The First Dance of Rapsamash

Lycari closed her eyes. Spatial teleportation was clearly not Albalf’s strong suit, and each time it caused some discomfort. It felt like being forcefully dragged through thickets, with her head spinning, and her ears ringing. Albalf insisted that he wasn’t to blame for such discomfort, claiming that it was the nature of the world itself. However, it was more likely that he hadn’t fully mastered the “art of teleportation,” if such an art even existed. There was another unpleasant aspect: the sorcerer’s door always turned out to be someone else’s door in the destination. Lycari prayed that the door wouldn’t lead to a pigsty or, worse, a prison. Fortunately, such incidents were extremely rare. But they did happen.

The movement stopped. The elf opened her eyes, rubbing her temple with her left hand and reaching for the handle of the unfamiliar door with her right. She could already feel the scorching heat of the eastern city. Please, not a pigsty! Please, not a pigsty... Hurray! Not a pigsty! But... In the small room that greeted her, adorned with worn thin carpets, several soldiers in purple cloaks were menacingly pointing their swords at an unprotected peasant family.

— Ahem, sirs, what’s happening here? — Lycari, prepared for the worst, slowly reached for her quiver.

— What the... Hey! — A couple of soldiers turned towards her, threateningly waving their weapons from side to side.

— An elf? A slave, perhaps?

— No, look at how she’s dressed. Even if she were a slave, you won’t find such attire among the locals.

— Captain, what should we do with her? She’s armed.

— Tie her up and put her in the wagon with the others.

— How rude of you not to answer a lady’s question.

It seemed that violence was the answer they preferred, as they didn’t want to engage in conversation. Five people, judging by their cloaks, were from Shardin, wearing sturdy segmented armor and open helmets. One of them, who responded to the title of “captain,” had the crest of Eklat on his cloak. They had come a long way indeed...

— Surrender your weapons and surrender peacefully! — the soldiers demanded.

A simple house, clayware, and a slightly tilted wooden table. It didn’t seem like the home belonged to someone of high rank or the leader of a rebellious guild. The family, dressed in worn-out clothes, all skinny, huddled in a corner, whimpering in fear. Why would soldiers from the distant capital evict simple peasants from their home in a remote town? Something is not clean here...

— Hey, can you hear us?

— Look at her ears! Of course, she can!

— Less talk, more action! If she resists, strike her down! We don’t have much time!

— Yes, captain!

Two soldiers lunged forward, swinging their swords at Lycari. Dodging the attack, she swiftly drew an arrow and plunged it into the unprotected arm of the first assailant near the elbow. At almost the same time, she grabbed a clay jug from the table and hurled it directly into the face of the second attacker. Turning around amidst the sound of shattered pottery and the cries of the wounded comrade, the remaining three soldiers charged at her. If they had shields, it would have made things a bit more challenging for the elf. However, wielding her curved sabre, she easily and swiftly dealt with them, parrying their strikes and immediately counterattacking with fierce cries. The first two lost their right hands, while the blade pierced the captain’s thigh. The terrified peasants who watched the scene unfold seemed to have lost their ability to speak. The head of the family shielded the others as Lycari approached them.

— Oh, no, no, I won’t harm you. I won’t cause any more harm, I apologize for the jug. Here, take this, it should be enough, — she unfastened a coin purse filled with jingling coins from her belt and pulled out a couple of gold coins, extending them to the peasant.

He didn’t react, continuing to stare at her in fear.

— Alright, they’re right here, don’t lose them, — she shrugged and placed the coins where she had taken the jug.

Maybe they simply didn’t understand Common. Pulling her hood over her head, she opened the same door she came through. Instead of Albalph’s spatial corridor, she found herself on a sunlit street where a cramped wagon, pulled by two horses, barely fit into the narrow gap between the buildings. Inside the wagon were people — peasants like the others, bound and injured.

— Oh, Kreneya, what’s happening here?

From somewhere in the distance, a faint breeze brought the smell of smoke and ash. Cries and shouts could be heard from neighboring streets, and the sound of weapons clashing echoed in the air. Lycari took out a few tiny paper birds, folded from parchment, from her belt pouch. Whispering an incantation over them, she tossed them up into the air above her. The parchment ignited with a bright green flame, and translucent green silhouettes resembling woodland spirits dispersed in different directions. This way, she would find out what was happening in the city and who was behind it all. It would be good to send a message to Albalf and the other Seekers as well, but first, she needed to determine if what was happening here was indeed connected to the fissure on the Portal. The sunlight that penetrated her hood uncomfortably scorched her pale skin. Lycari pulled it lower and hopped into the wagon, aiming to free the bound townspeople. Upon seeing her bloodied blade, the captives recoiled in alarm.

— Shh, shh, I’m here to help. Al kadieh suula. That’s it, I think, in your Eastern language. Al kadieh suula.

The people quieted down. Apparently, they understood her. Lycari realized she would need to learn more languages. Who knows where she would be sent next? The liberated townspeople bowed and muttered words of gratitude, getting out of the wagon and fleeing away. Lycari thought that they may have been safer in the wagon. Who knows if the soldiers would capture them again? But leaving them there was not an option after all.

One of the spirits returned. Landing on Lycari’s shoulder, the magical bird chirped softly, sharing its findings with its mistress. Lycari grew worried. Shardin soldiers were fighting Derinrond guards, many houses were ablaze, left unattended. Soon, the fire might consume the entire city. Furthermore, the violet soldiers were taking and escorting everyone to the western part of the city, while she herself was on the southern outskirts. She needed to hurry there.

After freeing the last captive townsfolk, Lycari unhitched one of the horses and spurred it forward, racing westward.

***

They passed through familiar corridors of tunnels, once again finding themselves under the scorching sun. The wounds left by Kavir were quickly healing. To Raps’ surprise, even the broken teeth were slowly growing back, accompanied by an unpleasant itching sensation in her mouth. In tattered clothing, covered in blood and dirt, she stood with her sister at the entrance to their mine. Arty was in worse condition than her — constantly writhing in pain — but she continued silently holding onto Raps’ hand. Not knowing how to help, Raps sat down beside her and embraced her, still clutching Suiravka, the dagger, in her other hand.

— It will soon be over, Arti. We will catch up the others, and all of it will be over.

Arty only nodded silently, tears streaming down her cheeks.

— Let’s hurry. They must have already reached the old tunnels.

If only she had the strength. Ittira will surely have something that will help Arti. And then...

The sisters rushed back onto the street where their fellow congeners left, and followed on, trying to catch up with them. It was still a decent distance to the place where they had separated each other, when suddenly something black loomed up at the end of the street, quickly heading straight towards them. Recognizing the silhouette of one of the black dogs that had been chasing her, Raps turned around and, to her horror, saw another one. The dogs closed in, approaching them, but the girl already knew how to outsmart them.

— Arty, hold on tight to me!

Without a word, the little girl clung to her sister. Raps swung the whip-like blade back and, as before, launched its end onto the roof of one of the houses, immediately commanding Suiravka to shorten itself. For a moment, both girls soared through the air, but in the next instant, a strange crystalline growth formed around the hooked end, causing a piece of the house to literally crumble, leaving the hook without support. Luckily, they hadn’t ascended very high. Both girls crashed back down to the ground. The dogs were approaching, leaving behind them the earth blown up by black claws. Rising to her feet again, Raps stood in bewilderment for a few seconds, looking around. What had just happened? Why did a piece of the roof suddenly collapse? She raised her gaze back to the roof, squinting against the bright sun, but someone’s shadow suddenly blocked it.

— It can’t be...

Overwhelmed by surprise, Raps almost screamed. It was him — the sorcerer she had stabbed with Suiravka right in the chest back in the palace. He was supposed to be dead, she had impaled him almost through! Yet, there he was, hovering above the rooftops, his eyes filled with a ghastly orange color, fixed directly on her and Arti. The veins on his pale gray hands and neck also had an unnaturally orange hue, and a dark orange liquid seeped intermittently in thin streams from beneath his blood-stained clothes around his chest—the very spot where Raps had struck him. Arti tugged persistently at Raps’ hand, and finally, she snapped out of her daze.

— Arty, run!

The sisters dashed away, trying to hide in the alley between the houses. A thought flashed through Raps’ mind — to seek refuge in one of the houses with wide-open doors. But as soon as she turned towards them, a bluish, elongated crystal whizzed by, crashing into the wall of the nearest house and sinking into the ground with a loud crack. They ran straight ahead, and a couple of seconds later, another crystal landed right in front of them, barely missing. It emitted a chilling, ominous coldness. Raps dared to turn around—right behind them, a black dog was chasing after, and above it, the sorcerer flew through the air, conjuring yet another crystalline projectile with his gray hands. They had to run, run! He and his dogs were chasing them, just like on a hunt. And if it was a hunt, then there should be a second dog...

The third crystal, launched by the sorcerer, struck the wall of a nearby house in front of them, shattering clay bricks and releasing clouds of lime that immediately filled their lungs, causing them to cough. The debris miraculously missed Raps and Arti, but the veil of dust made it difficult to see anything. Rapsamash continued running, covering her face with her hand and dragging Arti behind her, praying that her hunch wouldn’t turn out to be true. But it did: right behind the dust cloud, they encountered the second black dog, blocking their path. They were trapped, cornered, but for some reason, the dogs didn’t rush forward to kill them. And that meant there was still a way out—to fight! Mama used to say that a cornered mouse fights on par with its pursuer, the cat... Arti trembled, clinging to her sister with all her might. Raps turned around, shielding her sister with one hand and extending the other, gripping Suiravka tightly, toward the sorcerer. Slowly, he glided through the air, drawing closer to them, and began making hand gestures. Raps prepared to command her blade, but suddenly, from somewhere behind them, heavy footsteps and a wild roar echoed.

— R-r-r-a-a-a-a!

With a crash and a screech, something slammed into the black dog that had cornered them, smashing it into the wall of a house and sending it tumbling inside. For a moment, everyone froze in fear and astonishment, watching as a large silhouette emerged from the dust and rubble—a Taular almost twice the size of an ordinary one. Growling softly, he turned and charged directly at Raps and Arti. Just as Raps managed to shield her sister, the giant leaped over them. Covered in scratches, wounds, and blood, the unexpected savior stood in their way, preventing the sorcerer and the remaining black dog from advancing. His gray fur mingled with areas of completely exposed, bulging, bloodied muscles, and his right hand, with its long claws, only had three fingers. It was Unlad!

— Run! — the Taular growled, and in the very same moment, a crystal struck him in the shoulder.

Enraged, the giant roared and lunged forward. Raps, still in disbelief, lifted Arti and ran forward, leaping over the debris of bricks and household items. They needed to get back onto the main street to catch up with their congeners, but... somewhere behind them, one of their fellow kin was engaged in an unequal battle, saving them. Arti wouldn’t be able to run for much longer, she had already given everything she had, not even whimpering once. She needed to do something. She had to do something!

— Arti, find somewhere to hide!

Her sister nodded silently and released her hand. Rapsamash turned around and ran back to help Unlad. The giant, roaring in pain and anger, tried to fend off the black dog, even a slight touch of which left scratches and burns on his fur and skin. He also aimed to reach the gray sorcerer floating higher in the sky with fragments of stones, bricks, and beams, but to no avail. Even a boulder hitting the man did not harm him; instead, a translucent crystalline crust formed where it struck. The sorcerer prepared another crystal, ready to launch it at Unlad, but in mid-flight, the deadly projectile split in half, losing its trajectory. Raps encouraged herself—she realized that a forceful strike with Suiravka as a whip could shatter the crystals! The man noticed her and began preparing multiple projectiles, aiming them at her enraged congener. “He wants to kill him first, not rushing to kill me. I need to distract him!”

— Unlad, watch out!

The three-fingered Taular grabbed a brick and hurled it into the air, using his other hand to shield himself from the approaching dog’s jump. The brick deflected one of the crystals, diverting it to the side, while Raps, who had climbed onto the intact roof of a nearby house, managed to shatter another. However, the third one grazed Unlad, leaving deep scratches on his thigh. A couple more of these volleys - and he will not stand! They needed to deal with the sorcerer quickly. Raps swung Suiravka, aiming directly at the floating man — the whip’s tip scratched his crystalline armor. In return, he tried to soar higher, evading her second powerful strike. But he did not have time - the blade pierced the armor, as if bogged down in it. Rapsamash strained, commanding Suiravka to continue its movement and reach the gray flesh of the resurrected dead man. However, the armor seemed to grow in response, pushing the approaching blade away. It wasn’t working! But she couldn’t let him escape! Down on the street, Unlad, seizing a beam that was within reach, struck the dog with it—the beam cracked, and the dog pounced on the giant again, inflicting more and more gaping wounds. Hurry, Raps! She pulled Suiravka towards herself, simultaneously reducing its size—this worked for a couple of moments as she had intended—the sorcerer swiftly descended, but then his crystalline armor cracked and released the blade. The man ran his hand over his body, covering himself with new layers of armor, while his other hand prepared a multitude of small needle-like crystals, aiming them at the girl. If the sorcerer wouldn’t come to her, then she would... With a forceful swing, Raps launched the whip for the third time — and it got stuck again. Excellent!

— Ha-a-a-a!

She soared into the air, drawing herself closer to her target. She wouldn’t let him escape! She wouldn’t let him shed his armor! Suiravka continued to shrink on one side, pulling its owner closer, while on the other side, it expanded, attempting to pierce the armor. Raps found it difficult to concentrate — her rage and seething hatred towards the unfinished enemy made her think only of delivering a deadly blow. Yet, the blade still obeyed her, faithfully executing her intention. Pain coursed through her body — several damnably cold needles struck her hand and abdomen. Clenching her teeth, Raps held onto Suiravka. Another second — and a needle hit her other hand, but she was already in front of the sorcerer.

— R-r-a-aah!

In an instant, the blade shrank, slipping out of the grip of the crystalline armor. Immediately, it transformed into a dagger and, with a strange crunching sound, sliced through the sorcerer’s neck, spurting dark orange fluid outward. Got him! Even a sorcerer wouldn’t survive a severed throat! However, he continued to hang in the air, suddenly gripping Raps’s hand with the blade, and began encasing them both in a cold and dense crystal, immobilizing the blade and both of them. Raps roared in pain, anger, fury, and incomprehension. She released her shortened claws and, with her free hand, dug into the orange sclera of the dead man’s eyes. He didn’t react to her resistance, continuing to encase her hand in crystal. Why wouldn’t he die? Why?? Rapsamash screamed, trying to kick away from the sorcerer while continuing to scratch his lifeless face. With his free hand, he created a new batch of cold needles, but suddenly, a stone thrown from somewhere below hit his hand directly. The dead man momentarily lost concentration but quickly raised his hand again, preparing his deadly projectiles. Amidst the pain, Raps suddenly came up with an idea: if Suiravka couldn’t pierce the crystal that way, it could still pierce... her. There was no other choice, and the girl, attempting not to think about the consequences, mentally commanded the blade.

Unbearable, paralyzing pain surged through her hand and entire body. Her mind dimmed, and it felt like her heart stopped for a moment. She couldn’t even scream — the sound seemed to freeze in her throat, choking her. With a hazy, blurred vision, she saw the blade, passing through her entire hand and emerging near her shoulder, strike the sorcerer directly in the head, piercing him through. Overcoming the pain, Rapsamash gave a couple more mental commands, staring directly into the dead man’s eyes, now gouged by blunt claws, until his head finally separated from his body.

Finally, the grip weakened, the crystal stopped growing, and the decapitated body, with the girl still attached to it, abruptly started losing altitude. Regaining her senses, Raps tried to free herself from the cold restraints but couldn’t manage to do so in time. The ground was getting closer, and she prepared herself for the impact, closing her eyes. To her surprise, the impact was not heavy — the sorcerer’s body crashed into something soft with a crunching sound, accompanied by a muffled groan and gurgling. Without suffering any more serious injuries, Raps opened her eyes and found herself lying on top of the mangled body of her victim, which was oozing thick orange liquid. In turn, that body lay on the torn, blood-soaked paws. Wheezing and coughing, the giant lowered the captured bodies to the ground, gently removing the cold crystal from Raps’s hand with his claws. Raps, still holding onto the blade protruding from her hand, finally looked around—she noticed a massive black stain amidst the ruins of a house. Could that be all that remained of that terrifying dog? Unlad was undoubtedly strong... The giant began to cough up blood and dropped to one knee. He was covered in wounds and bleeding profusely. Half of his face was skinless, as if he had sunk his fangs into the dog that now had little left of it. Taular’s tongue hung almost lifelessly from his open mouth. He looked directly at the girl standing before him.

— Unlad, quickly, get up! — the words came out with difficulty, and the oppressive pain in her chest refused to subside, — Ittira... Ittira will heal you in an instant! We need to catch up with the others!

Unlad bared what remained of his teeth and, trying not to exert pressure, placed his blood-soaked three-fingered hand on Raps’s uninjured shoulder.

— Unlad?

— Shh..ohry, Aps.... And... Hank yo..

The giant closed his blood-filled eyes, slumped onto his side, and sprawled across the ground.

— Unlad...

Raps settled down beside him, supporting her wounded hand. How many more of her kin would she lose today? How many had she already lost? Her mother, Unlad, everyone lying at the entrance to the mines... And how many more might have died on the streets, protecting their retreat? Why did Unlad even come back? She touched his motionless body, and tears streamed down her face once again.

— Thank you, Unlad...

She had to keep moving, not allowing their sacrifices to be in vain. She needed to find Arty and catch up with their group. Escape from the city, and then... freedom! But first... Raps gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, preparing to reverse the trick with Suiravka. The blade exited her hand almost instantly, but a new wave of pain caused the girl to scream at the top of her lungs. Blood flowed from the wound like a stream, and her hand hung limply. Taking the form of a dagger, Suiravka continued to glimmer innocently with its blue runes. How many times could she have died if not for this magical blade? She needed to go back to Arty, needed to catch up with their group. Tying her bleeding hand with a torn piece of fabric from the second time slain sorcerer, Raps headed in the direction where she had lost sight of her sister. The crystalline projectiles sticking out of the ground diminished in size on their own, leaving puddles of translucent liquid underneath. Are they made of water? Through the ruins of a collapsed building, a pair of black ears became visible — Arti dared to peek outside. Noticing her injured sister, hobbling towards her while supporting her right hand, the girl hurriedly ran to meet her.

— Raps! Raps! Are you okay? Are you hurt? You’re bleeding! There’s so much blood!

— It’s alright, Arty. Everything will heal quickly. Unlad, he... — Raps swallowed, trying to suppress the tears welling up, — We need to hurry. Can you still run?

***

— Fridrod, where in the Abyss are you? — Gedar was losing his patience as he watched his subordinates prepare for the ritual.

Zerdraba had already set everything up: the orange runic patterns drawn on the ground, the anchor pillars with squirming victims suspended from them, the half-naked people with blackened faces standing beneath, gripping crudely made daggers with blades of unprocessed alopharite, and in the center of the phantasmagoric composition, the soldiers were almost finished erecting an arch made of three stacked rectangular obsidian-black alopharite obelisks. The small square in front of the barns and warehouses filled with the cries and moans of people who had been bound and thrown onto the square, right next to the circle marked around the arch, with a radius of about seven meters.

The soldiers herded some people into animal cages, and one of the squads had recently brought in a group of orcs and elves who attempted to flee the city. The wounded, bleeding, and others who couldn’t move were piled onto each other in one large heap. Very soon, His plan would come to fruition, and he, Gedar, would surpass even His expectations. The entire city was under his control, and his loyal followers and soldiers would share in the triumph they had pursued for so long. Yet, this was only a small, albeit crucial, step on their path to Him. Or rather, His path to them, depending on how you looked at it.

Gedar once again felt the itching impatience of the brand. His friend’s prolonged absence was starting to worry him. He hoped the girl and her toy wouldn’t turn out to be among those tares, what He has to weed out...

— Sir! — One of the soldiers ran up to him, — People on the rooftops report that an elf woman, clearly not from around here, is riding towards the barn square on a horse. One of the messengers saw her assaulting our people on her way here.

— An elf woman? From which direction?

— From the south, sir.

— Thank you, Amthir. Deploy two lines of spearmen further down the street leading from the south and cover the other side to prevent her from bypassing us and causing trouble. Warn the rooftop lookouts. I will go ahead, be prepared to provide me with cover.

— Understood, sir!

Amthir, adorned in segmented armor, quickly moved away, shouting Commander’s orders to his subordinates. What kind of trouble was this? An elf woman? Just don’t tell me it’s one of them... Where are you, Fridrod?!

In less than a minute, the spearmen formed two disciplined ranks, their tower shields and spears held forward. Gedar stepped out in front of them just as the hooded rider ceased to be a dark speck at the far end of the wide street. About a hundred meters from the barrier, she finally came to a stop.

— Good sirs, would you care to explain what is happening here?

She had a bow and quiver slung over her shoulder, a travel bag dangling from her belt, and a saber. Her unnaturally pale skin, hidden beneath the hood with two distinct bumps for elven ears, gave her face a kind of ghostlyness,. To his regret, Gedar recognized her.

— Lycari Sharp-Sighted, or is it better to call you the White Witch of the Coastal Forest? — the Commander gestured with his hand for the shields to be raised higher, obscuring the rider’s view of the events taking place in the square, — What do we owe this pleasure?

— Is everyone going to ignore my questions today?

It’s about time to start the ritual. Fridrod, where are you?

— I thought Seekers stayed out of politics. Are you alone, or are you accompanied by comrades?

— We do stay out, but something doesn’t smell right here, quite literally.

— What’s wrong? The slaves revolted, we’re quelling it.

— Since when are the free citizens of Derinrond considered slaves?

The rider glanced around, anxiously watching the rooftops. It would be better to dispose of her now, but if she wasn’t alone... Gedar shrugged his shoulder, trying to quell the itching sensation, and gripped the hilt of his sword, never taking his eyes off the elf. Somewhere behind him, a crash was heard—the final obelisk had been placed. Of course, the unwelcome guest heard it, and gracefully mounted her horse with both feet. Judging by the change in her completely whitened face, she saw everything. She undrestood. Gedar drew his sword.

— Zerdraba, let’s begin!

Alopharite - according to the beliefs of alchemists and blacksmiths, alopharite originated from another realm, not this one or the Primordial, but some other realm entirely. The Portal in the center of the capital was also entirely made of this material, processed in an unknown way, making it unnaturally strong and resistant to magic.