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The aviankind was unsure where he was, or how he had come to be here… well, no, a better way of phrasing that second part might be that he was unsure how he had survived long enough to reach wherever he now found himself. The ritual magic that the trolls had cast upon him had dragged him into a realm of pure madness, in which anything based in logic ought to have been instantaneously stripped apart and reconfigured into something beyond the understanding of any sane being.
He couldn’t be sure how long he had been there, as the linear concept of time was a logical construct which could not endure within that reality, but he felt that it must surely have been longer than an instant… possibly several eternities longer. He had no memory of what had occurred there, for his mind shied away from contemplating such lunacy and impossibility.
As a powerful telepath, Ancell had enough of a command over his own thoughts that it was likely he could unlock those lost memories if he so desired. He made no such attempt, though, for he could only imagine that his subconscious had sealed them away purposefully to preserve his sanity. A less accomplished mentalist than he likely would not even have managed to achieve such a feat; a lower-worlder such as a human or elf would undoubtedly have lost their mind, and even amongst his own species it was likely that most would have failed to erect such a mental block without conscious compartmentalisation of their thought processes, which could potentially take as long as a whole second to implement… far, far too long.
That he would track down the trolls who had slain his friends and even now would no doubt be massacring those dwarves they had chosen to help was beyond doubt, but having no idea how far northward they had sent him, Ancell could not say exactly how much time it would take him to return home… though based on the higher temperature, it was clear that this place was much closer to the world’s equator than his own home had been. The battle would be long over by the time he had flown back. They had lost. He had failed them all.
Infuriating. Knowing that his dear comrades had died for nothing filled him with impotent rage. He wanted nothing more than to leap back into the ranks of the foe who had committed this atrocity and tear them apart en masse… but with a modicum of focus, Ancell quashed those rogue thoughts. Wrath did not suit such a noble species as his own.
As he had no hope of returning in time to save anyone, the aviankind decided that rather than dashing off immediately, he would be better to find the flock whose island he had been transported to, to commune with them and discover to where exactly he had been sent, so that he might plot the most reasonable route back to his eyrie. Yes, no matter how much he wanted to bring those unworthy creatures to justice himself, the rest of his own flock had the right to know of the consequences of his folly, and to join him in avenging their loved ones.
With that thought, he set off at a casual pace. He didn’t bother flying. The trolls wouldn’t be going anywhere his people couldn’t track them, so there was no need to waste his energy.
***
It took some time, but he finally confirmed what he had suspected since shortly after beginning his investigation: his people were utterly absent from this island. It was unthinkable that such a prime position would go unused when even an icy and desolate rock such as that which his own flock called home had been claimed as a nesting ground… yet what other explanation could there be?
As if that wasn’t bad enough, though, he had spotted an unwelcome and impossible presence: perched upon the idyllic island like a crowning jewel was a beautiful, little town with buildings wrought of metal, glass and some other material he was unfamiliar with. A human town.
How those barbarians could have crafted something so pretty, he could not begin to fathom, but he supposed he ought to be pleased… surely they could never have attained such fine culture if they had kept up the savage, warring ways of their kin in other parts of the world. Perhaps this group was some sort of peaceful sect who had withdrawn from the wars of the lower world and in recognition of their enlightened ways the nearby flocks had agreed to cede this island to them so that they might live their lives untroubled by the rest of their species?
It seemed highly unlikely to Ancell, though. It was one thing to feel as he did that the lower races were worth investing time and effort in—to believe that they too had the potential to become decent and upstanding people, despite all evidence to the contrary—but quite another to voluntarily surrender such fine territory to another race. These islands were theirs by right. All throughout recorded history, the sky island chain had belonged to the aviankind; even the other airborne races such as the harpies and fairies kept to their mountain and treetop homes, and the flightless ones had even less right than they to lay claim to such a place.
He simply could not believe that any of his people would willingly hand over their birthright like this… which left only one other possibility; that the humans had taken this island by force. That sounded almost as crazy… but he had to admit, from the glimpse he had gotten of their town, they did seem to be far more advanced than the humans he was familiar with from the southern lands in which his flock dwelt.
This required further investigation, obviously.
***
“Identify yourself!” the two guards pointed what he could only imagine were weapons in his direction. They looked a little like stubby crossbows, only without the bow parts. Ancell cocked his head to one side, faintly amused by their antics.
They weren’t shooting on sight, which made him doubt that they had taken the island from his people by force. If they had, they'd know that they couldn't possibly hope to win if they gave him time to react; it was only with the element of surprise that they'd stand a chance. Furthermore, the town had no walls around it, and no guards patrolled the outskirts; he had been walking through the streets for a good few minutes before this pair had shown up in their horseless carriage. Theirs had a strange aesthetic, but the aviankind wasn’t overly impressed by it. He knew already that such things existed, for the elves and some of the other more magically inclined surface-dwelling races did make use of them. Perhaps these humans had purchased some from them, or even learned enough magic that they could produce their own. For such an ungifted race, that would be an impressive accomplishment.
~I am Ancell, an aviankind of the southern islands.~ he said, projecting his thoughts directly into their minds. His people’s vocal cords and tongues were suited only to producing very limited, animalistic noises, not to civilised conversation. Fortunately, their mental powers were more than adequate at picking up the slack, ~I wish to question your leader, humans. Take me to them.~
The two men had gone pale.
“Magic.” hissed one, as if the word was a curse.
“You’re not seeing anyone, monster. In fact, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll turn and leave this town while we’re still willing to let you.” added the other.
Enemies after all, then. It was unfortunate, but it seemed that they would not allow him to pass. What was more, they seemed utterly unaware of how powerful his species actually was. If they truly wanted to oppose the aviankind, they ought to have known to put him down the moment they laid eyes on him, rather than attempting to use threats.
Ancell made no visible movement, but he flexed his mental muscles, intent upon unleashing a wave of ice upon the pair which would ensnare them and hold them in place. They may be extremely rude and disrespectful, but he would rather avoid killing when possible, and slaying these ignorant buffoons could easily turn the rest of the town's inhabitants against him, which would be a bother.
A single, foot-long spike of ice burst up from the stone street, about halfway between himself and the humans, angled towards them. The aviankind was dumbstruck.
For a moment the men turned their eyes down to gaze upon it.
“Was that supposed to be an attack?” asked the second, his tone split between disbelief, scorn and humour.
“Yes.” the first answered, clearly relishing the word, “Open fire.”
So saying, the man shot Ancell, who was still too shocked to do anything about it. He could not comprehend how his power had been so dampened. For a moment he considered that the humans had cast some form of anti-magic field over their own town, to counter the magic users they appeared to so despise. He quickly discarded that notion, though. It was unlikely that even the greatest of human archmagi could wield that kind of power… much less whatever poor excuses for wizards such a magiphobic society as this could produce.
The other immediately obvious possibility was that the passage through the plane of illogic had affected him more severely than he had originally realised. That seemed a much more realistic supposition.
When the weapon fired, it did not launch a crossbow bolt, as he had been expecting, but instead fired a small orb of red light his way, which trailed a comet-like tail behind it. Thankfully, the human’s aim was off, and rather than striking him in the heart, the shot connected with the left side of his gut. There was a small explosion of entirely too much sanguine fluid, and a pain unlike anything he had ever felt.
Ancell stumbled back, horrified at the crater—a few inches wide—which he had just acquired in his stomach. Had he hesitated a moment longer, he likely would have died then and there. As it was, his powerful mind immediately reanalysed the threat posed by the humans’ strange weapons, and he reacted to counter the threat almost on instinct alone.
Clamping his left hand over the wound in a futile effort at keeping his blood inside him, the aviankind reached out with his thoughts and enveloped the end of the second man’s not-crossbow in a chunk of ice several inches thick, just a fraction of a second before the trigger was pulled.
The weapon exploded, and the man shrieked in agony as semi-molten metal seared the flesh from the bones of his hands.
Ancell couldn’t stop now, though. His other attacker could strike again at any moment.
Another thought. Another block of ice on the end of an armament.
“Bastard!” the first man screamed, tearing his eyes from his ally’s plight and tossing aside his now-useless weapon. He charged straight for the aviankind, pulling a short, metal rod from his belt and flicking his wrist. The item extended telescopically, and gave a soft click upon reaching its full length, at which point an inch-wide orb of crackling, pale blue lightning formed at its tip.
Ancell had no desire to find out what would happen should that thing touch him.
Stumbling backwards, already feeling lightheaded and dizzy from blood loss, he called up another spike from the ground. These pitiful excuses for attacks were not worthy of a being such as he, but the aviankind were not just magical brutes who possessed vast power but had little control; he may be too diminished to marshal his true might, but his skill had suffered not at all, so precision was no issue.
The icy spine pierced straight through the attacker’s right foot. The human screamed again, though in pain this time, rather than rage.
Shockingly, though, the man simply tugged his foot free and limped forwards, still intent upon his target, despite the level of pain he must be in. He may have been a bigoted bastard, but the man's determination at least was admirable.
Ancell sent another spike up at him, through his other foot this time. Then, before his foe could limp free of that one as well, he expanded the ice, forming a crude lump of it around the pinned appendage, attached firmly to the ground, locking him in place. Then, for good measure, he made another block around the man’s hand and the hilt of the baton her wielded, in case the aggressor should attempt to throw it at him in some last-ditch attempt at inflicting harm.
Lastly, the aviankind poured ice outwards from where his left hand was pressed against his side, sealing his wound. He staggered, almost blacking out from the pain. The cold was appalling. He had never actually been injured this badly before, and so the sensation of ice fixed to his internal organs was entirely new to him. New, and not remotely pleasant.
Stumbling and weaving slightly from side to side, Ancell slowly made his way back outside the town; with his magic this reduced, there was no way he could carry on.
Had it just been the two guards who had seen him, he likely would have reluctantly finished them off, to prevent them from telling anyone else… but he sensed many more humans all around him. Taking shelter inside their houses, staring out at him through panes of glass, or hiding as best they could lest he break in and attempt to harm them.
He couldn’t silence everyone, so there was no point in killing anyone. He’d likely die as a result of this injury before too long, and even if he didn’t, the inhabitants would surely come after him once they had rounded up the rest of their town guards. In his current state, he’d be no match for them, even if he could manage to retain consciousness until they located him… which surely wouldn’t be difficult for them. It wasn’t like he could get very far in his current state.
The future was looking bleak.
***
A sharp pain in his arm returned him to wakefulness. His mental sense stretched out around him, and he detected her presence immediately. He reacted automatically, lashing out with one hand. The child shrieked and lurched backwards, barely avoiding his long, sharp nails.
She wore a dress of red and silver cloth, covered in black frills and lace, over white tights and with a pair of black shoes, polished until they gleamed. Her skin was pale, her hair black and chin-length and her eyes were grey.
He didn’t need to turn his head to look down at his right arm to see what had impaled it. He couldn't see it at all, technically, as he had no eyes with which to do so. He did, however, focus his senses slightly on that area, examining the object there. It was made of a clear material, resembled a poorly designed dart, and protruded from his forearm. He yanked it out and tossed it away, ~What was that? What did you do?~
He snarled the words inside her head and the child cowered, looking like she might start crying. Ancell was no expert in human biology, but based on her height and build, he imagined that she couldn’t be more than ten or eleven years old.
“I-it's a needle... I g-gave you a-”
She was cut off when he shrieked in agony, out loud, rather than in her head. His back arched and the aviankind clawed at his left side. Where the ice was still frozen to his flesh was suddenly intensely painful, worse even than it had been when he’d first sealed the wound. Unable to resist the irrational impulse, he tore free the frozen lump and flung it off across the clearing in which he lay. Unsurprisingly, this did not help. Blood gushed forth from the gaping hole in his side.
And then was staunched.
It was the girl. She knelt by his side, a wadded-up towel pressed on his injury. Blood and dirt marred her fine clothing, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her face had gone a little pale, but was set in a determined expression. Pretty impressive for a child of her age, Ancell had to admit.
He wanted to know what was going on, but the pain was overwhelming. His body was convulsing now, and it was all he could do to keep himself from lashing out at her again; he had no idea what her intentions were, but she was at least attempting to keep him from bleeding out, so he’d likely only diminish his odds of survival should her kill her now. He could spare no concentration to focus on projecting his thoughts to her, so any questioning would have to wait until after this pain had passed... assuming he survived whatever she had done to him.
And then his agony spiked, he screamed again, loudly enough to cause the child at his side to wince, and his mind went blank.
The aviankind slumped, unmoving, as he once again sank into unconsciousness.
He couldn’t be sure how long he had been there, as the linear concept of time was a logical construct which could not endure within that reality, but he felt that it must surely have been longer than an instant… possibly several eternities longer. He had no memory of what had occurred there, for his mind shied away from contemplating such lunacy and impossibility.
As a powerful telepath, Ancell had enough of a command over his own thoughts that it was likely he could unlock those lost memories if he so desired. He made no such attempt, though, for he could only imagine that his subconscious had sealed them away purposefully to preserve his sanity. A less accomplished mentalist than he likely would not even have managed to achieve such a feat; a lower-worlder such as a human or elf would undoubtedly have lost their mind, and even amongst his own species it was likely that most would have failed to erect such a mental block without conscious compartmentalisation of their thought processes, which could potentially take as long as a whole second to implement… far, far too long.
That he would track down the trolls who had slain his friends and even now would no doubt be massacring those dwarves they had chosen to help was beyond doubt, but having no idea how far northward they had sent him, Ancell could not say exactly how much time it would take him to return home… though based on the higher temperature, it was clear that this place was much closer to the world’s equator than his own home had been. The battle would be long over by the time he had flown back. They had lost. He had failed them all.
Infuriating. Knowing that his dear comrades had died for nothing filled him with impotent rage. He wanted nothing more than to leap back into the ranks of the foe who had committed this atrocity and tear them apart en masse… but with a modicum of focus, Ancell quashed those rogue thoughts. Wrath did not suit such a noble species as his own.
As he had no hope of returning in time to save anyone, the aviankind decided that rather than dashing off immediately, he would be better to find the flock whose island he had been transported to, to commune with them and discover to where exactly he had been sent, so that he might plot the most reasonable route back to his eyrie. Yes, no matter how much he wanted to bring those unworthy creatures to justice himself, the rest of his own flock had the right to know of the consequences of his folly, and to join him in avenging their loved ones.
With that thought, he set off at a casual pace. He didn’t bother flying. The trolls wouldn’t be going anywhere his people couldn’t track them, so there was no need to waste his energy.
***
It took some time, but he finally confirmed what he had suspected since shortly after beginning his investigation: his people were utterly absent from this island. It was unthinkable that such a prime position would go unused when even an icy and desolate rock such as that which his own flock called home had been claimed as a nesting ground… yet what other explanation could there be?
As if that wasn’t bad enough, though, he had spotted an unwelcome and impossible presence: perched upon the idyllic island like a crowning jewel was a beautiful, little town with buildings wrought of metal, glass and some other material he was unfamiliar with. A human town.
How those barbarians could have crafted something so pretty, he could not begin to fathom, but he supposed he ought to be pleased… surely they could never have attained such fine culture if they had kept up the savage, warring ways of their kin in other parts of the world. Perhaps this group was some sort of peaceful sect who had withdrawn from the wars of the lower world and in recognition of their enlightened ways the nearby flocks had agreed to cede this island to them so that they might live their lives untroubled by the rest of their species?
It seemed highly unlikely to Ancell, though. It was one thing to feel as he did that the lower races were worth investing time and effort in—to believe that they too had the potential to become decent and upstanding people, despite all evidence to the contrary—but quite another to voluntarily surrender such fine territory to another race. These islands were theirs by right. All throughout recorded history, the sky island chain had belonged to the aviankind; even the other airborne races such as the harpies and fairies kept to their mountain and treetop homes, and the flightless ones had even less right than they to lay claim to such a place.
He simply could not believe that any of his people would willingly hand over their birthright like this… which left only one other possibility; that the humans had taken this island by force. That sounded almost as crazy… but he had to admit, from the glimpse he had gotten of their town, they did seem to be far more advanced than the humans he was familiar with from the southern lands in which his flock dwelt.
This required further investigation, obviously.
***
“Identify yourself!” the two guards pointed what he could only imagine were weapons in his direction. They looked a little like stubby crossbows, only without the bow parts. Ancell cocked his head to one side, faintly amused by their antics.
They weren’t shooting on sight, which made him doubt that they had taken the island from his people by force. If they had, they'd know that they couldn't possibly hope to win if they gave him time to react; it was only with the element of surprise that they'd stand a chance. Furthermore, the town had no walls around it, and no guards patrolled the outskirts; he had been walking through the streets for a good few minutes before this pair had shown up in their horseless carriage. Theirs had a strange aesthetic, but the aviankind wasn’t overly impressed by it. He knew already that such things existed, for the elves and some of the other more magically inclined surface-dwelling races did make use of them. Perhaps these humans had purchased some from them, or even learned enough magic that they could produce their own. For such an ungifted race, that would be an impressive accomplishment.
~I am Ancell, an aviankind of the southern islands.~ he said, projecting his thoughts directly into their minds. His people’s vocal cords and tongues were suited only to producing very limited, animalistic noises, not to civilised conversation. Fortunately, their mental powers were more than adequate at picking up the slack, ~I wish to question your leader, humans. Take me to them.~
The two men had gone pale.
“Magic.” hissed one, as if the word was a curse.
“You’re not seeing anyone, monster. In fact, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll turn and leave this town while we’re still willing to let you.” added the other.
Enemies after all, then. It was unfortunate, but it seemed that they would not allow him to pass. What was more, they seemed utterly unaware of how powerful his species actually was. If they truly wanted to oppose the aviankind, they ought to have known to put him down the moment they laid eyes on him, rather than attempting to use threats.
Ancell made no visible movement, but he flexed his mental muscles, intent upon unleashing a wave of ice upon the pair which would ensnare them and hold them in place. They may be extremely rude and disrespectful, but he would rather avoid killing when possible, and slaying these ignorant buffoons could easily turn the rest of the town's inhabitants against him, which would be a bother.
A single, foot-long spike of ice burst up from the stone street, about halfway between himself and the humans, angled towards them. The aviankind was dumbstruck.
For a moment the men turned their eyes down to gaze upon it.
“Was that supposed to be an attack?” asked the second, his tone split between disbelief, scorn and humour.
“Yes.” the first answered, clearly relishing the word, “Open fire.”
So saying, the man shot Ancell, who was still too shocked to do anything about it. He could not comprehend how his power had been so dampened. For a moment he considered that the humans had cast some form of anti-magic field over their own town, to counter the magic users they appeared to so despise. He quickly discarded that notion, though. It was unlikely that even the greatest of human archmagi could wield that kind of power… much less whatever poor excuses for wizards such a magiphobic society as this could produce.
The other immediately obvious possibility was that the passage through the plane of illogic had affected him more severely than he had originally realised. That seemed a much more realistic supposition.
When the weapon fired, it did not launch a crossbow bolt, as he had been expecting, but instead fired a small orb of red light his way, which trailed a comet-like tail behind it. Thankfully, the human’s aim was off, and rather than striking him in the heart, the shot connected with the left side of his gut. There was a small explosion of entirely too much sanguine fluid, and a pain unlike anything he had ever felt.
Ancell stumbled back, horrified at the crater—a few inches wide—which he had just acquired in his stomach. Had he hesitated a moment longer, he likely would have died then and there. As it was, his powerful mind immediately reanalysed the threat posed by the humans’ strange weapons, and he reacted to counter the threat almost on instinct alone.
Clamping his left hand over the wound in a futile effort at keeping his blood inside him, the aviankind reached out with his thoughts and enveloped the end of the second man’s not-crossbow in a chunk of ice several inches thick, just a fraction of a second before the trigger was pulled.
The weapon exploded, and the man shrieked in agony as semi-molten metal seared the flesh from the bones of his hands.
Ancell couldn’t stop now, though. His other attacker could strike again at any moment.
Another thought. Another block of ice on the end of an armament.
“Bastard!” the first man screamed, tearing his eyes from his ally’s plight and tossing aside his now-useless weapon. He charged straight for the aviankind, pulling a short, metal rod from his belt and flicking his wrist. The item extended telescopically, and gave a soft click upon reaching its full length, at which point an inch-wide orb of crackling, pale blue lightning formed at its tip.
Ancell had no desire to find out what would happen should that thing touch him.
Stumbling backwards, already feeling lightheaded and dizzy from blood loss, he called up another spike from the ground. These pitiful excuses for attacks were not worthy of a being such as he, but the aviankind were not just magical brutes who possessed vast power but had little control; he may be too diminished to marshal his true might, but his skill had suffered not at all, so precision was no issue.
The icy spine pierced straight through the attacker’s right foot. The human screamed again, though in pain this time, rather than rage.
Shockingly, though, the man simply tugged his foot free and limped forwards, still intent upon his target, despite the level of pain he must be in. He may have been a bigoted bastard, but the man's determination at least was admirable.
Ancell sent another spike up at him, through his other foot this time. Then, before his foe could limp free of that one as well, he expanded the ice, forming a crude lump of it around the pinned appendage, attached firmly to the ground, locking him in place. Then, for good measure, he made another block around the man’s hand and the hilt of the baton her wielded, in case the aggressor should attempt to throw it at him in some last-ditch attempt at inflicting harm.
Lastly, the aviankind poured ice outwards from where his left hand was pressed against his side, sealing his wound. He staggered, almost blacking out from the pain. The cold was appalling. He had never actually been injured this badly before, and so the sensation of ice fixed to his internal organs was entirely new to him. New, and not remotely pleasant.
Stumbling and weaving slightly from side to side, Ancell slowly made his way back outside the town; with his magic this reduced, there was no way he could carry on.
Had it just been the two guards who had seen him, he likely would have reluctantly finished them off, to prevent them from telling anyone else… but he sensed many more humans all around him. Taking shelter inside their houses, staring out at him through panes of glass, or hiding as best they could lest he break in and attempt to harm them.
He couldn’t silence everyone, so there was no point in killing anyone. He’d likely die as a result of this injury before too long, and even if he didn’t, the inhabitants would surely come after him once they had rounded up the rest of their town guards. In his current state, he’d be no match for them, even if he could manage to retain consciousness until they located him… which surely wouldn’t be difficult for them. It wasn’t like he could get very far in his current state.
The future was looking bleak.
***
A sharp pain in his arm returned him to wakefulness. His mental sense stretched out around him, and he detected her presence immediately. He reacted automatically, lashing out with one hand. The child shrieked and lurched backwards, barely avoiding his long, sharp nails.
She wore a dress of red and silver cloth, covered in black frills and lace, over white tights and with a pair of black shoes, polished until they gleamed. Her skin was pale, her hair black and chin-length and her eyes were grey.
He didn’t need to turn his head to look down at his right arm to see what had impaled it. He couldn't see it at all, technically, as he had no eyes with which to do so. He did, however, focus his senses slightly on that area, examining the object there. It was made of a clear material, resembled a poorly designed dart, and protruded from his forearm. He yanked it out and tossed it away, ~What was that? What did you do?~
He snarled the words inside her head and the child cowered, looking like she might start crying. Ancell was no expert in human biology, but based on her height and build, he imagined that she couldn’t be more than ten or eleven years old.
“I-it's a needle... I g-gave you a-”
She was cut off when he shrieked in agony, out loud, rather than in her head. His back arched and the aviankind clawed at his left side. Where the ice was still frozen to his flesh was suddenly intensely painful, worse even than it had been when he’d first sealed the wound. Unable to resist the irrational impulse, he tore free the frozen lump and flung it off across the clearing in which he lay. Unsurprisingly, this did not help. Blood gushed forth from the gaping hole in his side.
And then was staunched.
It was the girl. She knelt by his side, a wadded-up towel pressed on his injury. Blood and dirt marred her fine clothing, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her face had gone a little pale, but was set in a determined expression. Pretty impressive for a child of her age, Ancell had to admit.
He wanted to know what was going on, but the pain was overwhelming. His body was convulsing now, and it was all he could do to keep himself from lashing out at her again; he had no idea what her intentions were, but she was at least attempting to keep him from bleeding out, so he’d likely only diminish his odds of survival should her kill her now. He could spare no concentration to focus on projecting his thoughts to her, so any questioning would have to wait until after this pain had passed... assuming he survived whatever she had done to him.
And then his agony spiked, he screamed again, loudly enough to cause the child at his side to wince, and his mind went blank.
The aviankind slumped, unmoving, as he once again sank into unconsciousness.