The Threadbinders Ch. 06

"The accords are being signed right now, boy," Arkady said, his patience already exhausted from his voice. "But as part of them, this weapon is to be destroyed. It's forbidden magic, dark and unholy spellcraft, the sort of workings that were supposed to have been eradicated centuries ago. Surely you felt that horrible tremor on your soul when it was fired earlier this day." He could see the two boys nodded, the fear beginning to seep in. "Those were the souls that were used to create this horrid thing, crying out in anguish and intense frustration, unable to die, not permitted to escape this world, but instead trapped to cause suffering and disfigurement upon others." He sighed, raising his hand to brush them away from his path. "Depart and let me destroy this cursed thing, before it wreaks any more damage upon you, your colleagues, your opponents or even just the innocent bystanders caught up in the crossfire."

The two boys looked at each other, then shrugged, stepping aside, something that didn't especially surprise the dwarf. He was used to people being deferential to him, simply because of his status as a Threadbinder. Even if he was a mage who focused upon affairs of the heart, he was still an accredited and accomplished mage, which meant arguing with him was often a futile affair. He could've put both young men in their place if it had come to that, but instead they had seen that look in his eyes that said they should steer clear of him and chosen to respect it.

Past the two men, the Rackow sat basically unattended, and seemed so much more harmless than when it was in use. The cannon itself comprised most of the weapon, although the insectoid tank around it gave it mobility, so that it wasn't an easy target. Rackows had been generally crewed by three - a spotter, a gunner and a pilot, but it was a cramped fit for three humans, and whenever the weapon wasn't it use, it was clear they wanted to be as far away from the horrific thing as possible.

Arkady moved to the back of it, sliding his calloused hand over the thing's pockmarked surface. Despite how old it was, he found it in remarkable condition. He suspected it must have been barricaded in a cave somewhere and forgotten about until desperate farmers had found themselves willing to chase down even the scantest of rumors to find something to help them turn the tables against their oppressors. But this weapon would bring ruin upon not only those who it was used upon, but the wielders themselves.

The dark end of the tank had a single curved metal panel covering the large heart of blue crystal at the center of the machine, which was easy enough to remove and beneath it was the devilish core he needed to destroy. He placed his hand across the cool surface of it and could immediately feel the anguish of the trapped souls within.

His fingertips began to summon dissolver magics to them, and he could feel the crystalline structure of the gemstone beneath his touch start to crumble, and the wailing of the damned began to choir in his ears.

The crystal turned into a mass of ember and snarled remnants but the devastating chorus of souls crackling into oblivion only grew louder and louder in his ears while it happened. No one other than him could hear them, but for him, they were the only thing he could hear, and not only hear, but all of his senses were being overwhelmed by the sensations of these eternal souls being snuffed out one at a time.

In the final moments of the heart of the blueflame weapon dying, a tiny figure, that of a young human girl no more then five or six appeared before him with imploring eyes, begging for salvation that was beyond his ability to give, so he offered her the only thing he could - escape and termination.

When the flames had stopped, the memory of the little girl's dying shriek continued to echo in his ears. He could still feel her presence lingering on him as he walked away from the husk of the weapon, now completely and forever inert, and headed back over to Quiesh, walking up the stairs onto the carriage as Yasha moved to slide her arm around his shoulders, not taking it personally when he twitched and recoiled slightly at the initial contact before letting her arm fold around him.

"How many?" the tall elven woman asked him.

"Eighteen," he whispered quietly, his voice lacking all the strength and resilience it normally carried with it. "The oldest was in his sixties; the youngest, maybe six or so."

Yasha's breath caught for a moment before clinging to her husband even more than she'd expected to. Most blueflame weapons were created by using the souls of the old, those people who were nearing the end of their lives, but any soul served the same purpose. "Children?"

He nodded, stepping over to the front of the carriage, wanting to get Quiesh back up into the air and away from the spot as quickly as possible. "It was from the final generation of blueflame weapons, where they were being built in secret and constructed by the least scrupulous of mages," he said, shaking his head. When he gave Quiesh the signal to get airborne, the griffon eagerly took back to the sky, as if being anywhere near the destroyed weapon was toxic and unpleasant for her.

"Savages," Yasha said. "I can navigate us for some time if you'd like, husband."

"I... yes. I should rest."

The dwarf moved from the deck to head inside of the carriage, moving to lay down on the bed, as Sophia climbed in after him, wrapping her arms around him, while Moonweave moved to start braiding his beard for him, hoping it would help distract him from the horror he'd witnessed.

It didn't help much, but it helped a little.