Gilded Serpents

Chapter Thirty-One: The Intruder

I shook my head, unable to gather myself quickly enough for a proper retort. I did not expect that. I stared back at him, trying to see through his glazed blackened eyes. He was dangerous, yet for some reason I was still alive. I looked down again at my blackened hand, considering his words.

"Would you have killed me?" I asked, voice low.

He scoffed, shaking his head.

"You tried to kill me first, if I remember correctly. But I suppose you haven't had much experience with the dreaded void mage, no? I mean look at you - you still have color in your eyes," he said, a disgusted expression clear across his face.

"Why are your eyes black?"

I watched as one of his eyes seemed to twitch at my question in clear frustration. But, alas, I couldn't help myself. I had so many questions, and I could not contain my curiosity no longer, to the point where it overpowered my ever-taught nerves. Here he was - a void mage, in the flesh in front of me - and I was still alive. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that I would meet one of his kind, let alone have the opportunity to ask them a question. I shifted to the edge of the cot, having all fear now replaced by flaming curiosity.

He then looked down, shaking his head once again. I was clearly getting on his nerves.

"Why am I even talking to you," he muttered to himself.

I watched as the red-haired man slowly made his way off the floor, then turned, facing the door, my blade still in hand.

I had to stop him.

I clamored upright, throwing the blankets off in a heap, then stepped towards him, heart racing.

"Wait - please!" I exclaimed, still careful not to get too close, "Please don't take my weapon - I -"

But before I could make any further attempts to reason with the strange man, a silver tip of a blade began to peek through the curtained doorway, pointed just a breath away from his neck. I watched as the man slowly placed the falchion on the floor with a clamor, before raising both hands up and forward in surrender. Although there was a grin on his face, a hard swallow betrayed him.

"No magic tricks to save you here, boy," spoke a low, gravelly voice.

I felt a rush of relief.

Ciro.

I watched as Ciro walked the odd man backwards, sharp point at the ready at the stranger's stretched neck. The man widened his grin into a little amused smile, staring back at Ciro with matching intensity as he leaned back against the far wall of the room. Ciro smiled back, seemingly taunting the intruder to try anything.

"Ciro!" shouted another voice from behind. It was Milea, rushing into the room, half tripping over the falchion on the floor on her way in before kicking it aside in frustration. "Lower your weapon. There will be no bloodshed here - though I'm sure he probably deserved it," she added under her breath, wiping her thick braids out of her shining face.

The intruder shot her a look.

They knew each other.

There was a moment of hesitation, but Ciro eventually lowered his weapon with a grunt of agitation. Although the halberd was lowered, Ciro's gaze did not leave the young man.

Milea then turned to me. She was out of breath, with a bead of visible sweat above her brow. In fact, they both looked tired, as if they had ran back at full pace.

"Put on your armor, girl - we're going to put this blade to use sooner than I had thought," she said, kicking it to me across the floor.

She then began to pull out a large wooden chest from underneath her bed, giving it a kick for good measure. She then opened the heavy top to reveal a set of ornate, silver armor, gleaming brightly against padded emerald velvet. I watched as she began to quickly fasten the chestpiece around her leather plated cloak in a single swift motion, before she turned to me again.

"Come now, quickly," she urged with a clap.

"What - what's going on?" I stammered, awkwardly placing the Halmore armor over myself, struggling to get it secure over my bedclothes with a single hand.

"There's a patrol coming - which wouldn't usually be a worry," answered Ciro, "But this time they have a Seer."

"Which means trouble," said Milea, fastening her armplates. "One word to the trees and she can sense us underground - magic or not."

"How many?" asked the void mage, expression serious.

"About seven Selphene knights, not including the Seer - according to our scout. They had some fliers in the area yesterday - must've sensed the magic ripple when the anasilan cycled. We're lucky they're no use in the tree cover though," said Milea.

She was fully adorned in the intimidating silver armor now, sharp helmet under her arm. The delicate filigree weaved across her chest with a bright polished shine - the set was well taken care of. I wondered if she had crafted it herself.

I then watched as she gave the side of the small fireplace a kick of her metal foot. From the side of the rocky chimney, a fiercely sharp mace popped out, and she picked up the well-worn leather covered handle with ease - weighing it with consideration.

Just like Ciro.

She was quite the sight - almost glowing in the dim of the room. She was tall, about the same height of Ciro, with arms quite muscled - probably from her time as a skilled armorer and blacksmith. Judging by the state of her eyes, with barely any white color showing, this would not be her first time against knights - Selphene or otherwise. I would not want to cross her in any battlefield.

I finished fastening my final armor piece and stood, still trying to comprehend the situation. I then lifted my new blade off the ground, nervous at the sight of my bare hands - one still completely useless and blackened. But Milea seemed to see my concern.

"Here - these are also yours," she said, holding out two black leather gloves. The backs of them were covered in the same onyx black stone as the blade and the armor, with tiny curved pieces, affixed together like dragon's claw, fitting easily around the grip of the blade, and resting naturally against the pommel.

When did she have time to make these?

"They're not magicked - but they're better than nothing," she said with a nod. "But you'll have to do without a helmet for now. Watch yourself."

"Thank you," I whispered, careful to hide the tears beginning to gather one again at my throat, yet again faced with the unfounded generosity of someone little more than a stranger to me.

I did not deserve these.

I looked up to find yet another disgusted expression on the void mage's face, seemingly reading my thoughts. He was wearing the same brown-dusted white linen shirt and loose black trousers as before - not a speck of armor in sight. But out there, free to use magic, I suppose he did not need it.

"Are we all going? How many more of us will there be?" I asked, still full of nerves. Perhaps I could hide myself in the crowd, sneaking away from any real fight.

"Oh - just us... But it'll be more than enough with Aixel here," said Milea, nodding at the void mage.

Against seven Selphene knights?

Ciro seemed to sense my fear - although it was probably plastered clearly upon my face.

Seven. Selphene. Knights.

"The less of us that go up there, the better," he nodded, "Better if they don't know how many of us are down here. This place is a haven, a last respite for the likes of our kind. Most down here have never even held a sword." He then walked to me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"And we'd like to keep it that way," interjected Milea, resting the heavy mace on her shoulder. "Our job is to kite them away and take them down before they have a chance to use the sands to get word back to the nearby camps."

"You'll be fine. Trust your blade. Trust your instincts," Ciro said in a low voice in my ear before giving me a hearty pat on my armored back.

Easier said than done.