil trader in the Emerald Reach, years ago. Never found use for them. I was too bloody powerful. But they should blow the tops off your head.”
Merideva peered into the pouch. “What are they?”
“Graxil larvae. Oh, don’t make that face. They’re packed to the gills with Emerald mana, but it’s not like dunking your head in a bucket. They’ll awaken inside you, swim into your Heart, and there release pulses as needed. Should put some heft into your kicks for a good couple of minutes, but you’ll be as weak as parboiled kittens thereafter. And…”
He rummaged again, drew out a pale alabaster box. “These should help. Peaceful Wheel vials. I mixed the dust with pure Ebon Hate beetle powder. The Peaceful Wheel will keep the Ebon Hate from tearing your Hearts apart, and the Ebon Hate will make you unstoppable for a few moments.” He handed the box to Scorio, who took it gingerly.
“And… what else.” Again he rummaged, and this time he drew out a wooden stand that held six glass vials filled with a softly glowing pink gel. “Essence of Vitality Pearl. It won’t pour out, so just eat the tube. The crushed Vitality Pearl will heal any damage done to your mouth.” Plassus frowned at the set. “I always planned to rehouse this gunk, but never got around to it. Ah, well.”
These he handed to Himiko, who bowed slightly upon receiving them.
“Well then!” He beamed toothily at them all. “To battle we go. I’ll say this of you five: you’ve the look of eagles about you. Survive what’s to come, and there’s nothing you can’t conquer.” He clapped Nyrix on the shoulder, causing the slender man to stagger, and looked around. “No one else?” He thrust the leather sack back into the shimmering patch of air and it disappeared. “Then let’s be off!”
Scorio took a vial of Vitality Pearl, a heavy pill of swirled black and white from Merideva—the Peaceful Wheel and Ebon Hate combination—and finally a small crinkly paper sphere with a hard knot in its center that he didn’t want to examine too closely—the graxil larvae. He stored these carefully in a chest pocket inside his robe.
Plassus leaped atop a boulder and turned to face them all. “Shall we have a last speech?” He considered. “No, damn it all. Let’s just go die.” And he leaped down and took off at a run.
Everybody gave chase.
The terrain, already rocky and uneven, quickly buckled and became a series of gulches, pocket lakes, and narrow defiles. They raced through this broken landscape as quickly as they could, their twenty-strong company breaking up into multiple columns only to rejoin, occasionally leaping or scrambling up cliffs or running along ridges. Up ahead, crowding the horizon, was a long range of peaks, their spines crowned with protruding bones. The Dead Ridge, which he’d seen before from the other side, flying along the edge of the Iron Weald.
“We draw close!” called Plassus. “Find your mark, and kill it!”
Scorio ran on, heart pounding, body slicked with sweat, a bone-deep weariness seeking to numb his will from what felt like endless days of combat. But then he sensed it, a dull pressure on his senses from up ahead, like pushing into a soft cushion, like a lantern being brought closer to the far side of a heavy curtain so that is glow subtly and gradually brightened.
Gold-tempered fiends, and in huge numbers.
Perhaps Plassus and the Blood Barons could read more into that ambient aura, but to Scorio it simply felt like a massed menace, a warning he might have heeded another time and left well alone.
But now it gave him the wings, and he put on speed, Naomi fleet-footed beside him, Himiko racing along a ledge above, Merideva endlessly athletic, Nyrix gasping and lurching along, hand pressed to his side. Fyrona brought up the rear of their pack, loping along with cool intensity, and when Scorio went faster, they all found it within them to match his speed.