金瓶梅第2部

Tycondrius turned to check on the state of his companions.

Notaku was still gawking, though he had transformed from a full elf into a creature half-elf... half-sand.

"(The Ancient... He... that... th-the drake...)"

Mmm. He'd become an imbecile.

How unfortunate.

Tycon looked to where Beatrice had been... and found not a theoretically loveable fire faerie, but a dull mound of loose sand.

He brushed away the top half, and she popped out with a 'fwoosh.'

She shook herself off and flitted about to show her gratitude.

⊰ sand bad ⊱

"It *is* rather bothersome," Tycon shrugged. "I agree."

Where Yanaba's sand-drake had fallen, the Elven Chieftain pulled herself out of its unshaped remains. Numerous cuts and scrapes marred her skin and she collapsed to her knees, sputtering and coughing violently.

Blood and sand.

She was no longer fit for combat.

In a blur of movement, the Ancient known as King, dashed in front of the defeated Chieftain... and offered his hand.

"Even the mightiest of dragons bow before this King, Sapling," He declared.

Yanaba glared up at that troublesome fellow, still defiant... but bereft of her earlier arrogance.

"(The humans... they have dared too far, Ancient,)" She growled. "(One of our blood... taken captive. A slave...)"

King narrowed his eyes, but kept his hand forward.

The woman ignored it as she continued to dry heave... "(You... stand in our way of vengeance.)"

Tycon grabbed the still-babbling Notaku's wrist, placing his hand on the damaged-but-functional communication formation, "Elf. Mana."

"Ah?" Sand spilled down Notaku's hair as he tilted his head, "Oh."

Tycon spoke aloud, his words carried by the winds, "Friend-Elf and noble Chieftain of the Ebon Mask Tribe, this humble one has information relevant to thy issues."

"Hm," King nodded. "Share with us the gift of knowledge, Friend-Maedar."

"I have spoken to the humans on the matter," Tycon explained. "The young elf the Chieftain seeks is named Coraline Heartsong. She had incurred an injury from an unrelated party and only lives due to the humans' intervention."

"That's... ugh... complete and utter bullsh*t," Yanaba groaned.

"Nay, Sapling," King chided. "The Maedar has Ancient-blood coursing through his veins-- the same as you. He speaks no falsehoods..."

Tycon felt his mouth twist. He could appreciate the Ancient vouching for him... but it was a subtle insult that his integrity had been questioned.

"Is Coraline Heartsong well, friend?" King asked.

"She watches, even now," Tycon gestured towards the adobe fortress.

He glanced over in that direction, shifting the muscles in his eyes to focus his vision. The topical young woman stood in front of the open gates, having bore witness to all relevant events.

She... did not look *well*... but she lived.

And to Tycon's credit, she did not look particularly enslaved.

"Beatrice," He whispered. "Return to Miss Coraline, if you would."

With a bob of acknowledgment, the four-winged fire sphere sped off.

Unlike more traditional summoners, Coraline's contract with her familiar included a binding of their souls. In exchange she could draw a portion of Beatrice's mana and gained increased affinity with fire magic. However, the young Arcanist must have suffered greatly having spent so long away from her glorified light source...

Granted, her risky gamble at summoning help had resulted in great success.

...The recklessness of her actions, however, was something Tycon needed to gently scold her for-- at a later date and time.

"Well, that might be how it started, Ancient," Yanaba growled... "But it's different now. The humans... they killed one of ours. (The Masked Ones only number thirty at full strength. Even a single death is intolerable.)"

"Thou art at *fault*, Sapling," King frowned, his burning gaze betraying his annoyance, "I did not gift my brother's children these masks of dragon bone for thee to oppress the weak."

"The masks belong to our tribe, Ancient," The woman scoffed. "You gave my ancestor a gift, not a *loan.*"

She dusted herself off as her gaze fell on the walls surrounding Green Corn Tower, "Blood can only be repaid with blood... and I fully intend to seek recompense."

"Stay thy blades, Chieftain of the Ebon Mask Tribe," King glared.

"I... am King.

"My blades have rent apart the hellsworn sky.

"My name lives in the hearts of evil gods, carved by fear of my honorable judgment.

"My deeds are sung in praise across the Realm, the highest of heavens, and the most nightmarish of hells."

"Uh huh?" Yanaba crossed her arms, not impressed, "And here's where you tell me why I should give a f*ck."

The Ancient held out his hand... "You know of me, Yanaba, descendant of He-Who-Hunts."

With one of his twin swords, he drew a deep crimson line across his forearm, "Will this... be enough blood, grand-niece?"

...

The whole debacle had been an accursed misunderstanding.

The elves saw the humans take Coraline. They were very upset by that fact.

Without bothering to confirm the situation, they fell upon the humans like a pack of wild beasts.

The humans were slaughtered like... nearly anything caught in the way of a pack of wild beasts.

All this, Tycon absolutely did *not* want to share with Januarius.

The Centurion was not a young gentleman... and Tycon did not wish to be the indirect cause of the human's death by indignation leading to sudden onset cardiac arrest.

And thus, with the Ebon Mask Tribe withdrawing peaceably... and the late Lone Shadowdark's romantic partner alive and in no immediate danger, Tycon shifted his attention to his next priority.

The fifteen-fulm purple Tyrion Divine Armor had barely made it through the fortress gates when Tycon brazenly stepped in its path.

After a short moment of him willfully staring, steam hissed from the edges of the construct's chest, legs, and arms... releasing the woman he sought.

Elle had seemed more-or-less recovered, though her face was still flush and her movements shaky.

She rendered a proper salute-- looking down to meet his gaze, "Um. Good... morning, Duplicarius. Um. Immunes Haelvia... reporting."

The woman was taller than he expected. Much taller.

It... did not annoy him as much as he thought it would.

He reasoned it was because she didn't have near the amount of arrogance and standoffishness typical of a gentlewoman of her height.