Crow used what time he saved from the abort of the spell to run after the fleeing vine mass, into the screams blossoming from the tea room. “Get back here, you murderous fiend!” he called as he did. “Watch out, fools! Killer on the loose! Stand clear!”

  Through it all, Jon Three had simply backed up almost into the wall, brandishing a nearby broom as a defensive weapon. “Wh-what do I do?!” He never got an answer to that.

  The vines were exceptionally fast, already zipping through the tea room and beyond, into the vestibule with the exit. Worse, a guardsman was in there — at least by the reckoning of Crow’s flicking ears, as he couldn’t see. It didn’t particularly matter spell-wise, as he lacked proper time to cast, but it ruled out some sort of AoE before the construct made the exit. Though the door might be closed, that was unlikely to matter, as the floating mass could certainly slip underneath. Air-tight, castles were not.

  With a very narrow window of opportunity and a spell out of the question, Crow decided to hedge his bets. He quick-drew an enchanted throwing dagger and flung it at the mass, aiming for the ‘tail’ of sorts. He channeled [Rogue’s Luck] and [Bardic Panache] into it. The latter was good for willing ‘special results’ into it, eliminating up to -3 in circumstantial penalties in addition to an EL boost.

  What he wanted was to sever a section — experimentally, to see what would happen. Would part of it ‘die?’

  The mass almost cleared out of his line-of-sight entirely even in the period for his throw. But the very end of the vines trailed, and the dagger flashed unerringly through the air, cutting clean through it. A small section, no wider than a hand, fell to the floor, flopping around immediately like an agitated earthworm. The greater mass briefly disappeared from his sight.

  Hmm. It’s something.

  There was a scream of pain just as Crow came around. The guard that had been inside was untouched, having apparently whiffed in attacking the mass — he was stumbling with a consternated expression from an obvious sword swing.

  As luck would have it, a servant was just opening the door beyond when the mass bore down, and it raked the man terribly as he fell back in response, a bundle of rags in his arms suddenly flying everywhere.

  Cursing, Crow made his way to the door, beating the armored guard who was just pivoting to pursue as well. As Crow hopped over the diced-up servant, he saw the wounds dealt — multiple cuts across the face, shoulder, arm… and neck. It was gushing blood through the man’s fingers.

  Damn it! He hesitated, knowing the servant would be doomed without his aid but also knowing the mass was getting away.

  A voice erupted in his head. One he’d never heard or felt before, yet found familiar. ‘Why interfere? Fate has doomed him, death is claiming him. Would you truly surrender even this principle to her when she is wound up in the cause?’

  Shocked, Crow nonetheless had little time to philosophize. The decision was obvious. Crow stopped short and knelt, hovering his hand over the man’s hand and neck and beginning a semi-advanced spell to staunch any blood loss. He caught a last glimpse of the mass flying down the hall and making a turn.

  The spell resolved, stopping the spurting of the man’s neck and the oozing of many cuts. The man gasped, his eyes wide, still caught entirely in shock.

  The guard came barreling through, and Crow pointed down the hall. “It took a right!” The guard nodded and ran off.

  Once the spell was finished, though, Crow took off running after the guard and passed him quickly with his own prodigious speed. The hallway was barren and turned into a left and right, slightly curved. It was an outer wall nearby, light casting from unshuttered windows looking out on a courtyard. Crow popped his head out, looking around. No sign of the mass or any violence. Plenty of vegetation cover.

  Shit. I need to secure the cut section — it might be mobile, too.

  Another guard was running up. Crow called, “Hey, you! Get more searching outside. And we need magic-users on it!”

  “Uh… okay,” the guard replied, somewhat bewildered as Crow rushed past him.

  On the way back, he checked in with Jeeves and forwarded his visions and impressions of the construct. “Need your Resemblants to canvas for it. And if we can get allies out to organize for a general lookout, that would be good, too.”

  “A logical deduction,” Jeeves replied. “We’re on it. I had one high in the air, but not at the right angle. He hasn’t seen an escape skyward, at least.”

  “Perhaps it cannot fly, just hover. If so, we might have a chance.” Crow passed the cut-up servant being tended to by another near the doorway. “Now, I might need help-”

  Crow stepped into the room and stopped short as he saw a young man in armor, wearing a disturbed expression on his face, sword out, as he looked down at a thrashing vine caught under his armored boot. It had gotten much closer to the exit than before.

  “Don’t crush it!” Crow called as he took the few remaining steps left to the man. A knight, assuredly. His armor was impeccable. Enchanted.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Very haunted eyes looked up at Crow, and for a moment, Crow’s feline hackles rose. His face, seen eye-to-eye, was like Thadeus risen from the grave — the man who’d almost sacrificed Agatha for Zadkiel down in the caves. But a second moment dispelled the illusion, as he was far younger, with a softer, more delicate face, probably one that made the ladies swoon. That was definitely not Thadeus.

  His brother. The young Sir Alletes, the Second Guardian of Oldaster.

  Alletes gave Crow a brief, solemn nod. “I know, Sir Bard. Despite what grief and vengeance ensnaring my heart desires, this is evidence, yes? Evidence that wants to escape, one way or another. Destruction might be its victory rather than ours. I’m late to the scene yet again, but I hope this helps.”

  Crow took a moment to study the lad. Seems reasonable enough. “Yes. Allow me to secure it momentarily.” He knelt, taking out a magic item from his satchel — a small black box in the shape of a hexagon, decorated with golden motifs of monsters, weapons, and renditions of little ‘explosions.’ He spoke the long command word that unlocked it and opened it to reveal a void. The immediate zone in the room suddenly felt ‘heavier’ from a magic effect.

  The thrashing little bit of vines and sword points thrashed even harder, as if a living thing sensing a dark fate awaiting it. The blades tried to curve up to cut the boot, tried to stretch as much as possible to slice at Crow.

  Lid in hand, Crow spoke the activation word of the box while targeting the vines. The void within the box roiled once, and then a fat tendril shot up and out at the vines like a striking cobra, quickly enveloping them completely. Suppressing a sound of alarm, Alletes jerked his foot away.

  The void recoiled back quickly, and Crow hastily capped the box. It produced a loud, echoing ‘locking’ sound. The vines-and-swords piece was entirely contained. Crow knew that it was effectively ‘frozen’ and couldn’t move within, activate, or even be sensed through. It was wholly cut off from the world.

  “That’ll do it just fine,” Crow said as he stowed the box and stood. “Thanks for the assist, Sir Alletes.”

  Alletes nodded. “So you know of me. I wondered, me being newly minted to my new role beyond the honorary. You’ve been strangely reclusive for a bard, but Agatha informed me you were among the most forthright and trustworthy of friends. I will honor this, even knowing so little. Perhaps what little I’ve seen here is enough to verify.”

  “I appreciate that. Agatha was a friend. I mourn her loss with you.” Maybe I should mention this one to Samantha. Vibe check him for induction into the Order.

  The servant who’d been injured got helped back into the room, looking weak, harrowed, but whole. As they were passing by, he suddenly noticed Crow, and shot a hand up to his shoulder, meeting him eye-to-eye. An intense gaze, with moist eyes of emotion. “Thank you. You saved my life… you stopped… I’m in your debt, sir!”

  Crow shook his head. “No debt. My actions and failures conspired to put you in harm’s way. The principle of things, hmm? Rest yourself, friend. We’ll get those scars healed, too.”

  Tears streaming down his face, the servant’s mouth worked without words. At pressure from the one helping him, he finally relented, nodding and shifting his eyes away. His hand pulled free and he was escorted further inside, likely to a chair or bed.

  “It seems I have even more verification,” Sir Alletes replied with intrigue.

  Crow shrugged. “You can trust I keep to principles higher than myself, yes.”

  Internally, that awoken voice within Crow rose again, entirely unimpressed. ‘What principles are those?’

  It was very odd to feel an impulse to answer such a voice in his head, entirely unlike mental communication with Servitors or distant allies. But he knew he wasn’t insane. On a vague level, he knew what was happening. “Responsibility and the preservation of life in the hands of one wielding great power over others.”

  ‘Life? You seem to be confused about our nature.’

  “Not at all. You are the confused one. We are blended and stirred together with her. We’re transmuted and transformed into something new. That is the unity needed.”

  A sense of puzzlement. ‘You’d give up your very identity for some passing chaotic fancy? A youthful bonfire to expend itself like an effigy to entropy. You’ll be a burned-out husk by the end. Sacrificing our order for the ideals of another is not how we thrive.’

  “Perhaps we don’t need to. And it’s not my identity, it’s yours. I’ll show you the logic and the order of the synthesis with the unfurling of results.”

  ‘A narrow perspective. I remain dubious.’

  Somehow, Crow knew those words were a problem. Dangerous. “If that servant should’ve died, what about me? I was ready to jump off the edge, to reset a sad, squandered, and abused life. Instead, Samantha was the catalyst for Death’s transformation for a completely undeserving fool. Death to oneself. Rebirth. Is that not a powerful meaning within us?”

  ‘It is. Our road to mastery; the road of the few to mastery. Go on.’

  “Let me handle things my way, through my novel perspective and experience. Show a new… facet. That seems an appropriate analogy. Worth a shot, isn’t it? Aren’t you rather rusty anyway?”

  ‘The wick has long been quenched. Withered. Dead.’ There was a shift, like a roiling thing within Crow’s soul. Suddenly, Crow realized what it was doing: stretching. ‘I stay my hand in patience for now. Proceed. I’ll be watching.’

  “Stay your hand. What would the opposite entail?” But the presence was gone.

  Tch! Figures. Best to forget it and focus on the here and now… Samantha, you are due to return, that’s for sure.

  Where's Jon Quatro when you need him?

  Next Chapter...

  Back to Sammy and Azure. They dig a bit for some info before moving on.

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