The Forsaken Hero-Chapter 990: Spies
It was Bethiv who answered. "While that would be possible, you should know the burden it takes projecting spells over such vast distances. It would be a poor strategy to waste their mana that way. High-level beings are assets not to be used lightly, and should be conserved for when they are needed. It’s not only respectful of their strength, but practical in conflict."
I looked between Bethiv and Aerion, my shoulders hunching slightly. Though gentle in their admonishment, their reasoning made perfect sense. High-level mages, especially, were vulnerable while casting high-level spells. Even Life’s Grace, the seventh-level life spell I’d cast on the Last Light Company, had drained a considerable amount of my mana. It had only taken a few seconds to cast, but that might as well be an eternity in a battle.
"You’re wrong," I whispered, so softly the breeze almost stole the words. Bethiv’s brow furrowed, and Aerion’s lips thinned, but they both leaned closer to hear me better. Swallowing hard, I forced myself to look at them, the tip of my tail curling around Luke’s ankle. "You’re right about the mages, but you’re not thinking about heroes."
"I’m not sure I follow," Aerion said.
"You can’t use the normal rules for heroes. We’re not the same as other mages and warriors. It’s not just about strength or abilities. We’re...meant for war. For fighting day in and day out. Selena might take weeks to recover after emptying her mana pool, but us...? Have you ever seen Korra take a break for more than a day? Or R’lissea? There’s me, but that’s because of my curse."
"What are you trying to say?" Bethiv asked.
"You can’t think of us as people. We’re weapons. It’s cold and callous," I shivered, drawing closer to Luke, "But it’s how the gods designed us. To run from battle to battle, fighting endlessly in their wars."
"That may be true, but we are not gods. And you are not weapons," Bethiv said, frowning deeply. "You are little more than children. To place such a burden on you, when this isn’t even your world, would be an unconscionable abuse of our trust."
"Commander," Luke said, his voice cutting through the morning chill, his arm tightening around my waist. "This decision is not yours to make. To impose your will on her is to be no better than the Circle." His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in their depths as he looked from Bethiv to Aerion. "Shackles of protection are shackles nonetheless. If Xiviyah wishes to fight, she will fight."
Bethiv studied me intently, absently rubbing the scruff on his chin. At last, he sighed, a small, chagrined smile tugged at his lips. "We fought long and hard here, standing firm against Risen, bandit, and wandering demon, all in the hopes you would finally get a chance to know peace in Duskwood. Never would I have guessed that the moment you did, you would choose to come out and place your blood alongside ours."
"I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scorn your kindness," I said, biting my lip.
"No, you mistake me," he said quickly, waving his hands. "We gave you a chance to finally grow up, and you’ve done exactly that. It is I who should be apologizing for failing to see who you’ve become. It warms this old heart to see your strength and courage."
"Oh, um...thanks." My cheeks warmed at his praise, but I couldn’t deny the thrill in my heart, or the happy swish of my tail.
Aerion cleared his throat. "I assume there was a point to that bit about your heroic nature?"
"Right." I shook the blush off, standing a little taller. "I can stave off the Black Mist."
"Again, your abilities are powerful, but the black mist blankets entire kingdoms. That one mage can--"
"Your Majesty." Bethiv’s voice was soft, yet razor sharp. "If my Lady says she can do it, she can. On the day we met, we fought two hundred against ten thousand, and came out victorious. She twisted an entire demon gate against itself, all the while burdened by her curse and suffocating to the fifth level. Since then, no matter the odds, never has she lied or exaggerated."
Aerion’s eyes narrowed. "How, exactly, do you propose to extend safe passage to my forces. I will not risk them on words alone."
A shiver ran through fate, and I turned sharply, staring eastward, Aerion forgotten. It was a peculiar feeling, a sense of deja vu so powerful it caused me to break out into goosebumps. Of the thousands of visions I’d seen, few I remembered with any visceral detail. But something about this exact situation caused my soul to tingle, and the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. I’d been here before, having this same conversation. But something had gone wrong. Something was about to go wrong.
Luke and Fyren responded the instant I jerked, swords appearing in their hands.
"What is it?" Luke asked, pulling me behind him.
Fragments of the vision returned, bits of darkened memory that were more impressions than recollection. But it gave me direction, and a heartbeat later, at the edge of my aura, I sensed it. There, in the middle of the Devoted horde, I found what had triggered my unease.
"A demon!" I gasped.
"There are demons for miles around us. You probably sensed one of the Devoted," Bethiv said, frowning.
"Not one of mine. Fyren, it’s strong. Seventh-level, I think."
"I sense nothing," he said, "Is it still here?"
I shook my head, and he ignited, leaping into the sky.
"What security measures do you have in place?" Aerion demanded, his own blade bared.
"Wards and enchantments. But we’ve barely been in the area five hours," Bethiv said. "The Devoted make a ring around our camp, numbering several tens of thousands strong. That anything could sneak through their ranks undetected..."
"Unless they weren’t sneaking," Luke said. "A normal horde is cohesive in identity, but there are countless factions represented within the Devoted. While they’re all bound by the Primordial Mark, such things are only apparent through direct soul speak. A foreign demon could easily penetrate without being noticed, especially if they’re only aware of risen threats in the area."
"A spy," Bethiv hissed. "If they’ve infiltrated the demons, there’s no reason to assume the company is safe, either. Joel, Jackal, find those you trust and initiate a search. Be sure to take mages with you; they might be obscuring their souls or identity with magic."
The captains saluted and ran off. I held worriedly onto Luke, watching them disappear into the forest.
"Who do you think sent them?" I asked.
"Presumably, whoever is responsible for the infernal influence in the black mist," Luke said. "If there really is a third demon faction, we’ll have more than risen or demons to worry about. The demonkin cults care not for who they serve, only that it brings more demons to ravage Enusia."
"That’s why you’re worried about spies," I said, turning to Bethiv.
He nodded. "It’s not just demonkin, but all mortal races. We’ve killed dozens of them, migrating to the chaos from all over. They prey on the weak and innocent, bandits at best, demons themselves at worst."
"Like the ones who attacked those villages in Sylvarus," I whispered.
"Exactly those," Luke said, grunting irritably. "I wish Fyren hadn’t taken care of those on his own. I’d have liked to learn what’s really going on, and who dares defy my authority."
We waited in tense silence after that, until Fyren returned. Clutched in one hand was a second-level demonkin wearing patchwork armor and a dark cloak. He was scorched and blistered, writhing and screaming as Fyren dumped him at Bethiv’s feet.
"Whatever Xiviyah sensed was long gone, but I found this thing sniffing around the edge of camp. The Devoted claimed to have failed to notice its aura. I didn’t sense it myself until I was right on top of it," he said, kicking the demonkin in the stomach.
The screams choked into breathless whimpers as it curled up in a ball, coughing blood.
"Fyren!" I gasped, covering my mouth in horror. "You can’t--"
"It’s an enemy, Xiviyah," Luke said, gently pulling me away. "Come, let’s return to the ship. If you’re going to protect the armies from the black mist, you should discuss it with R’lissea. I’m sure she has some ideas."
"But I--" I started, flinching as the demonkin’s breath returned, and he let out another shriek.
"There’s nothing more to do until the enemy’s been identified, and to do that, they need to get information from this spy. So, unless you want to watch...?"
I shook my head, burying my face in Luke’s chest, gripping his shirt with both hands. I didn’t let go till the screams vanished, and we were safe back on the Azure Wing.
"How did it go?" Korra asked, running up to us, R’lissea and Gayron in tow. "Did you figure out what’s going on with the mist?"
I couldn’t answer past the lump in my throat, turning and fleeing into the inner quarters of the ship. Luke called after me, but I ignored him, fleeing into the living quarters. When I reached my room, I collapsed onto the bed, hugging my knees to my chest, tears gathering in my eyes. But I couldn’t close my eyes, for whenever I did, I saw a very different demonkin lying on the ground, hurt and bleeding as a very different group of people interrogated her.
A red-haired demonkin, tormented by those in white cloaks.
