An Ocean of Lies (AFOS II)

Chapter 9: Laurentius

It had been a mess. Blood, fire, evisceration. Mages in their pajamas, in their towels, some even naked, had joined the skirmish, the Onturian Knights managed to cut down a few before losing the fight. The headmistress kept one alive, the one who threatened her, to bring Laverna the news: the College of Magi wouldn't surrender to the Onturian church. Not out of fear and ridiculous accusations. They had no prove, the incident at the market had been isolated. Volstad would hear of it, and it would be her pretty head on a pike.

The Onturian Knight wiped the blood of her three fallen comrades off her face, shaking.

Laurentius wondered what they'd do with the bodies, they couldn't just leave them there in the hall, they couldn't leave them outside either. The mages picked their own, wrapped them carefully in linens, patched the wounded over the marble floor. He followed the headmistress with his eyes as she closed the gates behind the Onturian Knight and sealed it with incantations. Were they under lockdown? Would the Onturians retaliate? It was a disaster, worse than a disaster. A catastrophe. Unless the Onturian church decided fighting them wasn't worth it, at least not immediately. If he were Laverna, what would he do? He'd probably wait, gather himself, come up with another plan. Make the mages look like villains. He rubbed his temples. It was too early for that and he hadn't slept enough.

Adela had ordered the bodies of the Onturians to be taken to the morgue of the college's clinic until Laverna or the Knight Captain sent someone to collect them. Laurentius was halfway through the stairs when he heard her voice ordering him to help. As much as he needed a nap, he couldn't say no to Adela. He needed her on his side, he couldn't afford to let her suspect him. It wasn't like he would be able to sleep anyway, after all that excitement. He made sure his fireballs didn't kill anyone, he knew the killing spells hadn't come out of his staff. His attacks had been just for show, harmless cold fire. Most of his colleagues' spells were defensive. The killing blows had come from Adela, he knew it. She knew what it meant to kill Onturian knights. She deliberately left the one who started it all alive.

The body he carried was heavy, he used a little magic to lighten his burden. The stairs towards the morgue were narrow and winding, uneven, a little slippery. His colleagues carried their assigned bodies in silence, no doubt wondering the same thing: what would happen to the college next? Laurentius shook the firedust fixtures on his way down, illuminating the path for the others.

The brass tables were empty, sterile and ready to use. Three tables, three bodies, as if someone had known beforehand. Lucky them. Laurentius put the body down, a man, a little older than Markolf. The other two, a woman, maybe in her early thirties, a man in his fifties. Avoidable. He rolled his sleeves, there was work to do. His colleagues stared at him in disbelief, two of them left, shaking their heads. One stayed, he recognized her from his history class, the girl who asked about Thilde. He didn't remember her name, never bothered to learn it in the month he'd been there. She pulled her brown hair up in a ponytail, rolled her sleeves and nodded. He nodded back. Having that girl there would complicate things, but telling her to leave would make her suspicious- He'd have to be creative, change his plans. He'd deal with Adela later, he could always claim to have misunderstood her orders.

The Onturian knight he examined, the young one, had died of an electric shock to the heart, he didn't need to dig any further. The strike had been precise, focalized. That lightning volt had been sent out to kill. Laurentius took mental notes, they couldn't afford to send the actual reports back to the Onturian Knights. To Laverna. The girl was elbow-deep in the other knight's guts, she was messy but it seemed to be working for her. He wiped his hands from the young man's blood, sewed him and moved onto the woman. Crushed lungs, frozen. Her stomach, all her organs, shattered. What a horrible way to die, unnecessarily cruel. The spell had been clean, like the lightning bolt, it had only affected where the caster intended, nowhere else. There were no entry wounds. The attacks had been brutal and skilled, the work of an experienced mage. There was no doubt in his mind: it had been Adela.