Flawed Fracture Read online

  Grayson hurled himself to the side, and the wall of concussive force only glanced him. He was thrown off guard, bruised up his right side and his hood thrown back, as he tried to regain his composure. Retaining his balance, he only had enough time to cross both arms across his chest before he found himself struck full on by another blast of compressed air. Flung across the room, he struck the far wall and slumped down next to the fireplace, dimly aware that the others appeared to have cleared out.

  Painstakingly, he fought his way back onto his feet. He'd only taken a single step forward though before he was hit again, this time from behind. He was thrown to his hands and knees, gasping for air, before he found invisible hands clenched around his throat, dragging him back to his feet, then onto his tiptoes.

  Blue was before him, face drawn into a rictus of hate, lips drawn back into a snarl, an expression diminished not one bit when he saw who he was fighting. "A boy." Hood drawn back, Grayson's features, finally exposed, proved this to be the case.

  He was short for his race, which meant that he was a full two heads shorter than his opponent. He appeared to be a boy of about fifteen, with scruffy brown hair that fell around his head in a careless manner. He was of a fairly average build, with fairly average features- indeed, the only thing about him which didn't scream 'ordinary' was that while one of his eyes was a light yellow, his left was a dark purple. If not for that, he would have been utterly forgettable.

  Blue wasn't making any allowances though- if anything, the fact that his subordinate had lost to a child only made him angrier. "Just a boy. A little boy, thinking he was some kind of hero. Let me explain something to you, boy." Grayson mouthed something, and the man leaned in closer to listen.

  It was nothing more than a whisper, the last air being forced out of his starving lungs, but to Blue it was clear as crystal. "Don't call me that."

  The aetherial straightened, backhanding him viciously around the face. "You're in no position to be ordering me around, child. You have absolutely nothing to threaten me with. Me, on the other hand…" Another wall of force struck Grayson with the power of a charging horse, throwing him across the room and through the counter. His left wrist cracked as he tried to catch himself, then a rain shattered glasses fell from above, leaving long vertical lacerations on his face from which little beads of blood began to well. The innkeeper chose this moment to step between them, but he too was struck by the aetherial magic and suffered a similar fate, winding up by the entrance. Turning back to Grayson, the aetherial began to stalk towards him.

  "Don't presume to tell me what to do, boy. From the moment you stood up you were playing with forces you can't even begin to understand." He crouched down , meeting Grayson eye to eye. "All that remains is to make the best of your situation. Beg, boy. Beg for mercy, and I might even let you go."

  "Go to hell." Grayson knew this was the stage where he had to give himself up, but his pride just wouldn't let him. Blood began to trickle down into his eye. "You have nothing."

  "That is a shame." The aetherial, standing up, making a hollow attempt at appearing regretful. "In that case, I have no choice but to discipline you."

  Blow after blow began to fall upon Grayson, both physical and magical. He was struck by a booted foot and his lip split open. A blast of air hit him in the chest, and he felt at least one rib crack. His head was slammed against the wall and he lost his vision. None of the remaining onlookers were foolish enough to step in, and he could do nothing but weather the storm until it blew itself out.

  After both an instant and an eternity, it was over. Blue stepped back, blood on his boots, little spots of it dotted around the bottom of his robes. He ignored Grayson completely, turning instead to the prone innkeeper. "You have one day to clear out. After that, this place burns." He walked over to his companion, kicking him spitefully in the ribs. "Get up. We're leaving."

  Green rose shakily to his feet, attempting to look strong and capable, regardless of the bruises on his face, and the eye that was swollen shut and refused to open. Making sure not to lean on his superior, he stumbled back towards the exit alongside him. Blue stopped in his tracks just as they passed through the doorway, looking as though he was about to say something.

  But someone else got in first.

  "Arrogance." The voice was quiet, husky, but it carried across the silent room as clearly as any shout.

  The two aetherials turned in surprise. "What?"

  "Turning your back on your opponent. Thinking you've won before the fight is over. Arrogance." At the far end of the room, behind the counter, something was happening.

  There was a growing patch of shadow, a small area of darkness which seemed not to reflect but to absorb the light. As they watched, it rose, lengthened, and resolved itself into the figure of a man. The figure took a single step forwards, the thud of its footfall echoing like the solitary beat of a drum. A second step, and from the shadows Grayson emerged.

  There was a small intake of breath from the aetherials. "You're still conscious?" Blue was incredulous, disbelieving.

  Grayson was bloodied, beaten. His right leg dragged behind him limply. His left arm hung nervelessly by his side. His face was slick with blood, and a red froth bubbled from his mouth every time he breathed out. He didn't walk so much as stumble along like a zumbie- but he was moving. And there was nothing weak about his eyes.

  "Thinking yourselves the supreme power. Thinking nobody can rival you. Arrogance." Grayson dragged himself forwards relentlessly.

  "Stay down boy. Just stay down, or I'll have to put you down for good this time." Now though, there was a hint of trepidation, even fear, in his voice.

  "Doing as you please. Thinking nobody will challenge you on it. Arrogance." There was a manic gleam in his eyes, and it almost appeared that his right had taken on the darkness of his left.

  "That's enough! Stop right there, or I'll have to cut you down!"

  "Thinking you have an option. Thinking you can hold your ground." A hint of emotion crept finally into his voice, a slight undertone of hatred. "Ignorance."

  "Your, choice, boy." Blue flung his fist forward, and from it flew another blast of magic- not a wave of concussive force this time, but a razor sharp scythe which shredded through the floorboards and the furniture as though they were paper.

  Grayson weakly held out his right hand, palm thrust outward, and the scythe crashed against it. Drops of blood began to fly from his palm, but there was obviously something wrong. It should have sliced his arm clean in half, but if anything it appeared to be… slowing. The whirlwind of air came to a complete stop, and it's form began to waver, flicker. All of a sudden it seemed to fold in on itself, losing its shape completely. The energy behind it gone, the harmless air rushed past him on either side and dissipated against the back wall. Grayson straightened, seeming somehow revitalised. While his injuries were far from healed, they no longer appeared to be bothering him. He grinned, spitting a little blood and saliva off to the side. "Now that," he stated in a self-satisfied manner, "Is what you call playing right into your opponent's hands."

  A fearful understanding dawned on the aetherials as they finally realised what they were up against. "Caster."

  Grayson shrugged casually. "Half blood." Then he flew into action.

  Blue sent another scythe flying his way, a horizontal one at about chest height, but Grayson simply ducked beneath it, spinning and jumping straight at his attacker. Blue summoned a naginata from its sheath on his back, but even with his wind magic he was far too slow.

  While the majority of the shadows had faded away, they still lingered around Grayson's hands and feet, and when he struck the man with a flying side kick they latched onto him- only momentarily, but in that moment Blue was overcome by a deathly cold, his stomach muscles paralysed where they had come into contact.

  Grayson felt the familiar tug in the back of his mind as the dark magic did it's work, draining his attacker of energy and feeding it back to him. He never liked doing this- even
without the added complication of the prejudice everybody held against his kind, it was hard work to fight and use magic at the same time. Caster magic was nothing like the effortless magic of the elementals- he had to fight against the sorcerous power every step of the way as it strained for release, and the added mental strain in the middle of a fight like this was only just bearable. The number of casters that used magic in close combat could probably be counted on two hands.

  He struck Blue again, this time with an open palm strike to the centre of his chest that left a perfect, bloodied, handprint. The aetherial tried to gasp in fear but this time his lungs had been frozen and nothing came out. Grayson hooked him around the ankle, sweeping him to the ground, before ducking the frenzied swipe from Green's longsword. He kneed him in the stomach, and though none of his paralysing abilities took hold it was still enough to double the bigger man over. He hit him with a falling knife hand to the back of the neck, sending him to his knees and causing every muscle there to go taut. Finally, he punched him hard in the temple, sending him fully to the ground and locking his face into an expression of what appeared to be confusion.

  Grayson kneeled there for a while, catching his breath and regaining his composure as the adrenaline burnt itself out. There was a roaring in his ears, and black spots were dancing in front of his eyes, the natural result of exerting himself to such a degree when he was in such a bad way. The shadows around his hands and feet faded away, eager to be free once more, and with them went the paralysis. Blue started to breathe again. Green slumped to the floor as though there was not a single bone left in his body. Grayson just stayed there, staring at the cracked floorboards before him and thinking of nothing.

  Eventually, he became aware of a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he found himself looking into the bruised face of the innkeeper. No thanks were written upon his face, but then Grayson hadn't been expecting any. From the moment he'd revealed himself as a caster he'd consigned himself to the same old mix: fear, revulsion, and general discrimination. The innkeeper might be in his debt for stepping in, but he'd consider leaving him alone to be enough payment to cancel that. Grayson's mouth tightened in anger- anger at life, at the world, at the very injustice of it all. He wasn't a fool, though. He knew when he'd outstayed his welcome. "I'm going now."

  "That would be for the best."

  Sighing, he got slowly back up to his feet. The short term energy gain was rapidly wearing away, and all his hurts seemed to be hitting back harder than ever. Still, he was determined not to have made this a wasted effort. Stumbling over to Green, he reached down and plucked his coin purse from his belt. He headed over to Blue, reaching down to do the same thing, when he felt a slight pressure on his arm. It was weak, faded, but it was enough to show his presence was recognised. Blue's eyes were closed, and he appeared at a glance to be unconscious, but his lips were mouthing something.

  Grayson leaned down towards him, having to put his ear right next to the man's ear to hear anything. "I'll kill you for this, boy," he finally made out. "I'll kill you."

  Grayson stood up, picking up the second purse as he did so and beginning to walk away. "Do your worst, angel," he threw over his shoulder as he left, "but I've already told you: I'm not a boy." Not a word was spoken as he walked through the doorway and out into the evening sun. Nothing but silence followed his departure.

  Grayson made it about a kilometre before he gave up, lying down by roadside and trying to look over his injuries. He soon gave up though- it was too early to properly figure out what was broken, what was sprained, or what was just badly bruised. He closed his eyes, the exertions of the day catching up to him, and was asleep in minutes.

  First Impressions

  "Is he dead?"

  Grayson slipped gradually into awakening, disturbed by the unexpected noise. Recognising it for a person speaking, he trained his ears on them in an attempt to make out what they were saying.

  "I don't know. Check his pulse."

  That was enough to banish the last of his weariness and put him on his guard. He didn't like letting people near him, especially not when he was relatively defenceless like this. The way they were speaking, they were either worried for him or they were making sure he was safe to rob, and while he was betting against them being thieves he still felt that it was better to err on the side of caution. Making sure that it seemed natural and non-suspicious, he gave a slight cough.

  There was a small gasp of relief, and there were no noises of anyone backing quickly away, so it looked like he was as safe as he could ever be out here on his own. He heard them moving closer, and this time they were speaking to him.

  "Are you awake?"

  "I am now." He surprised himself by just how weak his voice sounded. It was rasping and whispery, as though he'd spent all night breathing smoke from a fire.

  There was a slight pause before they spoke again. "Are you alright?

  It was a stupid question, and he felt a sudden surge of irrational anger towards his unexpected guests. While he wasn't sure exactly what he looked like right now, it couldn't have been pretty. He'd noticed long ago that people tended to defer to tradition over logic. It was a habit to ask hurt people whether they were alright, and so they'd done so here. While he knew it was something which everyone did, and that he shouldn't really hold it against them, he still couldn't help but let it irritate him.

  "I doubt it." He tried opening his eyes, only to find that they were glued shut with dried blood. That hardly did much to help his mood. "Damn." He reached up with his right hand and began to tear off bits of the scab, leaving his injured one lying by his side. It stung, but he felt a bit better for it afterwards, and at least he could see now. Standing in front of him were an elderly couple, seeming to be in their mid-forties, and behind them lay a weathered old mule-driven caravan. It must have been early morning, but the world was as dark as midnight.

  "What in the god's name's happened to you?"

  "Bandits." Grayson was usually good at talking his way out of situations, but today he was struggling just to focus. "They attacked me… took my money… my horse." The horse part was pushing it a little, considering that every animal he'd ever met seemed to hate him, but he liked thinking of stories and today was no different. "I think… I just ended up here."

  It seemed like the couple were putting his hesitation down to shock, and they didn't question him on any of his story. Far too late it occurred to him that his lies would be revealed if they noticed his multiple coin purses, but they were still stored safely inside the inside pockets of his cloak and hadn't fallen out in the night. He sat up slowly, not having to fake any of the aches or pains as he did so. It felt like his entire body was just one big bruise, and he was completely numb from a combination of the damp and the cold.

  "Sounds like you had a hell of a day." The man grimaced. "Bloody Alliance. If they spent less time squabbling and more time doing their job we wouldn't have issues like this." Given his recent encounter with them, Grayson couldn't help but agree. "Where were you heading for anyway?"

  "Median." This at least was true. He had an appointment there for later this afternoon, an appointment which he still intended to keep. "I'm meant to be meeting some people today."

  "I guess you got lucky, then. That's where we're heading. Do you know what time you have to be there?"

  Grayson groaned inwardly at yet another dumb question- why wouldn't he know what time he was meant to be there? Of course, he made sure that he appeared nothing but polite. "Afternoon-ish."

  "It looks like there's still hope then," the man replied, "we can take you there and you'll have time to spare. We know a healer who can take care of the worst injuries, too." He looked to the woman, who was presumably his wife. "I'll help get him cleaned up, then we'll be needing breakfast for three." She nodded wordlessly and, with Grayson having no choice at all in the proceedings, they went about sorting him out.

  He was given a bucket of water to wash his face in and a clean, non-blood-stained, s
hirt and pair of trousers to change into, although he drew the line with his cloak- even if it didn't have his money in it, it was the one possession of his he was genuinely attached to.

  He had to admit, he felt a lot better without a crust of dried blood coating his face. Looking in a mirror, he realised that he still appeared pretty terrible, but at least he didn't feel it so much. Long, vertical lacerations from the broken glass sectioned his cheeks and forehead, fairly deep ones too, and there was a decent-sized chunk missing from his lower lip. With access to a decent lumin healer, though, such wounds were trivial. His ribs and wrist would be more problematic, but he'd deal with that problem when he had to.

  Breakfast consisted of a rabbit cooked above a pitifully small campfire, and some hard bread to go with it, but to Grayson it seemed like the best meal he'd had in a long time. In fairness, it was a lot better than he could have expected from the inn. The three of them sat around the meagre warmth produced by the flames in peaceful, comfortable, silence, until eventually the man spoke again.

  "So what are you heading to Median for?"