What came next was a blade. That all-too-familiar glassy sword swung down, cutting through the silent air. An arm came with it, wrapped in a black cloth, gripped tightly on its hilt. Merrin could see it all. And thankfully, so could the caster within.
The wind howled. He snapped back, forcing the Excubitor to step back against the night gust. Not much was achieved beyond that. Merrin, on the other hand, stumbled back, eyes narrowing past the giant of a man. Behind him, he could see figures—many, mostly dressed in silver plates and carrying swords. They were a quantity further weaker than the Excubitor.
Guardsmen!
This, too, was data acquired from random interactions. As it turned out, Guardsmen were quite different from Excubitors. One was akin to a weapon of death, the other a man with a knife.
I could deal with them.
He could… but should he? What right was his to make these men bereft of their lives? None! He was not god.
And so, with a heave of a breath, Merrin turned, dashing into the dimly lit corridor with the Excubitor hard on his steps.
The thing was fast for its size—faster than he expected. Even more so faster than the Guardsmen behind him. Yet, all were silent, even their metal wears clicking barely against their forms. This told a story; These were experts in silence.
I can't fight them. I don't want to fight them.
So what did he do? He ran. Cutting through the cold air, feet padding softly in the dim darkness, the lights below blurring into lines of lustrous white. Ahead, there was a door—massive, black, and sleek, as was common in Nightfell.
He marshaled the winds. And the massive gate slammed open in a violent burst. He leaped, feeling the air across his skin. A soft smile curling over his face. Odd, yes, but he could admit it… this felt good.
Then.
The smile vanished. The floor was gone.
Excuse me?
He tumbled down, falling through a vast, endless structure. It was the building, he was sure of it, but now there were no doors, no floors—just an emptiness lined with buzzing white lamps and stairwells that shifted to the side, some floating up as he pierced downwards.
What was happening? The Ashman within asked. Likely some caster… Thus came the response.
He grinned. Even now… this felt good.
The grayness sprayed around him, dripping into reality like leaks of ashen paint. In it came the symbols: the veils of darkness that clothed, swarmed, and flowed through the world. There were lights too, and sounds, shapes… and of course, that translucent weave of the air.
He grasped it, twirling, wrapping the ethereal cloth around his body. In realspace, he could hear the sounds—the howling of TEMPEST!
And up he went!
Soaring through the structure like some flying stone. Maybe he was. Surely, before the eyes of one not blessed by the Force, he was but a blur of motion. He fancied that fact, the logic that provided a certain level of invincibility.
All was good.
He heaved a breath, eyes opening and searching. Where would a treasure reside? Then he saw it… something, just for a moment. A figure standing on a floating platform some meters to his left. Perhaps further. He knew that face. He remembered it.
Who was th—
Something silver glinted down. Metal!
He surged, the stone knife spinning within his grasp. Then he raised them—the iron hitting against the falling glint. It was oredite. Silver, long, with that glassy shine to it.
Mist!
A hand was grasped at its hilt… a face encased in silver. An Excubitor. That hollow voice echoed out: "WHO ARE YOU?"
Frenzy took hold, and Merrin pushed against the wind, sending the man-thing flying forward and hammering into the wall. He, regardless, remained afloat.
Who was that?
He asked not about the Excubitor.
The data was condensing within his mind. A face, black hair, yes. Eyes? Were they black… or gray? Questions within questions—ones he, as the moment had presented, could not answer. Not now, at least.
Why? Well, because he could hear them; numerous feet padding within the structure. Guardsmen, maybe, or casters. But he was a centerpiece, hovering in the air, surrounded by the square mass of empty space and bordered by the building's walls. And steadily, those walls, with their floating platforms, would be filled with people.
This is too chaotic. Too uncontrollable.
He admitted a deep breath. I can't let any of them see my face, he thought. I can't have another black-eye situation.
The darkness around him stirred, swarming like a tide of the ocean. Around him they came, rounding his face. Like a helm, a mask of black waters, they tided round, revealing but two slits for his eyes. More than enough. This was good, undoubtedly so, as it offered protection against the casters and the normals alike. Even those peering into the unseen would see a face wrapped in black veils… and in an unforeseen situation?
Merrin sighed. Let's hope there's no Caster here with enough force to see through it.
A stupid hope, no doubt, one he had no means of controlling. It was annoying, really, but sometimes, he was but a creature of flow… no plans.
Ah… Merrin cried. Focus. No thoughts. Focus.
Everything went silent just for that moment, as though the world had slowed its motions. On the walls, hatches opened up, admitting men in metal plates and swords. Each climbing atop the floating platform. They were armed.
And above?
They came like the rain. Slashes of black lines pouring from the dark ceiling. Endless. Likely by some caster… or casters. Who would know?
Merrin opened his arms. I wonder if this was always Shae's plan? The wind threads coiled around him. Perhaps she wanted me to become the distraction for her safe adventure. The gust fluttered his clothes. No… I'm sure of it. He smiled. That's what she wanted.
The black slashes collided.
Not.
Instead, they hammered into a barrier… a coiling madness of air, winding and rounding around the body of one man. Of one boy. Merrin, within that turmoil of air, stared out, his eyes glowing in that fury of the soul. White. Serving no purpose, of course, but the aesthetics.
He heard the gasps from the Guardsmen. He heard the groans from the Casters. Even the slight tremble from the Excubitor… but among those, there was another. A softer voice, almost childish.
"You?"
Merrin froze. "Moeash?"
A blade slashed against his back, warm pain flashing into his mind and shattering his attention. He plummeted, though not for long, as a platform slammed into his form. More pain flooding his senses. He gritted his teeth as the square board flew upwards into the air, pinning him.
His thoughts, however, were not of that occurrence, but of another.
Moeash?
How?
What is he doing here?
How did he even get here?
Is he the new brightCrown?
How? He was a darkCrown.
I'm sure of it. Is there a mistake?
Was that not him?
He hoped so, at least, but with the passing moments and the condensing of that image in his mind, he could see but one person. That man-child. That once-sweet boy who had dabbed him with a dirty wet rag. That simple boy…
He stabbed you, remember?
Merrin reined in the thought. He was yet to find a reason for that. Why would Moeash stab him? And more strange, perhaps—why did the cut provide almost the same sensation as when that brightCrown had severed his legs?
Why?
He closed his eyes.
Dark slashes raining down from the sky. More now. The casters were coming.
I have so many questions, he realized. I have to ask them. I need to know if my enemy is new or has always been.
This was the greatest of questions.
He exploded in fervor. And out they went: thin lines of translucent energy cutting through the grayness, shredding the darkness into shards. The mind had cut them, as it had the right to.
He clenched his teeth, punched his fist onto the platform, heaved a breath, and shot out, arching through the air. Another was on his heels—a line of darkness, then another of metal sheen. A combo of the Excubitor and the caster.
Ah…
Merrin knew of a way to easily end this, or at least a means to easily escape. All it would take was one massive surge of the two forces, like he always did—unconsciously or not. Do it now, and he would be able to make a way.
However, if that man was Moeash, then there existed a likelihood that Morgan, too, was here. And oh, by the Father, she should never get a whiff of his presence. That, or his Witnesses would die.
I can't let that happen.
He waved, sending a line of crystal light at the darkness. It was gone, and his knife was up, countering that of the Excubitor. And they both landed on a platform, surrounded by Guardsmen.
Mist! Merrin frowned. This had the makings of a duel.