Vol 5, Chapter 25

— Thump-thump, thump-thump. — 

Only the pounding of hearts and the low hum of the portal broke the absolute silence.

The figure stood motionless, face of stone, waiting for my reaction.

I unleashed a powerful wave of anti-magic, stripping everything bare, until even the soul of the one before me should have trembled like Captain Flint's.

For a few seconds her form flickered, like a cheap hologram, resisting the pressure.

Heart pounded painfully.

The "girl" stretched her arms forward, and ripples ran clearly along them. Beneath the fake inquisitor's uniform showed a layer of black fabric.

The double heartbeat stilled, leaving only a steady, single rhythm.

The skin peeled away, revealing the same girl in the black jacket I had seen before. Only now she bore a notable addition — a large amulet on her chest, shaped like a birdcage. But instead of a bird, a heart hung inside, stretched out on golden chains.

"Interesting. This thing worked even inside temples." She tapped a nail against the stopped heart. "I hope you didn't break it. Otherwise the Third Prince will be furious. He spent many years creating it."

I raised my blade, racking my brain for a plan. Last time, the score hadn't been in my favor. I needed pitch darkness just to have a chance. I glanced at the ceiling. Why hadn't the damned lamps gone out from my pulse? Break them? Too many, I couldn't do it all at once.

"Who are you?" I asked, trying to buy time.

"Your lover, perhaps?"

"Don't play with me."

"Strange to hear that from you. I can feel the thrill in you. You're marked by Samael too. Shall we play a game?"

"My neck still hasn't healed from last time," I grumbled, cautiously scanning her body.

She laughed.

"Come on, if I wanted to kill you, I would have. And it's your fault anyway, you shouldn't hit girls!"

"A girl, really?"

"Hah, you're funny. Didn't you already confirm that yourself?"

No trace of metal on her clothes; the only thing I could influence was the amulet.

She sensed it.

In a flash, the golden cage was already flying off her neck toward the nearest wall, torn free with superhuman speed.

I waited for the ringing impact, but… halfway through its flight, as it crossed a shadow, the amulet vanished as if it had never existed.

"Sorry, I'm not sharing my toy," she said softly, deciding I'd tried to steal it. Everyone judges by their own heart…

So much for the one item that could've given me an edge. I glanced around discreetly, searching for anything else.

"Let's play then," I said. "The game of truth. What are you?"

"A complicated question. Once, I lived at the Academy. The Gift of Shadows is rare, and I didn't care for their… methods of study. I found a way to hide, fled to the Theocracy. Long story."

"And now you work for the Third Prince," I stated.

She frowned.

"I don't work for the Third Prince… we cooperate, since our interests align. For now. Now my question — who are you? The first time we met, you were possessed. I smell the Abyss on you, but it isn't possession."

"Human." The word left my lips before I could think. I clamped my mouth shut to hold back more, but instantly felt my strength begin to drain. Someone was displeased that I was breaking the rules of the game. A trap?

"Not from here," I blurted quickly, and felt it wasn't enough.

Damn. I forced my tongue back under control. Better to tell something else.

"I defeated a demon, but I paid the price. For now, we share a few common interests."

"What interests?" she asked, but I felt I wasn't bound to answer precisely.

"Revenge," I finished, lowering my suddenly heavier sword.

Strength seeped back, slowly.

"You're learning fast. Another round?"

"NO!"

"Hah. As you wish. Let's talk like people." She turned, gesturing with a wave of her hand at the control panel. "So, do you need the portal or not?"

"I'll walk."

"Don't make me laugh. This is your only chance to leave the Commonwealth."
"Leave it straight into the claws of the Third Prince?"

"Come now. He'd rather keep you here. I'd prefer a different outcome. Remember, time and again I've given you a way out, and you've ignored it. This is your last chance. Did you really think I was just passing through? The alarm hasn't reached the Academy yet only because of me. Isn't that help enough? The portal is aimed at the Kingdom, just as I promised. Don't believe me? Ask. I'll answer honestly, but then I'll ask another question."

"First, tell me,  are my people safe?"

"The ship sailed with the first rays of dawn." She shrugged and gave a bloodthirsty smile. "You're alone."

"Alright, another round. Why do you want to help me?"

She was silent for almost a minute before slowly answering.

"Our paths with the Third Prince may soon diverge. Likely will. You are my insurance if that happens. I don't believe you'll get rid of him for my sake, but I know you'll stand in his way, making my life easier."

"Where does the portal lead?"

"That's already your second question, Randal. But I'll answer — one of my personal exits in the Goblin Forest. It's safe. Now my turn…"

She measured me with her eyes, then turned away to continue adjusting the portal.

"I don't have any pressing questions yet. Best to save such a favor for when it truly matters, not petty details."

"Don't you lose if you don't ask me anything?" I tried to feel out the rules of the game.

"We never agreed the questions had to be asked immediately. Call it a draw, but remember — you'll lose if you ever answer falsely when the time comes. And I don't advise losing… Done."

The hum of the portal settled into full stability. The girl opened a panel below the controls and pulled out a long cloak.

"Put it on. This uniform is used by the Commonwealth's envoys when working in the Kingdom. It hides one's identity well, and we don't need unnecessary questions when you show up in the square in broad daylight."

She handed me the cloak. After some hesitation, I accepted it.

"That doesn't mean we're not enemies," I reminded her.

"Pfft." The girl snorted. "Want revenge for the prince? Believe me, I couldn't care less whether he lived or died. It was just a job — all complaints go to the client. Besides, why should you care about some spoiled noble brat who only thought of amusements? He didn't live up to his rank. Everyone knew it."

"But he wasn't the worst person either."

"And not the best, right?"

I grimaced slightly. I had to admit she was right… but in a world where assholes sat on top of assholes, not being a complete asshole was already an achievement.

"Although, you know," she continued, "I'll ask you one question after all, just to be sure about you. Why aren't you on the Third Prince's side? You two seem very much alike. Too much alike."

I felt pressure, but faint. Too many possible answers diluted the force of the question. I could have gone into ideology or revealed his schemes against me, but I chose a different reply.

"To side with a man who ordered his own brother's death? The Third is unreliable. If he can easily step over family, he'll step over an ally even more easily. I wouldn't advise dealing with him."

"Oh? Trying to recruit me, Viscount?" She laughed.

"Of course. It's in my best interest to strip him of allies…"

"No. Stop. Don't tell me more about that. Just clarify — is that the only reason you won't join him?"

"Of course not. I could list them all day. But we don't have the time."

"Tell me," she demanded, but I only smiled. The strength of her question had already run dry.

"Next time we'll play another game," she sighed. "Now put the cloak on. I need to make sure you didn't break it."

I threw it over my bloodied, torn doublet. The mages had healed my arm, but they hadn't bothered sparing coin for new clothes.

The heavy hood fell over my head, but nothing unusual happened.

"Abyss. I knew you broke it. No time to find another — just keep your face hidden so no one notices the magic isn't concealing you. And don't speak; your voice won't be altered either. The exit is there. Let's go."

The girl vanished into shadow as if she'd never been there.

A very unreliable… temporary ally. But who was I to turn my nose up after dealing with a real demon?

"Is there a guard?" I asked the empty air, and the emptiness replied.

"Not anymore. Hurry, before they realize something's wrong. And hide the sword. Mages don't like blades of steel."

I easily tucked it beneath the cloak and walked toward the exit, stepping over corpses. The copied girl wasn't the only casualty; the farther I went down the corridors, the more bodies I saw. Almost all were struck from behind with a single blow.

So when I came across a man with his throat cut, I slowed my step. Looked around. The corridor split here, and the shadow fell not behind the body but in front of it. The same direction from which the strike had come.

Suspicion crept in as I glanced at my shadow-companion. Could she betray me too?

Damn. I hate assassins. Especially those with such creepy abilities.

A short climb up a staircase, and the sun-scorched air blew into my face. The street. A completely nondescript door leading out from a house beside the square. You'd never guess a whole network of catacombs lay beneath it.

Impressive.

I pulled the hood deeper over my face and, head bowed, strode quickly toward the glowing portal shrouded in violet mist. To my surprise, no one stopped me. No one even called out.

A flash!

I stepped into the portal and tumbled out the other side. Darkness. The sky was overcast with clouds. Rain lashed against my hood. Sheets of it, blurring my vision. I had no idea where I'd arrived, but it was far from the sunny Commonwealth.

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◆ Outskirts of the Goblin Forest, Captain Kurt’s POV. ◆

Rain poured down. It always poured before another attack.

By the third attempt, the shaman had realized that the heavier the rain, the fewer bullets reached them. He hadn't realized it with his mind, but rather with the animal cunning goblins were so famous for. Now, every time, he chanted feverishly, trying to call down the strongest deluge. His mournful wails carried through the camp, joined by the screams of sacrificed goblins, and the rain grew heavier. The trenches had long since flooded, turned into moats. Gunpowder spoiled even indoors, and outside… it was hopeless. But they adapted. Awnings were strung wherever possible. In the village center, construction continued even now — more space for the ever-growing number of wounded. Old houses were dismantled for firewood. They held on. But that damned shaman…

The first time, the rain had caught Kurt completely off guard. That day, everything had hung by a thread, and sometimes he still wondered if he could have done something differently.

They had prepared for an attack. Kurt knew the goblins would come by day and had warned his men to stay alert. But for this, they hadn't been ready.

A clear sky suddenly vanished behind thunderclouds, and a torrent of water fell from the heavens. All at once. Without warning. It wasn't even clear what the shaman had intended. Maybe to make fog so the goblins could sneak up? Maybe to strike them with lightning? But the result was far better than he could have hoped.

Most muskets failed. The downpour was so heavy it washed powder straight off priming pans. Only a few soldiers managed to react quickly, shielding their flintlocks from the water, while the goblins were already closing in…

Even in the rain, their primitive bows loosed arrows. Any proper archer would have spared the bowstring, but goblins didn't care.

Arrows flew through the curtain of rain, crooked, erratic... but deadly.

A few volleys thundered in reply, but most muskets only scraped uselessly with wet flints.

The green wave crashed forward.

The squat creatures swarmed around the men, jabbing with crude spears, impaling themselves on bayonets. But their short stature and stunted arms let them close the distance. Some soldiers gripped their muskets by the barrel and swung the stock, shattering long noses. The quicker-witted tore bayonets free and wielded them like stilettos. Still, one after another they fell beneath the mass of screeching, water-slick goblins.

"Fall back!" Kurt shouted.

The front lines were abandoned. The trenches filled rapidly with water.

Several volleys fired from the houses bought precious time to regroup. Bayonets fixed, the men formed a bristling wall. A good formation against cavalry, but against stunted goblins…

The green-skinned mob clumped together, shoving forward the unfortunates with wicker shields. They hesitated, none eager to fling themselves against the hedge of steel. This gave the musketeers in the houses time to reload. A few goblin archers loosed a pitiful volley, but one bowstring snapped and slashed its owner's eye.

A signal. From the rear, the shaman's attendants hauled out dried gourds filled with a foul, bubbling brew. The stench of rotting mushrooms spread on the air. Steam hissed as the concoction mixed with the rain pouring from the sky. Attendants forced the scalding draught down the throats of those unlucky to be near. Faces turned brown, eyes flared red.

With crazed stares, the brown-faced goblins charged the line, hurling themselves onto bayonets. Behind them surged the main horde, weapons and shields thrust forward, even pushing weaker comrades ahead as living shields.

Clash!

The long, faceted bayonets punched through wicker shields and the goblins holding them. Bone and stone spearpoints clattered against cuirasses, more often stabbing into legs. The line wavered, like a boulder swept by a river's current. Soldiers dropped to their knees one after another, overwhelmed by wounds.

A shot!

Smoke burst from house windows. Buckshot tore into the flanks, but even that stuck fast in the press of bodies. Some goblins brazenly skirted the line, circling to attack from behind. The village road churned into mud, favoring the goblins, born to wallow in it.

Ironically, it was the shaman who saved them, overreaching with his spell.

A deafening crack slammed their ears, like a cannon's roar, and a bright lightning bolt burned a mark across their vision. The goblins most addled by the brew writhed in the muck, clutching long ears. The rest scattered, shrieking shrilly. Shots rang out behind them.

Kurt yanked a pale tourniquet from his pouch and bound his wound…

That time, the goblins withdrew, though they had come closest to victory. Since then, the rain almost never ceased, as though the damned shaman truly meant to drown them. Constant damp ruined not only powder but even hardtack, molding and spoiling it. Wounds festered, refusing to heal. Men shivered with fevers and chills. Fewer and fewer remained fit to fight.

The goblins abandoned massive assaults, but kept up raids — sudden volleys on watch posts, or swarming small detachments with a few dozen fighters.

Losses mounted.

At the field forge, meant for mending cuirasses, rough cleavers were hammered out, sometimes even from the fallen's armor. Practice quickly proved that no matter how fine bayonets were, close-fighting goblins were better met with short blades.

That was one of the few small blessings.

Otherwise, Kurt could only pray for reinforcements.

Pray — or try a sortie to kill the shaman. The gifted bastard knew his worth and the danger of muskets. He never neared the front, hiding deep in the rear. To reach him meant breaking through the entire army. But there was no other choice.

No help was coming. Delay any longer, and their chance of success would vanish. They would simply be cut down one by one. Slowly, inevitably.