Kaydin cleared his throat and glanced at Troan.
"So, Troan, will you still accompany us to the Jubul?" Kaydin asked, attempting to mask his nervousness. "I understand if you no longer wish to, especially considering how your mother treated you."
Troan wet his lips, taking a moment to contemplate before stating his intentions.
"My prior decision stands; I am not done speaking with Sauraia. However, should I deem it necessary to attend, I will arrive tomorrow or the day after... I still have matters here to address."
Kaydin let out a breath of relief and smiled.
"It is my hope that you both reach a peaceful resolution soon—whatever may be happening between you."
Then his smile twisted slightly, partly in embarrassment.
"I would like it if we could create some pleasant memories at the Jubul. I am sure it would be delightful, just like old times."
Troan stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable.
"I hope the same, as for the Jubul...we'll see." He said, looking away.
Meanwhile, Wriggler observed Troan with a smirk as an amused light danced in his eyes.
All of a sudden, Troan felt a rush of alarm, and his hair stood on end as if he had just stepped into a monster's den.
He glanced at Wriggler and saw that his crooked smile was gone, now replaced with a worried frown.
Kaydin noticed their odd reaction and sat up straight.
"What's wrong?"
Troan briskly gestured towards him with a hand.
"Stay low! Something's wrong—"
Boom!!!
A large explosion tore through the air just outside the carriage.
Time slowed as bright gold runic inscriptions flared up, illuminating the left wall and door. Simultaneously, the carriage jolted to the side from a sudden impact.
Troan snapped his head back as three pointed metal poles of varying lengths, shorter than arrows shot through the window, punching through the curtain and whizzing past where his head had been.
They narrowly missed Kaydin, rebounding off the wall beside him and eliciting pulses of flaring gold runic inscriptions on that part of the wall before spinning and falling down around the carriage.
After a brief moment of tilted vertigo, the carriage fell back upright.
Golden strips of overwhelmed rune inks flitted about the air, slowly burning up at their fringes; the tiny embers eating into them.
The bluestone above dimmed after losing a considerable amount of var.
The royal carriage had sustained a heavy blow, damaging several defensive runic inscriptions and leaving the left wall and door riddled with cracks and holes.
Several metal poles and shrapnel had broken through the wooden wall; their pointy ends peeked ominously into the carriage, but they were ultimately stopped.
"Hell! That was something!" Wriggler exclaimed, rubbing at his ears as he tried to quell the ringing.
Kaydin stooped with his hands over his head, while Bevy shielded him with her body. Her heterochromatic eyes were sharp and alert.
Troan had a grim expression.
'I had hoped the journey would be uneventful." He thought, letting out an annoyed sigh.
His gaze then went to the rogue before him.
"Wriggler! Can you hear me?!"
"Yeah, boss!"
"I'm going outside. I need to make my presence known."
Then he glanced at Bevy.
"I leave his safety to you." He said, before standing up and reaching for the door.
Kaydin pushed Bevy aside and shot Troan an anxious look.
"You're going out there?!"
Troan stopped and glanced back at him.
"Yes. Please stay inside." He instructed before pushing the door open.
Immediately, he was hit with a thick wave of acrid-smelling smoke and sulfurous gunpowder.
Steeling himself, he walked out and closed the door before proceeding down the side stairs, his eyes surveying the area.
There was a dark alley before him, and a little to the left before a building was a black spot with cracks on the wall and fallen bricks. Burning splinters of wood and patches of hay surrounded a darkened spot on the slightly deepened ground.
His first step on the ground produced a squelch, and when he looked down, he morbidly realized he had stepped on someone's innards.
Soldiers and horses littered the ground along the length of the left side of the caravan. Man and horse embedded with multiple metal spikes and shrapnel shards. The dragoons, with their dapper, white uniforms, had it worse as they had no armor. Many of them burst apart, dyeing the ground and carriages with their blood.
For a moment, he had a flashback to the times he worked at the medical tents, grey waxed canvas tents, medicine shelves, herbs, and the familiar metallic smell of blood.
His hands twitched, muscle memory vying to take over, to bend down and triage the wounded.
But then he heard the sound of a carriage door creak open, and immediately his sharp gaze swung to that carriage.
'Who would leave the safety of the rune-inscribed carriage to face the unknown danger outside?! I don't care who they are; opening the door puts everyone within at risk, and Lurin could be in any of them!"
"Halt!" Troan barked, "No one leaves the carriages until I say so!"
Instantly, the door drew back, shutting with a crisp clack!
"Shit! What a mess. This brings back memories of my homeland." Wriggler said, standing on the carriage's stairway.
He tossed a pomegranate into his mouth no longer bothered by the ringing in his ears, nor did he appear shaken by the gory scene before him.
"Close the door!" Troan scolded harshly.
"Oops! My bad." He closed the door and hopped down to stand beside Troan.
"So, where are the enemi—"
Bang!
A bright flash in the dark alley was immediately followed by the sound of a gunshot.
Troan desperately jerked his head to the side just as a bullet whizzed past, grazing his left ear and hitting the door.
"Attack!!!" Roared someone from within the alley.
Immediately, more gunshots followed, but not before a large chunk of ice protruded up from the earth before Troan, blocking the shots.
Troan glanced to the side and saw Sol, he was prone with both hands on the ground. A trail of ice extended from the frosted area around his hands, snaking forth across the ground toward the chunk of ice protecting him.
He had come from the right side of the caravan unscathed, having been protected from the blast by a carriage.
Several houseguards and dragoons on the other side had also begun to move over to his side, cursing and barking out orders to secure the carriages.
Troan nodded at Sol, a small gesture of appreciation and Sol smiled.
Looking ahead again, he took a step forward and forcefully stamped his feet on the large ice, sending it flying toward the dozen or more men rushing out of the alley with sabers, cutlasses, and flintlocks.
It crashed into them, and they fell back, tumbling to the ground.
Troan frowned in confusion as he looked at what seemed to be mere men, grizzled and hardy, but normal all the same.
There didn't seem to be an elemental warrior amongst them who could draw upon the var for strength.
'What's the meaning of this? Are they a distraction? Is the real enemy lurking elsewhere?"
Subconsciously, he reached for his ear, touching where the bullet had grazed him.
'How seriously should I take this? Could the Nirians be involved in this?" He wondered, and in a moment, multiple thoughts rushed through his mind as he rubbed the blood from his ear between his fingers.
But soon, the faces of Lurin, Frozen, and Kaydin flashed in his mind, and he made his decision.
'Too little is known of this threat. I can't be too complacent."
As the men tried to get back up Troan acted.
He raised his hand toward the sky as if holding up a blade and his eyes glowed slightly as he declared.
"Ervhen! Duel mode!"
Suddenly, vapor burst forth from every pore in his body, momentarily engulfing him in a thick cloud of mist before surging up toward his raised hand.
The mist glowed as it condensed in his hand, at first, forming the hilt of a sword, then the guard, and then the bladed part grew up sharply as the mist continued condensing upward.
Soon the glowing silhouette of a longsword was fully formed within the mist rising from his form.
Troan then waved the sword forcefully in a clean arc before him, blowing the mist away.
There was a moment of silence as both the assailants and soldiers stared at him in awe.
He then stabbed the point of the sword into the ground and rested both hands on the pummel, standing straight and at ease at the knowledge of his strength.
The longsword had an opaque crystal blade, dusted with frost. It emitted a soft glow from within, radiating a gentle, regal, and ancient aura that left onlookers mystified in awe.
The guard appeared crafted from the finest silver, and on it were intricate-looking ancient symbols. The grip, formed with a crystal-like material, offered a secure but seemingly uncomfortable hold. The pommel also appeared fashioned from gleaming silver.
Although Troan's gaze was on the stunned assailants, they were not his focus. He suspected there was a formidable assassin hidden somewhere.
Thinking about this, he directed his gaze away and took in a breath before proceeding to bellow in a clear, authoritative voice that carried far and wide.
"You have attacked a caravan under the protection of the Seventh Lord of Avalon! I! Troan Re' Ages! Shall grant you the mercy of imprisonment, should you come forth now and surrender!"
As soon as he said this, a large creature landed on the royal carriage behind him. Its wingspan was double its length when you included the armored horses. Its long scaled neck and horned reptilian head extended forward and over Troan as its predatory, reptilian eyes observed the assailants.
Kikiki—
Clicking sounds that would chill the heart of any man came out of its vicious mouth filled with serrated teeth.
It slowly adjusted its muscular reptilian legs on the royal carriage, which groaned under its sheer weight.
It looked about to pounce—eager even.
This was a wyvern.
A black, fire-spitting wyvern!