Chapter 30 - Plan of Attack

Marcello couldn’t move. He couldn’t even blink. He could only stare helplessly as the Crinti circled around them, the moonlight reflecting off of their ebon skin. Lucian hovered over Marcello with a snarl, throwing out his hand.

“Get back!” He lashed. An icy speaer sailed forth from his own palm, and the Crinti rolled to the side, dodging it as it smashed into a broken pillar.

Come on… move! Marcello grit his teeth, managing the slightest twitch of his finger.

Paralysis poison. Along with the drow knockout poison, it was one of the Crinti specialties. Marcello was overwhelmed in terror as the elves came upon them, weapons drawn. Only a single thought reverberated through his skull.

This was how Theseus died. Vulnerable. Helpless.

No. He would not die to the Crinti. Not now. Not before he had the chance to tear them apart.

The Crinti slowed in their approach as Marcello managed to push himself up from the dirt, eyes widening in surprise. Marcello leveled a hand at them, eyes blazing with cold fury. Electricity crackled between his fingers and surged forward, striking one of the elves and sent him flying backwards, limp against the ruins.

It was all he could manage before his muscles seized up, and he collapsed against Lucian who twisted his fingers into Marcello’s robes. “Marcello!"

"Give him up, boy,” one of the half elves said, twin scimitars materializing in his grasp.

“No.” Lucian’s eyes burned with arcane light. From his extended fingers, a bubble expanded around them, deflecting another crossbow bolt as it was fired at his head. Another charged at the globe of force, and his blade shattered against it.

“Enough!” One of the Crinti females snapped. “Our weapons cannot penetrate it. You two.” She pointed to two mages. “Bring the globe down.” Crimson eyes leveled on Marcello. “The Netyarch is trying to run from us… but we will cut him down, just as we did the last.”

Marcello’s body screamed to act. But still it would not respond. “We need to get out of here,” Lucian whispered, his face white as he began to focus on a teleportation spell.

“No!"

Lucian twisted around. “What do you mean no?!”

Marcello struggled to his knees. Every motion was ridged, short, pained. "They murdered my fucking brother!” He snarled. “I’m going to kill them all."

"Marcello!” Lucain’s hand coiled around Marcello’s wrist. “We can’t beat them, we need to go, now!"

"Remove the spell."

"No. I will not allow you to self destruct."

“Lucian Arceneaux, you will not take this from me.”

The grip tightened to iron and Lucian wrenched the Netyarch up as a rip in time and space tore apart the globe to swallow them up.

When they reached the other end, Marcello’s knees bit into wooden floors, held up on his hands that trembled with effort as labored breaths shook his shoulders. From behind, he could hear the scramble of a figure.

“Lucian? What’s going on?”

The voices blurred as rage pounded thick through Marcello’s skull. His eye searched the standard decor of his palace’s guest suites, the axes thrown across a bureau, picked at platters of food.

A faint ringing joined the buzz of his own beating heart when an arm crashed down to his shoulder. With a snarl, Marcello tore around and wildly fired a bolt of lightning. “Get the fuck off of me!”

Aven had little time to react, knocking the Netyarch’s palm up to the ceiling where the bolt sizzled through a few layers of marble plating. The room went quiet as Lucian quickly shifted to Aven’s side and urged him back.

“Marcello-”

The raven stood now, a wobble to his stance as he leveled the two with a look. It was too late to go back. The Crinti wouldn’t be there. His chance was gone. It took him a moment to straighten his collar and catch a breath. “Leave us, Aven.”

Marcello’s voice was steel, holding no guilt over his attempts to fry the man prior. Aven shot a gaze between the two, worry and confusion muddling his features. “But-”

“It’s okay, Aven,” Lucian soothed, even through the tight fists clenched at his sides. “We’ll only be a minute.”

Aven didn’t protest. He passed Lucian with a gentle squeeze to the arm before letting the doors click shut behind him. Even still, he wouldn’t go far.

Marcello didn’t give the Prince of Aeliorn an inch. In a flash and ripple of muddied robes, he lunged across the room and sent the back of his hand across Lucian’s face. “You had no right!”

The smack was met with a scalding burn. A hiss drew from Lucian and he turned his attention back with every intent to return the hit when his gaze met the swell of tears behind Marcello’s stormy blue eye.

He was still unsteady. A far cry from the typical appearance of the Netyarch. His hair thrown about, a cut across his cheek and robes looking as if he’d rolled around in mud and tore clean through in some areas. But it was the show of tears that was most unusual for a man so wrapped up in control.

Lucian’s shoulders sank, his fingers uncurling from the fists at his sides. “…They were baiting you, Marcello. Willing you to make a mistake. You won’t get your revenge behind some ruins. You’ll get it on the field, when you conquer their land and slaughter their matriarchs.”

“You’re naive if you think that! There is no vengeance on the field of battle. The only thing I’ll ever find out there is death and loss.” A tear tore down his cheek, his voice twisting in his throat like the strangled cry of a wounded animal. “They killed my brother. And then they tried to kill me, but I’m not like Theseus! They have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“There are better ways to fight them that won’t get you killed.”

“No!” Marcello’s fist smashed against Lucian’s chest as he sank forward, nearly swept off his own feet. “You’re my ally! You’re the only one I’ve got and the second you promised me your willingness of a friendship, you stole from me again!” A sob finally wrenched its way free and Marcello spun to turn his back, his fingers twisting into his robes. “You stole the only chance I may have had to prove myself to those bastards. The council will never let me fight.”

He couldn’t see Lucian behind him. Didn’t hear him step forward. Only felt the hand at his wrist as it twisted him around.

Marcello caught only a flash of pale features before arms engulfed him. Lucian’s face buried to his shoulder and a ripple of shock stalled the agony twisting in the Netyarch’s chest.

“I know what it’s like to find yourself up against an impossible battle, but you’re right. You are stronger than they know, Marcello, so use that to your advantage. You will win this, and you will avenge your brother. But when the time is right.”

A breath shuddered in Marcello’s chest, shaking hands slowly moving around to curl into Lucian’s shoulders from behind. He was stiff. Uncertain. The coiling rage had little place to go and all at once he caved with exhaustion. “Why did he leave me to do this. This was never the plan… I’m not supposed to be the Netyarch. I’m nothing like him and they all know it. The only people on my side are Kendyll and my dogs.”

Lucian’s gut twisted. It had never been like Marcello to doubt himself. To cave under pressure. He drew back to look the older man in the eyes, a hand squeezing his shoulder firmly. “And me.”

“You?” A tired laugh bubbled at Marcello’s lips. “So my sister, a bunch of mutts, and the traitor prince. Yeah, I think that sounds about right.”

This time Lucian’s fist was the one to crash into his chest as they separated. “Shut the hell up, this isn’t easy for me. I’m just… I’m just saying you aren’t alone anymore. I wish I could have been here for you sooner, or take back what I did.”

“There’s no need.” Marcello wiped his face on a sleeve and sighed. “Thank you, Lucian. I’m sorry you had to…” A grimace. “See all of that.”

“Just don’t make it a habit, I hate crying.”

Marcello moved to collapse on the end of the bed, waving a hand as a cup floated his way, self-filling to the brim with wine. “Me too.” He took a more than generous sip as he grasped the cup from mid air. “How did they know we’d be there, Lucian?”

Lucian took a seat beside him, boldly stealing the glass for a sip of his own as they recovered. “Do you trust your council, Marcello?”

"You mean all four hundred of them?” His brows furrowed, seeming to not notice the missing glass. “I don’t think I even remember all of their names. I have a register of them and their talents but… I have a much smaller circle. Eleven other mages who sit with me when the full capacity isn’t necessary.”

“Perhaps you should look into them, then. Only someone from within your walls could have known where we’d be.”

“How the hell would I even go about doing so? There’s far too many and none of them would be stupid enough to leave any record of past transgressions. Someone can’t sit on the council if they’ve gone against the law.”

“Then at least narrow it down to a few suspects. Whose loyalty could you outright question?”

A sad laugh tumbled from Marcello’s lips and he took his wine glass back to down a few more gulps. When it drew free, his lips stained red. “Realistically, Lucian, I perhaps only have a handful of people I can clear.”

“That does make things difficult.” Lucian sighed. “Then we have to get creative and split it up.”

“How so?”

“Section the council off into four groups. You’ll tell each group of a different plan that will place your whereabouts for the spy to divulge to the Crinti. You will tell group one you are traveling to Zoundar along the Talath pass. The second that you are going to be traveling to Galdel, across the lake. The third that you are going to Mithtar along the Eastern Wall. And you will tell the last group that you are going to Khaerbaal, in the Bay of Taertal. Decoys will be sent to each and one way or another, one of those locations will be attacked. That will at least narrow it down.“

Marcello was silent a moment before the corner of his lip dared twitch up. “You’ve been studying. But what of those I do trust? Should I tell them what’s going on so they may help? One of them is my General.”

“Of course I have, Halruaa is far too pretentious for me to be caught dead unstudied around these other nobles.” A pause. “And no. No one can know about this just yet.”

“Then where am I in all of this? Surely I can’t stick about doing my duties.”

“No. You won’t be stuck here.” Lucian hesitated. “I promised you aid in your war against Dambrath. And I think I have an idea on how Aven and I can help you.”

“I’m listening.”

Lucian pushed to his feet to face the wall. With a wave of his hand, a map of Halruaa and Dambrath bloomed on the stonework. "I looked into the Crinti. It seems their strengths originate from three places. Their horses, the Masters and their resources from the Underdark."

The Underdark. An alien, subterranean world that rested beneath the crust of the surface. Marcello grimaced. "Don’t tell me we’re going down there."

"You couldn’t drag me down there. No. They have a supply line to and from the Underdark in the Gnollwatch Mountains, where they get resources from their drow allies.” Lucian looked to Marcello. “We’re going to blow it up."

Lucian’s scheme didn’t surprise Marcello. It was one of his greatest strengths. "I see. It could work…. but I’ll need to borrow a number of your mages, Lucian. And perhaps the strongest of your… anthros. My men won’t do at all for those separate parties. The council would detect something was amiss immediately."

Lucian’s eyes lit up. "They’re at your disposal." In seconds, Lucian was at the desk and writing, scrawling something down hastily. Marcello couldn’t help but smirk. Convoluted plans, scheming, outsmarting and out talking the villains… It was what the Prince loved to do. With a wave of his hand, the letters went sailing forth out the window like birds and disappeared. "There,” Lucian said. “I’ve arranged for your Council to meet early in the morning, where we will then be able to divide them into groups, each assigned to a decoy.” He paused. “What do you intend to do with your spy once you’ve caught them?"

"I will use them to systematically destroy my enemy, and then they will be put to death.”

“A fair punishment, for assisting in a conspiration to murder the monarch. So what’s the plan?”

“After we arrange the decoys in the morning, we’ll make for the east,” Marcello said. “We’ll leave Halarahh, cross the River Alutaur and make our way towards the Azhul Pass. From there, it’s crossing the Rethlid Swamp-"

"Excuse me, a swamp?"

"Yes.” Marcello stared at Lucian. “Do you have a problem with that?"

"I have a couple problems with that. But I imagine there’s no other way."

"No. The Nath Pass is in the midst of all out war, and it’s the least defensible pass into Dambrath. It’s our only option."

“Uh… hello?” Aven poked his head in, his eyes searching Lucian and Marcello. “Is everything…. All right?”

“Yes, I believe so.” Marcello rolled up several parchments. “Thank you, Lucian. I’ll leave you to your lover.”

“Goodnight, Marcello. Be sure Armell tends to that wound of yours.”

“I will. We’ll meet in the morning.”

Aven stepped aside as Marcello brushed past. He was no fool. He saw the blood. The mud. The tear of clothes. He glanced over to Lucian with a frown. “Did something… happen? Are you all right?”

Lucian sighed and eased down onto the bed. “…the Crinti attacked us.”

He felt the rush of panic in Aven’s chest. “What?” Aven said, approaching to investigate Lucian. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

“No,” Lucian murmured. “Only Marcello. I forced us away before they could harm him and Marcello was… angry. He wanted revenge.”

Aven scoffed. “What? Marcello doesn’t seem the type to succumb to blind rage.”

“Says you, my angry barbarian,” Lucian purred. He kissed Aven’s cheek before he leaned back against the pillows. “…we have a plan. A way to repay Marcello.”

“I imagine it involves putting ourselves in danger.”

“Somewhat.”

A breath heaved from Aven’s lungs. “…okay. Tell me everything.”

———————————-

It took time to organize the council. Time, concentration and an insurmountable amount of patience, which was why Marcello was the one in charge of most of the debating and diplomacy. By the time Marcello met them by the stables, it was late in the afternoon with the sun hot and burning above them. Jorak and Soleil had the entirety of one side of the stables to themselves, due to the stallion’s aggressive nature.

As Lucian and Aven mounted their horses, Marcello guided his Dambraii over. She really was a beauty, a short coat of white and cream. The Dambraii were some of the most sought after horses in all of the Shining South, clearly imported from Dambrath. Smaller than the typical warhorses, they could move faster and learn quicker than nearly any other breed.

Marcello mounted the horse and stroked her neck. “It’ll take us some time to reach the border,” he said, looking over to Aven and Lucian. He stared at them. “What are you wearing?”

Lucian and Aven were both garbed in disguises. Lucian in a white cloak with the robes and symbol of a servitor of Mystra, while Aven was dressed in the uniform of a guard. Lucian scowled. “Disguises. Why aren’t you wearing one.”

Marcello was dressed as outrageously as always. The transmuter scoffed. “Are you kidding? Not dressing up is even more inconspicuous in this city.” He gestured to the wandering people, in their frilled dresses, puffed up wigs and long purple, bright red and neon green robes and Lucian blinked.

“…I suppose you’re right. So, for the journey I had Aven buy some things. Bug repellant, some bedrolls, a couple-”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The men twisted around. Kendyll approached on the back of her own piebald Dambraii, a knapsack slung over her shoulder beneath a light blue cloak. Marcello hissed out a curse and spun his horse around to face her. “Nowhere that concerns you.”

“I think it does.”

The young woman’s arms folded over her chest as she came at ease beside her brother’s horse, eyeing him with a scathing look that warned further persistence.

“We are conducting some business out of the watchful eye in Dambrath. Nothing more, how did you even find us here?”

“You mean how did I figure out where you’d really be?” Kendyll scoffed. “Marcello, my best friends happen to be Lady Margeaux and Lady Laine. Between the two of them, there is nothing they cannot sniff out.”

A scowl held Marcello’s features. “It doesn’t matter, you’re not to join us. You’re still recovering from the Cowled Mages and at least one of us needs to be present within the palace.”

“Not a chance.” Kendyll’s keen gaze swept Aven and Lucian who silently watched the bickering siblings and a laugh bubbled upon her lips. “You two look ridiculous. You definitely need my help.”

Aven gave a flustered roll of his shoulder. “I think it works, right?”

“Barely.”

As if seeming to sense it was a losing argument, Marcello pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “Fine, fine. Just please Kendyll, follow me on this.” His fingers curved tight into the reins of his horse.

Kendyll urged her horse a step closer to reach out and squeeze Marcello’s shoulder. “This is all you, big brother. You can explain everything to me on the road, just don’t leave me behind.”

“Then it’s settled,” Lucian mused with a click of his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He swung Soliel towards the path leading towards the bustling city. “Let’s get moving before anyone sees us.”