Ravenna smiled and glanced at Scorio. “Another face I’d not expected to see again. Scorio. You don’t know how happy I am to see you again.”
Was she being mocking? Scorio couldn’t tell. “Ravenna.”
“As sweet as reunions are, we need to get moving.” Helminth smoothed down her robes as she stood. “Scorio? Ready?”
Ravenna frowned, wary. “What’s going on?”
“You’re being followed, my dear. If we’re to have this conversation without being interrupted than we must do so elsewhere. Scorio will draw off your tails while we abscond to a safer locale. Scorio? You know which way to go?”
“It’s simple enough. As long as nobody stops me.” Scorio took a deep breath. “See you all soon.”
Ravenna nodded uncertainly.
“Luck,” said Helminth, and Scorio left the private room. Waved the proprietor away as he moved to the restaurant’s main door and there drew back his hood.
Deep breaths.
It was just a short run. A couple of blocks.
Nothing to it, really.
Scorio’s Heart was already filled, a crude combination of Coal and Copper leavened with fleeting amounts of Iron. He Ignited and burst into a sprint.
It was an all out dash. He ran so fast that the balls of his feet barely touched the ground. Out into the courtyard and leaning into the curve as he bolted down the covered alley to the street over, the air humid and heavy.
Shouts sounded out behind him.
He grinned and ran faster.
Flames exploded along the street, virulent and hungry, painting the walls with their dancing tongues, licking along the cobblestones, filling the air with snapping undulations that faded from view as quickly as they manifested.
Scorio surged up into his scaled form and the heat became manageable; power filled him, unyielding might, a wicked athleticism that gave him proverbial wings without needing to extrude his own.
He outran the flames. Hurdled a cart, ignoring the startled gasp of the two costermongers trundling it along, and skidded around a corner.
Not much further.
A mounted figure flew into sight overhead. Scorio glanced up and his eyes widened. A man rode a huge, white-furred lion, its wings feathered glory, its mane streaming white fire. Athwart its shoulders a figure from legend leaned out, his own mane of pale gold hair flying like a banner in the wind, his features classically handsome, his brow furrowed, a burning spear of effulgent gold clasped in his upraised fist.
The man hurled.
The spear lanced down, lightning quick.
Scorio leaped aside as the cobblestones exploded. Such was his speed that he hit the wall, rolled along its weathered surface, came down on both feet, spilled over and into a forward roll.
The ground behind him exploded once more as another spear flew down from the heavens.
Scorio came up sprinting only to see a new figure emerge in the street before him.
A figure so frightening she gave the Nightmare Lady a run for her money. Of medium height, her petite and slender form was bulked out by huge pauldrons of warped ivory cast in thick grids; her body was wrapped in pale bandages under a corset of black tooled leather.
But it was her death mask of a face that harrowed Scorio, her dull crimson eyes sunken in deep sockets shaded black, her skin stretched taut over her skull, her cheekbones painfully prominent, her cheeks sunken, her lips painted in subtle ridges of dark and light so that they looked like teeth. Her thick mane of hair grew from the sides of her scalp, the top of her head smooth bone, with streaks of crimson running like rivulets of blood through its length.
But more than her appearance it was the horrific weight of her presence that alarmed Scorio, the malevolence pulsing off her, the certainty that to fight her was to court death.
“Hell no,” whispered Scorio as he leaped, wings bursting forth, and with a great beat he attempted to fly over her.
She drew two curved blades from scabbards crossed over her back and leaped to meet him.
LEAVE ME, Scorio commanded, even as he summoned his Shroud beneath himself.
His command failed to find any traction. She swiped one of her curved swords at his Shroud, its slender length so black it seemed more an absence than a color, and cleaved through his Shroud as if it were mist.
Scorio let out a cry of alarm and twisted aside into a clumsy barrel roll; Shadow Petal lashed out with her white blade and cut through his shoulder just before he could get away. The edge parted his scales and muscle as if he were fattened veal, cut through sinews and tendons, but failed to slash into his chest.
Scorio ground his teeth against the pain and turned his roll into a dive as another burning spear flashed past him.
He hit the ground, left arm hanging loosely by his side, blood sheeting down its length, and ran.
Cianus landed in the street ahead of him, his huge lion sinking low on its haunches, black lips writhing back from its massive fangs as it snarled. Cianus drew back another burning spear as his mount prepared to leap, its wings flared outside to block the street, but Scorio hurled himself through the closest window, shattering the wooden shutters and glass to fall into a rough sideways roll through a small kitchen.
Shouts and screams filled the room as the family pushed back against the walls. Shadow Petal appeared in one corner, blades ready to lash out, but Scorio hurled himself through the doorway, under her flashing blade, came up running, and bolted to the back of the house where he threw himself at the rear door and burst through it.
Out into a tiny pocket courtyard, washing hung up on crisscrossing lines, a fire panderling barking furiously at him from the length of its chain. He vaulted the back fence with his good arm, fell into an alley so narrow both shoulders brushed the sides, and sprinted down its length, his Heart still burning bright, Coal mana swirling into its reservoir.
He burst out into a night market and nearly cried out in relief. Stalls were everywhere, vendors calling out their wares, luxuries and fanciful fruits, pyramids of spices and sugary treats, silvered pots and lamps, mounds of densely woven carpets, and heavily guarded displays of jewelry.
Shouts and cries of alarm trailed his scaled form as he lurched through the market, casting desperate looks about himself. The fountain. The central fountain, where was—there!
Maron and B’vaari stood beside it, alert and peering through the shifting crowd.
“Here!” cried Scorio, not believing his luck, emerging from the crowd to be steadied by Maron as he sank into his human form.
Who wasted no time before activating his Flame Vault power.
He immediately lost weight and grew in height, his face shifting into a mirror copy of Scorio’s, his hair, his clothing, even his bloodied arm duplicating Scorio’s appearance with perfect exactitude.
But his power wasn’t finished. Like dropping a stone into a pool, everyone around them took on Scorio’s appearance as well, beginning with B’vaari and then spreading to passersby, vendors, street urchins, everyone.
It was eerie and surreal. Scorio felt as if he’d been dropped into a world of shattered mirrors.
B’vaari grinned with Scorio’s mouth and blew into his palm. A swirling ball of black energy appeared there, which he hurled at the closest Scorio, who was shouting in confusion as he turned about in circles, patting himself in alarm.
Only to stop, his body going rigid, eyes wide in sudden terror, and then he let loose a harrowing scream of fear and plunged into the crowd of Scorios.
“And… spread,” whispered B’vaari just as Cianus flew overhead astride his lion.
B’vaari gestured, and the screaming man’s terror turned contagious. Confusion and alarm became universal panic, and all the Scorios began to bellow and scream and wail as they surged in a great mass into the rest of the market.
“Let’s go,” said Maron, running into the crowd.