Hierarchy (Book Four of the Torrent Skies Saga)

Chapter Thirty-Two: Courage, Pt 1

Kryrial watched the slender mage draw arcane symbols in the snow and watched how Katerin paced. She was nervous. Not the same as she had been in that temple. Maybe she had forgotten that accursed book today, or something else had tempered her.

But it did not matter, so long as she was gone. Out of his way. The slushy square flashed with magic, and Kryrial watched as the people stepped through the small portal and vanished from the square. Kryrial smiled and turned down the empty street. He did not look himself, of course, in case of a stray eye. He was no fool.

The little building that housed this city's teleportation circle was quaint and seemed to be in a state of almost disrepair. The entry-chamber was silent. But he heard voices from one room down. Typhon had to be one. That quaint rumble was unmistakable.

Kryrial opened the door, entered, and closed it behind him as if he had no reason to do anything else. Two figures stared back at him. One, a pale and feeble elf, who blinked confusedly. The other had a short snout, covered in a pitiful excuse of dragon's scales. Kryrial had never cared for the dragonkin. They were half of what they could have been. Cowards, and only as talented as the rest of their mortal counterparts.

"Can we help you?" the old elf asked.

"You can't," Kryrial told him. "But he will."

Typhon blinked at him again and straightened his glasses. "Apologies, but if you haven't noticed, the city is on the brink of a siege—"

Kryrial held up a hand and stepped closer to peer down at him. "You're going to take me on a venture, Typhon. And if you do so nicely, and with enough respect, you might live through the encounter."

Typhon's eyes widened as magic flickered across them. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came forth, not even breath.

Kryrial smiled.

The old man stood, "I must say, I don't like your attitude. Leave this place and do not—"

"Alistrar, no," Typhon began, holding up a hand.

But Kryrial stepped forward and struck the elf in the chest. He crumpled with a rattle, eyes growing dull in unconsciousness.

"Kryrial," Typhon stepped back two paces, his glasses crooked and ignored.

"Mm. At least you can recognize your betters." Kryrial gestured a hand towards the door. "To Katerin's manor. Swiftly if you value living."

Typhon bared his teeth, two fangs glistening in the room's torchlight. It seemed as if he was looking Kryrial over, sizing him up.

Kryrial waited.

Finally, Typhon's shoulder's dropped, and he left the room, went down the hall and entered another. Kryrial stayed silent as the mage worked, waiting as patiently as he could.

Nothing was said, but Kryrial could feel the deliberation in Typhon. He was trying to think of a way out. Of a way to foil this. But he had no aid, and any move he made would not be adequate. And he knew that.

Before long, they stood in a small, pastel attic, atop a series of runes, all tied together in circular scrolling.

Typhon gave Kryrial a single, hateful look, which he returned with a smile.

"Lead the way," Kryrial said, clicking his tongue against his teeth.

Typhon took a remorseful look at the circle. "What do you want, here?"

Kryrial coughed, raising an eyebrow. "My daughter."

"She has no—" Typhon stepped back, as Kryrial loomed, his fingertips now looking much more akin to talons.