Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 135: Of Horns and Strength

Toren Daen

The large hardwood doors to the ballroom creaked open like the sound of a coffin's lid, a presence like a bottled thunderstorm echoing outward. The soul seemed to leave the ballroom as the announcer's words echoed like a reaper's judgment.

High Vicar Varadoth, I thought, fear spiking through my body. An instinctual part of me prepared to run or fight or hide, the name of the Doctrination's head sending chills along my body. But before I could do anything else, he stepped into the room.

In contrast to his heartfire's storming pulse, Varadoth's footfalls were softer than a feather. His feet were bare as he took slow, methodic steps through the room. Deep gray skin absorbed the light greedily, the man casting a shadow that was far too long. His robes were decrepit and ragged, shredded tatters barely clinging to the rest of the whole like a sailor who grasped a piece of wood. He bore no hair on his head, but a short goatee thrust from his chin like the point of a knife. His hands were clasped behind his straight back, the picture of power and quiet surety.

But that was nothing. The vicar stared directly at me, his sockets seeming to burrow into my soul. I found myself transfixed in a mix of mute terror and uncomprehension as mage after mage knelt in his presence, the power billowing around him a silent demand.

I could not understand how I knew he was looking at me, for two spiraling onyx horns erupted from his forehead, then curled inward like twisting black spikes to pierce through his eye sockets. It looked like someone had hammered railroad spikes one grisly strike at a time deep into his skull.

The rims of his eye sockets dripped a slow stream of blackish liquid, making it seem like the mage was constantly weeping corrupted blood. I couldn't decide which instilled the greatest unease in me: his horn-pierced eyes, or his unerringly calm intent.

This is the strongest mage I have ever seen, I thought, unconsciously settling into a fighting stance. The thunder of Varadoth's heartbeat drowned out the placating and nauseating words of the terrified mages around me as the vicar neared. Those who had once been so eager to put me down as a perceived threat shied away from the oncoming Varadoth as if he were a forbidden memory. Why is he here?

My thoughts immediately jumped to the assault on Mardeth's base I'd performed not even an entire week ago. Had the horrid vicar set his protector against me? I knew Varadoth had interceded to protect Mardeth from Melzri, but would he call on his backer to eliminate me?

That didn't seem right. Mardeth wanted to deal with me himself. Did Varadoth want to kill me for other reasons?

My thoughts jumped along every single secret I held as the pressure followed Varadoth like cloying hands. My lack of spellforms. My control of aether. My strange effects on the Relictombs. The survival of Aurora's spirit. My future knowledge.

If my sense of his heartfire had not told me already, the blanket of dark mana that covered the entire room would have alerted me instead. Every single highblood in the room knelt nervously, the silent intent of the room stinking of terror. It clogged my nose like a cloying rot, threatening to overwhelm my own thoughts.

Aurora's mind bolstered my own, her clockwork form settling nearby in a conveyance of silent support. Internally, I considered the possibility of running away, using the djinn relic's alternate form to make a quick getaway. But we both knew that if this man tried to kill us, we would be unable to run. The metal contraption slowly dissipated into its bronze brooch form. If this came down to battle, my only chance came from Lady Dawn's full focus on supporting my mind.

Varadoth stopped several yards away from me, tilting his head as if he could still see. Those black-blooded tears seeped into his robe. We watched each other: me with concealed apprehension, he with something I couldn't understand. He had no eyes to read.