[The Twining] 32. The Returned Queen (Patreon)

Isen stared numbly at the destruction, not speaking. He dropped from the tier three man’s neck, standing on the wall. “What happened to your spear?”

The warrior shifted, looking down at Isen. “It shrinks down,” he stated, then sighed. “I don’t even know where to start. How did you know the serpent died?”

“I helped kill it.”

“Who actually killed it, though?” the man asked. “No one else in this town should have been a match for a tier three monster from Dray.”

Wondering absently if the man couldn’t ask these questions later, after the city was stabilized, Isen considered his reply. “I don’t know how it happened, but when an unconscious half elf girl neared Queen Eldrassin’s funeral pyre, a spirit that believed itself to be the queen possessed her.”

The black-armored guard didn’t interrupt, and showed no expression through the helmet, so Isen continued. “The possessed girl was strong enough to kill tier twos with impunity and murdered the tier three with one strike, when it was distracted.”

“That sounds incredible,” the guard said, his voice devoid of emotion.

Isen chuckled wistfully, his heart heavy. “It was.”

The warrior rubbed a gauntlet over his limp arm. “What’s your name?”

“Isen.”

“Okay, Isen.” He patted his shoulder. “You’re going to take me to the one who slew the tier three monster. The girl.”

Isen frowned. He could barely move. His side was still grievously injured, even if it had stopped bleeding profusely.

“Up, like before,” the man added, patting his shoulder more insistently. “Time is of the essence.”

Going against his better instincts, Isen hopped—the man towered more than a foot above him—and wrapped his arms around the warrior’s neck. The metal armor was cool to the touch and smooth. It wasn’t uncomfortable to rest against, the material oddly flexible, like a mix of metal and cloth.

Then, the tier three jumped down and landed lightly on the stone. He sprinted into the city, killing any drayavin he came across. Whenever he needed to strike, he withdrew a rod from his belt and it expanded into the full-size spear. When he finished, he stowed it again, the weapon collapsing in the blink of an eye. It was remarkable in a novel way.

Isen didn’t know if the sixth sense would guide him to the possessed girl—he couldn’t control it—so he just told the lead guard the last place he’d seen her: the rear gate.

“What’s your name?” Isen asked after a few minutes.

“Allezin,” the man replied, “Allezin the Wanderer.”

“Not much of a wanderer if you’re the head guard of a town,” Isen muttered softly.

The man snorted. “Not much of a town left to guard.” It sounded so… flippant. Almost disrespectful.

Heat crept into Isen’s voice. “I thought you said it ‘looks worse than it is’?”

“I had hoped that was the case. I was wrong,” the warrior said, his indifference suddenly thawing. There was a gravity to his words that hadn’t been there before. “Shevenar was unprepared for such a large invading force. Holding the front gate and battling with the drayavin, I was unable to see the full scope of the battle… to the extent that I didn’t even know there was a second tier three.”

“Why did the drayavin attack?”

“I can give you a hundred reasons and they might all be wrong,” Allezin replied. “Why they attacked now, though… It suggests darker things are afoot than I would have expected.”

“Isn’t it because the queen died?”

The man barked a laugh but didn’t offer a response.

Finally, they arrived at the gate. The serpent lay on the ground, its body already savaged by bite and claw marks. More than twenty drayavin feasted on its flesh; there were no living people in the vicinity, though the gate was cracked open.

Isen released his hold and fell from the guard’s back, moving to survey the carnage. He found the area where he thought the half elves from the inn had stood, defended by the possessed girl.

He found bodies, most of them bisected, the halves strewn messily on the blood-soaked cobblestones. Many of them had been ravaged by drayavin after death, but Isen recognized at least one from the caravan.

He shuddered and felt horribly ill, the smell of the dead overwhelming. He moved to retch, but the terrible pain in his side prevented him from completing the motion. He groaned and let out a pained whine, his lip trembling.

Maybe the others escaped, he thought, averting his gaze to the open gate. He closed his eyes and blinked away wetness, then limped over to the corpse. Allezin had already killed the drayavin, their corpses joining the pile of bodies upon which the serpent reposed. He stared quietly at the head of the snake where the column of radiance had melted through the roof of its mouth.

Isen went to the opposite end of the monster and found Druinala’s sword. He yanked it free, happy to have a weapon again, since he’d left his pilfered spear behind when Allezin took him up on the wall. He’d had nowhere to keep it while holding on.

Without thinking much of it, Isen widened the incision on the fallen snake’s tail. Milky blood pooled out and Isen brought his mouth to the wound to drink. It was slightly sweet, not unpleasant. The pain in his side began to ease, his bruises, scrapes, and general exhaustion fading.

He knew the third-tier warrior wouldn’t benefit from the blood in the same way—only divine blood would make a noticeable difference in a short span of time. When Isen finished, Allezin was staring at him, his helmet finally off and hanging at his belt, his expression inscrutable.

Isen wasn’t sure if Allezin was a half elf or not. His ears were longer than most half elves, but shorter than Druinala’s, and he was clearly a cultivator rather than a mage. His eyes were reflective in the low light, though, like Druinala’s and the eyes of the drayavin. His features were hawklike, but elegant, and he appeared young, even more youthful than Talis. The color of the man’s eyes and hair remained a mystery under the hazy, moonlit sky.

“Can you keep up?” Allezin asked, arching an eyebrow.

Isen considered, then nodded. “Well enough.”

Allezin gestured for him to follow and jogged to the gate. Jog was a relative term—the man covered several feet with each footfall. But Isen was used to keeping up with Ros, so he ran while breathing in the omnipresent mist, circulating the energy through his entire body to strengthen it and facilitate the healing process.

If the man was surprised Isen could match his pace, or even move around so well in the relative darkness, he didn’t indicate it. Isen was more surprised that the elf was moving so assuredly out of the gate. He’d quickly turned off the main paths, running into the grassy plains.

“How do you know which way to go?” Isen asked between breaths.

“A large group of elves left the gate. I could tell because of the tracks in the blood. Shoe treads, unlike the uncovered feet of most lesser drayavin. The traces of blood are hard to see in the grass, but I can still see some traces of the group’s passage. Still, it’s getting harder to track them the further we go.”

Isen contemplated telling the man about his power but held back. If he said that he could magically find the lost group with the possessed girl, it would sound way too much like the power of a seeker. He didn’t know what the other elves thought, the ones that Isen had helped, but he hoped his navigating prowess was unremarkable next to the radiant might of Lumina Eldrassin.

Soon they encountered the scene of a fight, obvious enough that even normal human perception wouldn’t miss it. The grass was singed and several drayavin corpses lay charred among a copse of trees, where they’d probably been lying in ambush.

The traces disappeared after that, but Allezin seemed determined to push on, his eyes scanning the grass and the growing number of trees.

Isen swallowed, then began to run slightly ahead, which wasn’t hard since Allezin’s pace had slowed while he tried to track the elven group. He felt the man’s gaze boring a hole through his back, but he kept going, acting ignorant, like he hadn’t noticed that he was leading them.

And Allezin followed.

Several minutes later, they approached a rock formation formed by three mottled boulders, all covered in moss and grown over with spring-green grass and stunted looking trees with sparse branches and thin roots.

“If I were them, I’d hide there,” Isen said.

Allezin grunted his agreement.

They slowed as they neared, Allezin taking the lead, his spear extended. When they reached the formation, there was an opening that led into the rock. A cave.

Isen and Allezin exchanged a look. “Maybe I should go first,” Isen said. “They’ll recognize me.”

Allezin just rolled his eyes and continued ahead, his grip loose on the shaft of his weapon. The tunnel was narrow and tall, not affording much room to maneuver in. They didn’t have to travel far, however, before they arrived at the main chamber.

It wasn’t large—maybe the size of the room that the caravan members had crowded into within the inn. The group that squatted in the cave was only seventeen people strong. Of the more than forty that had set out from the inn, and the more that had joined as they swept through the city with the spirit of the queen smiting drayavin from its streets… it seemed a paltry number.

And if this is our group, what of the civilians without any protection? Isen didn’t want to contemplate the answer.

Isen clenched his fists as he searched for Talis, Druinala, and the girl. Thankfully, both the caravan guards were alive, though Talis’s hand was wrapped in rags. Druinala’s eyes widened at his coming and Talis grinned, though the expression looked pained.

The head of the merchants, Sorina, was gone, but another half elf cupped the blue-green flames in her dirty hands. And the young girl… she was waiting for them at the chamber’s entrance. She looked to Isen first, her eyes narrowing. Then she beheld the warrior and the corners of her lips rose. “Allezin,” she said, with a fondness that seemed at odds with her ever-stoic demeanor.

Allezin took a small step forward, his eyes searching. He retracted his spear. Then, the two broke into elvish, talking quickly. To Isen’s surprise, the words also entered his head through his mental connection with the queen, translated into common. She hadn’t done that before when she’d explained the situation to Talis and Druinala—probably because the words hadn’t been worth translating.

“Is it really you?” Allezin asked.

She sighed. “At least in part. How is Shevenar?”

“Not fully destroyed, because of you—and that human, who not only told me that you’d come back, but that you’d killed a tier three. Two tier threes, sent to Shevenar! I can’t comprehend it.”

Lumina sighed and averted her gaze. “We must return and gather those we can, then proceed to the capital, though I fear what we’ll find.”

“Just... how are you...” Allezin grimaced, looking the most vulnerable Isen had seen. His eyes shone in the dim light of the flame.

“We can discuss more later,” she said. “But take heed—my existence is tied to that blue-green tongue of flame. If it goes out, I will be forced from this vessel.”

The man’s eyes widened. “The capital covered up the cause of your death, but I heard you were assassinated,” Allezin murmured. “Was it Dray?”

“The toughest monsters only have one weakness,” the queen said, the words dripping with venom. “The soft flesh within. I didn’t die to the hands of outsiders.”

“Perhaps not, but the conspirators should be working with the drayavin, at least.”

“It may not be so simple,” she said. Then, she turned to Isen and switched to common. “You will accompany me and Allezin to the capital.” Isen noticed Allezin glancing his way—again. “Until we find a better fire mage, Druinala must come with us as well.”

Druinala gave Talis a long look, then addressed the possessed girl, bowing her head respectfully and replying in elvish. The translation continued. “What of the others? Must we leave them behind in the ruins of Shevenar?”

Lumina Eldrassin gave the elven archer a glance. “I only said who must come. I will not bar the way of those who can keep up.”