Chapter Ten: Final Lesson

  Thorne had found himself startled by the sudden attack and barely managed a desperate parry with the hilt of his blade. The clang of steel rang through the small room as Selriph’s estoc met the hilt of the greatsword. With the first strike, Selriph unleashed a series of slashes and thrusts, forcing the Blackguard backwards, giving Selriph the room to manoeuvre to the door, but the boy knew he could not best them alone—he had make a run for it—soon.

  “Vick, I am here, trouble!” Selriph shouted, the volume of his voice edged with the rasp of strain.

  Momentarily startled by the flurry of bladework from the boy, he quickly regained his focus as he began to adapt to Selriph’s unexpected deftness with the blade. Varos began to mutter under his breath, chanting and weaving a simple pattern in the air with his glyph-adorned hand.

  Catching the golden flicker at the corner of his eye, Selriph broke his assault on Thorne, having successfully found the space to make a dash. As his vision shifted towards the door, he had a split second to react to the golden light he saw manifesting around Varos’s hand.

  With his offhand, he hastily unleashed a crackling bolt of lightning aimed at Varos. The Inquisitor, who had been half a second from launching his own spell, spotted? the bolt aimed at him and jerked his body away. Varos’ sudden evasive movement caused the gathering Holy Energy to sputter, the bolt glancing by his left shoulder–the same shoulder that Selriph had struck with his dagger. The lightning impacted the stone wall half a metre behind Varos, who felt the concussive pulse of air against his back.

  Varos snarled in frustration, his face contorting with rage. “There are the blasphemous arts!”

  “Blasphemous to you,” Selriph retorted as he made for the door. However, Varos had drawn his blade and was stepping to intercept him.

  Selriph's saw Varos's sword-drawn figure come into view at it blocked his sight of the door, poised to cut him down. In response, Selriph jerked his hand in front of him as a trail of flame followed its arc. At the top of the motion, a bolt erupted from his fingertips and hurtled towards the Inquisitor; Varos attempted to intercept a blade with a defensive ward of holy energy, barely materialising by the time the flame met its translucent golden hue. The bolt broke through the hastily conjured, half-formed ward and slammed into the Inquisitor's chestplate. The impact sent him flying backwards towards the door, a grunt of pain escaped him as he passed the hinges before Varos' body met the corridor's wall. There he fell, slumped down as the scent of charred metal filled his nostrils. His vision blurred, dazed from the impact.

  There. I can make a break for it.

  Selriph seized the opening and sprinted for the exit, as he felt a rush of wind from the silent swing of the missed cleave from Captain Thorne’s greatsword. He reached the doorway as he heard Thorne’s armoured boots and his enraged voice booming from behind him as he made a left into the corridor. “You won’t get far lightweight; You will face justice!”

  As Selriph ran down the corridor, a shadow crept around the corner ahead. For a split second, dread seized him.

  Another Templar? How am I going to—

  Before he could finish the thought, Old Vick came from around the corner. His face tightened with concern, his eyes wide as he quickly took in the chaotic scene: Selriph running towards him, a black ironclad figure emerging from the room with his blade extended behind him in his stride. Behind the Blackguard, a figure dressed in silver-robed armour slumped over to the left on the wall.

  “They found me. I’m so sorry about this. You didn’t have to come back. Endangered you all…” he said, Selriph’s words ragged from exertion and adrenaline as he rushed to Vick’s side.

  The Old Man’s eyes narrowed as his gaze flicked to Selriph, his expression stoic but with an almost imperceptible smile on his face.

  “Endangered me? Bah!” Vick spat to the side, his voice gruff. “You’re a mage now, Selriph. We protect each other. Now listen here: get away from here,” he said, gesturing behind him.

  “And you two…” he growled, turning to face Thorne and Varos. “Inquisitor and Blackguard—you want him? You deal with me first.”

  Old Vick stepped forward and pulled a polished wand, seemingly from nowhere. In a swift motion, he thrust it toward the stone floor between him and Thorne. A burst of raw earthen energy emerged from the wand and struck the ground. The stone in front of Varos rose into a jagged wall, blocking his path. Simultaneously, the floor beneath Captain Thorne shifted and gave way, the uneven terrain throwing him off balance.

  Vick’s voice boomed through the tunnel, each word resonating with arcane authority: “You will not harm this boy! He is under my protection now!”

  Varos, his chest still smouldering from Selriph’s firebolt, backed away from the eruption of stone that now separated him from Thorne. He snarled at its source briefly as the stone rose to block his vision. His finger traced anew with another pattern, an incantation muttered under his breath, intent on overcoming the earthen obstacle in his way.

  Captain Thorne, meanwhile, steadied himself despite the jagged and uneven terrain below him. His armour clanked as he regained his footing.

  Selriph witnessed Vick’s display of terramancy in his aid.

  Should I help? He might be able to deal with them on his own after that display. Should I do as he says? He has the upper hand—perhaps if I…

  As if reading the young mage’s thoughts, Vick growled, “Don’t even think about it, boy.” He didn’t break his gaze from the two combatants ahead. “I’ve got this. You run. Now.” His words carried a firmness.

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  “I... but where do I go? You can’t possibly be thinking of taking them all on!” Selriph exclaimed in protest.

  Old Vick’s voice dropped to a low, urgent growl. “Listen to me, Selriph. I know these tunnels like the back of my hand. I’ll hold them off.” He stretched out his wand-wielding hand, pelting the conjured stones at Thorne, buying precious seconds.

  “Past the broken torch sconce? There. Thin stone wall. Blow through it. Break through with your magic,” he instructed quickly, eyes snapping back to the charging Thorne, whose blade was now cleaving effortlessly through the barrage of debris.

  “Sealed that off a while back. Dangerous. You can handle it. Get to the surface. Get out of the city. GO!” As the words left his mouth, he swung his wand in a horizontal arc. A pillar of stone erupted from the side wall, slamming directly into Thorne. The Captain was flung against the opposite wall, the force of the impact cracking stone as it met the armoured metal.

  Selriph, seeing that Vick had a real chance, made his choice.

  “Okay. I’ll go. But if I don’t get to meet you again, I want to say… Thank you, Master Vick.”

  Old Vick’s eyes met the boy. A flicker of pride accompanied the faintest grin.. “There’s no time for that now,” he said gruffly, though his voice held an undertone of affection. “Just get gone! Don’t turn back.” He nodded toward the tunnel.

  In that moment, Varos had successfully blasted through the wall Vick had erected with a lance of holy energy. He jumped over the crumbled debris and stretched out his hand, firing two bolts of golden fire in quick succession at Vick.

  That was the last thing Selriph saw before he turned away. Half a second later, the sound of shifting stone echoed behind him, suggesting Vick had conjured something in response—but he couldn’t determine what as he darted past the corner.

  Selriph ran–four metres, maybe less. He spotted it then: a section of stone that looked subtly unnatural. Smoother than the rest.

  Purple crackles gathered in his hand as they formed into shape. The sphere pulsed as arcs bounced between his fingers. With a swift motion, he hurled it at the wall. The blast struck true, and the thin layer of stone shattered under the force. Dust and fragments flew, and the wall collapsed to reveal a narrow passage.

  Without hesitation, Selriph dashed into the side tunnel.

  Just before vanishing into the darkness, he spared one last glance to his right–Vick was still there, standing firm. His wand moved furiously, weaving earthen energy in swift and precise gestures as he continued his barrage of spells.

  His escape route was cramped, barely able to keep a brisk pace in the awkward crouch it forced him into. He could barely navigate the mass of darkness with his unadjusted eyes.

  Selriph stretched out his hand as a dim blue light emanated from it through channelled arcane energy, just enough to cut through the darkness ahead. The moisture-laden, mixed with the scent of moss, rushed into his lungs as he moved forward. In the half crouch, he could feel his heart pounding. He felt the neck and sides of his jaw throb as the blood rushed into his head in his slumped posture.

  The tunnel twisted and split. He took whatever route that seemed navigable, curving downwards deeper into the blackness. Putting a greater distance between him and the confrontation he had left.

  By a certain point, the echoes he had left behind faded. A result of being removed from the scuffle rather than a lethal outcome for Vick, he could only hope.

  Selriph, however, knew the danger wasn’t over. If Thorne and Varos bested the old man, or any templar who came after, they could easily follow him through the tunnels. If they caught him while he paused to orient himself in the cave system…

  I can’t let that happen.

  He peered ahead. The passage dipped lower, and then he saw it, an area where the tunnel widened into a larger cavern.

  Selriph emerged into the larger cavern. Able to stand now, he turned back to the tunnel he had just emerged from. The perfect spot.

  He gathered power again. His hands glowed, the air snapping with static. Spinning around mid-run, he thrust his palms backwards and then forward in a thrusting motion as he unleashed the spell. A violent concussion of lightning exploded from his hands and impacted the roof of the passage he had just emerged from.

  The impact rang in the chamber Selriph stood in as rock and debris fell, but Selriph had gravely misjudged the stability of the cavern he was in, as small pebbles rained from above.

  A cave-in was imminent

  His eyes quickly darted to another side tunnel, and he dove straight for it. As he ran through the barely head-level tunnel, he heard the rumble of stone behind him, the sound thumping against his back. As he ran until the only noise was the clatter of his leathered soles against. Stone.

  Selriph glanced back to see that the cavern behind him had large chunks of debris scattered all over; He could barely confirm that the passageway he had come from was now made inaccessible by the cave-in.

  The air turned dank and stale. The noise of pursuit had vanished. All that remained were the rhythmic sounds of his own footfall and breathing as he continued forward.

  Selriph pressed on for what he felt was about half an hour, using his internal sense of direction to navigate the various intersections to put him on a general southeasterly heading as he attempted to navigate towards the suburbs. The paths varied — steep declines, sudden ascending inclines—ones he had to climb on all fours. Winding caverns that veered unpredictably, some looping on themselves.

  Eventually, he emerged into a vast subterranean cavern. Large patches of glowmoss lined the walls as he tracked his gaze upwards. The ceiling was drawn with fissures–delicate crystalline formations hung from the ceiling like inverted icicles. He found his surroundings illuminated as a result of the faint glow of crystal and glowmoss. The cavern’s chilly dampness clung to his skin as he surveyed his surroundings.

  Selriph turned slowly, scanning for any path that might lead upward. Several tunnels branched from the main cavern: some plunged deeper into the earth, others angled upward, while some seemed to stay level, their eventual change in elevation unknown.

  His eyes focused on four tunnels, each toward the suburbs–if he wasn’t already under them by now–as he considered his options. A faint sound echoed behind him.

  He turned sharply, sword half-drawn.

  A figure emerged from the gloom.

  Hunched. Gaunt. Dressed in tattered, stained clothing that hung from his skeletal frame like a loose robe. His skin was a pale grey, and there wasn’t a trace of hair on his unnaturally long head. The man slowed, limped over, his left foot dragging behind in his stride.. He had two good fingers on one hand; the rest were stumps.

  Another beggar down here…? No, this is no beggar. I can feel it...

  Before the thought could finish forming, the man spoke.

  “You there.”

  The gaunt man’s voice was raspy, cracked with age and dryness. His looming figure stepped closer. The scent Selriph once wore was nothing compared to the rotting, pungent odour that assaulted his olfactory senses, as it clung to the back of his nose.

  Selriph’s gaze slowly drifted back up as the faint glow above provided more visibility to the man’s face.

  Selriph froze as his gaze met the man’s eyes.

  His twisted smile revealed yellowed, rotting teeth, black at the gums.

  But what truly sent a shiver down his spine were the man’s eyes. For his irises were white, devoid of colour, swirling softly with a white milky texture.