Shango POV: Day 78

  Current Wealth: 229 gold 37 silver 6 copper

  I’d been having a nice day, a relaxed day. A good day. My big, stressful decision was made and behind me, my schedule was freed up, and I’d just found myself with access to a sprawling mansion. Exploring the Velaharo Manor was an exercise in…Frankly, therapy. It was an aged place, but not simply withered. More…Dignified. Though also withered.

  Clearly the Velaharo fortune had not been at its peak for quite some time, as I found a lot of maintenance in need of doing around the mansion. Undusted surfaces, uncleared cobwebs. They became more common the farther I moved from its more human-touched areas, which told me that there was at least some effort to clean the place ongoing. Clearly, it was just of limited scale and effectiveness. Which was understandable. There was a lot of it to clean.

  Ordinarily I’d have loved to ponder the logistics of such a job, busying myself with the hows and whys, the mundane considerations of scheduling and workload, diffusion and organisation. It was probably diagnostic of something, but I’d always found myself relaxing through mental work like that.

  Solitaire ruined it, though, as he often ruined my down time. In his defence, he had a bit more of a reasonable cause to do so this time compared to his usual antics. It was hardly his fault we were attacked.

  Helena barged into me from behind, shaking my focus onto her and meeting my eyes with a tight, fearful stare.

  “Men, gang members, well armed and attacking.” She gasped, desperately. “Outside, Solitaire and your- wife.”

  I barely even noticed that she’d called Phelia my wife, barely even noticed anything at all as my mind blanked with adrenaline and my body moved with purpose. I was tearing on down the hallway not even a second later, torturing the aged floorboards with the force of my strides.

  Helena was fast behind me, and the two of us burst out of the mansion in unison. The scene awaiting us made my stomach churn.

  Argar, apparently, had headed back for Solitaire quickly, and he was already tied up fighting alongside him. Giant axe swinging one way and the other, he seemed unable to connect with the man facing him. Though smaller, his opponent was quick as any I’d ever seen- including the vampire- and fought with a pair of stiletto knives that glinted with thirst. Once, twice, three then four times he evaded the heavy-handed swings of my bodyguard, before calmly stepping into his guard and thrusting one weapon in-between a pair of plates.

  The giant folded, groaning with pain as the knife dug in, then withdrew an instant later. Its wielder backflipped to land some three metres free of him, glancing at the blade. He didn’t seem pleased to see the meagre amount of it tipped with blood, and Argar bulled on after him without another word.

  I was an instant away from rushing in to help when something flew past my vision, a woman. She hit the ground hard enough to bounce, rolling and sliding another five metres, and a glance showed me what had launched her. Solitaire.

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  My friend was covered in blood, and I wasn’t certain how much belonged to his enemies. He fought two at once as I watched, throwing himself back and away from a pair of chasing weapons, one a long, heavy machete, the other some sort of spear. Both looked like their wielders knew what they were doing with them, and a more scrutinous inspection revealed plenty of smaller gashes across Solitaire’s body.

  He was moving well enough that I knew none were too deep, though, and just as I was starting to decide whether he needed my help as much as Argar, Helena made the decision easy. She rushed over to the giant’s side.

  Solitaire didn’t say anything as I hurried to him, but he acknowledged me with a single glance that told everything. There was fear in his eyes, actual fear, and seeing that in Solitaire was enough to chill me to my core. The machete came for my face, I sidestepped. My armour was lying strewn out in my room, somewhere, and I’d not taken the time to grab my sword while I was gone, but I still had two good weapons. The first was born from a simple habit I’d picked up, the knife I’d learned always to carry with me. The second, though, was something far more inherent, and far, far more powerful. My magic. I took a step back from the swing, extending my hands and feeling the air, caressing it to test out those magic points where the currents interlocked. Then I let the words echo through my mind and pushed against them.

  Air shifted, shooting out like a thrown brick and crunching into the attacking man’s ribs. His feet left the ground as he tumbled back, flipping head over heels like a ragdoll struck by a bat. I didn’t look long enough to see him land, focusing instead on the remaining enemy.

  Solitaire was on him already, in past the spear tip, hands gripped tight across the shaft. Without looking, he called out to me.

  “The bowman, get him!”

  I took an instant to see what and who he meant before the last enemy struck me, a tall Redaclan with a large crossbow aimed dangerously our way. My hands moved fast, my mind faster, my magic fastest of all. The bolt left his bow and flitted through the air so quick I could barely react in the time it took to cross ten metres. Then it hit my hastily constructed wall of air.

  The bolt slowed, but didn’t stop. Moving past the air with a mass and velocity that Corvan’s flames had never possessed, however hot they’d been. It clipped my shoulder, but registered more like a bee sting than a stab wound, barely breaking the skin as it bounced off and skidded away. Apparently my little barrier was enough to exhaust most of its momentum.

  Clearly, the shooter realised that too, because I saw him stash his weapon away and replace it with a large metal bar. He closed in, moving with a disconcerting confidence.

  My attention snapped back to Solitaire just as he broke the spear over his knee and jabbed the steel tip through his enemy’s face, running it into one cheek and out through the other, then tearing it fully free in a spray of blood. I actually felt queasy watching it, but he only snarled, then whirled with alarm.

  I turned to see the woman from before closing in, readying myself for her. I didn’t like the idea of hitting a woman, modern instincts threatening to bubble up at the worst possible time. Fortunately, I was partnered with a man who not only didn’t share such compunctions, but had actually given me considerable reason to suspect that he hit women even harder than men. Solitaire tossed his opponent into the attacker to knock both her and him down into a heap, then shoved after me.

  “You take the bowman.” He instructed. “Just buy me a bit to wrap these two up, then I’ll be with you.”

  I moved to obey instantly, knowing that however mutually Solitaire and I respected one another, there were situations when one of our minds was more than equal to the other’s. Under the cover of death’s robe, he was master, and I knew better than to argue with whatever logic had decided his priority. Only one thing gave me pause.

  Going by the glint in his eye, our bowman enemy had decided that fighting me first was in his best interests, too.