Chapter 489 - Heralds of Iron

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Hump listened to the High Priest and the Herald’s of Iron speak, and he kept his mouth shut. They had so many plans for how things would go. So many ideas on how their holy quest would move forward. There would be a festival held in their honour—the Maker’s heroes, here to free their master so that he could reforge the world.

It was uncomfortable to listen to. Their belief was real, Hump could see as much, but he didn’t miss the story they were trying to sell to their people. The lies.

And finally, the line Hump wouldn’t cross arrived.

“At the end of the ceremony, you will arrive at the temple steps,” High Priest Jerard said. “Before the crowd, you will each receive the Maker’s Mark, and be gifted one of his relics.”

“I have had enough of this,” Bud said.

The High Priest stopped and stared at him. The heralds paused, their metal faces giving nothing away.

“What is it?” High Priest Jerard asked.

“We will not receive the Maker’s Mark,” Bud said. “And we are not your puppets to dangle before an audience. I believe something must have been seriously misunderstood, because your expectations are misaligned. We are here because we are trying to get home, and Lord Loften has provided us a way. He mentioned nothing of any of this.”

Hump hid his smile with a hand. The damned knight had just come out and said what he was thinking. Here he’d been trying to hold himself back for the sake of the rest of them, and it was Bud that caved first.

Prince Marcoff’s eyes turned dark. “This was one of my concerns, Jerard. How can we trust a people not of our world with our most sacred duty?”

“We trust in the Maker,” High Priest Jerard said. “But Robert, you are here for me to guide. Those were your instructions.”

“A skyship and someone to point us in the right direction is what we need,” Bud said. “Not this. You wish to use us. For what, I am yet to see fully.”

“There are some in this world that would see your quest fail,” High Priest Jerard said. “It is not enough to go alone. There are steps that must be taken. The people must be on your side, and they must make ready for the reforging.”

“The day of fire and hammer is coming,” the first herald said, his voice raised—commanding. Hump sensed the intent in it, and it was not for the first time. “Why do you doubt us? Who are you to doubt us? We are the Maker’s most holy, bound to him without end. We do not seek to make puppets of you, but to incorporate you into our temple and bring forth a better world.”

“We don’t know enough about your world to make such judgements,” Bud said. “Nor do we know enough about you to trust you. We are here in good faith with aligned goals, and that is all. If you wish for more, we must build on that trust first.”

Hump laughed. It came out of nowhere. He couldn’t help himself.

“Is there some custom I am unfamiliar with?” Prince Marcoff asked. “Why do you laugh?”

Hump looked up at the prince, the altari standing a good two feet taller than him. “Prince Marcoff, High Priest Jerard and the heralds, you all have your own ideas on how you want to move forward. I understand that. Along the way, however, you have dismissed us. That is something that will need to change.”

“Wizard Humphrey, I can see you are all getting frustrated,” Princess Urella said, “but understand we have the same task in mind. The Heralds of Iron are the Maker’s most ancient servants—heroes that even in death, wished to continue their service. Their wisdom is what has brought Urandel so far. They have not dismissed you but are merely sharing their guidance as they have done for so many before you.”

“We have our own way of doing things,” Hump said.

“And what is that?” Prince Marcoff asked.

“In this case, publicising our quest is the last thing I want to do,” Hump said. “Even more so if there are altari that will try to sabotage us as you suggest. Ideally, we take a skyship to the dungeon along with a powerful contingent of your warriors and proceed into the dungeon from there.”

“Unacceptable,” the first herald said. “This is a holy quest, and the proper rituals must be carried out as has been done before. You must receive the Maker’s Mark. You cannot succeed without it.”

“As my friend said.” Hump clasped Bud’s shoulder. “That’s not happening. It’s time you understand that you need us a lot more than we need you. Loften did not send us here to receive orders, but or advice on how we can move forward. That’s all we want from you. If that comes with these conditions, we will make do without.”

“Who are you to speak against us?” the first of the Heralds of Iron said. “Who are you to deny the Maker’s voice?”

“You can speak louder but it doesn’t change what I’ve told you,” Hump said. “We do this our way. Not Loften’s. And certainly not yours.”

“Do not do this, Herald Ir,” High Priest Jerard said. “Stay yourself. He is the Maker’s ally.”

“He is the Maker’s pawn, and he will do as instructed,” the Herald responded, his voice like thunder.

His metal body radiated essence. Runes across its surface blazed like molten gold. Power poured from it in crashing waves, and Hump stood there and took it as a pressure descended upon him.

He had faced far more powerful than this though. It would not break him. He gritted his teeth and pressed back, pouring essence into is defences.

Bud moved to interfere, but Hump held up a hand to stop him. There was no need. Hump had competed in many soul duels by this point, most in practice with his own party, and he knew without doubt that he would win. The herald was strong, but he was only equivalent to the sixth circle. Hump’s soul had always been powerful for his own rank, and now that he was Rank 6, he had met none his equal that were of the same rank. This was where he excelled, and it was about time the altari—both the temple and the royals—learned what it meant to get on his bad side.

“Herald Ir,” Hump said. “Stop this before you cannot turn back.”

“Apologise to him, human,” Prince Marcoff said. “Do not incur his wrath any further. If you wish to live, you must follow our ways and do as you’re told.”

“I don’t like negotiating in this way,” Hump said, keeping his voice completely at ease. “Your people chose to make this about power, and this is the consequence. It is our help that you are after. Our strength. You will not chain us to you. We are not yours to command. Let this be an explanation as to why.”

“You dare,” the herald said, his voice strained. “I am Ir, first of the Maker’s Heralds, born anew in this body of rune and metal. For a thousand years I have stood watch over this realm and spread the word of Loften. Know your place!”

The herald’s body shone brighter, essence pouring from it in streaks of blue as his soul began to take form, imbued into the metal form much like the weapons of the altari. But it would not be enough. His soul broke upon Hump’s solid core like water on rock.

“Assist me, brothers!” the herald said, his voice strained.

The others joined. All three statues turned their attention to him in synchrony, and the pressure redoubled. Their essence—their souls—locked onto his, pressing down with such weight that Hump was immediately forced to manifest his soul. He snarled, calling upon every shred of essence he possessed. The essence in his Spirit Well flooded out and he circulated it using Spirit Overflow, letting it churn through his soul. Empowering it. Pressing outward on the walls as pressure bore down on them.

They wanted his freedom. Celaine’s freedom. His friends’ freedom.

This is what it meant to take it.

His power rose in a cascade. His blood boiled, the dragon in him raging deep inside. His body became hot. Lightning crackled in the air. Flames danced around him. Vines sprouted from the marble. Fragments of stone lifted into the air, orbiting him in slow spirals. His essence escaped in a violet burst, and once more the temple echoed with the roar of a dragon.

Beside him, Nishari answered his call, adding her voice to his. He felt her light up through their bond, blazing like the sun. Her scales turned to gold. Essence surged from her. Her eyes shone purple, while flakes of gold as bright as stars sparkled within. Fire bubbled at the back of her throat, smoke burst from her nostrils.

High Priest Jerard, Princess Urella, and Prince Marcoff all stepped back, shock on their face, hair and silk gowns buffeted by the essence that surged through the room. Hump’s party only came closer, their hands going to their weapons, Bud and Dylan at his side, Celaine circling around one flank, Emilia the other, spreading out in preparation for battle. But Hump didn’t want this to turn to a fight. He knew none of them did. Nobody would win here. Nobody would get what they wanted.

The only option was to make them submit. If this worked, he could do so without violence.

Violet essence manifested around Hump, and the temple echoed once more with the roar of a dragon, the very force of Hump’s soul. Nishari roared with him. She pounced forward on the closest statue, her entire body turned to gold, essence raging from her. Her eyes were shining with purple, flakes of gold as bright as stars within. Her fire poured down on the statue, and Hump felt the being’s soul weaken.

The world changed as he lost control of his dragon eye, Spirit Sight activating and the essence around him coming into view. His gaze pierced the runecraft of the heralds, and he saw them truly. Souls trapped in golems of rune-forged metal, bound to their eternal vigil. But there was something strange—a dark spot obscured by something. No. It was more like a hole.

The brand, Hump realised. Like all the altari, they would bear the mark of Loften. Was that it? A hole in their souls to siphon off excess essence? It was no wonder none of them could advance further with something like that holding them back.

With a new goal in mind, Hump’s focused changed from defence to attack. He envisioned his soul like a needle and stabbed at the soul of the first herald. Essence streaked across the room like a spectral finger, ethereal light shining between them. The herald resisted, but he wasn’t ready for the force of Hump’s strike, nor the intent behind it. As he pierced through his protections, Hump sensed the man’s shock and terror as his soul was invaded. But Hump wasn’t aiming to damage it, he just wanted to know what this was.

He reached for it—

His vision went. A world of light and power filled his mind. The room was gone, the soul duel over, and Hump found himself in a place of unending essence, all around him, soaring in every direction. Fighting against each other in a constant chaotic battle. Pain erupted in his soul as that essence came for him too. Searing heat surged through him in the heartbeat it took to retreat. He opened his eyes to find Dylan supporting him under the arms, stopping him from falling.

But Hump couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. All he felt was that heat, blazing through his soul. He threw essence at it, envisioning the Rivers and Waves as he swept it through his body, trying to distribute it. He felt the solid walls of his soul begin to waver, like metal on the verge of turning molten. With every bit of will, he held it together. He endured. The pain began to lessen, the heat dissipated, and the raging essence through his channels finally started to take on his intent.

Finally, he could breathe.

Across from him, the first herald had collapsed to the floor. Essence no longer shone from the metal body, the runes faded, but the soul screamed with power. He was suffering just as Hump had—a suffering so real he sensed it in the air.

“That was a foolish thing to do,” came the familiar voice of Loften.

Hump looked up to see Loften gazing at him, his eyes dark.