*
Strolling from the shadows of a bookcase, Thjorn held Wotyn's gaze. He moved with caution. He had a good read of his opponent, but reminded himself he was, at heart, facing a savage.
'So here we are,' said Wotyn, dropping the paper a bit too readily. He wanted to hide its importance. 'Our masks discarded. You knew who I was?'
Stopping a distance away, Thjorn nodded.
'How?' asked Wotyn.
'The same way I know who really rules the Alliance and the Society.'
'Rule is a demanding word. I found that out the last time. I simply guide.'
'So you covertly took control of the Society over the years, seizing power with no witnesses.'
'Everyone wants an empire. I told you, it's all about owning everything.'
'And when one secret empire wasn’t enough, when the kingdoms proved resistant to its control, you guided the creation of a competitor, letting countries play them against each other to maintain the illusion of freedom.'
'Not dissimilar to how you manipulated your own man to die at my hand.' Wotyn nodded towards Hadlaug.
'He betrayed me.'
'You set his course long before he betrayed you.'
'Because I knew he'd betray me.'
'And the girl? Merid? I actually thought she meant something to you. Until I realised you were playing me. You sacrificed her to get to me didn’t you? And with her caring so deeply for you.'
That should keep Merid safe. Timaron had probably struck up a friendship with her to keep abreast of events in the glyphpunk community rather than to keep track of Thjorn – he wasn’t egocentric enough to consider he’d have seemed that important back then – but he had no doubt Wotyn would use her against him if he thought he could. Using her himself had been the logical way to protect her, to make her seem irrelevant, no matter how unsettling.
Wotyn smiled. 'I treat people like that because everyone I gave a damn about died centuries ago, so you're all just cattle to me. What's your excuse?' He hurled a chair at where Thjorn had been, but he'd already moved. Thjorn waited calmly as Wotyn shoved the table aside, sending the Alliance man stumbling away.
The old man charged, intending to use his fists. A sword would do less damage. Waiting till he was only feet away, Thjorn leapt ahead of the punch. A glyph pulsed to propel his leap to the ceiling, and he clung on, another glyph fizzing slowly. A chunk of wall behind where he'd stood went flying, and Wotyn glanced quickly around.
Drawing a knife, Thjorn hurled it at Wotyn. It hit an invisible barrier and spun away faster, slamming into a book case.
Wotyn's gaze shot up. 'How...? Your glyphs still work.'
'As do yours.'
'How did you learn the secret?'
'Because I'm smart,' said Thjorn. He leapt to the floor on the far side as Wotyn hurled some decorative pieces. 'The old glyphs don't work because they use the old wells. One stopped working. It moved, and new glyphs started using the new well. Only it didn’t close entirely.'
Wotyn relaxed. 'Geological activity blocked it and opened a new one. I don't pretend to understand how, but the well had reopened to a trickle by the time I was free.'
'It's the lines the power flows along,' said Thjorn. 'Older books call them skein lines. They could detect them, but never understood them. It's relatively easy to plot where the next one would break out, given a basic knowledge of geography.'
Wotyn stared. 'How do you know this?'
'Because I'm smarter than you,' said Thjorn. 'Don’t you listen?'
From the growing wariness in his eyes, Wotyn was starting to see him as a threat. 'So you know where the other power well is. And you knew I did. That's why you warded the main one, isn't it? You didn't know for sure who I was.'
'I had an idea.'
'But you didn't know for certain. So you set things in motion, got them looking for someone with links to both organizations, set your pet out to cause trouble, all to make me reveal myself.'
'I prefer certainty.' And he was certain what would come next.
'Then let me assure you with absolute certainty that you're about to die.' Predictable.
Wotyn hurled a table. Thjorn barely ducked to the floor as it flew overhead. It crashed into the main doors, breaking one. The guards outside finally had no option but to check what was occurring within.
Thjorn had barely started to rise as he spotted Wotyn almost on top of him. He scrambled away. A foot left a cracked indentation where his chest had been a second earlier, and Thjorn couldn't find his feet before Wotyn kicked him across the room.
Despite the protective wards blunting the impact, it hurt. The older power well was erratic. Glyphs calling on it ran the risk of burning out faster. That wouldn't hamper Wotyn, since it wasn't his only source. Another reason this wouldn't be easy.
Quickly finding his feet, Thjorn relaxed a moment as Wotyn dispatched the guard unwise enough to intervene. He went sailing narrowly over Thjorn's head. The other guard had already run off. They had a short while before reinforcements would arrive.
Springing to his feet, Thjorn grabbed Hadlaug’s dropped sword and tossed it back towards the bookcases before Wotyn turned back to him. He ran up the wall to the ceiling as Wotyn crossed the room.
The old man relied on basic glyphs, increasing his strength and resisting injury. His protection was some kind of field which repelled attacks. Thjorn had an idea how that’d be achieved, but couldn’t test it right now. Wotyn didn't have time to draw additional glyphs either, so Thjorn's plan should hold if he survived. Wotyn's breathing was heavier.
Missiles continued to barrage where he'd been, and it took focus to move fast enough and stay on the wall. He had to have one foot in contact with the surface in order to fool reality into thinking the wall was down. If both feet left the wall, reality would realise the truth and retaliate.
He didn't get the chance to fall by accident, as Wotyn charged the wall below him, slamming into it with all his force. Cracks shot through the stone, disturbing Thjorn's footing, and he stumbled to the hard floor below.
Winded, he didn't think he'd broken anything. Not until Wotyn charged in and kicked him into a wall, anyway. Even with the protective glyphs – starting to burn as their power drained – he couldn't take many of those. The alternative power well was too weak to support the glyphs much longer. And he wouldn't do the same as Wotyn. Drawing on that source of power – even if he hadn’t interfered with it – was wrong.
The old man stalked towards him, blood trickling from cuts on his hands. Did he realise? Possibly not, given his rage.
Knowing he had little chance of escape, Thjorn bided his time for an opportunity, hoping Wotyn wouldn't just kick him to death.
He didn't. He grabbed Thjorn by the throat instead and hauled him up to his face. 'Did you really think you could beat me?' asked Wotyn.
'I've already beaten you,' said Thjorn. He head-butted the old man with all his strength. The protective wards repelled him slightly, but not before Wotyn's nose gave under the impact.
Roaring, Wotyn slammed him against a wall. 'How did you do that?'
Despite the fingers digging into his neck, Thjorn hissed a response. 'Smarter than you.'
This earned him another slam into the wall, with notably less force.
'You're losing power,' said Thjorn.
Wotyn glanced at the table, towards the glyph which had caught his attention earlier. 'What did you do?'
'You already know,' said Thjorn. He put all his power into a punch, sending the old man reeling a couple of steps. He was bewildered at having felt the punch.
'You blocked my power?' asked Wotyn.
'Your secret power source? Yes.' Thjorn circled his opponent, one step at a time, putting distance between them. 'The reason they locked you away. They kept from the history books that it was possible, but it’s obvious to anyone who can read the old glyphs. And anyone who bothers to study the same junk lines in modern glyphs. You drain power from those wearing certain glyphs. From th
e absorbed ambient energy entwined with their life force. That's how you stayed alive so long. Someone learned the truth eventually, and that's why they locked you away.'
'What've you done?' asked Wotyn. 'Encircled the building with them? Or just the room? I can always walk out after you're dead.'
Had he really not understood it? 'Look at the glyph again,' said Thjorn.
Glaring with suspicion, Wotyn hesitated before returning to the table, glancing around till he found it. 'What am I looking at?' he growled.
Thjorn searched his face for dissemblance, but saw only confusion. 'You can't tell?'
'I recognise elements of the glyphs which imprisoned me, but not the extra bits. I assume they...' His brows frowned as he studied it. 'They link with... How far apart do they work?'
He really couldn't see it. Not easily. Thjorn had assumed this was someone else who could read glyphs by looking. But he couldn't. He was faster than most, but still didn't understand them.
'How far?' asked Wotyn.
'The lattice covers most of the lands. The one in Akar was the last needed. That's when I beat you. Everything since has been distracting you from realising your power was draining.'
Wotyn's face remained stony, his eyes hardening. 'All of this for me? I'm flattered. But not beaten. You think I can't recover?'
'I think once the guilds learn the truth about who’s been running them – and I doubt many actually know – you'd have had to build an empire anew. If your machinations hadn't seen my friend executed.'
'Ah, revenge. That I understand. Fine, end it if you can.' Wotyn strolled back towards the book cases, and yanked Thjorn's knife free from the end of one. It was the nearest weapon to him. Thjorn had made certain of that. 'Many others have tried. I don't die easily.'
Thjorn pulled the other knife. He touched the sympathetic glyph linking it to the one Wotyn held. The charge surged through the old man, bringing him to his knees.
Walking over, Thjorn slit Wotyn's throat before he'd recovered. The old man toppled. Grabbing the knife, Thjorn walked out.