The Tears of Kas̆dael

Jasper was on pins and needles as the commander chased after them. It wasn’t because he was afraid of Dannûl - though by all accounts the soldier was a fearsome warrior. No, what had him tense was the difficult task of setting a pace that Dannûl could keep up with while simultaneously ensuring that any reinforcements from the guard were left behind him. It was a bit like landing a big fish, a test of patience as much as strength.

But it proved easier than he had expected. As Dannûl charged out of the stables after them, following them down the street and toward the city gates, several of his men quickly joined up with him, but he made no attempt to call for the city guard, and Jasper realized the commander didn’t want to be seen attacking Gūla too publicly.

Like most soldiers in the camp, Dannûl’s soldiers were still only in their 40s or 50s in their levels, and they simply didn’t have the endurance or strength to keep pace with the flight of a tsussîm. One by one, the men dropped out, collapsing on the cobbled streets as their sides heaved for air. By the time they reached the city gates, only two had stuck by their commander’s side, but unfortunately those two didn’t seem to be struggling much more than Dannûl himself. Crap, we’re going to have to fight them too, Jasper realized.

The city guards gawked as the tsussîm soared above their heads, a trio of soldiers following close on its heels, but they made no attempt to intervene and thankfully Dannûl again declined to ask them to. Gūla had been right about his arrogance.

The plan nearly went awry, though, as they left the structure of the city streets. Though the light of the moon prevented the night from being shrouded in complete darkness, from midair it was still hard to discern any features on the ground below, and as Jasper headed straight toward the waiting ambush, he flew over a small chasm, about thirty feet wide, without even seeing it, until Tsia’s elbow dug hard into his ribs. “They’re falling behind,” she hissed softly.

Jasper wasn’t sure how to react. If he slowed the tsussîm down, it would be obvious that he wasn’t trying to shake the pursuit, and while Dannûl might be arrogant, he wasn’t stupid enough to follow them into an obvious ambush. A shadow of an idea flitted through his mind, and he went with it. Turbulence.

“Tsia, can you conjure up some winds,” he whispered back. “Something strong, right in our faces - make it seem like we’re struggling to make progress.”

Two seconds later, a gust of wind smacked him in the face with enough force to hurt. The tsussîm was pushed back, its torso twisting to the side as a gale-force wind rushed over them, and it whinnied in terror. Jasper felt bad for the beast, but it was all he could do to remain on the creature’s back as another gust of wind assailed them.

Clutching onto the beast’s neck for dear life as the winds buffeted them, he saw Dannûl finally spring into action. Grabbing both of his soldiers by the scruff of their necks, the commander backed up twenty feet and then took off at a dead sprint. He leapt a few feet before reaching the edge, but it turned out not to matter. The commander soared nearly twenty feet into the air and landed on the other side with room to spare.

Tsia kept up the wind magic a few moments longer, not wanting to make it too obvious that it was a ruse, and the soldiers began to catch up. Just before they reached them, Jasper guided the tsussîm into a steep dive. Leveling the dive off just above the tree line, the ‘freak’ winds suddenly ceased and they darted off again. He’d underestimated Dannûl, though.

With a guttural cry, the commander sprang forward, and yanking a javelin out of his bag of holding, hurled it after them. His aim proved true, and the projectile caught Tsia in the back. It punched through her lower torso with so much force that it continued straight into Jasper’s stomach, the tip stopping just short of breaking through the flesh on the other side.

Jasper swayed in the saddle as the pain hammered him, but somehow managed to keep hold of the reins. The pain of the initial blow, though, was nothing compared to the agony that followed as his pierced stomach seeped acid over the open wound, and the steady pounding of the tsussîm’s wings jostled the spear in with every beat, but he knew Tsia must have it worse.

“How bad is it?”

It took her a moment to respond, and when she did her breathing came hard and heavy. “You don’t want to see.”

“Can you get it out,” he asked, gritting his teeth as a gust of wind not sent by Tsia washed over them, jostling the spear further.

She didn’t respond, but the fresh pain that surged through him as the javelin slowly slid out of his back gave him his answer. The overwhelming pain made him want to spam his healing spell, but he forced himself to wait until the head had fully popped free, afraid that otherwise the skin would heal around the weapon.

“Thanks,” he grunted, but received no response, save for the heavy thud of a head landing against his shoulder. “Tsia?”

A single healing spell was not enough to deal with the damage, but Jasper had no time to cast another as he struggled to turn around in the saddle. As he managed to twist his body halfway around, the partially sealed wound screaming in pain, Tsia’s head slipped off his shoulder and the rest of her body nearly followed her. His hands latched around her waist just in time to save her from plummeting to the ground.

With a grunt of pain, he yanked her back in the saddle. The rise and fall of her chest told him she had just passed out, likely from shock and blood loss, but he knew that he needed to act quickly. Perhaps passing out is a blessing, he mused as he grabbed the shaft of the javelin that was sticking out of her back and pulled.

The wound split open wider as it slid back, and he let the javelin drop to the ground the minute its head pulled free of her flesh. He spammed Circle of Forgiveness, ignoring the blood still seeping from his own wound, while his other hand fiddled with his pouch, trying to find a potion in the dark. Finally pulling one out, he cradled her head as he poured the sickly sweet liquid down her throat. Much of it spilled out, running down her cheeks in a sticky mess until she looked like a toddler playing with her birthday cake, but some of it went down and, as the wound closed over, the color began to return to her cheek. She’ll be fine.

But while Jasper worked to save Tsia, he hadn’t been paying attention to where the tsussîm flew. Unguided by the reins, the tsussîm had strayed from the path they’d plotted, and as Jasper scanned the dark forest below him, he realized he had no idea where Erin and Ihra were waiting. Damn it.

His eyes flickered to Tsia, but the girl was still unconscious. Can I take them on my own? Without help, he didn’t like his odds against the trio. Sure, mages were generally stronger than warriors, but after seeing Dannûl leap over the chasm like it was a puddle, Jasper was under no illusion that he could stay out of range and bombard the commander with spells. The commander would likely close the gap quickly, and once he did - well, Jasper wasn’t keen to find out exactly how squishy he really was.

Still, with Tsia unconscious and with no idea where Erin and Ihra were, he had to try. Fishing a rope out of his bag, he tied Tsia to the saddle as best as he could and then refreshed Spectral Wings on the tsussîm. Nudging the beast to go faster, he pulled far enough head to be out of range of another javelin and dove toward the ground. When the beast was only about ten feet above the earth, he leapt free of the saddle.

He rolled across the ground, head over heels, and ate dirt, but as he pushed himself to his feet, his body shaking with the effort, he was pleased to see the beast fly deeper into the forest, taking it and Tsia away from the fight. He hoped she’d return to consciousness quickly and guide the beast to safety, but even if she didn’t, he trusted in the tsussîm’s instinct to keep them away from trouble. He had no further time to worry about them, though, as Dannûl emerged from the darkness.

As Dannûl had chased his quarry through the half-frozen forest, something about the situation had just seemed off. He couldn’t place his finger on what was bothering him, but he had come to realize that Gūla was trickier than she seemed - he just couldn’t figure out what her trick was.

When the tsussîm had suddenly sped up, leaving them in the dust - its flight another mystery he couldn’t explain - he’d thought he’d figured it out. They had led him out here for an ambush, yet as he searched the darkness, no new threats appeared. Undaunted, he plowed forward in the direction the tsussîm had fled, and that was when he saw the figure waiting for him - a single Djinn, shrouded in the darkness of the forest. Dās̆ip.

It was too dark to see the man’s features, but it didn’t matter; Dannûl recognized the tall but hornless silhouette with ease. Other than the Moon-kissed, there was only one hornless commander amongst the nobles - Gū̄la’s lover boy. In a flash, he understood her plan to escape. She sacrificed the poor bastard to get away from me. It certainly explained why she was wasting time with him, but Dannûl wasn’t going to let it work.

Anger flowed through his veins, and he surged toward the man with a bellow of fury. It would only take a few seconds to turn this bastard into a bloody smear, and then he would deal with his former subordinate. Permanently. Cunning was no match for power, after all.

He nearly tripped as a pair of blazing shackles rose from the darkness to clamp around his ankles, but Dannûl’s inertia was enough to shatter them. A weak spell from a weak man. His anger deepened, and he muttered his own spell. The flames of a firebird erupted from the center of his chest and spread across his body like an unfolding blossom. There was a reason he was the commander - Dannûl had upgraded the spell farther than any other firebird, save for a few old monsters who had long since retired. Fiery wings billowed behind him, stretching twenty feet from one side to the other, and great clouds of steam followed in his wake as the snow beneath his feet instantly evaporated with every step he took.

“Ana Abkinīs̆,” he roared and leapt into the air. The fiery wings beat twice, soaring him higher into the sky, and then he tucked them close as, raising his blazing axe above his head, he hurtled toward the foolish mage, toward the pathetic noble who had done nothing to oppose him save for a single weak spell. Not even a fight.

He didn’t notice the odd rippling in the air behind the mage until he was almost upon him, nor did he see the long, thin hand with gleaming obsidian claws until it intercepted his axe. Metal and flesh met, and it was the metal that gave way as, with a violent twist, the strange hand flung Dannûl off his trajectory.