The Everburning City

Act 1, Part 5, Chapter 32

Vincent

The hard part, as it always was, lay in not applying too much force.

His hands were fire, bright as the sun, and they cut through stone like a ladle stirring water. A simple touch, barely more than a finger pressing into the soft inside of a loaf of bread, ripped rock and mortar into gas, instantly. And if he pressed too quickly, the force would rip the wall apart and undo half a day's worth of work.

It was especially important to be careful now, so close to the end. Because that finger still pressing through the wall was only inches away from open air.

"Almost there?" Sergeant Lorec asked from beside Vincent. From sixty feet away, as far as his attention was concerned.

He didn't answer right away, letting himself focus, careful to go an inch at a time, timing the advance of the fire with his breathing, slow and careful. Until he punched through the very last of the stone, and was staring through the fire at the fields behind the wall.

"I'm through," Vincent said. "Just need to get rid of the last four feet of stone, and give the passage a bit of time to cool."

Sergeant Lorec laughed, though there wasn't a lot of mirth in it. Relief, perhaps. Vincent couldn't bring himself to think on it much, while his will raged and burned on the other side of the tunnel. "We don't need the last few feet to help hold the tunnel after it collapses. Go ahead and just blast it into the field."

Even then, Vincent needed to be careful. Without control, without a measured application of his will, the explosion that ripped the stone at the end of their tunnel apart, and flung it into the field could easily undo all the hours of careful work that had lead to this moment. And so, before he willed the flame to rend the stone wall apart, he cut apart the walls of the tunnel, and held his will in check as he pushed.

Stone crumbled in hands made of fire. Turned to dust and smoke. And enough rock to have built a home was thrown out into the field, spraying black air and blackened mortar into the fields behind.

Another push, weak and slow, swept the rest of the smoke out into the open air, and the light of the Spire gushed through the opening.

A cheer erupted from the distance. Vincent let go of the Craft, let his will fade, and let himself be just flesh and blood again. The dissonance shook him, as the air suddenly felt cold and damp, making him shiver despite being reasonably warm. But after a deep breath he managed to turn around to see a wave of people from Barleybarrel begin to gather; the elderly and
children leading the way.

"One minute," Vincent shouted, waving his hands. "One minute. Let the walls cool first."

Sergeant Lorec didn't wait. Vincent turned to see the Ranger was already standing inside the tunnel, staring up at the new ceiling. The man looked like he had won a a lifetime lottery. "I'm starting to see why they call you crafters, Master Hearthsward!" he shouted from the tunnel. "Even the curve on the ceiling is exactly where it ought to be. Bet it would take me an hour to find out where the floor wasn't level."

"It's not level. It slopes about two degrees to the east, and it's four inches lower on the south end," Vincent said. "So we still have drainage. In case it rains, or we cut one of the water pipes running beneath the wall."

"Abyss below, I like working with Crafters," Sergeant Lorec said as he tapped the wall. Louder, so that he would be overhead by more than just Vincent, the sergeant continued. "Start sending them through, Vincent."

A cheer erupted from the crowd behind them. A hundred different voices, mostly children gathered together with a few adults to mind them, stood up from where they sat or played and crowed in delight, waving their hands in the air and pointing. Vincent waved his hand and pointed towards the tunnel, only stopping when a couple of children ran right up to him and hugged his legs.

Sergeant Lorec laughed at the sight, and patted Vincent on the shoulder. "I'll have someone signal our success to Colonel Dremora, and ask for a muster point. Barleybarrel can organize themselves, so come meet me on the side of the station to let them pass."

Vincent didn't realize that letting the crowd move towards the tunnel was a mistake. Not right away. Because somewhere about halfway to the train station, well behind the children, expectant mothers, and the elderly, a small group of people were trying to push their way through. A feat that had just been made exponentially harder, since the crowd ahead and around them were now surging towards the exit.

Sergeant Lorec had turned away to speak to a civilian, pointing to the comms by the train station and handing them a note. Left on his own, Vincent decided to march into the crowd, and wade his way towards the small group trying to drive themselves through.

Vincent cursed, and held up his hand. "Everyone, I need through. Quickly," he shouted. But the crowd only barely heard him, and those nearby who tried to give him space were hemmed back in by the crowd moving around. Grimacing, Vincent turned his will to the air around his hand, and set it alight.

Screams erupted all around him, and the people nearby threw themselves aside. The surging crowd stopped and stumbled back, pushing each other aside to claw themselves away from him until there was enough space that he could have swung a sword in any direction without hitting anyone.

"Master would have backhanded me for that," Vincent said, admitting to himself that he handled this moment poorly. He held his position for a moment longer, enough that the people scrambling away had a chance to stop and see he wasn't moving any more.

Terror faded into wariness, and Vincent pointed his finger forward. He smiled, trying to be as mollifying as he could. "Sorry. I need to go that way."

They parted for him. Slowly, like a furrow being dug by a machine, the crowd parted only a few feet at a time, but it was space enough for Vincent to walk through. He advanced as quickly as the crowd would allow, until he was close enough to see who was trying to reach him.

He thought of using a Craft to find out, but the people around him nearly panicked over a bit of fire around his hand. Anything more might make the moment worse.

Vincent could see a small group of people accompanying another Ranger. Young, covered in dust, dirt, and his black coat pocketed with rips and scorch-marks. Between the dirt and stress, and the frantic lack of composure as the young man tried to push his way through the crowd, it took him a moment to realize the ranger was Cameron.

Vincent wondered if he shouldn't have waited for Sergeant Lorec.

But another few seconds pushed him through the crowd, and Cameron pushed his way into earshot with a frantic, breathless cry. "Vincent. They need you. Things are bad."

Vincent turned his gaze up for a moment, and willed another bit of fire into existence. A single heartbeat to mould it into shape and let him see through it, and he was bolting through the air towards the north, streaking over the train station even as he turned his head back to Cameron.

"Cam, what's happened back there?" Vincent asked.

"Gloamtaken poured through the buildings and started dropping down on us from the upper stories. We regrouped at the fountain, and they're going to make a defensive line there. But we're out of room to fall back," Cameron explained.

"Who sent you?" Sergeant Lorec asked, as he pushed his way towards them.

"Lieutenant Varnell sent me," Cam said.

"Varnell? There's no one in the Rangers by that name, and no one else has been deployed out here," Sergeant Lorec said, and like the last time Vincent had seen Cameron, the sergeant had his hand on his sword.

"Varnell was out in the fields, she's one of the people Captain Dremora went out to rescue," Vincent said. "I met her at a cannon, near the wall. Though she was a corporal."

"She was promoted, and my squad was transferred to her command," Cameron said.

Cameron was still explaining, but it was hard to hear much of anything happening around him as his fiery eyes, now a half-mile away, found something. Four other soldiers were running down a street just a block away from the town square. Valen, Mackaroy, Roderick, and Mildred. Vincent recognized them instantly. They were running as if an army of Gloamtaken was after them, until Mildred slowed and turned around.

Hundreds of yards away, hundreds of yards up, but Vincent heard her shout as clearly as if he had been standing next to her.

"Captain!"