Rift
A story by Randomness
Also,
The Rite of Akos Frost,
And the beginning of many more to come,
Chapter 3: The Knife
The far wing of the palace was still in a state of disrepair. Ice cold air blasted through cracks in the wall, where large spaces of brick had been ripped out. The hall was empty, seemingly abandoned. A small door, swinging in the wind marked an entranceway into a dark, deep set tunnel.
This must be where Ledus was planning to meet him, the Prince thought - as there were no obvious other ways down to the cellars from here. Why his father chose this small, obscure corner of the palace to meet, he didn’t know. He stepped down into the darkness, minutes or hours, the descent took a while. The walls were colder than freezing to the touch, and the floor was slightly slippery, covered in layers of moss and grime. It eventually opened up into a barely wider room, a sort of tunnel with various, and thick, stone tables covered with dust and the occasional paper scrap. Scorched marks covered these slabs, burnt ash piled up on the floor.
At one end of this tight room, there was an arched doorway, where no door stood, past which a chamber lay. The chamber was about the size of the stable for Akos’ horse, but only had a stone pillar like pedestal which was cut about a third of the way up. A round slab lay upon it, and upon that was a weapon. More than that, Akos struggled to identify. One moment it looked like a broadsword, hilt upwards with the blade embedded in the cold grey. The next moment it was a loose crossbow bolt, and the next it was a halberd head without a pole.
It shifted as light does in a room of stained glass, changing with orientation in a disturbing manner.
As Akos looked at it, despite his best judgement telling him to stay away from its piercing stare, he realised that, even with various forms, it was broken. Not just damaged but completely ruined.
His Father stood behind the pedestal, wearing a heavy black glove on his white hand. Picking up The Weapon, which then turned into a small, blood red dagger, he faced Akos directly. “This here is the reason-”
The Weapon broke. Shattered. Launched itself across the room and buried shrapnel in Akos’ shoulders. Pain split his arm, split his head, split his mind. Brought him down onto his knees, tears streaming.
It went. He wasn’t on his knees. Akos was standing perfectly fine.
“-ince is destroyed,” continued his father, “The… Former King, your Grandfather Aaron Frost, designed it. He had a secret group of special assassins, scientists and soldiers who designed it. A weapon with the only purpose being to channel the power of Auctoritas to flatten Stamstani. A weapon which takes the form of what the perceiver fears most. A stronger weapon than all others.
His death wasn’t because he was killed by the Ravaging Gods, he caused it. His sacrifice activated the weapon and evaporated all of it.
The Elita Impexis, Aaron’s secret force, all either died with him on the day, or committed suicide soon after they realised what they had caused. Every single piece of information on the weapon was burnt.
I discovered the laboratory down here two days after I took upon the role that he passed onto me. The remains of The Weapon were brought here by the Stamstani Guard on your birthday.”
Akos was disturbed. “Why tell me this, Father. I would be much happier thinking that the Destruction of Stamstani was a complete coincidence, the work of an angry god. You mean to tell me that my Grandfather was responsible. The genocide of the whole province and a tenth of our own soldiers, all dead because of him.”
The King sighed. “Because, we cannot have this happen again. Now that Stamstani is gone, land routes have opened up to a country just south of the mountains called Daybreak. It has two things in common with us - steam power and firearm production. We developed technology due to necessity while they did so for art.
They are holding a conference with a few major countries east of the Teledosian Divide. We need relations with them, so you and a few other diplomats are being sent in a convoy down south.”
“Why me. Why-” The Prince protested.
“We need to show that we trust them. Do not argue.” The King placed The Weapon down. “Also, you’re going with Zion. Commander Blossom has already been sent to wait for you.”
Akos turned and almost stormed out of the room in anger. “… What does it take for you? The Weapon?”
“Betrayal.”
As they left, It buried itself into an invisible heart.
Hundreds of hooves slammed down each second onto the hard ice. It was oddly rhythmic and the only major sound down the mostly empty road. Huge columns of hexagonal ice rose out either side of the path, casting fractured shadows across it. The Guard swayed in their horses slightly, exhausted from the journey.
Mordred Zion spoke. “Your Highness. We’re well out of the Regnum and heading near the remains of Stamstani down to a large border town where we can stay the night. I think a storm might be coming. Run fast, men.”
Akos nodded, and continued the charge forwards. Soon however, as the sun continued to dim from the clouds shifting above-
A whistle. A ripple of unease came through the group of soldiers, horses’ ears pricked. Shadows seemed to shift around them.
Commander Zion drew his pistol as a bullet sprung near his face. Screams tore out.
Akos continued to run, catching a few pieces of this screaming. It was a chant, a cry, and he only needed to understand two of the words. Sicarius Domini. Assassins.
He blinked and it seemed like a wave of darkness came upon him. There were probably almost a hundred identically clad, armoured, cloaked, hooded, figures who surrounded them. They were outnumbered, not by much, but by enough to shift the tide of this fight. They were on horseback as well, their steeds dark, rough and exhausted.
They were all bathed in something imperceivable to sight, but visible via some other sense. A dark glow, ridden with the deepest fires conceivable, surrounded them.
“Akos, they’ve got a damn Fiducia!” The commander shouted.
The Prince smiled, “Well so do we-” he began, then faltered. Auctoritas… did they have a part to play in the destruction of Stamstani? Or was their power used in that way unbeknownst to them.
No time for morals. It’s either action or death. A multitude of voices whispered in unison across the guards. “Auctoritas, bless us. For Impexis!”
“For Impexis!” came a shout from each soldier.
A horse fell near him. The soldier on it leapt off and drew his pistol to face the figures. One dropped. Ice summoned by Akos split through the air and impaled a few more, he kept running.
“Akos! Dropping back so we can clear them. Keep going!” A shout came from behind him. As the figures grew ever further behind, the Prince sighed. They would be fine, they’re the most skilled soldiers the Regnum had, against a bunch of overconfident Assassins. Surely-
Two more were right behind him. Seemingly different from the rest. One wore visible armour and held a spear, the other a strange crystal wrapped in chains. A Focaiill. Few were used, surprisingly so, as they are usually effective. Akos didn’t appreciate the mock imitation of magic, however. As a bolt of the invisible darkness flew near him, he jumped off of his horse and rolled into the snow below. A wall of thin ice appeared between the Prince and the opponents, lasting long enough for him to get up and draw his sword.
Steady. These two weren’t like the rest.
Crack! As their blades clashed in a spark. Akos stepped back to avoid another hit and tried to impale the armoured Assassin with an icicle. His rough excuse for a broadsword sliced down the back of the Prince’s glove, drawing blood. It stung and throbbed with a broken pain. Hopefully not poisoned and just a trick of Sicarius. Bang! The ice hit, and the armoured beast fell. Blood trickled down the once pristine steel.
Now it was just the Fiducia. More bolts flew past him, all missing - either by pure chance or burning up in a sudden flare as they reached his skin.
“Auctoritas!”
The Assassin drew a dagger as he drew near, but Akos’ blade flashed with a purple spark as it buried itself into bone. “Damn blood. Wish they didn’t bleed so much.” he growled, wiping the elegant sword on the robes of the enemy. “Hierschall,” he called, as his horse ambled over back to where the Prince and the bodies lay.
Soon after remounting the beautiful white steed, the blizzard finally hit. It surrounded him.
Instantly blinded, Akos only moved forward down the path. The sooner he got out of this place, the better.