“You sure the caravan’s been taken over?” Tandy held her hands before her, palm facing, two hand-span apart, framing where her essence did… something. Tibs couldn’t discern what, but he saw the effect.
Looking between her hands, the distance changed. He could see the horizon as if it was only a few minutes walk, instead of… What had Cross said, ten minutes of horse’s gallop? He watched the caravan approaching, wagons appearing over the far-away hills.
He, Tandy, and Quigly stood on the roof for the better vantage point, but the warrior looked as if he’d rather be elsewhere. Anytime he glanced down, his tan skin took on a sickly tint.
“Wouldn’t that be a kicker?” Quigly said. “We do all this, and it was all a setup to get us to destroy an innocent caravan.”
“You care?” Tandy asked.
“Of course, I care.” The warrior’s tone was tired. This was a subject Tibs had heard him have to explain over and over. The convicts had been in cells, catacombs, Jackal said, because their crimes had been much graver than what Tibs and those who had been sent here had committed, but even among those, Quigly’s history made him someone ever worse. The warrior claimed those weren’t true, but someone had made sure they spread through Kragle Rock.
“I didn’t end up here by butchering the innocent.”
Tandy rolled her eyes and Quigly ground his teeth.
“I killed a tyrant’s army. I killed his soldiers. If I’d won, bards would sing of my heroism. Fuck, if I’d died, they’d have done the same. But he wasn’t going to let me be a martyr. So he made me a butcher.”
“He didn’t lie,” Tibs said, meaning the rider, but Quigly also told the truth. Tibs saw no light as he spoke. “Harry would have known. And he would have called the rider out on it.”
“Because no one’s ever tricked him before,” Tandy muttered.
Only the rider had nothing enchanted on him, which was what it took to trick the guard leader. That or a really clever mind, and with him, Don and Tibs there, one of them would have noticed something, if the rider had tried to be clever.
“I’d still prefer it if we saw confirmation,” Quigly said. “There’s nothing easier than to turn the protectors into monsters with a little planning on your enemy’s part.”
“I wish Cross was up here,” Tandy said. “She knows those people. She could tell us if things looked wrong. I wish I saw black or green,” she added.
“I couldn’t offer her enough coins to climb up with us,” Tibs replied. Like Tandy, he was searching for any signs these were Sebastian’s people, instead of merchants and the guards they traveled with.
“You didn’t offer me money,” Quigly said, offended.
“You didn’t ask,” Tibs replied, grinning at the warrior.
“Can you move what we see?” Quigly asked. “They’re probably hidden from anyone looking at them from here.”
“This isn’t the kind of far-sight you’re thinking of,” she replied. “I’m nowhere near that strong. I can just change the distance of what’s in front of me.” She panned left, then right, showing what she meant. “It’d take one of the Attendants to show you any other point along the caravan, or another angle.”
“Too bad not one of them stuck around,” the warrior said in disgust. “That’s the kind of power we could use.”
“We could use the power of the guild,” Tibs muttered, echoing the disgust. “If they were willing to do more than guard the dungeon.” At least that meant the townsfolk were safe. He trusted Sto that nothing could get through his door or the mountain’s walls anymore, but the added guards couldn’t hurt.
He was still amused by Harry and Don’s disbelief as more and more people entered. The entryway was large, but after the children, the old, and the infirm, there shouldn’t have been space for more than a few handfuls of people. Instead, they kept going in until only the few willing to help remained outside.
Tibs didn’t know how Sto had kept the changes from being noticed by the runner, but he’s felt the increased essence woven through the walls in his last run.
“I see some green,” Tandy exclaimed.
Tibs looked, but he didn’t see it.
Muttering, Tandy moved and placed her hand before him. “Look for the driver of the front wagon.”
Tibs frowned. The man wasn’t wearing any green or had any by—a woman looked over his shoulder from within the wagon, putting her head and shoulders into the light. She couldn’t know she was visible at this distance, but she still acted like it, moving forward only enough to look over the driver’s shoulder to the left and right. He thought the man tensed at having her this close. The shirt was gray, with black trim and green patches.
That was one of Sebastian’s people, he had no doubt. If only they’d seen the man himself among those visible. Tibs wanted to hand him over to Harry personally and shove in the guard’s face that he’d done what he wouldn’t.
“Time to get in position,” Quigly instructed.
Tibs slid down the roof, then dropped the three stories, using air at the last moment to create a cushion under him. Tandy and Quigly would go down the other side, the safe side.
Quigly had set up the battlefield at the edge of the town, but outside it. The advantage of Harry and his guards remaining at the dungeon was that they weren’t here to tell them they couldn’t step outside of the town limit. Runners with Earth as their element had made mounds for those who use their element at range to hide behind. When the signal came, they would attack with everything they had. The warrior didn’t think that would be enough for them to win, but they needed to make use of the element of surprise to ensure this ended as quickly as possible.
Once the range attack was over, it would be time for the fighters to get involved.
* * * * *
Tibs stood in the middle of the way, at the town limit, along with every Runner without range, and the townsfolk who wanted to help. They were waving at the approaching caravan doing all they could to act eager for them to be in Market Place and selling their goods.
Quigly had been adamant that they needed to maintain the illusion they wanted them here, just like the previous times. Both because it was what they would expect, and so the people in the caravan had to be focused in front of them, not at the sides. Sebastian’s people needed to believe they were the ones springing the trap instead of rolling into one.
Jackal whistled loudly at the caravans, adding a wave of the hand. Cross just waved. She’d been preoccupied ever since they’d been able to see the first wagon in the distance.
From where he stood, the sorcerers and archers were visible behind the mounds made to look natural from the side of the caravan. Somewhere among them, Carina and Mez waiting for the signal.
It came as the first wagon was only a hundred paces from where Tibs and the town stood, still cheering. The wagon exploded as fire, air, metal, wood and other elements rained down on it, then the ones behind it.
Those who survived the onslaught ran, and were ignored unless they wore green and black. They’d all agreed Sebastian was too clever to have all his people in the colors, but they’d deal with telling them apart once it was over. There was going to be enough dead as it was.
The first five wagons were reduced to kindling and metal bits. When the dust cleared and Tibs saw the attack on the sixth wagon, it was no longer going in their favor. People in black and green stood before it, large shields planted in the ground before them, and the essence attacks deflected away from the wagon. Behind them, more people jumped out of those wagons, some with shields, others with swords and bows.
“I guess it was too much to hope for that they wouldn’t have those kinds of defenses,” Cross said.
“My father’s going to have defenses against most of what we can do.” Jackal grinned. “That means it’s our turn.” He took off.
Tibs looked at Cross and she squared her shoulders, then ran at her side.
When they were within range, Tibs sent an ‘x’ attack, but it fizzled away a few paces before the shield bearers.
“It won’t work,” Carina said, falling into step with her. Well ahead, Jackal barreled into them, sending people and shields flying. “The shields are enchanted to repel essence and we aren’t strong enough to overwhelm them.”
A Runner scream and fell, an arrow in their chest.
“And they’re on the offensive now,” Mez said, shooting down arrows as he ran. Other archers joined in and all kind of essence flew, destroying arrows.
The display amazed Tibs. The runs rarely lent themselves to those types of shots.
“Tibs,” someone yelled, and he looked ahead in time to see an archer in green and black loose an arrow in his direction.
He suffused his body as he stepped out of the way, but he felt the impact on his shoulder. When he looked, the scratch in the leather shimmered as it repaired itself. Carina stared as she used air to deflect more arrows. He added ice to his armor, then used ‘x’ attacks to destroy as many arrows as he could, but his aim was horrible.
The rumble announced a change in their enemy’s tactics.
“Scatter,” came the yell as fighters ran around the shields and archers. A lot of fighters.
Tibs readied himself for the incoming force, as well as the knowledge that they wouldn’t be able to keep the fighting out of Kragle Rock as they’d hoped.
* * * * *
Tibs ran.
He ran because people were after him; a lot more than he’d expected.
He jumped at the wall, three paces away from the intersection, kicked off it to make the turn and threw water ahead of him, icing it just before he landed, slid, and gave himself more traction to continue running as it ended. He left the ice there and smiled at the yelps of pain and surprised behind him.
He threw corruption at a column supporting a balcony as he ran by it. It weakened it silently, but the other supports groaned as they had to take on more of the weight until they shattered and fell.
When the screams came behind him, they were louder than he’d expected and caused him to look over his shoulder. Limbs poked out from under the rubble, and some who had avoided being caught were dealing with the splashed corruption.
That was a definite oops that he’d have to clean up before people started accusing Don of it. But later.
No, he had to keep on running because whoever he came across next would try to capture him. It was now clear that whatever else Sebastian had planned, Tibs’s capture was a top priority. As soon as the fight had spilled among the town’s street and one of the attackers had identified Tibs, the chase had been on.
He saw the smoke and changed directed, heading toward it.
One thing Sebastian wanted was to destroy the town. This was the third time Tibs had come across thugs setting fire to buildings. Jackal had been right when he’d said his father was no longer interested in taking over Kragle Rock.
The group of would-be fire users was already under attack by Runners, a team, by their count of five, but they were up against a dozen armed thugs. With a scream, Tibs joined the fight wielding his jagged ice sword in a hand and a spiked shield in the other. Ice crackled as it formed over his armor.
He turned the tide of the fight with quick, precise strikes, as well as surprise, when he extended the blade through an attacker. But their victory came at the cost of three of the Runners. He buried that pain, iced it over. He didn’t have time for that. The other two were injured, as were the two women who had been hiding in the building. Tibs doused the fire. The women carried a bow and quiver each.
They had one cleric, at the inn. Clara was the only one who had slipped away when the order for them to lock down within the guild came. Those in charge hadn’t wanted a repeat of what had happened during the Siege.
“Can you move?” he asked the woman with the leg injury. “We need to go to the inn.”
She nodded through the pain and pushed herself to her feet.
He escorted them, and the trek was slowed even more by the attacks.
Tibs had to take them on alone and, because of those with him, had to limit himself to water as the element they could see him use. But that left him his element, and while he normally hated being forced to use it against people, he was growing less bothered by it as this day of fighting Sebastian’s people stretched ever longer. He drained an attacker on top of slicing them open, Sometimes the drain left them dead, instead of the wound. He wanted them dead, so really, what did the how it happened matter?
And he enjoyed the practice. He could now pull his essence in through his weapons, going a step further toward masking what he did. And it let him weaken the enemy even if a strike wasn’t fatal, so that his next one was more effective.
The one drawback was that as he was channeling water, he could only fill the reserve of his bracer with it, let it disperse, or accumulate it within his body. He couldn’t send it to his large reserve, since that was water at the moment. His attackers might not even rank as Omegas, but he had absorbed enough essence from them over the day that it was becoming uncomfortable.
This wasn’t suffusing his body. It didn’t seem to do anything, other than make him feel like something inside him was pushing against everything there. This wasn’t even the same as when he’d absorbed the essence from Bardik and caused his reserve to overflow into him. This wasn’t pain, but it was no less uncomfortable.
What he wanted was time to study what this was doing, but he wouldn’t get that until Sebastian was in irons and thrown into a catacomb. All he could do now was let the excess go, but that felt like such a waste.
Then came the attack that nearly caused him to make the situation ever worse. It wasn’t the thugs that had almost caused him to lash out. It was the group of six nobles who had walked by and barely glanced in their direction, along with the four adventurers escorting them, two of which Tibs knew from when he went to the guild more frequently.
He nearly forgot about the thugs, the people he was protecting, and his secret. He almost channeled fire and burned them away.
The pain of a sword cutting his arm saved them, saved him, but he promised himself he wouldn’t forget how the guild took the noble’s coin to keep them safe.
It wasn’t his distraction that caused the death; he told himself. The fight had been hard, and the Runner would have died, regardless.
No, he wouldn’t have died if those adventurers had helped.
* * * * *
The inn was crowded.
Tables were used as beds for the injured unable to stand or sit. Kroseph and his brothers ran around, passing boiled cloth for the cleaning of wounds. Clara looked up from where she sat, looking gaunt and tired. There was no resignation as the cleric stood, only determination as she motioned for him to bring the woman he carried to her.
* * * * *
Tibs looked at the people in the inn. The injured he could heal if not for his secret. Clara was slumped over a table, taken by exhaustion, and still there were dozens and dozens of people who could use her help.
His help.
But to heal one of them was to reveal what he could do. That he could channel Purity. Even the way Clara did it, there was nothing discrete about healing, and he was far clumsier with the essence. It might be possible to prevent the sense of wellbeing that came with healing, although what cleric would want that for her patient?
Maybe the townsfolk wouldn’t understand what it meant, but only if they hadn’t been under the care of a cleric, and every Runner with an injury had felt what that kind of healing was like.
Tibs wanted more than anything to help them, to heal them.
No, not more than anything. He didn’t want the guild to find out what he could do. And all it would take was for one of them to inadvertently let something slip. There might not be any ill intent on their part, but Tibs would still end up at the mercy of the guild for as long as he lived.
So they had to suffer for him to keep his freedom.
A bowl was pushed into his hands.
“Eat,” Kroseph ordered.
“I’m fine,” he replied. “They need it more.”
“You have to eat, Tibs. You’ve been out there all day, fighting. If you die because you were faint from hunger, Jackal isn’t going to forgive me.”
“I don’t need to.” He gave the server the bowl back.
Kroseph opened his mouth, but his expression went from severe to quizzical. He leaned in and whispered. “You don’t have to eat anymore?”
“Not right now. Not for a while. Purity,” he added in a whisper.
When he suffused himself with Purity, it did more than heal him and take away his exhaustion. It also healed whatever else was wrong with him. Whatever going hungry or thirsty did? It was gone. Suffusing himself left him well rested, quenched, and sated.
There had to be limits. He knew that if he went more than five nights suffusing himself instead of sleeping, that stopped working. The limit might be the same for food and drinks, or it might be different, but he’d deal with that if the battle for Kragle Rock pushed on that long.
He looked at Clara, sleeping, head on her arms, and wished he could tell her what she’d been able to do once she learned how to suffuse her body with Purity. Maybe the knowledge would make her work harder toward it. Even if she didn’t, Tibs knew she would become a better healer knowing that.
She was another victim of his secret.
Were more people suffering because of what he wanted than what the guild didn’t do?
“You sure the caravan’s been taken over?” Tandy held her hands before her, palm facing, two hand-span apart, framing where her essence did… something. Tibs couldn’t discern what, but he saw the effect.
Looking between her hands, the distance changed. He could see the horizon as if it was only a few minutes walk, instead of… What had Cross said, ten minutes of horse’s gallop? He watched the caravan approaching, wagons appearing over the far-away hills.
He, Tandy, and Quigly stood on the roof for the better vantage point, but the warrior looked as if he’d rather be elsewhere. Anytime he glanced down, his tan skin took on a sickly tint.
“Wouldn’t that be a kicker?” Quigly said. “We do all this, and it was all a setup to get us to destroy an innocent caravan.”
“You care?” Tandy asked.
“Of course, I care.” The warrior’s tone was tired. This was a subject Tibs had heard him have to explain over and over. The convicts had been in cells, catacombs, Jackal said, because their crimes had been much graver than what Tibs and those who had been sent here had committed, but even among those, Quigly’s history made him someone ever worse. The warrior claimed those weren’t true, but someone had made sure they spread through Kragle Rock.
“I didn’t end up here by butchering the innocent.”
Tandy rolled her eyes and Quigly ground his teeth.
“I killed a tyrant’s army. I killed his soldiers. If I’d won, bards would sing of my heroism. Fuck, if I’d died, they’d have done the same. But he wasn’t going to let me be a martyr. So he made me a butcher.”
“He didn’t lie,” Tibs said, meaning the rider, but Quigly also told the truth. Tibs saw no light as he spoke. “Harry would have known. And he would have called the rider out on it.”
“Because no one’s ever tricked him before,” Tandy muttered.
Only the rider had nothing enchanted on him, which was what it took to trick the guard leader. That or a really clever mind, and with him, Don and Tibs there, one of them would have noticed something, if the rider had tried to be clever.
“I’d still prefer it if we saw confirmation,” Quigly said. “There’s nothing easier than to turn the protectors into monsters with a little planning on your enemy’s part.”
“I wish Cross was up here,” Tandy said. “She knows those people. She could tell us if things looked wrong. I wish I saw black or green,” she added.
“I couldn’t offer her enough coins to climb up with us,” Tibs replied. Like Tandy, he was searching for any signs these were Sebastian’s people, instead of merchants and the guards they traveled with.
“You didn’t offer me money,” Quigly said, offended.
“You didn’t ask,” Tibs replied, grinning at the warrior.
“Can you move what we see?” Quigly asked. “They’re probably hidden from anyone looking at them from here.”
“This isn’t the kind of far-sight you’re thinking of,” she replied. “I’m nowhere near that strong. I can just change the distance of what’s in front of me.” She panned left, then right, showing what she meant. “It’d take one of the Attendants to show you any other point along the caravan, or another angle.”
“Too bad not one of them stuck around,” the warrior said in disgust. “That’s the kind of power we could use.”
“We could use the power of the guild,” Tibs muttered, echoing the disgust. “If they were willing to do more than guard the dungeon.” At least that meant the townsfolk were safe. He trusted Sto that nothing could get through his door or the mountain’s walls anymore, but the added guards couldn’t hurt.
He was still amused by Harry and Don’s disbelief as more and more people entered. The entryway was large, but after the children, the old, and the infirm, there shouldn’t have been space for more than a few handfuls of people. Instead, they kept going in until only the few willing to help remained outside.
Tibs didn’t know how Sto had kept the changes from being noticed by the runner, but he’s felt the increased essence woven through the walls in his last run.
“I see some green,” Tandy exclaimed.
Tibs looked, but he didn’t see it.
Muttering, Tandy moved and placed her hand before him. “Look for the driver of the front wagon.”
Tibs frowned. The man wasn’t wearing any green or had any by—a woman looked over his shoulder from within the wagon, putting her head and shoulders into the light. She couldn’t know she was visible at this distance, but she still acted like it, moving forward only enough to look over the driver’s shoulder to the left and right. He thought the man tensed at having her this close. The shirt was gray, with black trim and green patches.
That was one of Sebastian’s people, he had no doubt. If only they’d seen the man himself among those visible. Tibs wanted to hand him over to Harry personally and shove in the guard’s face that he’d done what he wouldn’t.
“Time to get in position,” Quigly instructed.
Tibs slid down the roof, then dropped the three stories, using air at the last moment to create a cushion under him. Tandy and Quigly would go down the other side, the safe side.
Quigly had set up the battlefield at the edge of the town, but outside it. The advantage of Harry and his guards remaining at the dungeon was that they weren’t here to tell them they couldn’t step outside of the town limit. Runners with Earth as their element had made mounds for those who use their element at range to hide behind. When the signal came, they would attack with everything they had. The warrior didn’t think that would be enough for them to win, but they needed to make use of the element of surprise to ensure this ended as quickly as possible.
Once the range attack was over, it would be time for the fighters to get involved.
* * * * *
Tibs stood in the middle of the way, at the town limit, along with every Runner without range, and the townsfolk who wanted to help. They were waving at the approaching caravan doing all they could to act eager for them to be in Market Place and selling their goods.
Quigly had been adamant that they needed to maintain the illusion they wanted them here, just like the previous times. Both because it was what they would expect, and so the people in the caravan had to be focused in front of them, not at the sides. Sebastian’s people needed to believe they were the ones springing the trap instead of rolling into one.
Jackal whistled loudly at the caravans, adding a wave of the hand. Cross just waved. She’d been preoccupied ever since they’d been able to see the first wagon in the distance.
From where he stood, the sorcerers and archers were visible behind the mounds made to look natural from the side of the caravan. Somewhere among them, Carina and Mez waiting for the signal.
It came as the first wagon was only a hundred paces from where Tibs and the town stood, still cheering. The wagon exploded as fire, air, metal, wood and other elements rained down on it, then the ones behind it.
Those who survived the onslaught ran, and were ignored unless they wore green and black. They’d all agreed Sebastian was too clever to have all his people in the colors, but they’d deal with telling them apart once it was over. There was going to be enough dead as it was.
The first five wagons were reduced to kindling and metal bits. When the dust cleared and Tibs saw the attack on the sixth wagon, it was no longer going in their favor. People in black and green stood before it, large shields planted in the ground before them, and the essence attacks deflected away from the wagon. Behind them, more people jumped out of those wagons, some with shields, others with swords and bows.
“I guess it was too much to hope for that they wouldn’t have those kinds of defenses,” Cross said.
“My father’s going to have defenses against most of what we can do.” Jackal grinned. “That means it’s our turn.” He took off.
Tibs looked at Cross and she squared her shoulders, then ran at her side.
When they were within range, Tibs sent an ‘x’ attack, but it fizzled away a few paces before the shield bearers.
“It won’t work,” Carina said, falling into step with her. Well ahead, Jackal barreled into them, sending people and shields flying. “The shields are enchanted to repel essence and we aren’t strong enough to overwhelm them.”
A Runner scream and fell, an arrow in their chest.
“And they’re on the offensive now,” Mez said, shooting down arrows as he ran. Other archers joined in and all kind of essence flew, destroying arrows.
The display amazed Tibs. The runs rarely lent themselves to those types of shots.
“Tibs,” someone yelled, and he looked ahead in time to see an archer in green and black loose an arrow in his direction.
He suffused his body as he stepped out of the way, but he felt the impact on his shoulder. When he looked, the scratch in the leather shimmered as it repaired itself. Carina stared as she used air to deflect more arrows. He added ice to his armor, then used ‘x’ attacks to destroy as many arrows as he could, but his aim was horrible.
The rumble announced a change in their enemy’s tactics.
“Scatter,” came the yell as fighters ran around the shields and archers. A lot of fighters.
Tibs readied himself for the incoming force, as well as the knowledge that they wouldn’t be able to keep the fighting out of Kragle Rock as they’d hoped.
* * * * *
Tibs ran.
He ran because people were after him; a lot more than he’d expected.
He jumped at the wall, three paces away from the intersection, kicked off it to make the turn and threw water ahead of him, icing it just before he landed, slid, and gave himself more traction to continue running as it ended. He left the ice there and smiled at the yelps of pain and surprised behind him.
He threw corruption at a column supporting a balcony as he ran by it. It weakened it silently, but the other supports groaned as they had to take on more of the weight until they shattered and fell.
When the screams came behind him, they were louder than he’d expected and caused him to look over his shoulder. Limbs poked out from under the rubble, and some who had avoided being caught were dealing with the splashed corruption.
That was a definite oops that he’d have to clean up before people started accusing Don of it. But later.
No, he had to keep on running because whoever he came across next would try to capture him. It was now clear that whatever else Sebastian had planned, Tibs’s capture was a top priority. As soon as the fight had spilled among the town’s street and one of the attackers had identified Tibs, the chase had been on.
He saw the smoke and changed directed, heading toward it.
One thing Sebastian wanted was to destroy the town. This was the third time Tibs had come across thugs setting fire to buildings. Jackal had been right when he’d said his father was no longer interested in taking over Kragle Rock.
The group of would-be fire users was already under attack by Runners, a team, by their count of five, but they were up against a dozen armed thugs. With a scream, Tibs joined the fight wielding his jagged ice sword in a hand and a spiked shield in the other. Ice crackled as it formed over his armor.
He turned the tide of the fight with quick, precise strikes, as well as surprise, when he extended the blade through an attacker. But their victory came at the cost of three of the Runners. He buried that pain, iced it over. He didn’t have time for that. The other two were injured, as were the two women who had been hiding in the building. Tibs doused the fire. The women carried a bow and quiver each.
They had one cleric, at the inn. Clara was the only one who had slipped away when the order for them to lock down within the guild came. Those in charge hadn’t wanted a repeat of what had happened during the Siege.
“Can you move?” he asked the woman with the leg injury. “We need to go to the inn.”
She nodded through the pain and pushed herself to her feet.
He escorted them, and the trek was slowed even more by the attacks.
Tibs had to take them on alone and, because of those with him, had to limit himself to water as the element they could see him use. But that left him his element, and while he normally hated being forced to use it against people, he was growing less bothered by it as this day of fighting Sebastian’s people stretched ever longer. He drained an attacker on top of slicing them open, Sometimes the drain left them dead, instead of the wound. He wanted them dead, so really, what did the how it happened matter?
And he enjoyed the practice. He could now pull his essence in through his weapons, going a step further toward masking what he did. And it let him weaken the enemy even if a strike wasn’t fatal, so that his next one was more effective.
The one drawback was that as he was channeling water, he could only fill the reserve of his bracer with it, let it disperse, or accumulate it within his body. He couldn’t send it to his large reserve, since that was water at the moment. His attackers might not even rank as Omegas, but he had absorbed enough essence from them over the day that it was becoming uncomfortable.
This wasn’t suffusing his body. It didn’t seem to do anything, other than make him feel like something inside him was pushing against everything there. This wasn’t even the same as when he’d absorbed the essence from Bardik and caused his reserve to overflow into him. This wasn’t pain, but it was no less uncomfortable.
What he wanted was time to study what this was doing, but he wouldn’t get that until Sebastian was in irons and thrown into a catacomb. All he could do now was let the excess go, but that felt like such a waste.
Then came the attack that nearly caused him to make the situation ever worse. It wasn’t the thugs that had almost caused him to lash out. It was the group of six nobles who had walked by and barely glanced in their direction, along with the four adventurers escorting them, two of which Tibs knew from when he went to the guild more frequently.
He nearly forgot about the thugs, the people he was protecting, and his secret. He almost channeled fire and burned them away.
The pain of a sword cutting his arm saved them, saved him, but he promised himself he wouldn’t forget how the guild took the noble’s coin to keep them safe.
It wasn’t his distraction that caused the death; he told himself. The fight had been hard, and the Runner would have died, regardless.
No, he wouldn’t have died if those adventurers had helped.
* * * * *
The inn was crowded.
Tables were used as beds for the injured unable to stand or sit. Kroseph and his brothers ran around, passing boiled cloth for the cleaning of wounds. Clara looked up from where she sat, looking gaunt and tired. There was no resignation as the cleric stood, only determination as she motioned for him to bring the woman he carried to her.
* * * * *
Tibs looked at the people in the inn. The injured he could heal if not for his secret. Clara was slumped over a table, taken by exhaustion, and still there were dozens and dozens of people who could use her help.
His help.
But to heal one of them was to reveal what he could do. That he could channel Purity. Even the way Clara did it, there was nothing discrete about healing, and he was far clumsier with the essence. It might be possible to prevent the sense of wellbeing that came with healing, although what cleric would want that for her patient?
Maybe the townsfolk wouldn’t understand what it meant, but only if they hadn’t been under the care of a cleric, and every Runner with an injury had felt what that kind of healing was like.
Tibs wanted more than anything to help them, to heal them.
No, not more than anything. He didn’t want the guild to find out what he could do. And all it would take was for one of them to inadvertently let something slip. There might not be any ill intent on their part, but Tibs would still end up at the mercy of the guild for as long as he lived.
So they had to suffer for him to keep his freedom.
A bowl was pushed into his hands.
“Eat,” Kroseph ordered.
“I’m fine,” he replied. “They need it more.”
“You have to eat, Tibs. You’ve been out there all day, fighting. If you die because you were faint from hunger, Jackal isn’t going to forgive me.”
“I don’t need to.” He gave the server the bowl back.
Kroseph opened his mouth, but his expression went from severe to quizzical. He leaned in and whispered. “You don’t have to eat anymore?”
“Not right now. Not for a while. Purity,” he added in a whisper.
When he suffused himself with Purity, it did more than heal him and take away his exhaustion. It also healed whatever else was wrong with him. Whatever going hungry or thirsty did? It was gone. Suffusing himself left him well rested, quenched, and sated.
There had to be limits. He knew that if he went more than five nights suffusing himself instead of sleeping, that stopped working. The limit might be the same for food and drinks, or it might be different, but he’d deal with that if the battle for Kragle Rock pushed on that long.
He looked at Clara, sleeping, head on her arms, and wished he could tell her what she’d been able to do once she learned how to suffuse her body with Purity. Maybe the knowledge would make her work harder toward it. Even if she didn’t, Tibs knew she would become a better healer knowing that.
She was another victim of his secret.
Were more people suffering because of what he wanted than what the guild didn’t do?
