Chapter 14: Ottelio (Part 2).

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  Along the Sotria river. Month: 94, Year: 226.

  Marego dove towards the enemy. The wind roared. They moved as fast as Marego could take them.

  As intended, one of Onahi's illusions drew a beam from their foe's hand, disappearing into air as the attack passed through it.

  Taking the opportunity, Otto summoned the fireball again. The one minute cooldown on this Sunmark made it very practical in battle. The mark on his neck drew light, as he launched a blazing sphere across the sky, only for the man to slip past it with ease. The bracelets at the base of his wings flared with azure light: this was his blessing from Auron, it was unmistakable now.

  Another beam shot toward them. This time, towards the real them. Marego could've dogged, but he didn’t. He dove straight into it, wings tucked, unleashing a blast of fire that collided with the beam midair.

  Otto triggered another Sunmark. A shield of shimmering magic snapped into place, absorbing the scattered fragments of light and fire, as well as the recoil from their clash, that threatened to destabilize Onahi's aim.

  “Now,” he commanded.

  Onahi already had the blood-lit arrow drawn.

  He won't be able to dodge it this time. He's going to protect himself with his magical shield again. Otto smirked at the thought. That's exactly what we need him to do.

  As expected, the winged man conjured his shimmering barrier, the dull projectile clanging harmlessly off the magical shield. For a heartbeat, it seemed like nothing had happened.

  The man recovered his balance, but as he prepared his next assault, his protests began.

  White fire bloomed across his body almost at the instant, like regular fire would on dry grass on a windy day, rapidly spreading to engulf him completely.

  The Drakvari man twisted in the air, spiraling, beating his wings furiously as if motion alone might smother the flames. But the fire clung to him, silent and hungry.

  Despite his best efforts, he could not extinguish it.

  On Marego’s back, Otto and Onahi shared a single breath of victory. The plan had worked to perfection.

  It was the effect of the Sunmark that the lords of Ferano were best known for: Fairyfire.

  Flames that only devoured magic and were impossible to extinguish until they had consumed all of the magic they could crawl on.

  When the enemy raised his shield, he reclaimed most of the magic he poured into it, just as Otto and many other magic wielders did on the sake of efficiency. Something pretty standard, useful and clean. But that habit sealed this battle. By pulling the shield’s magic back into himself, he pulled the fire with it.

  Defeated, the winged man plunged toward the shallows of the river, crashing down hard enough to send water spraying around him. He tried to smother the white flames beneath the surface, but the fire refused to die out.

  Above him, Otto and Onahi watched. Behind the ruins, cavalry banners and torches crested the horizon. Reinforcements were almost here.

  The ground trembled under the charge of hooves, and then came the sound of trumpets: sharp, defiant notes carried by the cold air, answered by the deep pulse of war drums.

  Below them, Otto and Onahi spotted Captain Tekira directing her forces into a clean retreat, wounded warriors already supported and moving. The cavalry did not slow. Arrows hissed through the darkness, magic flaring where enemies might be hiding: along the riverbank, in the tall grass, in the black gaps between the trees. They weren’t meant to kill, only to make the enemy hesitate, to remind them that advancing now would be costly.

  The cavaliers of Ferano were masters of distance warfare, deadly both in advance and in retreat. They held their ground only long enough for the evacuees to reach their formation. Then the withdrawal began. Arrows rained down in relentless waves of wood, steel, fire and magic; whistling through the cold air as the riders pulled back.

  Their next tactic was set into motion. Magic flared skyward, gathering into radiant spheres that hovered above the field. Then the rain began, but it wasn't water, instead glittering droplets that fell in silence, clinging to everything they touched. The enemy stalled, wary, wasting precious moments probing the edge. Those who pushed through slowed to a crawl, their bodies slick with a sticky, and shining film that caught the light, and the aim of Ferano’s archers.

  Ottelio pulled Marego’s reins, guiding him toward the waiting ship. The magic rain would and the arrows would hold the enemy, long enough for the enemy to hesitate, to split, or to try their luck crossing it. Any choice would cost them time.

  The battle was won.

  Or so Ottelio thought.

  “A flare!” Onahi blurted, her voice sharp in his ear as she pointed toward a rising light in the distance, from the same direction they were retreating towards.

  “I was hoping we were done with surprises,” Ottelio muttered, already pulling Marego into a controlled descent toward the Captain and the Lieutenant below.

  “What was that flare, Lieutenant?” Ottelio demanded.

  Onahi instinctively began translating; the Captain and the Lieutenant shared no common tongue.

  The Lieutenant hesitated. “It doesn’t look like one of ours.”

  “It’s one of ours,” Captain Tekira cut in.

  “That’s impossible,” the Lieutenant snapped. “We reached the civilians and left an escort to guide them to the ship. There were no enemies. They should be safe.”

  “Those flying jackals,” Otto spat, the bitter taste of his sweat already reaching his tongue.

  Ottelio wiped the sweat from his brow and pulled the straps of the helmet. “We’ll handle it.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Marego launched skyward at once, wings biting into the cold air as they surged toward the flare.

  “I still can’t dispel the beacon,” Onahi said, straining as she tried to unravel the light clinging to them. Below, the ground rose to meet them, displaying open grassland broken by a few trees and dense patches of brush.

  Ottelio guided Marego downward. “Fighting flyers we can barely see, while they can see us perfectly would be suicide.”

  The moment they touched down, Onahi and Ottelio unstrapped themselves from Marego’s riding chair. Ottelio staggered through his first steps, the ground always felt wrong after flying.

  They led Marego beneath a tree, piling broad leaves over his wings and body. “Down here we’ll at least have cover,” Ottelio murmured. He patted Marego’s neck and scratched beneath his chin. “Hide and wait for the Lieutenant. We’ll handle the rest.”

  He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, himself or Marego.

  The beacon had been placed on Marego, meaning that when they left him behind, they were able to hide behind Onahi's magic again. She cast the light distortion over them once more, their outlines blurring until they nearly vanished as they moved in silence.

  She caught Ottelio’s hand and pressed it down, stopping him cold. A sharp sound tore through the night, followed by the rush of wings as a flying figure streaked overhead. It dove toward the tall grass. There was a flash, and then it was gone again.

  They reached the spot where the flying man had taken off, and there they found two Drakvari workers lying in the grass. Otto’s heart slammed painfully in his chest. For a split second, they looked too much like Onahi. They shared her silver hair, pale skin and soft features, and his mind betrayed him, laying her face over theirs.

  He reached for her on instinct, but she was already moving, kneeling beside the women.

  “They’re fine. Just unconscious.” She looked up at him. “Otto? Otto?”

  He blinked, realizing how long he’d frozen. “Sorry… I just…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He stepped closer.

  One of the women on the ground spoke softly, each word strained. “They’re hunting Princess Sulaye. The warriors held them off while we scattered… so she could get away.”

  “The cavaliers?” Otto pressed. “Where are they?”

  “Ashani’s men ambushed them.”

  “We’ll find the princess,” Onahi said gently. “Help is coming.” She squeezed the woman’s hand before she and Otto moved on.

  “Otto… you’re pale. Have you used too much magic?” Onahi asked softly, studying his face.

  “I’m the same color as you,” he replied.

  “That’s the problem,” she said. “It’s normal for me. Not for you.”

  “I’m fine,” Otto said dismissively.

  She hesitated, lingering on the thought of forcing him to rest, but the situation was too urgent. Instead she chose her words carefully, trying to animate him. “If the rest of the unit arrives, we win. They won’t have a choice but to retreat. We just need to make sure they don’t reach the princess first. We’ll probably not even need to fight."

  He was starting to feel dizzy, his steps unsteady and his vision was getting blurry. She seemed to have noticed as she started to walk closer, as if prepared to catch him if he ever faltered.

  They froze and ducked as the sound of wings swept past overhead. A flying figure crossed directly above them, followed by another sudden flash. When they reached the spot, they found another worker lying unconscious in the grass.

  The enemy had missed again.

  “I found her!” the shout carried across the grass, not so far from where they currently were.

  A flying Drakvari stood beside a tangled mass of Kyrralis vine, thick and thorny against the rocks. “She’s hiding beneath it.”

  Two others descended by his side. “You’re sure?”

  “I checked,” he said. “It's definitely her.” Fire gathered in his palm.

  “Don’t burn her, Idiot” one barked. “Princess Ashani wants her unharmed.”

  Ottelio and Onahi crept closer, resisting the urge to strike. If any of these three thugs was as powerful as the flyer they’d faced at the ruins, they wouldn’t survive a direct confrontation. Instead, they stayed close and nearly imperceptible, trusting the warped light, the darkness, and the uneven ground to keep them hidden.

  “What do we do, then?” said the one who’d been ready to summon fire, turning to the others. “Can’t you use your blessing?”

  “It would fail for the same reason your flames would,” another replied, as if the answer were obvious.

  The third flyer snorted and stepped forward. “Then we go in and grab her.”

  He forced his way into the dense mass of thorny vines, and instantly came to regret it as he recoiled when the needles scraped his skin and wings.

  “Gah!” He stumbled back. “What is this thing?”

  Otto and Onahi knew the answer. Kyrralis vine plagued fields and traveling merchants alike, its thorns packed with a potent, non-lethal toxin, agonizing enough to drive most attackers away from its magic-rich flesh.

  Onahi began to move, her hands shaping something unseen in the air.

  “Good idea,” Otto whispered. “Have it ready, just in case.”

  “Enough of this,” one of the flyers snarled. “Better a burned princess than no princess at all.” Flames wrapped around him as he advanced on the vines.

  “Tsk,” Otto breathed. They were out of time.

  A sudden noise came from within the bush, something large shifting through the vines. All three flyers reacted at once, closing in from every direction, wings spread to block any escape.

  “Looks like you scared the little princess,” one of them mocked, watching the frantic movement beneath the foliage.

  “What is this?” the one wreathed in flame snapped, forcing his way into the vines, then freezing as white fire crawled from the bush and up his hand. The other two stepped back as the same pale flames started creeping onto them.

  “Hey, what is this?” he shouted. “It won’t come off!”

  Half a dozen sharp spikes punched up from the ground, locking into a low, jagged wall. The flyers scattered fast enough to escape with little more than scratches, white flames already licking along their limbs. In the span of a breath, the shimmering magic dulled, the spikes hardening into rough stone anchored in the earth.

  “This magic! This isn’t from the princess!” one of them yelled, stumbling back from the burning thornbush. “There must be someone else here.” He warned, as his eyes scanned the dark.

  “It’s Haksari magic,” the leader growled, trying and failing to smother the pale fire racing up his forearm. “Hey! Haksari! Don’t be an idiot and get lost! This has nothing to do with you!”

  An answer came when Otto and Onahi stepped into view. They shed the last shreds of distortion like a cloak. Otto lifted his hand, magic coiling in his palm, bright enough to paint their faces in ghostly light.

  “What is this?” one of the flyers demanded, now completely engulfed in white flame. His eyes were wide, frantic. “What did you do to me?”

  Onahi’s voice wavered, but she held his gaze. “I-It’s harmless to flesh,” she said, trying to hide her fear, “but it devours magic. Y-You can either stay and fight us, or retreat now, while you still have enough power left to fly.”

  “Gaaaah!” the flyer screamed, the same one who’d moments ago tried to burn the vines. “It’s true, boss! I can feel it draining my magic!”

  “It’s happening to me too!” the other shouted, voice cracking as panic finally broke through.

  The Drakvari leader didn’t hesitate. Lightning flared along the leader’s arm. He snapped his wrist and the bolt tore loose, splitting the air with a sharp, metallic scream. The stone spikes caught the first surge, but the rest slammed straight through. Otto barely got a shield half-raised before it shattered like glass, the impact slamming into them and sending both crashing to the ground, limbs spasming and their bodies struggling to move.

  He had held back when striking the fleeing workers. This time, he did not. If the stone spikes hadn't diverged part of the attack, it would have been immediately lethal.

  Fury trembled in his shoulders as he turned on his partner. “Burn it.”

  The other hesitated, wings drawing tight against his back. “But you said …”

  He never finished the sentence. Electricity skittered up the leader’s arms and across his shoulders, outlining him in angry light. The surge broke loose, some of it grounding involuntarily against the stone spikes, the rest hurled deliberately into the spot where Onahi and Ottelio lay. This second jolt tore through them and left them completely motionless.

  “Burn it,” he snapped again, his last strike serving as a warning to his own allies. “If we can’t take Princess Sulaye, then she's just a competitor.” He waited the length of a heartbeat. “Burn it.”

  The flyer obeyed at last, unleashing a searing incineration into the white-flamed bush. Red fire roared up to meet the ghostly blaze as the three Drakvari launched into the sky, their fire-wreathed silhouettes shrinking and then vanishing into the night.

  Everything went still as the tangled growth burned under white and red flame alike. The only sound was that of scorching plantlife under flames.

  Qilani's Campaign.

  Chapter 14: Ottelio (Part 3).

  Thank you very much for taking the time to read my story.