Chapter Text
Caleb waited until Misrule had passed out of line of sight before he let himself take another look around the clearing. The crate holding his romance collection had been opened and the books inside would doubtless be in a mess from the rain. Nothing seemed to be missing, but the damage was far from ideal. He absentmindedly rubbed at the tension in his neck as he turned to Lyran’s corpse. There wasn’t all that much he could spot worth salvaging, but he muttered out a quick incantation to Detect Magic. It wouldn’t do to let Nott get caught in an arcane trap set by Lyran to take posthumous retaliation.
“Is it safe?” Nott asked, emerging from under the nearest cart.
“Amulet, ring, and spell book…” he replied absentmindedly, narrowing his eyes at the glimmering threads of magic twisted around Lyran’s throat. There was something… odd. He held up a hand to keep Nott from launching herself at the pretty buttons on Lyran’s collar and walked around the corpse to try to get a better look through the residue of his own spells.
The strange knotted threads of magic were buried deep in their neck and glimmered like mercury in the fading light as they moved, curling slowly downwards. It looked all the world like an enchantment and he would have guessed some form of geas, except such a spell would usually disperse almost immediately after death.
As Caleb watched, the strands of enchantment wove their way down over Lyran’s shoulders and through their back. Just as his spell to detect magic began to fade, the strands lost their glow, turning a sick dark grey and green. Necromancy. Caleb stepped back in horror, frantically trying to recall what he knew of the forbidden art.
As his mind fumbled to figure out a course of action, Lyran’s body twitched. Caleb’s eyes met Nott’s and they shared a moment of panic. Lich, murmured Caleb’s inner researcher, they've figured out how to become a lich, and you’re already tired from casting. Frantically, he reached out to try and untwist the threads he had seen but Lyran kept twitching. The effort of trying to dispel the magic burnt along his arm and he took another few steps back groping for his least favourite casting pouch. He heard the twang of Nott’s crossbow and saw the corpse jerk.
As Nott scrambled to load another bolt, Lyran pulled their body upright. They chuckled. They took a hissing breath in. They pointed their finger at Nott and spoke a single word laced with magical command.
“Die.”
Caleb watched in horror as a deep green and yellow smoke poured from Lyran’s mouth and twisted rapidly towards Nott. He recognized the spell. A command spell with a singular purpose, almost impossibly powerful. Trent had used it once, only once, to kill an officer who had failed to bring them a prisoner for questioning. He frantically attempted to counter the spell, drawing together threads of will and magic in a practiced hand movement. He fumbled with his casting pouch just as he closed the circle of his counter-spell, and felt his gut drop as Lyran’s spell continued to sinuously glide through the air and wrap around Nott’s small form. The moment etched itself into his brain, freezing the horror of that small slice of time even as everything happened too quickly for him to react.
Nott jerked, lurching forward, but stubbornly remained alive and, with grim determination and only slightly shaking hands, let loose another bolt to sink into Lyran’s chest. Relief shuddered up Caleb’s spine, but he had no time to enjoy it. His fingers found the clay seal he was seeking by its familiar crest, and he pulled the disk out and broke it on his knee in one smooth movement. The sharp crystal inside glinted in the setting sun. Lyran began another incantation, her attention still focused on Nott. Caleb shoved up one sleeve and jabbed the crystal into his arm gritting his teeth against the burning pain spreading rapidly through his veins from the wound. He dropped the rest of the broken seal to pull out his lodestone and dust.
Lyran released their spell and Caleb watched as Nott tried to turn it back on the lich. She failed, and her scream scraped across his own pain as he brought his spell to bear on Lyran. They tried to counter him, but he had the spell channeled through the crystal. He felt it rip apart his wrist as it splintered under the pressure. Lyran’s lower half, petrified as it was, disintegrated dropping the rest of them onto the ground.
Nott, recovering, dropped her crossbow and yanked her dagger from her belt. As she raced to the fallen lich and Caleb pulled a pinch of lime from a component pocket, Misrule joined the fray. Beauregard reached them first, slamming her heel down on the lich’s throat, before throwing herself into the air to land on Lyran elbow-first. Without missing a beat, she rolled onto her knees and rapidly punched their head three times. Nott joined Beauregard to stab the lich through its broken ribs. As Mollymauk and Yasha caught up with their companion, Lyran choked out a snarl and Caleb felt his guts writhe and his heart fall out of rhythm for a moment. By the looks of it, he wasn’t the only one to feel the effects of whatever spell the lich had come up with.
As he stooped to grab some dirt, he heard the lich muttering their next spell – a Dimension Door, he guessed – and threw out another counter before they could escape. As the counter-spell spilled down his arm, the crystal splintered further, shards sliding deeper into his flesh ramping up the pain. He struggled to breathe. As Caleb staggered and fell to one knee, Mollymauk drove his swords, glowing with some sort of magical energy, through the lich’s head and heart.
Caleb’s protest died on his lips as he watched Mollymauk pull his swords out of the lifeless form with the smooth tug and effortless circular swing back into a fighting stance which spoke of long practice. The issues of lichdom and phylacteries vanished, and there was only the burning and tearing pain of the crystal clawing its way into his chest and Mollymauk standing over the corpse scanning the forest for further threats. As Caleb watched, Mollymauk flicked his hair away from where it had fallen over one eye and met his gaze. Something that might have been concern creased his brow before Caleb found the wherewithal to tear his eyes away and look for Nott.
Jester had her. She was curled up on the ground and Jester had her hand on her shoulder. Healing. Caleb tried to stagger over to them but found the ground unsteady and his legs felt like lead. Purple hands caught him.
“Woah, there,” said Mollymauk gently.
“Nott…” Caleb gasped out, having difficulty thinking around the pain now the immediate threat had been dealt with.
“Easy, easy,” said Mollymauk, gently catching his wounded arm and hissing between his teeth as he got a good look at it. “Jes, need you over here now!” he called.
Caleb tried to stand, tried to get to Nott, but Beauregard caught his other shoulder and pushed him back down. He vaguely heard her cursing as he tried to look round her for Nott. She’d been hurt…
The pain overwhelmed him. Everything slipped out of focus as he felt the deep sickening pull of the Weave trying to drag him in. Vaguely he heard Nott, felt her hands on his face, and felt a faint sense of relief through it all. She was okay.
Gradually the agony faded, becoming thrumming rather than tearing. He was able to choke back the next scream as Nott used her pliers to slide another fragment of potential from his arm.
“Back with us now, I see,” said someone in lilting tones from his other side. It took a few moments for Caleb to recognize Mollymauk. “Do you need a break?”
Caleb shook his head frantically.
“Nein! No, bitte. Please. Get them out. Get them out!” his voice rose in desperation even as he felt Nott continuing to steadily pull the shards, and he squeezed his eyes closed tightly.
Only when she had pulled out another three fragments did he begin to feel the divine healing magics Jester was steadily weaving. He also became aware that Beauregard was holding down his wounded arm for Nott to work on and he had Mollymauk’s hand grasped in his other hand, holding on far too tightly. As the pain eased he became awkwardly aware that everyone’s attention was solely on him. He tried to free Mollymauk, but the other man ignored his loosening grip.
“Have I missed any, Cay?” Nott asked as gently as she could.
He took a moment to think through his growing embarrassment, flexing his fingers to see if there was anything left to tear under his skin.
“Ja, I think that’s all,” he gave her a weak smile. “I should be able to get up now.”
Beauregard, took the hint, but she looked concerned even as she let him go. Mollymauk, on the other hand, stood in one sinuous movement and pulled Caleb to his feet without letting go. Caleb had to actively pull his hand away to get the other man to release it. Mollymauk made a little unhappy noise, which Caleb desperately tried to ignore, staring instead at Lyran’s corpse.
“Just give him a moment,” said Nott to the rest of the party. “Those fucking things take a lot out of him.”
“What are they, exactly?” asked Fjord.
Caleb tried to ignore him, too. He needed to figure out what had happened to Lyran.
“They’re sort of condensed magic? They make spells better but hurt like nothing else,” explained Nott as she patted Caleb’s leg comfortingly. “My husband makes them for him.”
There was the usual hint pride in her voice as she mentioned her husband.
Jester gasped loudly, Mollymauk made a choking splutter, and Caleb glanced up at Fjord in time to catch him with his jaw dropped.
“I didn’t know you were married, Nott,” said Yasha, seeming unperturbed.
“Well, I am,” said Nott frostily, folding her arms. “And you don’t all have to look so shocked about it!”
Caleb smiled a bit at that. It’d only been in recent years that Nott had gained such confidence. When she’d revealed her marriage to him, she had spent a great deal of time reiterating the fact that she’d looked different when Yeza had married her.
“It’s not… we’re just…” Mollymauk seemed to be having difficulty finding his tongue.
“Does your husband know you’re travelling around with Caleb, though?” asked Jester.
Something about the way she asked the question had Caleb turning to her frowning.
“Why would she need his permission to do her job?” he asked.
Jester blushed, which confused him further.
“Well, it isn’t the work exactly… I mean…” she bounced her index fingers together and looked at the ground where she traced patterns in the dirt rather than answer.
The silence extended awkwardly, until Nott broke it with a gasp of indignation.
“You did not! You thought…” Nott spluttered, while Caleb tried to catch up with her.
“To be fair—” began Mollymauk, and that was enough for Caleb to realize.
“You thought I was having an affair with Nott,” he said, almost toneless in his own shock.
“You two are awful close,” Fjord pointed out.
“She’s like my sister!” Caleb cried, just as Nott burst out with: “He’s my son!”
Caleb turned to blink at her, but she just shrugged at him. Well, that’s something to talk about later. He wasn’t sure he could deal with much more today. He was feeling the usual shaky exhaustion that came from using the crystals and he still needed to deal with a dead lich. He let Nott explain Yeza to Misrule and went to take a closer look at Lyran’s corpse while shaking his head. Misrule thinking he was having sex with Nott – that would take a while to sink in.
What was left of the archmage-turned-lich was pretty mangled, but he gritted his teeth against his weariness and cast another Detect Magic. Echoes of pain trilled up his arm, but the threads of the weave became visible once more. There were only the faintest traces of dispersing necromancy marking their short-lived lichdom, and he sincerely hoped that meant there wasn’t a phylactery hidden away somewhere. He knelt down and began to cast Identify on the amulet around their neck, ignoring the chatter around him.
As the spell finally broke and pooled knowledge of the amulet directly into his mind, he hissed through his teeth at the accompanying reminder that he’d overdone the magic today.
“Should you be doing that?” Mollymauk asked from over his shoulder.
Caleb flinched, surprised, before reaching down to pull the amulet from the corpse’s neck.
“Ja,” he said to Mollymauk, as he stood up. “I should be doing this. Liches are usually anchored by something other than just their bodies, and they can rebuild themselves if their anchor is not destroyed.” He held the amulet up to get a closer look at the glyph work. “This was an odd case. A very odd case from everything I have read. It looked as if the magic that brought her back was bound to a geas…”
He trailed off, studying the makeshift phylactery. It resembled, in truth, more a fragment of a phylactery compared to the only other example he’d seen in person. The other thing bothering him was the fact that Lyran Karos, a mediocre mage at best, had suddenly managed to cast one of the most powerful spells he’d ever seen.
“So, ah, is that what it’s bound to?” asked Mollymauk.
Caleb resisted the urge to turn to him. He sounded far too close to begin with and Caleb didn’t need to see any of the soft concern he was hearing in Mollymauk’s voice. He kept his eyes on the phylactery.
“It’s delicate. Spells upon spells, to hide the necromancy in the lower layers.”
He hesitated a little longer as the amulet spun in the dim light. He knew it would hurt, but his curiosity got the better of him. He braced himself and dispelled the vanity spell obscuring the more complex work beneath. He heard Mollymauk swear as he staggered under the effort, and felt the other man catch him as he began to crumple.
It took a minute for his head to clear enough to realise he was being held up by Mollymauk, and that this meant he was now pressed back against the chest he’d been doing his best to avoid thinking about. Which meant this was technically the closest he’d ever been held by his husband. Which also meant that Mollymauk would not be happy about him remembering the tattoos, or the way his robe had pulled sideways the other night to… Caleb shook his head a little and tried to focus on the fading pain rather than the handsome man who was just being nice and didn’t at all deserve to be objectified. Caleb felt cool metal brush the soft skin just behind his ear as Mollymauk leaned closer still.
“Maybe casting magic is not the best thing for you right now?” Mollymauk murmured into his ear.
Caleb failed to suppress a shudder. The point of Mollymauk’s horn dug closer for a moment before it was pulled away. Caleb rather desperately tried to find his feet as he began to blush hotly.
“Sorry,” said Mollymauk, taking one hand from around Caleb’s chest to brush his fingers at the spot where his horn had pressed. “They’re getting a little long, I forgot.”
Caleb lurched himself forward, away from the gentle brush of fingers against his sensitive skin, away from his compromising position against Molly’s chest. Unfortunately, not away from his own embarrassing imagination and perfect memory. Matters weren’t helped by the certainty that Molly had been reluctant to let him go. Again.
A nearby scream spun him round, scattering other considerations. He wove together the magics for a Firebolt one-handed without thinking, searching for the source of the scream. Next to him, Mollymauk had his swords drawn and glowing with power.
“He has Tusk Love!” Jester squealed from halfway inside the crate of books.
Mollymauk dropped his swords to catch him as he let his Firebolt fizzle and slumped. By the looks of things, they weren’t the only ones who’d thought they were being attacked. Beau and Fjord were in fighting stances across the clearing where they were piling bodies. And pieces of bodies. A glance to the other side proved Nott had readied her crossbow, standing on top of a wagon. The only person other than Jester who didn’t seem perturbed was Yasha. Which was a good thing given she was carrying an unopened crate to a wagon. Caleb sincerely hoped Nott was double checking everything for them.
“Maybe don’t scream when you aren’t being attacked, Jes?” said Mollymauk, though he didn’t sound hopeful about her taking the advice on board.
“Sorry!” she shouted to everyone in general as Caleb got his feet back under him. “It’s just Caleb has the best books! You have the best books, Caleb!”
“Ah, ja,” said Caleb awkwardly. “But the water damage will take some work, I’m afraid. Please don’t try to open them.”
“Oh, I have Mending, see!”
Jester held up Tusk Love and, with the light fading fast, Caleb just had to trust that it was now undamaged as she flopped it open. Mollymauk must have felt his tension, because he gave Caleb a squeeze that was probably meant to be comforting.
“She is actually really good at mending things,” he stage-whispered to Caleb.
He managed a wan smile, though, truly, he was trusting that Nott wouldn’t let them fuck anything up at this point. He was holding on by a thread and Molly being so helpful was just fucking him up further.
“I need to sit down,” he told Molly, too tired to bother pulling away again.
“Shall we go over to the wagons, away from the body?”
Caleb shook his head and just let his knees give out. Molly gave a humph of surprise but kept him from hitting the ground hard. He needed to figure out the phylactery before he could rest. He began tracing another Identify ritual out in the dirt in front of him.
Mollymauk grabbed his hands gently.
“Is this really necessary?” he asked. “I don’t mean to question your archmage-ness, but you’re bleeding out your eyes and nose, and I get the feeling that doing magic is really fucking you up right now.”
Caleb looked at him for a long moment, trying to find the words to explain. A task that would’ve been easier had his tired eyes not decided to focus on Molly’s lips.
“I need to know how this works, so I can stop it.”
“Yasha has a sword that can break magic items easy as pie.”
He looked like he was about to call Yasha over but stopped when Caleb shook his head vehemently.
“I need to know. Lyran shouldn’t have been able to do that. They were a mediocre caster at best. If not for the war, they would never have made archmage. I need to figure out what magics they’ve been working with, who they’ve been working with.”
I need to know if Ikithon has found a way out.
Caleb closed his eyes and breathed carefully through the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He felt Molly release his hands, and a little bit of him regretted it. He opened his eyes and focused back on the ritual without another word.