A: Ch. 8.2

Chaos. Nothing but purified chaos enveloped the once brilliant castle. Servants were running, women were screaming, and the flames engulfed every speck they could get their grubby hands on. And despite it all, a chill prickled down Hilt’s spine.

What could do this? The castle was treated wood that would not burn, and much of the architecture was in stone, and that certainly had no affinity for flame. His mind rejected any prospect of it, but magic and sorcery remained the only answer.

Hilt leaped out of the way as a large section of wall came crumbling down, leaving just the fingertips of a poor woman exposed. His stomach rolled (though not in an unpleasant way, he hated to admit) and the General tried to navigate the quickest path to Kya’s room with these new obstacles.

“I would suggest against that route,” called a sing-song voice.

Hilt growled as he tried to ignore the slim figure that walked calmly through the flames. His face wasn’t even flushed, and his breathing normal. Hilt, on the other hand, had singed eyebrows and lungs full of putrid sludge.

“I’m not one to take advice from strange men,” Hilt wheezed. “What would my mum think?”

“Oh, but we’re not strangers, are we? I’ve shown you my dearest. The only people who know of her are my friends.”

Hilt doubted that. Most likely this sorcerer killed anyone who saw this trick. He ignored the man and charged through the only opening he could find beneath a precarious archway. The instant Hilt rolled beneath it, it creaked and groaned before cascading down in a flurry of ivory and gold sparks.

“I warned you,” the stranger said. This time he was sitting upon the center throne at the far end of the room. Hilt hadn’t even realized he had gone into the ballroom. His mind felt foggy and dark clouds were creeping in on the edges of his vision.

“Damn,” Hilt whimpered, falling to one knee. This was a mistake. He should have gone the other way. It was a death sentence in here. If the flames didn’t incinerate him, the smoke would deprive him of air. His fingers tingled and his body felt light and effortless. His hearing wavered and the crash and crackle around him soon dissipated into magnificent silence. No, he wouldn’t pass out.

“You know how to survive this,” the wizard said. He was lying across the throne, with his feet draped across the arms. He had that same glass of wine back in his hand and he swirled it gently, like an expert connoisseur.

“I don’t need to,” Hilt responded. He pressed his hand on his knee, but couldn’t feel the force of it. His lungs clenched and rejected the newest wave of acrid vapors which swirled around him.

“So, you charged into the castle just to die a few strides in? That’s no fun.” The stranger waved his fingers and his pet darted away from him. Within moments, wafts of glorious, pure air washed over Hilt, giving his lungs a much needed respite.

Hilt managed to look up. The whole ceiling was caving in. Gaping holes revealed the shockingly clear sky of a thousand stars which mingled in the oddly beautiful light of the dancing embers. Molten rock dripped down alongside crumbling frames and beams above the General’s head. As it fell, it seemed to hit some invisible barrier, some sort of shield, before sliding down around it. In fact, the entire area surrounding both Hilt and his new ‘friend’ was untouched by the ravenous flames. The wooden floors were still cool to the touch and the air was now crisp and clear.

“So you weren’t sent to kill me?” Hilt asked, finally finding the strength to stand. In fact, the soft breeze seemed to rejuvenate him completely. The wound on the back of his head and the break in his nose even seemed soothed and refreshed.

“Surprisingly, no. Well, that’s a partial no. Or maybe even a yes.”

This stranger was incredibly aggravating. Hilt reached for the grip of his sword, only to immediately recoil. The steel was white hot and scalded his fingers the moment he touched it.

“It’s not particularly nice to bear arms when your opponent has none.”

As if that bloody bug wasn’t a weapon?

“Why aren’t you letting me burn, then?” Hilt asked.

“Because you aren’t supposed to.”

Hilt felt a growl form in the back of his throat. What the hell did that mean?

“I am to test you, while kill someone else. Who was it again?” The stranger looked into his wine, as if the burgundy liquid would answer his question. For a person with such unimaginable power he seemed… off.

“Test me how?”

“I don’t know. I was simply told to.”

“By whom?”

The silver-haired man reached his hand out as the little moth gently fluttered back to him. He raised it up to his face and a gentle smile played at the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t have time for this,” Hilt insisted, quickly scanning the room. “I have to—“

“Go save someone?” the man finished. “Don’t worry. She hasn’t perished, yet.”

Yet? Hilt glanced around, searching for some sort of exit. The fiery dungeons of the seven hells were erupting beyond his cocooned sanctuary. The room was now a swirling whirlwind of orange and crimson with black smoke surreptitiously crawling about.

“How do I leave?”

The stranger’s brows narrowed. “I never said you couldn’t. And if you are planning to save the Princess, I would go soon. The fires have reached the north tower.”

Damnit. Hilt’s heart began to race as his eyes settled on a small opening in the burning wreckage beyond the barrier. It led south, the opposite way he needed to go, but he had no other choice. He would have to find a route that backtracked.

“Good luck, Damien Noden of Nibheis. And…”

Hilt glanced back and watched the stranger slowly rise, gracefully balancing on the tips of his toes.

“My name… It is Lazuris.”

Like the cascading falls behind the castle, the translucent and slightly iridescent shield that had been protecting Hilt tumbled and glistened away, like a million shards of starlight. For a moment, Hilt was entranced by its beauty, the effortless swirls that mixed in the yellow light. But the moment ended as quickly as it came. Smoke billowed around him and ribbons of flame and claws of embers were coiling ‘round his feet.

Hilt darted away as quickly as he could. He kept his elbow up to his face as he tried to filter out the smoke, but it appeared that while his small reprieve had cleansed his lungs it left him just a smidgen more tolerant than before.

The General was moving without recognizing. That burning picture frame, was it of the late King Odin which put him in the front hall? Or was it of the lily pond which meant he was near the courtyard? He couldn’t tell. He just had to keep moving.

Disoriented, but determined, he stumbled upon a set of stairs that, while filled with smoke, seemed to be free of the demon fire. The woodwork here seemed familiar, but he didn’t have time enough examine it. A flutter of light licked at his face before darting forward. That fucking moth!

But… it didn’t hurt him. It paused just a few feet from him, flapping its shimmering wings as if it were waiting for something.

“I’m supposed to follow you, now?” Hilt grumbled.

The moth fluttered in circles for a bit in response.

“Like I have a fucking choice…” Hilt gulped down a draft of sweet air that wafted from the insect’s magical wings before charging up the stairs after it. The curved steps creaked and groaned with each step, threatening to fall beneath his feet. He clutched at the wall, but the splintering wood did nothing to stabilize him.

He finally managed to break through to the top of the stairs as the moth quickly zipped away. Hilt tripped over something soft and squishy as he ran after the moth and tumbled to the ground.

The General’s eyes watered as he whacked his knee and he flung around to find the culprit, more than willing to separate the bastard from his limbs for that. Liore’s terrified face gazed back at him. It was scarred with soot and scrapes as she desperately tugged at the lumpy arm of the unconscious Cress. The girl stopped her frantic movements as the panicked lamb was locked into the gaze of the beast.

So Cress did not hire this pyrophilic mercenary? If he had, he would have fled the castle hours ago. His next guess would have been Princess Liore and yet here she stood, fighting for the idiot knight of lard rather than making her own escape. 

Hilt’s brows furrowed and his mouth opened to speak, to demand answers, to discover who ordered such a brutal attack that seemed to be centered around him and yet spiraled around the whole castle. Unfortunately for Hilt, the castle decided to make its answer first. The tell-tale groan and crackle of splintering wood echoed above Hilt just before a large section of the plaster ceiling crumbled down between the General and the other two.

The dust settled quickly and, much to Hilt’s surprise, the crumbles of rock and wood extinguished any nearby flames, leaving an unsteady barrier before him.

He could do it. He could save them, or save their lives, at least. The wreckage was minimal, it would take him just a few seconds to clear enough to get them out.

Liore’s screams were dulled by her new sarcophagus of stone. They were strained and desperate. Hilt glanced around, noting the unique fork in the hallway. Liore had been trying to pull Cress into the Library, but this entrance led to a singular balcony with no other exist save for a six story fall to the ground.

Hilt’s fingertips wiggled anxiously as the terrors of the fire slipped from his mind for just a moment. Oh yes, he could save them. Save them for his supper. His tongue ran over his teeth and his neck relaxed at the thought. He wouldn’t want such highborn flesh cooked too crisply, now would he?

The moth made another appearance, this time dancing annoyingly in Hilt’s face.

“Not now,” Hilt growled, trying to swat it away.

It grew more persistent, but Hilt tried to ignore it, focusing on the swells of tense energy that were swirling in his muscles, aching ever so sweetly as he reached for that tantalizing moment. He knew he could easily escape with such a delectable meal in his belly. Even that Lazuris’ demon fire would be no match for his Lycaon coat.

The moth landed upon his nose, singeing the delicate skin.

“Fuck!” Hilt swore, wincing. He stepped back, his eyes clearing from his feral obsessions. Smoke wormed through the cracks and crevices of the fallen ceiling, and Liore’s screams had stopped. He had wasted too much time here.

“Let them burn.” 

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