Shango POV: Day 78

  Current Wealth: 229 gold 37 silver 6 copper

  I should’ve brought my gun, I knew it. It had been the big trade-off. My weapon was stored in my room, on the opposite wing of the mansion to where I’d been when I heard of the attack. Making my way to it would’ve cost extra minutes. Solitaire might’ve died during those minutes, but I’d have come here with a gun.

  No, not might have. Solitaire would’ve been a corpse had I shown up even thirty seconds late. I’d made the only choice I could in the moment, the one cause for irritation was that I’d let myself get so separated from the weapon in the first place.

  The bowman’s stance had changed, and I could see why. The iron bar he’d been using before now hovered around him, spinning and flying, looking almost like some boomerang capable of powered flight. It was that which had smashed into Solitaire while the two were grappling, and going by what it’d done to his arm I wouldn’t particularly enjoy the sensation of being on the receiving end of it myself.

  Just our luck, I supposed, to find a magus on the enemy’s side just when ours was fucking nowhere to be seen. My thoughts were interrupted as the bar came shooting for me.

  My hands splayed and the air hardened, thickening into a barrier that sent the iron ricocheting off to one side. Right behind it, though, was the bowman himself, sprinting towards me and shouldering past the remnants of my barricade. I tried to step out of his reach, but his hand snapped out and caught my lapels, halting me just in time for a punch to find my ribs.

  I felt something crack, folding over as tears flooded my eyes, and through the pain I barely thought to keep mental track of the iron bar. My barrier came just in time to stop its second impact, but the bowman’s knee caught my face while I was busy blocking it.

  There was nothing under my feet, and then there was everything under my head. The impact raised me high, turned me halfway around and left my face to strike the ground on its own. I rolled a few more feet, vision spinning, and barely raised my head in time to see the bowman leaping back from some giant, jagged streak of ice.

  Solitaire was up, and active. Hurling projectiles just as he had against Corvan. I could see he was choosing smaller ones though, perhaps limited by the speed he could make them, and our enemy- the ever considerate person that he was, didn’t take more than a second to adjust.

  Iron broke ice, as iron tended to do, then came right for him. Solitaire stayed put though, holding his focus on it for a second, conjuring a particularly thick wall of ice just an instant before impact. The bar struck it lengthwise, its tip piercing the ice like a chisel, digging in deep and sending a thick crack to almost bisect its structure. I saw the weapon remaining where it was, quivering and vibrating as its wielder fought against the grip imposed around his tool.

  Solitaire had conjured more ice around the embedded metal almost as soon as it stuck, holding it still, and his face was pinched, now, with focus. I wasn’t sure why.

  Seconds passed, then the bar was free. I saw something flake off it as it erupted out, its shape suddenly less uniform, thinned at parts. It still did a fine job of smashing through Solitaire’s new barrier and knocking him flat.

  Argar and Helena were beside the bowman instantly, a spear and axe flying in unison, both moved with the strength to kill a troll. He danced back from them, focus shifting to the pair as his bar hurtled over. I rose to my feet, trying to move, cursing as I realised how dizzy and fatigued I still was. I needed moments to recover.

  I needed to recover, and I needed to know the plan, too. Solitaire wouldn’t have taken a hit if he hadn’t had one, so I made myself over to his side.

  He’d certainly seen better days, and today I doubted he could see at all, eyes bleary and unfocused, blood running down his side. I tried to make sure he was coherent, and Solitaire’s first words rang out.

  “The bourgeois,” He breathed, “They’re using foreskins. Circumcised baby foreskins, they grind them into paste and eat them, keeps them young. They use them in skin cream, that’s why it gets rid of wrinkles. Youthful flesh.”

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  It did not necessarily mean he was less coherent than usual, so I tried a more pointed question.

  “What are we doing?” I asked. “How do we stop this guy?”

  Solitaire focused at that, meeting my eyes with an intensity.

  “Rust.” He croaked, breathlessly, “On his weapon. I rusted it, oxidised, it’s…Weaker.”

  I could see by the fog in his eyes that I wouldn’t get much more from my friend, so instead I stood back up and forced myself to breathe deep. Nothing felt too broken, nothing felt unworkable, I was more winded than wounded. As far as I could tell, at least. As far as I could hope. I raised my hands and forced myself to focus, even as I watched the two bodyguards readying themselves to attack the bowman.

  Evidently, he’d backed off, because there were now a good dozen paces separating them. His eyes were affixed on the pair with icy coherence, his bar orbiting him as fast as ever. I took my time readying an attack, then sent it out.

  Air was good for speed, for precision, and for motion. It wasn’t good for offence, not on its own.

  Fortunately, I didn’t need it to be. I turned my concentration to the carriage nearby- still just a few metres from me- and felt the atmosphere snag around some of its contents. Wide, semi-spherical, iron. The cauldron, perfect.

  It was a heavy thing, a really fucking heavy thing, and I felt the veins stand up in my body as I hoisted it through the air. My power wasn’t much, it could throw a man only slightly better than Argar might have, but it could apply its force for dozens of metres. That meant a lot more room to build up energy. I kept the cauldron flying straight as an arrow, angling it just right to intersect with the bowman’s body as he strode towards my bodyguards. Fifty pounds of cast iron flew and flew, accelerating until it was moving fast as a running man, then a galloping horse, and then a baseball pitch.

  Ridiculously, I was almost tempted to look away before impact, but I made myself keep watching as the bowman’s head whipped around at the last second and his bar shot into the cauldron. The collision sent sparks flying out into the air, and I learned two things very quickly.

  The first was that cast iron, apparently, was brittle. The second was that whatever material our enemy’s bar was made from, it was far stronger than normal metal ought to have been. The cauldron erupted into multiple fragments, passing harmlessly around the bowman as its energy dissipated uselessly.

  But my work was done, he’d been distracted, and Argar and Helena moved in well to take advantage of the fact.

  The former was faster, or perhaps more eager, clearing more ground with his loping strides and swinging as if his enemy were some giant tree in need of felling. Helena moved with more reserve, waiting until Argar attacked to circle around and stab from the side, aiming low, going for the bowman’s knees and shins, then cursing as he leapt back.

  I watched as a punch caught Argar clean across his visored head, sending the big man a step to the side, then saw Helena’s spear flash again. The steel parted fabric, and I saw blood flecking its tip as she drew it back. The bowman backed off farther, eyes narrowed, testing.

  Our fight wasn’t going well. Argar and Helena were beyond the capabilities of any normal humans, and well equipped, but I saw the man’s bar rising back up behind them. The barrier I conjured at their backs wouldn’t hold long, and once it fell they’d be outmatched. I was already planning a retreat when the light caught my eye.

  Beam knows how to make an entrance, nobody can ever take that much from him. He came in like a rocket, tearing across the pavement and just flying straight for the bowman.

  Instantly, the iron bar had its new priority, and I watched as it shot straight for my friend. Anyone else might’ve been in a bind, but Beam only jumped, letting the metal crunch hard against his breastplate, splitting the ethereal material making it up and still jutting out even as he soared close to ten metres and landed within arms’ reach of our enemy. Beam swung his conjured weapon, a dagger- odd choice- and I watched as the bowman leaned back.

  Only then did I realise what my friend had done, because the blade lengthened as fast as a blink, becoming a cleaving sabre and biting deep into the enemy’s side. He stumbled away, ichor drizzling from his flank as his face twisted with pain, and I acted fast.

  The fragments of cauldron were too far for me to grab with my air, but the iron bar wasn’t. I ripped it out of Beam’s armour and launched it across the space between him and our foe, watching as the rusted metal crunched hard into his nose. More blood spurted free, but he was quick in grabbing it, then twisting his weapon around at Beam. My friend blocked, sliding back entire feet as his balance struggled against the combination of our enemy’s strength and magic.

  My air was too slow to do anything more as the bowman stepped forwards again, bar dropping down for Beam’s head. And snapping as his ethereal weapon rose to meet it again.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Everyone was too stunned, too surprised. Then everything exploded with motion at once. Argar’s axe carved, Helena’s spear skewered, and Beam’s sword sliced. A triangle of crimson appeared on our enemy even as he turned to flee, ruined weapon spinning around behind him like a shuriken, keeping us at bay for precious moments.

  I watched him disappear into the streets, dropping down to my knees and panting.