Discordant Note: Crescendo | TBATE

Chapter 198: Taking From Them

Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads!

Toren Daen

A small line greeted us as we approached the massive stalactite that held the portal. Aurora's relic sat on my shoulder as we got closer, the starlike eyes of her construct illuminating the dark cavern.

With a bare flex of my mana, I enveloped our small group in a sound shroud. The air oscillated slightly from the application of my power, but with my level of control, I knew none would be able to sense it.

"Is the signal ready?" I asked Borzen, keeping my eyes forward.

"It is," the dwarf replied, running a nervous hand through his red hair. "The troops we have stationed across the city are waiting for our call. And I assume your Scythe is ready to play her part too, Toren?"

I nodded slowly. A small contingent from the Alacryan fleet of steamships was sailing near the mouth of the Grand Mountain Strait, ready to close in and block off any attempted assistance to the Darvish cause by sea. Seris was there, of course, waiting on my mark.

But the primary actors in this particular conflict wouldn't be us Alacryans–and that was by design. This was a dwarvish cause, and the dwarves would be the driving force behind it. "She's on standby as well."

Borzen looked toward the stalactite, taking a deep breath. Gruhnd patted him on the shoulder in a gesture of support. He said something that was–for the millionth time–entirely undecipherable because of his beard.

"Thanks, friend," Borzen said. "You always know what to say to make these challenges seem less daunting."

Gruhnd said something that sounded vaguely affirming. Olfred gave us a stern look, his eyes flashing like dark coals.

"I'll be moving as planned shortly," he said in a gruff voice. "Stick to the plan, and things should go swimmingly."

As we reached the back of the line, I finally spotted the portal a ways ahead. A few dwarven guards, each wrapped from head to toe in solid steel armor, stood grimly on either side of the stone frame. Another mage stood in front, inspecting those in line to pass through the teleportation gate.

As people approached the guards on either side of the stone frame, they were instructed to show identification, and for good measure, lift up their shirts to display their lower backs. Afterward, they were waved on through the portal without issue.

My brow furrowed in confusion. It appeared that the guard was checking for spellforms–but as far as I knew, it shouldn't yet be common knowledge amongst the Dicathian military that all mages bore a rune on their lower backs. It was only after Arthur ascended to white core that he discovered this information.

It's a small discrepancy, I thought as I followed after Olfred, but has huge implications. Did something change because of me, or was this knowledge commonplace beforehand?

As our group neared the gates, I banished those thoughts. I needed to be in the headspace for battle, not contemplation. Aurora's relic trilled softly on my shoulder, reinforcing my words.

We finally reached the head of the line after a few minutes. The dwarven officiant–a pot-bellied man with a bulbous nose–droned on as he scribbled on his clipboard. "Identification and destination," he said, his monotone voice clearly exhausted from a long day's work.

"Cladence Ruthsen," Olfred said, flashing the same identification he'd used with the Earthborn twins. "And we're all off to Blackbend City."

The officiant nodded, his glazed eyes noting all four of us. "I'll need to see your lower back," the man said. "Just lift up your shirt so I can see the base of your spine."