[Mkguild] Snow Storm- Part 8

[Hallan Mirayas]

    Madog dashed into the Duke's map room, heedless
of the guards and the briefing he'd just interrupted.  Maps of Lik
scattered as he leaped onto the table, ears back and voice frantic.  "Papa!
 Papa!  Uncle Drift gone!  Out the window!  WHOOSH!
 SWOOSH!"

 

    Misha stared at the metal fox in disbelief.
 "He did what?"  Even as he said it, he realized
how: the vest he'd made, enchanted to slow falls.  His one ear flattened.
 "That damned glider."

 

    "He really mad!  Crazy mad!
 Whole place wrecked!"

 

    "Where's Xavier?"

 

    Madog jumped down, running in circles in his
distress.  "Down, hurt bad!  I get help, then come find you!
 Hurry, Papa!"

 

    Thunder rattled the walls.  "The
storm should slow him down," George said, but Misha shook his head.

 

    "I doubt it," he replied, buckling on
the studded leather vest he'd taken with him to Glen Avery.  It was the
closest armor to hand, and he didn't have time to hunt up something better.
 "This is the one I told you about, who survived the Yule
blizzard.  Three days, outside the walls, no shelter.  I can't
imagine anyone -better- suited to getting through to whatever or whoever he's
after.  Excuse me, your Grace."

 

    "How will you find him?" the Duke
asked, and Misha paused at the door.

 

    "Simple.  Find the damage trail, and
follow it."

 

    "Surely he wouldn't-"

 

    "Your Grace, his fiancée was just
murdered.  From the mental state he was in when I left him, the only thing
I can think of that would stir him to this level of madness is if he thinks he
knows who did it, and thinks someone's going to try to stop him.  He
certainly has no faith in the Watch."

 

    "You're not taking a weapon?"

 

    "I'm hoping I won't need one, and I don't
want to feed his paranoia.  Drift is hardy and creative, but not skilled.
 I know his tricks.  If it comes to a fight, I can disarm him or call
Whisper.  Neither will take more than a second or two."

 

    "Be careful.  I'll get the Longs
geared up and send them after you."

 

    "Thanks, George.  Tell Finbar to
bring everyone and everything."  Just before leaving, he ducked back
in.  "And see if you can get a runner to the Watch.  Tell them
to stay out of his way, and report to us if they spot him.  He's got a
grudge against them, and I don't want this to get any more out of hand than it
already is."  As he left, his voice carried back into the room.
 "I've got a bad feeling about this." 

-----

 

    Wolfram ducked out of reflex as lightning
crashed against the strange shield overhead, energy sheeting down along the
shimmering curve to vanish out of sight beyond the curtain walls.  Snow
and ice slashed at any exposed skin and he thanked Eli for a built-in wool
coat.  Even with the winter travel gear he was still wearing from the Glen
Avery trip, he didn't want to think about what the climb up the switchback road
from Euper, exposed along much of its length, would have been like without it.
 His legs burned from the near-run he'd forced them to maintain since
leaving the burnt-out Maus residence, and he'd have bruises in the morning from
the ice he'd slipped on, but the lanterns of the gate to the Killing Fields
glowed like beacons ahead.  He was nearly there.

 

    He prayed that he'd be in time.

    

-----

 

    Xavier catapulted back to consciousness with a
gasp, his eyes flashing around the room.  "Drift?"  The
forge room still looked mostly the same, but a cold wind blew in from the
samoyed's bedroom.  Fighting to keep his mental focus, Xavier fixed his
eyes on the white-clad woman tending him.  Seizing her by both shoulders,
he overrode her queries about his health with a question of his own.  "Where
is Drift?"

 

    "He's gone- we think out the window."
 

 

    "Did he take the knife?"

 

    "What knife?  Whoa!"
 Xavier tossed her bodily aside and scrambled to his feet.  Fighting
against lingering vertigo, he staggered to the workshop, then slumped against
the doorway in despair.  "What is it?" the healer asked once she
caught up, alarmed by the leopard's haggard expression.  "What's
wrong?"

 

    "I need to speak to the Lothanasa, right
now."

 

    "Why?"

 

    Xavier told her.

 

    "Akkala be merciful!  Lean on me!"
 They hurried from the room.

 

    Xavier's tale hit the Temple like a sea wave.
 Raven immediately threw open a window and shouted into the storm, a spell
amplifying and carrying it across the wind to its target.  "Merai!
 Tessa!  To me!"  Slamming the window shut again, she
turned and started barking orders to the gathered acolytes.  "Albricht,
find Rickkter and bring him at once.  You four, go inform the Duke,
George, Misha, and Father Hough that there are almost certainly daedra minions
about and that they should take precautions immediately.  Everyone else,
clear the hall.  I must seek the gods' counsel."  She turned a
hawk's gaze on Xavier.  "You, stay.  I'll need your testimony.
 The rest of you, move!"

 

-----

 

    Misha nearly missed intercepting Drift in the
swirling snowstorm.  Nearly, but for the strange whistle-keen of Whirlwind
in motion.  Two thumps followed, and Misha arrived just in time to see a
Watchman crumple to the ground, ambushed in the snowy night.  Drift stood
over him as Whirlwind clicked closed, his face a triumphant sneer.  "Still
think your master's bribes are worth it?" he snarled at the man lying
unmoving in the snow.  "Well?"  He paused, as if waiting
for an answer, and then spat on him contemptuously.  "Damned right,
it's not."  The samoyed started to pass by, then paused and wound up
to kick his fallen foe in the side.

 

    "Drift!" Misha snapped, and the
samoyed recoiled as the fox's form resolved from the snow's veil.

 

    "Misha," Drift replied, and the tone
in his brother's voice lowered his ears and tucked his tail.  Then they
lifted again as a whisper in his ear reminded him of his course and purpose,
and he struck his forked light-rod against Whirlwind and held it high.
 Its bright light cut through the snow.  "So.  It is you.
 I didn't expect to see you here."

 

    Misha crouched, checking the Watchman for signs
of life, but didn't take his eyes off Drift while he made sure that he had not
just witnessed a murder.  A steely glare pinned the samoyed, stopping him
from retreating into the storm.  "You're very lucky that he's just
unconscious, Drift," the fox said finally, dragging the fallen Watchman
into a sheltered overhang before moving to block his friend's path.  "If
you'd killed him, there's no way you'd avoid the dungeons.  Probably even
the executioner's axe."

 

    "If I'd wanted him dead, Misha, he'd -be-
dead.  Get out of my way."

 

    "No."

 

    Drift glanced aside to the left and right,
trying to decide if he could elude the Long Scout, but Misha had chosen his
position well.  There was nowhere Drift could get to that Misha couldn't
intercept him, and that realization flattened Drift's ears in anger.  "Stay
out of this," he snarled, his hackles rising.  "I don't have
time to fight you.  He'll get away again!"

 

    "Who?"

 

    "Arkos!" Drift yelled.  "Arkos
Linafex!  He killed my father!  He killed Alexis!"

 

    "Do you have proof?"

 

    "Alexis last words, and his own knife!"

 

    "Leave it to the Watch, Drift!  They-"

 

    "He -owns- the Watch, Misha!  He'll
walk away!  Again!"  He glanced again to the sides, frustration
and desperation making him eager to get away.  "Let me go.  I
won't let you stop me."

 

    "No, Drift."

 

    With a snarl, Drift threw down his light stick
and snapped Whirlwind back to its full length.  His eyes narrowed, hidden
in a shadowed face.  "Then you leave me no choice."

 

    Misha dropped back into a defensive guard,
empty hands rising to ward.  "I'm sorry you feel like that, brother,"
he said, slitted eyes locking on Drift's body language with the cool analysis
of a combat veteran.  "It doesn't have to be-"  Stepping
into Drift's swing, he grabbed the center of the staff with both hands, twisted
under to spin them both back to back, and expertly popped the weapon out of his
friend's hands with a forward bend.  Continuing the motion, he planted his
left foot in the small of Drift's back, thrust out with his arms for
counterbalance, and back-kicked the samoyed face-first into a wall.
 Finishing his turn using the momentum from the kick, he spun Whirlwind
into Drift’s back and knocked the samoyed flat in the snow.  "-this
way."

 

    To Misha's surprise, Drift got back up.
 He wobbled like a punch-drunk boxer, but the samoyed's eyes refocused on
Misha with disturbing rapidity.  The speed of his recovery set warning
bells ringing in the veteran scout's brain, and they only got worse when Drift
pulled the knife, still in its sheath, from his belt.  Whirlwind
howled, and Drift went sprawling.  Misha's ear flicked backward and he
pulled back in surprise.  That strike should have sent the weapon spinning
from Drift's hand; Misha knew that from experience.  It should -not- have
knocked him down.  More alarms started ringing.  What the hell was
going on here?

 

    In the shadows, the dark-haired man smiled.
 He was enjoying himself.  There was a limit to what he could do
against two followers of Eli, but he could keep the sword in the mark's hand,
and keep whispering in his ear.  Get up.  He can't stop you.
 He mustn't stop you.  You deserve your revenge.  Get up.

 

    Drift rose to one knee and wiped blood from his
mouth with the back of his wrist.  "Nice moves, brother," he
panted, "but you're not going to stop me from giving him his knife back."
 Drift drew as Misha swung, and the red-stained blade rang against the
silver staff.  His arm jerked with the impact, but the weapon stayed in
his hand, and he got to his feet in time to parry another strike.  "Do
you want to know how I'm going to give it to him?" he asked.  Tossing
the scabbard aside with deliberate finality, Drift bared his fangs in a
maddened scream.  "Point first!!"

 

-----

 

    Alexastra watched from above, her brow knit in
worry.  Would her plan be enough to throw Agemnos' plot awry?  She'd
pulled in nearly every favor she had claim on to get Drift's route predicted.
 The Watchman hadn't been part of the plan, but Misha was.  She'd
carefully guided his path with strategic placement of carts, trash, and other
barricades to channel him and lights to draw him on.  She just hoped it
would be-

 

    Pain exploded in her back as Thestilus, at the
end of a powerdive that had started three stories over her head, slammed
heel-first into her spine.  Razor toe claws slashed deep, ripping her
lower back apart.  Snow and shingles flew, and momentum carried them
across the rooftop and the next street over before smashing through the wall of
the neighboring house.  Their flight came to a crashing end against a brick
fireplace and the room's owner shrieked as Thestilus pressed his advantage.
 Seizing the back of Alexis' head, he slammed her face again and again
against the brick fireplace, the mortar cracking and crumbling with the impact.

 

    Pain in his hand gave the illusion away at the
same moment that he spotted the dagger coming for his eye.  Ducking the
blade, he jerked his wrist free from her grip.  Then, uncoiling like a
spring, he backhanded her across the room, over a bed occupied by a cowering
female human and some black-furred Keeper who gaped in astonishment at the
intrusion.  He paid them little attention.  Leaping over the bed
after her, he pinned her down, keeping his focus sharp to pierce any illusion
she might try.  "The Master sends his regards, traitor," he
sneered.  "I can see why you picked this form.  There's such a
surprising amount of muscle power to it."  He squeezed her wrist,
twisting the bones against each other to make her drop the knife.  "Though
why you picked a -female- form, I don't know.  I'm bigger, I'm stronger,
and I know all your tricks."

 

    Her answer came at once, and he shrieked in
agony.  "That's why," she said as she shapeshifted a bloody,
serrated bone spike back into her knee and pushed him off her.

 

    Thestilus rolled away into a warding crouch,
already healing, but still half-doubled in pain.  Fangs bared in anger, as
razor-edged as the two long knives he drew from his belt.  "If that
had been permanent," he snarled, "I would be -very- upset."

 

    She matched him with a second dagger and
smiled; the kind of smile a shark might give to a fat, lazy seal.  Blood
ran freely down the backs of her legs, her spine felt like a gentle push would
snap it in half, and she had absolutely no idea how she’d managed to keep her
stealth through it all, but it would not do to let Thestilus know how badly
he’d hurt her.  With the skill of millennia, she gathered up all of her
pain and fear, tossed it into a closet in her mind, and locked the door.
 She told it to go away, and it obeyed.  "You might -think- you
know all my tricks, Thestilus.  You might even have been given equivalent
abilities.  But I was doing this long before you were even a swirl in the
sulfur pools."  She closed in with a gliding step-dance, her daggers'
adamantine tips scribing dark circles into the air, never giving an opening.
 Just when he gathered his weight to charge her and strike into that
dance, she flicked her wrist and the thrown dagger opened his ear from scalp to
tip.  "You don't have anywhere near the experience needed to kill me,"
she said as she calmly pulled another.  "Whereas I know all sorts of
ways to end you."

 

    Thestilus reeled back, making a show of
checking his bisected, and visibly -not- healing, ear.  Then he abruptly
reversed his step and slashed at her face, fast enough to force her to jerk
backward out of her cadence.  "I don't need to kill you," he
replied with a triumphant smirk.  "I just need to keep you busy.
 As long as you're fighting me, you can't meddle in the master's plan.
 It won't take long, and I've got all the time in the world."

 

    Another dagger flashed out, this time parried
wide with a long knife.  "I have killed emperors, balrogs, and even
daedra nobles, Thestilus.  You are nothing but a trumped-up little imp
with delusions of grandeur."

 

    "Am I?" the vampire bat taunted in
return as he went on the offensive, closing the range to stop Alexastra from
throwing more knives.  "I'm not the one infatuated with some stupid,
hairy mortal."  His long knives slammed against her shorter daggers,
using brute force to pound distracting words into her ordered thoughts.  "A
mangy mongrel mutt with no future except what our lord decides to lend him!
 You're a disgrace!  You're weak, and you're soft, and I -will- have
your place as Agemnos' right hand!"

 

    Byron had heard enough.  Prying at his
companion's clinging hands, he freed himself from her and from the tangled
bedcovers and shoved her off the side of the bed toward the door.
 Disdaining the time it would have taken to buckle on his wooden leg, or
to snatch up any of his discarded clothes, he grabbed for his cane instead.
 "Go!  Get the Lightbringer!" he hissed, jabbing her with
the foot of the cane to jar her out of her panic.  "Hurry!"
 Clad only in a sheet, the Sensate scrambled down the stairs and out the
door, spreading the alarm into the night.  Back in the room, Byron eyed
the two daggers still quivering in the walls, and then turned and hobbled
downstairs as fast as he could.  No way was he laying his hands on daedra
weapons- he'd built far too many booby-traps of his own to not expect any on
something made in Hell.  Thumping on doors as he passed, he yelled, "Fire!
 Fire!  Everybody out now!"

 

-----

 

    The Keep’s gates slammed open on the end of an
argument.  "With utmost respect, Lothanasa, you can't stop me from
going," Xavier snapped, a flat refusal of Raven's order for him to remain
behind.  He held up a hand, and the winds parted around them, a clear eye
in the midst of the maelstrom.  "Do you plan on fighting the storm as
well?  You need me.  Why are we still discussing this?"

 

    "You're not trained for hunting daedra,
kid."  Rickkter drew his katana, flicking it through a quick
limbering exercise.  "If it comes to fighting-"

 

    "I am aware of the risks, battlemage.
 I am also a weather mage in the middle of the second-largest storm I've
ever seen."  As if to emphasize his point, a massive lightning bolt
slammed into the shield overhead, making the whole half-globe glow as it
sheeted down the sides.  Thunder shook the ground beneath their feet.
 Xavier gestured, and six orbs of crackling light rose from the ground.
 They settled into orbit around him, each the size of a small catapult
stone and holding enough energy to stand Rickkter's fur on end from six feet away.
 "I think I'll manage."  Xavier returned his attention to
Raven.  "Edward Snow is my friend and I owe him my life.  I'll
search for him alone if I have to, but I'm not staying behind."

 

    Raven gave up on convincing the obstinate young
noble to stay put.  She had more important things to consider.  Out
in the storm, she could sense Merai and Tessa drawing near, and the holy blade
Elemacil detected… something.  What exactly that was, Raven was not
certain.  It only appeared in faint momentary flashes, shorter than an
eyeblink, like flickering glimpses of a distant, ever-shifting mirage.  If
it was a daedra, then it was a type that the sword had never encountered before
and was, unsurprisingly, proving infernally difficult to track down.  Still,
she at least had a general direction to search.  "Very well, Baron
Marcus.  You may come with us for now.  But if it comes to a fight
and I tell you to run, you will run.  No questions, no arguments,
no heroics.  Agreed?"

 

    "Agreed."

 

    "Let's go."

 

    The gods had promised that help would be
coming, but it would take time to get there.  Until it arrived, Metamor
would have to stand on its own.

 

-----

    

    Drift lunged forward with a yell.  Misha
sidestepped and parried the clumsy attack groundward, then slapped Drift into
the wall again.  Catching him on the rebound, the elite scout hooked a
foot behind Drift’s knees, grabbed him by the scruff, and tossed him back into
the snow.  "Stay down, Drift!  You’re not getting past me!"

 

    He’s in league with your enemies.

 

    Drift struggled up, wildly slashing as he tried
to clear the snow from his eyes, and Misha tossed him right back down in it.
  A rear up into taurform did no better.  Misha stepped in under
Drift’s kicking forelegs and stopped his breath with a punch to the taur body’s
solar plexus.  Drift crumpled to the ground and shrank back into normal
form, gasping and wheezing for air.

 

    He’s betrayed you.

 

    "No," Drift panted.  "I
don’t-  I don’t-"

 

    Why else would he be trying to stop you?

 

    "I..."

 

    How much did Arkos pay him to let her die?

 

    Drift’s head snapped up, narrowed eyes fixing
on Misha’s.  "You let her die," he accused.  Gathering his
feet under him, he slashed upward as he rose, then ducked under Misha’s
counterstrike and completed the cross slash at gut level.

 

    Misha recoiled, the bottom quarter of his
leather vest sliced open and hanging.  That had been close, and already
Drift was pressing the advantage with previously undemonstrated speed and
skill.  Whirlwind keened under a flurry of blows, and Misha went on the
defensive while he waited for the samoyed’s frenzy to burn itself out.

 

     The knife slammed down against the center
of the staff, barely a handsbreadth from Misha’s nose.  Drift snarled from
the other side, using both hands to grind the bloodstained blade harder into
the block.  "How much did he pay you to let her die!"

 

    "You’re insane!" Misha snapped back.

 

    "Am I?  Am I?!  Or am I finally
seeing things as they really are!?"

 

    Sidestepping, Misha switched his grip from the
middle of the staff to the end, as if he were holding Whisper instead of
Whirlwind, and angled the staff backward.  Drift stumbled forward, off
balance, his knife sliding down the now unobstructed angle.  Misha was
waiting.  His knee came up into Drift’s belly, doubling the samoyed over
with a whuff of displaced air.  Then he slammed the staff down on Drift’s
back, and the samoyed dropped to his hands and knees, coughing and retching.
 Misha lifted Whirlwind for a knockout blow, and his command rivaled the
storm’s winds for cold.  "Last chance, Drift.  Drop the weapon."

 

    Drift barely heard him.  Something else
had his attention.  A whispered voice.

 

    What do you want?  Revenge?  Power?
 I can give it to you.  Name your price.

 

    "I don’t care," Drift panted, tears
of frustration, pain, and betrayal mixing with the blood and vomit staining his
muzzle.  "I don’t care!"  Only one thing mattered any more.
 His body burning with anger, the blade trembling in his hand, he screamed,
"Whatever the price, whatever the cost, give me the strength to destroy my
enemies!"

 

    There was a moment of hesitation, a sensation
of surprise and then delight, blossoming into open, malicious glee.  With
pleasure.  The knife changed, growing longer, broader, a jagged-edged
sword designed for causing a maximum amount of pain as it ripped foes apart.
 The red tinge of the blade lifted into the air, transforming into a
glowing haze that lit the night with the color of blood.   Raw fury
coursed into Drift, granting his desire as the sword's red glow spread to
encompass his entire body.  His eyes glittered with pure madness.  "Arkos
is -my- prey, and I will -kill- anyone who tries to stop me!!" he roared.

 

    Recoiling, Misha barely got Whirlwind up in
time to block a blindingly fast decapitation slash that nearly ripped the staff
from his hands.  Sparks flew.  After that, the blows came with the
fury of a summer hailstorm, and Misha backpedaled as fast as the snowy street
would let him.  The sword felt alive in Drift’s hands, guiding his strikes
to their best effect.  It lent him speed, too, and no matter what
defensive tricks Misha tried, no matter what countering hits the fox landed,
Drift kept coming.  Black armor started to form around the raging samoyed,
as if congealing from the night itself in wisps of smoky black.  Too late,
Misha cursed himself for not summoning Whisper as the sword carved gouges into
Whirlwind’s metal frame.  His hands stung nearly to numbness from the
transmitted blows.  What hurt worse was the certain knowledge that he
couldn’t help Drift any more.  Whatever Drift had done, whatever he had
invoked, Misha recognized that he was fighting out of his class.  If he
stayed, he’d die.  The only option left was to retreat and come back with
reinforcements.  A cart, left on the side of the street and half-buried in
snow, presented his first opportunity.  He dodged around its shielding
bulk-

 

    The moment that Misha stepped behind the cart,
Drift cleaved it in two.  The sword sliced through the wooden cart like
soft wax.  Worse, the red aura around the blade flared outward, a
shrieking red crescent that carved open the building beyond.  Only an
instinctive jerk backward saved Misha from a similar fate.  Another slash
followed on the heels of the first, crosswise this time, and Misha dove to
avoid it.  The building beyond shuddered again, groaning as its main
supports shattered.  Over Misha’s head, part of the wall peeled away and
crashed down on the fox in an avalanche of timber and rubble.  

 

    End him, the sword whispered, and Drift
almost agreed.  It would be so easy...

 

    "No."

 

    What are you doing?  He's still alive!
 Kill him!  The sword was furious.

 

    Drift ignored it.  I’ve wasted enough
time here already.  This will keep him out of play long enough for me to
kill Linafex.  After that, it doesn't matter whether he digs himself out
or not.  Turning to leave, he swept the blade through the corner of
the buildings on either side of him.  They collapsed, forming a barricade
between them.  "Don't follow me, Misha!  I won't spare you
twice!"

 		 	   		  
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