“Sixty-four: While the person your nemesis just betrayed might be another ally, they could just as easily be another knife positioned to stab you in the back.”
— “Two Hundred Heroic Axioms”, author unknown
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The warped battlefield felt eerily quiet once one took into consideration the fact that the cacophony of combat hadn’t abated. Taylor and Kairos had ceased trading barbs now that he’d begun his rear-guard manoeuvre. And it was a rear-guard manoeuvre, not a retreat. Another might’ve been fooled, but Roland was wise to the tricks of the Tyrant. He’d spent enough time in Taylor’s counsel to know when a scheme played out.
Kairos Theodosian wouldn’t leave without planting a knife in everyone’s back.
He still had many more to spare.
Roland recoiled as a childlike laugh echoed from further ahead.
A line of Helikean crossbowmen sighted him.
The tents blurred in his vision as he leaned forward on his dappled stallion. It was darkly humorous how slow the soldiers appeared as their weapons rose in unison. Roland summoned forth a wand from his pouch. The quartz at the Pelagian artefact’s tip vibrated as it heated. It unleashed a blast of air that swept through the retreating soldiers and scattered their bolts a heartbeat later.
Roland scowled as the magic struggled against his control.
Wild magics contested his ethereal grip, causing the focusing crystal to shatter. The brown-haired rogue suppressed a curse. Despite the House of Light''s funding making artifact acquisition a mere formality, the loss of the crystal still stung deeply. He dared not draw magic from the parched riverbed where his soul once flowed since their clash with Winter’s monarch.
Now, he drew from his dwindling collection of rare relics instead.
It stung each time one of the precious tools he’d sooner not part with broke from overuse.
Roland slipped the rod into his pocket as his mount bolted behind the next wooden barricade. His weathered hand trembled as he drew a fluted wand. The modest potential it held was a far cry from the grandeur of Taylor’s blazing miracles. With a deft flick, he unleashed a flurry of radiant projectiles, scattering the crossbowmen like leaves before a sudden gust.
A chill ran down Roland’s spine as an ominous hiss split the air. His eyes darted toward the source of the sound. A bolt of nothingness crackled upward and challenged the seasons for dominion over the heavens. Roland’s grip tightened. With each grain that fell from the hourglass, the Tyrant’s spell spiralled further out of control.
He had to trust that Yvette could reign in the ritual before it swallowed them whole.
A deafening roar was his first warning before a surge of flames tore through the air as the Summer dragon dove and crashed into the fortifications ahead. Roland tore his gaze away from the sight as the enemy ranks accelerated their organized flight. The beast struggled to rise from the wreckage of a supply dump, only to be battered again by a concentrated breath of Light.
His knuckles whitened as his horse reared at the sight. He fought to steady the beast, then with a single hand, he tapped the garnet-studded bangle around his leg. The stallion relaxed as soothing energies flowed into its tense body.
Please, Gods, spare my tools from any more of Taylor’s ‘incidental damages.’
The brilliant barrage engulfing the Summer Dragon faltered as the Winter Wyrm lunged at the draconic priestess in the sky. Her frilled neck dissolved into a nebulous mist, consuming pieces from the beast before she reformed and clamped down upon its throat. Ice shattered under an incandescent strike. The skeletal drake lashed out, sending her sprawling with a gust of darkness and frost.
Roland shifted his attention away from their aerial clash to the grounds below.
Organized bands of Summer fae had marched outwards from their point of incursion. Roland tried to ignore the eldritch horrors older than the written word who were gleefully turning the Helikean camp into a roaring inferno as he trailed behind the Tyrant’s retreating army. Then the force split.
The bulk turned toward Winter’s lines, where deadwood soldiers parted to allow Kairos’s troops to bolster the defences. Barriers of Light manifested before them, only to be struck down by a relentless cascade of frost. Summer’s forces trailed behind them uncertainly. A few violent skirmishes flared before the banner wielding fae and their cohorts withdrew from that front.
Roland passed behind a mound of loose dirt as the Summer dragon took flight. His mind trailed along the groove. What would it mean to be more than what he was? To be more than merely a finger righting tilted scales. He shook his head. A battlefield was not the place to become mired in thoughts.
He pulled a moonstone-studded silver ring from his pouch. Use, he winced as he scraped the now hollowed out place his soul should be raw. Both his form and that of his horse blurred a heartbeat later. It wouldn’t fool the Fae, but it would hide him from the other combatants.
He dismissed the larger force, and focused his attention on the Tyrant’s back.
The villain carved a path toward the clash between Sulia and Larat. Roland had thought that it was a mistake when Taylor had let the Tyrant leave at their first meeting, but he''d held his tongue. Now, her moral stubbornness had come home to roost.
He spurred his mount onward as his thoughts returned to Taylor.
For how long could she hold back both Summer and Winter alike?
How long until another card slipped from the tower she’d built and the whole structure collapsed?
The sanctity of his soul hinged on the answer.
It gnawed at him whenever his mind wandered.
Their group had thrown themselves into a devil infested tunnel with no end in sight.
The visit to the Spire had been illuminating. It helped with clarifying both his own purpose and deepened his understanding of Taylor. As captivating as she was, faith like hers burned too bright for him. Even the most pious would rarely condone calling upon angels for all but the most catastrophic conflicts. That realization had purged the last remnants of his infatuation, leaving wariness in its wake.
Taylor had transformed from the aimless girl he''d first encountered on Procer''s roads. Her unwavering devotion to the Gods Above now eclipsed all else. What once seemed noble now appeared treacherous, and the zeal he’d once found alluring unsettled him. He’d thought she might become like an angel but hadn’t grasped what that meant.
Angels were absolute in their purpose.
And she became a better approximation of one with every day that passed.
He still considered Taylor a friend, albeit one who with a fatal flaw. A flaw that he’d take it upon himself to help her overcome. She valued Roland’s counsel, and with time he could guide her along a gentler path. The girl he’d met wouldn’t be pleased with the woman she’d become.
That wariness had to be set aside in the face of a more immediate concern. The Prince of Deep Drought had already perished. Plans upon plans began to unravel, and Taylor had trusted him to weave the threads together. Their agreement with the Queen of Summer wasn’t worth the air it was spoken with unless he returned with the Sun.
Two dozen fiery emerald projectiles streaked overhead and collided with a howling wind. A Winter duke swooped high, retaliating against his Summer counterpart. Most attacks fizzled harmlessly, but a few scattered wide. Roland’s heart raced as he urged his mount away from the onslaught.
The clash between Sulia and Larat climbed from the Helikean encampment to a crumbling summer palace perched on a distant mountainside plateau. Roland urged his dappled horse past the camp’s edge, following the battle’s ascent. His mount reared as two dragons slammed into the road ahead, ploughing furrows of upturned soil.
Taylor soared skyward. Her luminescent claws clamped onto the Summer dragon’s frame with every beat of her wings. A silver barrier shimmered into existence behind her as she dragged the beast back into it. Plumes of frost fell from above and were funnelled into her gleaming trap as the dragon fought against its binding.
The necromantic beast thrashed and fragmented limbs of Light, only for them to reform less than an instant later. Winter’s frost hammered against fire-wreathed limbs, forcing the creature deeper into Taylor’s corrosive hold. A candle contested the might of a storm as each successive coruscating wave of Summer’s flames sputtered weaker than the last.
Roland was sure that it wouldn’t be long before the monster was annihilated.
A quiet voice muttered at the back of Roland’s mind that nobody should wield that kind of power.
His eyes snapped away as two dozen stray emerald fireballs streaked toward him.
He yanked his mount aside but couldn’t avoid them all. A searing orb struck the beast’s throat. He released the reins and grimaced, tucking into a roll before staggering upright. He brushed off the dust and pressed onward, and spared a fleeting regret for the saddlebags he’d lost with his mount. Shadowy tendrils of doubt clawed at the fragile walls of his resolve.
Roland cursed under his breath.
Tracking these two fae monarchs was like chasing rogues through the streets of Salia.
It pushed him even before the horse’s untimely demise.
It would be worse this time.
He tensed as another thought darkened his door. The return to Summer on foot would be a gruelling ordeal. He wasn’t even sure how to complete the journey without Taylor and the Queen of Summer unravelling the tale they’d woven together. Roland reached the snow-swept mountain’s base and began his ascent. The fading cries of the Summer Dragon drove him up the slopes.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Both the sounds and sights of Taylor’s battle died away as he approached the fight between Sulia and Larat. Gloomy fingers cast by Summer architecture — buried beneath the weight of Winter’s frost — prickled the hairs at the back of his neck. The Tyrant lounged on his gilded throne set atop his dais. It had been ensconced within a tiled palatial chamber with a broken roof. Two dozen gargoyles circled like vultures and threw taunts at the battling fae above. Roland squinted into the tumultuous sky.
Sheets of fire and ice clashed above, heralding the chaos to come.
“Call all you like, Sulia,” Kairos twirled a sceptre and taunted. “Even the heavens mock you.”
Roland weighed the Tyrant’s words, probing their edges for the story being spun. While he couldn’t see the shape of it, he was certain it was a tale he didn’t like the end of. What malign purpose did Kairos steer the fae toward?
Aged stone groaned as Sulia raised a hand and pulled a flaming twister from the heavens. The conflagration screamed toward Larat, only to wither against the edge of his sword.
“Silence, traitorous abomination,” Sulia snarled as a snowflake landed on her brow. “I’ll burn you from existence soon as this fight is done.”
She swept toward the Prince of Nightfall as her blazing spear slicing empty air as he twisted into shadow. Three serpent-quick strikes scored at her side, but the wounds sealed almost instantly.
Roland''s fingers brushed over his emerald-studded bracelet. The piece was designed to gather harm dealt to its wearer. It wouldn’t shield him from devastation on this scale, but the thought steadied his nerves.
“You wound me,” Kairos gasped. “Come now, Princess. Fly higher. Don’t sully yourself among us mere mortals. Your hubris is so great that surely it belongs among the stars.”
Could Roland determine what Kairos Theodosian sought to gain from this fight? Perhaps he aimed to imprison Larat? The best method to ensure that would be to end him in some way or another. No, that would see Summer''s Sun into Sulia''s care and Taylor''s bargain with him unfulfilled. Killing Sulia would force a harsher reckoning. One that Roland wasn''t confident he could thread. He couldn''t allow this drama to unfold unchecked. What net could he cast to reel in the catch?
More’s the pity that Roland couldn’t risk confiscating it without a narrative strong enough to justify his claim.
Even a moment of unearned contact would reduce him to little more than cinders.
A howling blizzard engulfed Sulia as the sky rumbled. The fae duke who had trailed them past Aine’s gates joined the fray. He hurled emerald flames at Larat, only to be assaulted by the Tyrant’s stone-winged cohort.
“Your shadows cannot dim my sun, Larat!” Sulia dispersed the blizzard with a roar. “I am the noon that banishes Winter’s icy grip. I soar above them, unbound by their reach.”
Roland gripped tight around the hilt of an old Mavii Dagger at his side. Should he use it here to drain power from either of the fae? Better not risk it. Their might far exceeded what the tool had been made for.
“Even the brightest sun burns itself to ash, Sulia,” Larat drawled. “It’s the way of things.”
The Prince’s blade flickered, twisting in and out of existence as it slashed toward her. Sulia dodged and the edge of the weapon parted nothing but smoke.
“I’ll burn ever brighter, clawing wretch,” she snarled, “and leave your shadows to wither in my wake.”
Larat swooped backwards as a fan of frost bubbled like wax against the tip of Sulia’s spear.
“The sun pales before such ambition,” the Prince taunted. “Do you feel the dark closing in? If only you could rise higher. After all, even the brightest flames can burn out.”
There were two keys to this contest. Roland had to establish Larat’s ownership was illegitimate and that his freedom lay in playing along with the story he wove. That would be the safest path to securing Summer’s Sun.
“This doesn’t have to end in blood and frost, Larat,” Roland declared. “Return Summer’s Sun, and we can rewrite the story.”
Unease crept over Roland as the Tyrant’s crimson eye locked on him. He missed the following exchange above as he matched the monster’s gaze. Roland shuddered as Kairos grinned.
“Winter''s gifts are paid in frost and shadows,” the one-eyed Prince replied, “each kindness has its price.”
Fiery spears rained down on the Prince of Nightfall as Sulia lunged. Larat spun and cut with his blade, scattering the flames.
“Give back what you’ve stolen,” Roland cajoled. “Let’s close this book before the story unravels and open another.”
Gargoyles returned to their roost on the Tyrant’s dais. Roland tried to ignore the one tearing up a free cities version of the Book of All Things, or the other that theatrically mimed slitting his throat.
Three strides across icy platforms landed Larat before the fae duke.
“Why should I hand you the quill?” Larat challenged. “My future isn’t yours to write.”
“Every unwritten page is a battlefield where potential wages war against destiny,” the Rogue Sorcerer explained.
Another lick of the Prince’s blade saw the duke clutching at a slit throat.
“I’m not abandoning one set of chains only to claim another.” icy wolves leaped from Larat’s shadow as he laughed derisively.
Sulia drowned the wolves in a sea of flames. Roland scrambled to the side as flailing vines burst forth from the ground. It appeared that Sulia had no regard for anyone else’s safety in her bid to end the Prince of Nightfall.
“Ah, the advisor,” Kairos twirled his sceptre and cackled as he emphasized the word. “You’re more interesting than the Page.”
An orb of quartz materialized in his right palm as half a dozen gargoyles descended. His eyes narrowed. A bolt of lightning surged from the sphere, split, and struck. The creatures'' mocking caws turned to snarls as stone splintered under the force.
Roland intensified the barrage.
“I have little interest in dancing on your strings, Kairos,” Roland said as he ducked another stony blow.
Roland frowned and sprinted behind a neighbouring wall as another gargoyle lunged. Claws scraped against blackened masonry as he fished out his dragon oak rod. He stumbled backwards as a stone wing clanged against another brick, before blasting the beast with a tightly controlled beam.
The beasts hissed, but returned to the Tyrant’s side.
Roland peaked out from behind his temporary barricade as vines withered under frost.
“At least you have some fire of your own,” the enthroned youth acknowledged with a grudging nod.
The charlatan''s frown deepened as he measured each word. Allowing Kairos to guide the story was perilous. Taylor believed the child had an Aspect like hers. He’d catch a glimpse of Roland’s utmost desires. What other choice remained? Should he ignore the Tyrant? The best method to disarm a trap was often to sidestep it entirely.
The Rogue Sorcerer risked a glance away from the Tyrant and stiffened at what he saw.
“My flames will never falter!” Sulia shrieked. “Even your darkness can’t swallow them whole.”
Sulia’s eyes ignited with an unrelenting fire as she called and an inferno answered. Roland shaded his eyes as he hid behind the broken wall once more.
The world buckled beneath her implacable will.
“Until they''re not,” Larat challenged as he threw himself into the clouds. “Even the day dims, as all things must.”
The prince’s words held little effect as golden banks in the sky pushed back the encroaching fog.
Even the air scorched Larat with only a touch.
“This ends now,” Sulia declared. “I’ll not allow you to desecrate my relic any longer.”
Her wings flared as she lunged for the Midnight Casket, which was still gripped tightly under Larat’s arm. A mirthless smile curled on the Prince of Nightfall’s lips as he swept to one side and hurled his blade. Sulia’s eyes widened as the weapon pierced her heart and grasped feebly at the hilt.
The Princess was too slow.
“Alas,” he said as he dashed forward and seized her by the throat. “The sun has scorched its wings, and now the night rises in its place.”
A river of gold streamed from Sulia as Larat forced ice and shadow down her throat. Blight took the vines trailing her figure. Her once resplendent wings blacked under the ravenous claws of Winter, then crumbled as her eyes glazed over in the moments that followed.
A tense stillness smothered the battlefield.
The silence was shattered a heartbeat later by the Tyrant''s mocking applause.
“It is… an auspicious day,” the Prince of Nightfall sighed as he dropped from the sky and gave the Tyrant an assessing glance. “The smallest measure of one debt, paid. Another: soon to be collected upon.”
“My friend,” Kairos purred as he looked at Roland. “What a position you’ve found yourself in.”
“There is much to be said about my position,” Roland prevaricated.
Half his attention went towards assessing the Tyrant’s words.
The rest tracked Larat’s every move.
“So much power, yet none of it your own,” the Tyrant said as he laid a palm over his chest. “Your talents seem… wasted.”
Roland chewed over the words. Why was the Tyrant casting him as a traitorous advisor? He had reservations about Taylor’s choices but hadn’t turned his back on her. The path remained clear either way. Roland had to deny the claim to undermine his enemy’s scheme.
“I prefer to be under someone who won’t toss me into a tiger pit for entertainment,” Roland retorted.
“Really?” Kairos drawled, “don’t you appreciate how they’d brighten your day? No matter,” the madman dismissed with a wave. “I’d say you’re already halfway there.”
“Seeking to be more than what I was is not a betrayal of Taylor’s trust,” Roland replied.
“Uh, uh, uh,” the Tyrant tutted. “You left Taylor’s little princess in that trap and her time’s running out,” he cackled. “Now. For my third Wish:—”
Roland’s eyes widened as he grasped the shape of Kairos’s true intent. Taylor had believed the boy had an Aspect like Dream, but her perspective was too narrow. Roland clenched the sphere in his palm. It blazed, and arcs of lightning surged toward the Tyrant.
His efforts proved futile.
“Existing agreements prevent me from striking you down,” the Prince said as his blade intercepted the bolt, “but you’d be surprised what you can live through.”
Roland tried to bypass the creature and blast the villain again. His stomach examined the depths of the Everdark as the one-eyed fae positioned himself between the Rogue Sorcerer and the child. All but the final dregs of his hope were pilfered by the thief on the throne.
“-may Larat be freed from all but his oaths to me until the seasons change,” Kairos exulted, “only to then be imprisoned by his nature once again.”
A violent storm clouded the face of the Prince of Nightfall.
Roland clenched his fist around the orb. Enough was enough. The Tyrant might have complicated their quest in Arcadia by killing the Prince of Deep Drought and disrupting their pact with Larat, but even his interference knew limits. The Rogue Sorcerer seized upon the opening created by the boy''s treachery.
“Larat,” Roland’s voice cut through the gloom, “tell me your plans.”
The weight of a glacier bore down on him as the Prince of Nightfall’s furious gaze fixed pinned him to the palace floor. The Rogue Sorcerer remained unmoved. Each betrayal enacted incurred a hidden debt to the victim. A debt that he’d call in.
“My plans,” a wintry voice mused. “I’ve stolen Summer’s Sun and cast its princess from the sky,” he raised a tenebrous black casket out before him. “Winter’s victory is now inevitable. Your defeat is assured.”
Roland’s resolve firmed as the story lurched.
“What did you say about keeping what I claim?” he grinned as he asked rhetorically, “I think I’ll see this back to its rightful owner.”
He reached out to Confiscate the box.
A swarm of gargoyles descended upon him.
And the Tyrant laughed.