Dream Drive Ch. 08

"It'll do."

"You can't hurt me with something like that."

"If that's true," Gerod said, "then why do you work so hard to dodge?"

"No one likes to get kicked in the head," Charles said.

"You had me fooled for a while," Gerod said, "but I've fought in more battles than you have, boy. You're at the end of your rope."

Something moved in the shadows behind Gerod.

Charles's eyes widened. "Your Highness?"

Gerod snorted. "If you think I'll fall for the oldest trick in the book, you're -"

Ellesmere swung the helmet she was holding into the back of Gerod's head. It clanged off the man's armor, but he was sent forward a step. Ellesmere went for another helmet-blow, but Gerod turned and caught her wrist. "Stupid bitch! What the hell are you doing?"

"Let go of me! Let go!"

Gerod stabbed his broken blade into Ellesmere's stomach. Ellesmere gasped. Her mouth opened, closed. She fell back onto the floor, clutching at her wound.

Charles was baffled. He looked at Ellesmere, then the knight, then at her again. "Isn't that the emperor's daughter?" he asked. "You know, the princess you're supposed to protect?"

"And now she knows her place," Gerod said. "Her father was getting around to it anyway."

"Father..." Ellesmere's words were mumbled. Blood was on her lips. "H-he..."

"Wouldn't kill the daughter prancing around, telling everyone who would listen she'd be an empress?" Gerod's face twisted in an ugly sneer. "I'm surprised he didn't do away with you sooner. Probably didn't think you were much of a threat, get some use from you by selling you up north. God knows you wouldn't last a season up there."

"I -" Ellesmere's feet worked on the stone; she managed to push herself back against the wall, away from where Gerod stood over her. "That...it isn't -"

"What truly bewildered me," Gerod said, "is that you honestly believed you could hold the Four Kingdoms together with nothing more than ink and parchment. You couldn't keep the likes of Lord Niemon in line, let alone someone with ambitions greater than sticking his prick in you. Do you think Lord Hale would grovel before your wide-eyed idealism?"

Charles watched Ellesmere try to speak. Her words didn't make it out.

"Finally shutting up," Gerod said. "More full of herself than her father, and that's saying something."

"What exactly are you going to tell the emperor?" Charles asked. He didn't really care about the answer, but he needed to stall. His health was ticking back, one tiny increment at a time.

"She died in the fighting," Gerod said. He looked back at Charles. "A terrible casualty amongst many. I barely escaped the burning wreckage of the armory after killing the man that killed three magicians. I'd say that's worth a good-sized parcel of land." He looked back at Ellesmere. "Wouldn't you say so, Princess? What do you think? That bit by the river, a few miles out from the city? You always dragged me there for your idiotic paintings. I think I'll divert the water, dig up that hill you sat on, turn it to farming. Rich land, that is. The emperor's a fool to let it go wild."

"I..." Ellesmere struggled to make her words audible. "Me, I...asked him t-to keep it..."

"And you're just a stupid little girl, aren't you? He always indulged you too much. Letting you run wild around the castle, stick your nose in books, butt into matters in which you had no business, when you should've -"

Charles was running.

Gerod looked up just in time. He clenched the pommel of his broken sword and held it out in front of himself.

Charles leapt into a full double kick. The broken blade was deflected by his prosthetic foot. He smashed through Gerod, knocking him over and landing on top of him.

There was a scramble for advantage. Gerod grabbed one of Charles's legs; Charles kicked out, but his prosthetic glanced off the plate armor. Gerod tightened his hold. Charles kept kicking, trying to push himself free.

There was a crash. One of the rafters collapsed next to them, half burning with normal yellow fire, half with blood red magic. Charles coughed as the smoke rolled over him, blinding him.

Gerod got a hand on the back of Charles's shirt. He forced Charles toward the red flames. The heat scalded Charles's skin. His eyes stung. He squinted and wrenched his head back, but he had no leverage.

"Argh!"

The force on Charles's neck was gone. He fell to the ground an inch from the red flames. He sat up, pulling himself away from the fire.

Ellesmere clung to Gerod, hanging off him where he was kneeling on the ground. One of her hands was on his head; her nails were clawing viciously, one finger pushing into his eyeball through the slit of his helmet. He tore her free and kicked her back against the wall. She fell, and didn't move.

When Gerod turned back around, Charles met his face with the hardened knee of his prosthetic leg.

Gerod swayed there for a moment, the front of his helmet mashed in by Charles's attack. Charles grabbed the back of his head, pulled it forward, and smashed his knee in again, then once more. Gerod's face caved in with an ugly squelch.

Gerod fell back. His armor clunked as he hit the stone. The white rush of essence swam into Charles's body.

Another crash - another rafter, and a support beam, both falling together. The heat was increasing in intensity. He had to get out before the whole wing of the castle collapsed.

Charles glanced down at Ellesmere. She laid against the corner of the hall, facing the stone, motionless.

It seemed his insight into her fate wasn't too far off the mark. It was a shame - wasted potential. The world was a little worse off, now.

Her hand moved.

Charles paused, fires licking at his heels, smoke in his eyes. Every instinct told him to keep on going. He wouldn't make it if he carried her. She was half dead. He had no way to heal her.

He had to live. Rachel was still out there. He had to leave her.

Or, I could use her.

Charles grit his teeth and picked her up. Thankfully, her petite form was not heavy. He hoisted her over one of his shoulders and started trudging through the smoke and burning timber.

The intersection was an inferno. Half the wood supporting it had fallen into the middle, cutting off the fitting room and one of the other halls. His decision had been made for him.

Charles forged through the fire, doing the best he could to stay away from the flames. Even then, he could see the few scant points of health he'd started to regain slip away from the sheer heat. He stumbled out into the new hallway, going as fast as he dared with Ellesmere over his arm.

He reached the end of the passage. The smoke thinned slightly, but the heat was right on his back. He glanced at his health bar. 2. He had 2 health points. 2 inches from death.

A wooden door marked the end of the hall. Exhausted but relieved, Charles put his hand on the handle.

It didn't turn.

Panic shot up his arm and down his spine. He tried it again, harder. He rattled the knob, kicked at it.

Nothing. The door was locked. Of course it was. They'd locked all the exits when they ambushed him. Gerod would have a key - one of the magicians, maybe.

There was a rumble; Charles flinched, looking back. Part of the stone hall across the intersection collapsed, sealing them in.

He was suddenly having a tremendous difficulty smiling.

"Candle..."

Charles turned his head. "What?"

Ellesmere weakly raised her arm, pointing with a finger. A lit candelabra was situated in an alcove near the door.

"More fire is not what we need right now," Charles said.

"Pull...passage..."

Charles grabbed the iron candelabra and yanked as hard as he could. It bent to the side.

There was a heavy click. Stone grated on stone. The wall behind the candelabra started to open up.

Something snapped loudly. The door ground to a halt a third of the way open. Charles stared at it for a moment, then slowly lowered Ellesmere down. "I can't carry you through. Turn sideways."

Charles had barely taken his hands off her when she started to lose her balance. He grabbed her under the shoulders and shoved her into the crack.

There was another click. The passage started to shut.

Charles shoved Ellesmere forward. She tumbled out the other end. He squeezed forward, sliding between the walls as they closed in on him from both sides.

Charles fell free - but his foot caught behind him, wedged in. The leather of his boot was rapidly and painfully squeezed around his flesh. Charles grunted and tore his foot out of the shoe. He fell forward on his hands and knees, heaving in moldy air. He was more than thankful for it. Anything but more smoke.

He glanced up. That little pinch had taken his last spare health point. His boot was pancaked between the stone.

It was dim inside the tunnel, but Charles's glowing skin gave off a little bit of ambient light. He still had well over 200 essence, ticking away bit by bit. He hardly cared.

Charles grinned into the darkness. He fell to the stone, and then, he was laughing. "I can't - I thought we were dead. So many times. What - why the hell am I laughing?" Charles tried to stop, but his diaphragm clenched up against his will. Something in his brain, joyous beyond all reason at his state of survival, refused to cooperate.

Charles's mirth was cut off by Ellesmere's half-chuckle, half-groan. "Heh...laugh...hurts."

He kept his smile bright and crawled toward the sound of her voice. His hands found the cloth of her dress; he went from there to her shoulder. The haze on his skin illuminated her face, giving her a pale, deathly cast.

Something touched his hand - her fingers. They were soft. "Say..." She trailed off for a moment. "...thank you."

"Of course, Your Highness," Charles said.

"Why...did you..."

"Save you?" She nodded. "Why did you save me?"

"I...just..." Ellesmere gave a weak shrug.

Charles shrugged back. "Yeah, me neither."

"Well...glad you did."

Charles glanced down the dark passageway. "Where does this go?"

"Storehouse...ugh." She coughed. "It's...so dark. I think...I think I'm dying."

Charles chuckled. "It's dark because there's no light."

"You look...hazy."

"No, really," Charles said. "Stomach wounds take hours to bleed out. That fighting might have torn it a bit, but you've got plenty of time."

"So I get...to suffer? That's...wonderful."

"As witty as ever," Charles said. "Seems like you're fine to me."

"You should've...let me burn."

"I've heard fire is a horrible way to go. Extremely painful. Game menu."

"Game...?" Ellesmere trailed off.

Charles directed the menus and dumped thirty points into Spirit. Morgan said that would increase his capacity and stop the overflow - and he was right. His essence held at 193 points. Good old Gary. We were lucky to have him.

Unfortunately, that put out their one source of light. By all accounts, the essence was worth it. Probably.

Charles had a sudden mental image of stumbling in the dark, hitting his head, and knocking off his last few health points.

"We need to keep moving," Charles said. He put one hand at her back, and the other under her knees, then stood, cradling her to his chest. "You holding up alright?"

"Good as...expected..." She coughed. "Considering I got..." Her hand tried to mime a stabbing.

"With a cheery attitude like that, you must be a hit with all the princes."

"Light...the rune. Can you make runes?"

"I don't know," Charles said. "How do you do that?"

"Like...this."

Charles waited. He felt Ellesmere shift slightly in his arms. "Is something supposed to happen, or...?"

A light flared in front of him. It was the same red-gold light that the magicians created, but Charles didn't recognize the symbol. It floated alongside Ellesmere's head as Charles walked, lighting the stone passage.

"Impressive."

"You..." Ellesmere eyes unfocused for a moment. The rune flickered. She blinked away the dizziness, focusing on him. "Hurts."

"I'm sure it does."

"Why...are you smiling?"

Charles felt his smile grow a little wider. "Why aren't you?"

"You're..." She coughed. "You're strange."

"You ought to meet my sister."

****

Charles swung around the corner. "Sorry about this."

"What do you -"

Charles's fist struck the surprised kitchen scullion on the tip of the chin. His head snapped sideways, and his brain rattled around in its case quite a bit. Charles couldn't actually see that part for himself, but his victim dropped like a puppet with the strings cut.

You have created a new skill: Incapacitating Blow

Charles raised an eyebrow at the prompt, then tapped the translucent screen. His active abilities tab blipped in front of him.

Incapacitating Blow: A quick head strike intended to render the foe disoriented or unconscious. Best used on unaware or surprised enemies.

- Essence Cost: 5

- Level: 1

- Progress: 51.6%

Situational, but potentially useful.

Charles grabbed the boy and dragged him from the edge of the kitchens. Luckily, the place was empty - it seemed everyone else had abandoned ship, what with the place being on fire. The secret passageway had taken them a good distance, so he assumed that the fire wouldn't be in dangerous proximity for at least a few more minutes.

He kicked the door of the storeroom open behind him. Ellesmere wearily looked up from where she was propped on the wall between sacks of flour. Her eyes went wide.

"I didn't kill him," Charles said, laying his victim down behind a barrel. "Now, I'd ask you to turn away, but seeing as you've already seen me in the nude..."

Ellesmere shut her eyes as Charles rapidly stripped. His clothes peeled away from his body, soiled by blood and bits of gore. Thankfully, the storeroom held a barrel of water, so he'd been able to wash the majority off his hands and face.

He pulled the boy's clothing off, struggling to get them over limp arms and unmoving feet, then put them on. More than a little small in the back, but they'd function. Charles considered the chainmail for a moment, then decided to leave it behind. He had a health bar, the armor was noisy, and the sharp edges where it had been damaged were as like to cut his skin as protect him.

"Charles..." Ellesmere coughed. Her words were faint and wheezing. "I realize...clothes important...but I'm not feeling well."

"One step at a time," Charles said. "I had to make sure we didn't have guests outside." He kneeled down next to Ellesmere and took her hand. "Your Highness. Do you know any runes I can draw that would heal you?"

"I..." She shook her head slightly; a few strands of hair fell down over her face. "I haven't much talent in it. They never...taught me. The knowledge is closely guarded by...the mages."

"That leaves us with one option," Charles said. "I can make you like me." He raised his hand, showing her the black star-scar. "You won't be harmed by normal weapons - amongst other interesting benefits, such as rapid healing."

"Healing..." Ellesmere's eyes lit up. She sat straighter, making a small noise against the pain.

Charles looked down, then tightened his smile to stop a grimace. Ellesmere's dress was wet with a widening blood stain. Maybe he'd been optimistic when he'd quoted her lifespan.

When he looked up, he found Ellesmere watching him. "Is it bad?" she asked. He nodded. "What do I have to do?"

"It's simple," Charles said. "I'll draw out the contract later, but you'll be gainfully employed by Ransfeld International as an Assistant Secretary."

"Secretary?"

"A fancy word for assistant."

"Then I'm...an assistant's assistant?" she asked. Ellesmere coughed harder. The movement made her whimper; she bent over her wound, and stayed there, focusing on her breathing. Slowly, she uncurled again. "What does this have to do with...healing?"

"It's a pact," Charles said. "A bond. I'm not exactly sure how they work, but we just have to make an agreement. You get part of my magic, and in exchange, you'll work for me. Your résumé isn't really the type that recommends itself to managerial work, but I'm willing to overlook that."

"Is your - is it..." Her eyes flicked to Charles's scar. "...a curse?"

"Oh, very much so," Charles said. "I saw it eat a man whole."

Ellesmere swallowed. "I...maybe death would..."

"Don't give me that," Charles said. "You're Princess Ellesmere, Her Royal Highness, heir to the Three Kingdoms and the Throne of Hadraan."

Ellesmere's face was twisted up in pain, but she still managed to look offended. "Her Imperial Highness. Four Kindoms. Seat of..." She coughed. "Seat of Hadraan. Not throne."

"See?" He winked at her. "Are you really going to throw away all that personal motivation?"

"You..." Ellesmere's lips churned for a word. "...stink."

"We'll work on the comebacks," Charles said. "My princess. Your Imperial Highness." Charles took her hands and held them between his. "Your father wanted you gone, either dead or married away, because you weren't the daughter he needed. Your knight hated serving you. I wonder how many other enemies you have in this palace, enemies you don't even know exist. I think the only reason the emperor didn't move on you was because he thought he could use you. But you seem pretty obstinately against him."

"He...the common people. He doesn't understand them. Doesn't understand...me. He just needs to - he could see, if he -"

"Don't make excuses for him," Charles said. "Don't enable yourself to be used." It was only after he noticed Ellesmere's stare that he realized he'd said that a bit more harshly than he intended. He cleared his throat. "What I mean to say is that you would be an empress more concerned with the common man than with her fawning nobility or marrying the right husband. He doesn't give a damn about your aspirations. If you weren't of use to him, he would have gotten rid of you eventually. One way or another."

"That isn't true."

"How long did you know Sir Gerod?" Charles asked. Ellesmere wavered. Charles squeezed her hands. "Princess?"

"Three years," she whispered. "Since I was 17, he was...my knight. Every day, guarding my honor. I...I never knew."

"And what makes you think you know your father better than Sir Gerod? You spend more time with him?"

"Hardly ever," she said. Her eyes shimmered. A tear fell down her cheek. Her breath rattled in her throat.

"Princess," Charles said, "your condition is worsening. You need to make a decision."

Ellesmere gave her head a weak shake. "I don't want to die."

Charles smiled.

They all had their titles. Some people were called dukes. Others were Deputy Pharmaceutical Negotiators. Tear away the ballroom gowns and the power ties, and they were all the same. People were people - and Charles was good at people. Especially when they were in stressful situations.

He lifted his scar hand and made a fist. "This is a curse, Ellesmere - the curse of revenge. Someday, we'll take this place, take what's yours, and you'll sit on your seat. You'll prove them wrong. All of them." He leaned back slightly. "Or, you can give up."

Ellesmere's lips firmed. She gathered her breath. "I won't die here."

"That's more like it." Charles extended his arm. "Shake on it."

"What?"

"Take my hand," Charles said.

"Not for revenge," she said. "That's not - you weren't sent here for that."

Before he could ask what she meant, Ellesmere grasped Charles's hand with the tips of her fingers. Hers was the timid, limp-wristed handshake of someone who had never sealed a deal in her life, but it would do. If Morgan's intelligence held out, anyway.

And it did. Ellesmere's left hand glowed. A white pentagram swam into existence on her skin. It glowed softly, casting sharp shadows around the barrels and crates in the storeroom.