Chapter 11
Several weeks of chaos had heaped themselves upon the troupe after their return from Yanhelm. No sooner had they limped through the gates of the city did Renata lay claim to the Crook of Arawn and spirited it away to the University. Therein, she and Renaud began to examine it with conspiratorial glee. It was only after the second explosion that they deigned to have one of the Archmages in attendance. Whilst said Archmage was requested and Renata set about securing the staff from any would-be thieves, Renaud was summoned to speak on his adventures by several dignitaries. His swaggering step from radio studio to the front pages to the preamble of a book took him from frequent guest to household name.
Of course, that meant that his recounting featured his sana’s daring foray into Annun itself to retrieve the Crook. Many disbelieved his claims and rightly so. It was commonly held that those who fell into Annun died of necrotic exposure within the hour. Yet Mara had survived a sojourn into the forbidden realm not once but twice in her ninety-two years. The remainder of the party had been resolutely silent, hoping to avoid feeding the fire. Renaud proved to be quite the arsonist as he began to speak about elvish ingenuity being the key finding of the dig.
It was after the third week of this furore that Mara found herself the target of many a well-intentioned elf demanding she explain her magical prowess. And with this reluctant fame came the enduring infamy of being either fraud or freak. Many whispered behind her back as she enjoyed a drink at the taverns of Yanhelm about how she’d duped those around her. Still others returned to their favoured mode of interacting with her, throwing things. Mara ceased going out after the fourth week, becoming a shut-in of such paranoia that Solvi had been forced to develop a secret knock to allay her fears of imposters. In a world of magic and illusion, anyone could affect the image of Solvi. Thankfully, the ability to extract information via magical means was a decidedly rare talent.
It was during the afternoon of the fifth week’s final day that Mara sat at the kitchen table. She’d taken to grading student papers in the safety of her apartment. It was from behind this ponderous wall of paper that she was drawn when the secret knock came. Looking through the peephole, Mara saw perhaps the single most unexpected pairing in her life. Renaud and Solvi stood next to each other. Renaud grinned broadly whilst Solvi had the martyred expression of a woman long past her patience’s limit. Opening the door gingerly, Mara allowed the two to enter with a trepidatious look down the corridor behind them. Renaud swanned in with the grace of a man in his element, seating himself at the paper-laden table with a look of concern.
“This place is far beneath you, Mara. Honestly, how can you work in such squalor?” Renaud observed, taking a sheaf of paper from the table and grimacing. Mara knew the student he scorned. A young elf woman named Ines who, from name alone, Mara knew Renaud thought of as human. Returning the sheaf to its pile, the bright smile resumed its tenure and Mara braced herself for the man’s idiocies once again. “I have an exciting proposition for you!” Renaud flourished a small bow of his head, as if he were a chef presenting a meal. The extravagant wave of his hand forced a roll of Solvi’s eyes. She knew where this was headed and had already begun mentally packing.
“No.” Mara shot back at the professor, deflating him visibly with disbelief. He seemed to reorient himself as Solvi shot an eyebrow up at her roommate’s reticence. Perhaps she assumed any job the professor had now engendered a degree of life-threatening danger. Not that it seemed to bother Mara, putting her life on the line for Renaud.
“Rest assured dear sana-.” Renaud began, his voice somewhat unsteady as he began to speak again. But Mara held up a hand, silencing the man once more.
“Don’t you ‘dear sana’ me. Your showboating has made my life extremely difficult these last few weeks. I wanted to be a cloistered academic that didn’t have to deal with the rabble’s opinion on me. That’s the reason for the mask, in case you forgot.” Mara reprimanded with such force that Solvi found herself smiling despite the fact she’d promised to not let Mara off without an apology. The smile was soon stowed when Mara’s masked face shot over to her. “Is this your idea? Inflating his ego to bursting point, is it? Well forget it. You couldn’t pay me enough.” Mara’s grumpy voice suffused with contempt as her attention was directed back towards Renaud. She sat herself down at the table, defiantly taking her pen from its resting place and stubbornly grading papers as if her sora had vanished.
“Are you so sure of that?” Renaud schmoozed with a languid grin and lazy tilt of the hand. Solvi’s eyes locked onto the proffered paper and noted its quality. The excessive stationary was soon explained once her eyes came to rest on the coat of arms that sat as a letterhead. It was a shield flanked by a mermaid and unicorn, bearing a longsword wreathed in thorny vines. The sable field behind this feature informed Mara very quickly as to who this letter was from. She practically snatched it from Renaud’s grip, disbelief causing her fingers to hold the letter almost delicately as she began to read aloud. Solvi could not speak Idharan, which enforced translation upon Mara since her sora was hardly going to.
“’After some considerable dreary catch up, the writer has written to inform Renaud that his findings at the temple have enthused Her Majesty, Lyn Van Areth in the collection and investigation of similar Miran sites throughout the continent.’” Mara could hardly believe that the empress had taken personal interest in their adventure. Reflecting on it, the mage reasoned an ancient vampire from the days of Elys would naturally be curious, nostalgic even, for the artefacts of her youth. Solvi, however, darkened her expression considerably as the cursed name of the Vampire Queen was invoked. She indicated with a disgusted frown that Mara should continue. “’To wit, she has entrusted the overseeing of this task to her most trusted Lady of the Council, Countess Marie Bourbon. Gaius Renaud’s legal guardian and executor of his business ventures. Pursuant to this, she cordially invites you to her manor.’ You never told me you had businesses in Idhara.” Mara turned her gaze to her sora with a curious bite to her voice. Solvi’s contempt for the Idharans was snapped by the sudden cold tone of her roommate. Mara returned the letter without continuing to read, having clearly made up her mind on the subject of a venture in the cold north.
“Of course, I didn’t. My business is tedious even for me.” Renaud laughed, leaning back in his chair and taking his pipe from his jacket. He soon found Mara’s gloved fingers wrapped about it, drawn from his grip. The mask hid the expression yet the older elf’s smile left him, regardless. He stared down his sana with a condescending glare for the briefest of moments before it stowed behind the neutral mask of a diplomat.
“The largest empire in Phasian history, perhaps world history, has its hooks in you and you didn’t think that pertinent to mention when hiring us to do your dirty work?” Mara asked with such barbed words that even Solvi recoiled. She couldn’t deny thinking Renaud that deserved this grilling but disliked her friend’s tone. It was somewhat unlike Mara though, and a curdled edge to her voice roused a suspicious look in the orsan woman. “What else have they been bankrolling whilst you grandstand to anyone with ears?” Mara’s voice became dangerous as she pointed the stem of Renaud’s pipe accusingly at him. The older elf held the silence between them for a moment before removing his glasses with a sigh, hand coming up to rub his eyes.
“Do not begrudge an old man his old habits.” Renaud spoke wearily, as if he really were the three centuries old, he seemed to be. Mara did not seem to relent with barely a hint of movement from the mask. Renaud’s eyes flicked from the mask to behind Mara before moving back to meet his sana’s gaze. “Marie Bourbon was attending an execution when she saw my rotten carcass floating in the harbour. Without a thought for herself, she dove into the frigid waters and pulled me out. She ordered my care, paid for it even! What manner of elf would I be if I refused to pay a debt of kindness? She gave me coin; I returned her investment.” Renaud recounted his story with a mixture of nostalgia and reverence, as if he truly held this mysterious countess in high esteem. Solvi doubted the man could hold anyone that didn’t stand behind his mirror in high esteem. Mara did not seem to relent, shaking the pipe as if demanding more from her sora. The man beseeched the gods for patience before relenting on his silence once more. “I am not the avatar of Idhara. I am my own man with my own wants and projects. Believe me when I say that Marie Bourbon is the only vampire I respect.” Renaud spoke with finality, standing proudly as he plucked his pipe from Mara’s grip. The head turned to follow his route as Renaud made his exit. He did however pause, looking over his shoulder at the pair.
“I suggested this opportunity not because I require puppets. I suggested it as a means to escape the city for a while. It’s clear you’re haunted by the ghosts of what happened at the temple.” Renaud consoled them both, head hung low as if he were disappointed by their hostility. He then bade them good day and walked out into the corridor, allowing their new roommate into the apartment.
Twitcher, as they had come to be known, did not speak a lick of Gardish. Though Fred and Arthur had valiantly tried, Twitcher did not seem to value their input in any matters whatsoever. It had become necessity more than choice that the strange metallic survivor came to rest with Mara. Aside from the hermitic Renata, who even now refused to teach classes and barely ate outside of her lab, Mara was the only member of their group that spoke fluent Elysian elvish. Twitcher had been named for their erratic fighting style and habit of jumping at every offence to their ancient sensibilities. Mara remembered well the practical breakdown they’d had upon discovering Solvi would be their roommate. As compromise, Twitcher was given Mara’s room whilst Mara slept on the sofa. With a paper bag of food upon each hand and a basket hanging from each arm, they indicated to the door as they set down that evening’s lunch.
“Veth de o suden?” Twitcher asked, moving to the stove and passing a hand over the tinder to ignite it. The metal that made up the approximation of their face shifted, moving into what Mara had estimated to be a frown. “Orsana tu o?” They asked with a mocking quality, prompting Solvi to shoot a venomous glare at the other person. Mara sighed and admitted defeat, clearing away her papers as she prepared for yet another night of playing mediator between ancient Revcel and prickly orsana.
“Renaud mewa fu weithi.” Mara responded with patience towards Twitcher, who shrugged and began utilizing their arm sword to cut vegetables for the broth. Solvi’s eyes slid conspiratorially over to Mara’s mask, who turned her head with a defeated tilt. “Twitcher wasn’t inferring anything about you. They were commenting upon how we still use wood fires.” Mara explained patiently, making her way to the sofa and placing what little she’d managed to grade in her briefcase. Sitting upon the sofa, Mara took out her notes and began to write flowing arcanography that only seemed to grow her frustration, given how hard the pencil had dug into the page with every stroke.
“Why do you insist on referring to them like that?” Solvi asked with a pained expression, referring to Twitcher’s voice. Twitcher sounded to the average listener like a feminine voice echoing from within the helmet which had come to shift subtly in response to their emotions. The nib of Mara’s pencil snapped as she ceased her writing, turning with forced calm towards her roommate. Solvi sensed that she’d trod on elvish toes yet again.
“Being Elysian, they do not respect the human notions of gender. Their entire culture was built upon a rejection of your ancestor’s beliefs.” Mara explained with barely contained exasperation. Such a reaction would have been excessive were this not the third time Mara had explained this in as many weeks. “They take these rejections to their logical extreme. Whilst your average elf does not eschew human comfort, the empire had no such qualms. We shall be good hosts and respect our guest’s wishes.” Mara added, her voice coloured by her mood. Solvi took a moment, frowned and sat herself next to Mara. With firm hands, she closed the mage’s spell book and eased Mara by the shoulders to a more relaxed position. Mara simply allowed this, mask shifting over to meet Solvi’s firm gaze.
“Twitcher doesn’t speak Gardish. But you are right, we shall respect their wishes.” Solvi spoke with conviction before releasing Mara’s shoulders and turning her whole body towards her roommate, who likewise shifted her reclining form into the corner of their shared seat. “You have been a bundle of kindling for weeks. Any stray flame sets you off. Is there something you need to talk about?” Solvi inquired with an almost professional air. A script altered from her days in the Guard. Mara had seen it used to great effect on those involved in incidents. And that, too, rubbed her the wrong way. She was not a victim nor perpetrator of a crime. Exerting significant control over herself, she placed her spell book upon the table that sat before the cabinet that housed the radio.
“Annun is the most terrifying place in existence.” Mara replied cagily, a guarded posture contorting her body into a knotted tangle of limbs. Solvi attempted to rest a calming hand on Mara’s knee, only to find it withdrawn. She suppressed the pain it caused, focusing on the task at hand. With what she hoped was a reassuring look, Solvi attempted to prompt Mara into further speech. The mage simply returned her gaze almost challengingly.
“You may think you’re protecting me when you do this. I do not need protecting.” Solvi reassured in her calmest, yet firmest voice. That enticed Mara to touch a gloved hand to her mask, as if she worried it had slipped. Twitcher, who stood at the stove not too far, trained their gaze on Solvi as seasonings were dropped into the pot. Solvi caught it in the side of her vision, noting the hostility in the automaton’s burning orange eyes.
“What haunts me isn’t something you can help with. Twitcher can’t even remember the horrors of that place. They don’t even remember who they were before they dropped into it.” Mara sighed, as if the isolation were causing physical exhaustion. Her breath had become cloying and her heartbeat insistent. Her body fought her mind, desperately clashing against her ego to run. “There are voices in Annun that speak to the living and dead alike. And I was stupid enough to threaten one.” Mara swallowed, her fingers curling against her thighs. Were it not for the gloves, they would be drawing black blood from the poor woman. Solvi once again tried to reach out with a comforting hand, only to be rebuffed with something close to a slap down. “Every time I have visited Annun it has taken from me things I did not think possible to take. It is a world carved by a madman, ravaged so thusly by war that even space itself does not obey convention. It tears my mind apart to know it’s inevitable.”
The evening meal Twitcher had prepared was taken in abject silence, with Mara not so much as uttering another syllable. Several times, Solvi tried to move her roommate’s dark thoughts. Several times, Mara ignored her with only shaking hands betraying her true emotions. The mask had been oddly mundane, Solvi thought. Having finished her meal despite the frosty atmosphere, Solvi stood herself up and grabbed the large fur-lined coat she’d taken to wearing with the termination of her position at the Guard. Twitcher asked what Solvi assumed was a question based on the tone.
“Fred is down at the bar being his usual crooked self. I thought I might join him since nobody seems to want to speak Gardish anymore.” Solvi regretted her hostility as the harsh words left her lips, turning swiftly towards the door before leaving. She paused in the doorway, as if expecting the usual farewells from Mara. When they did not come, Solvi’s lips pressed into a thin line she shut the door with perhaps more force than was necessary.
Yanhelm, as ever, was a city that bustled even in the dead of night. The crystalline lanterns that hung from their bowed posts shed precious little light thanks to their poorly maintained glass coverings. Cobblestones clicked under Solvi’s boots as she made her way towards the somehow more impoverished districts that Fred favoured for his drinking. Many Skitti had been displaced there and, Solvi supposed, Renaud had a point regarding how peoples preferred the company of their own. She was perhaps unique in shunning the trappings of her culture and tradition. There it was again. Solvi’s musings had become memory and that memory had shifted to dull pain in her shoulder. She was perhaps fortunate to have this old wound.
With the distraction from her musing, Solvi noticed several tall women of strong build in the shadows beyond the streetlamps. Orsan women were not unusual in Yanhelm but something crawled up Solvi’s spine upon seeing them. A vague sense of threat that was perhaps the ghost of the war. Thus alerted, she continued on her route towards the less lit streets of the lower city. As she travelled, the crowds of jovial citizens began to thin. She didn’t dare look behind her, knowing without seeing that the women pursued her. As Solvi passed the bombed-out remains of a large forge, she ducked into the forlorn work floor that cast many shadows for her to hide in.
There they were. From her hiding place between two old rotten barrels of rainwater, Solvi heard three distinct sets of footsteps. With her breath shallow, restrained to the barest of nasal breezes, Solvi leant back against the wall of fragile brick and moulding mortar to see the three powerfully built women creeping throughout the work floor. They moved with grace and care for the noise they created, roving about the foundry. Solvi could not see their faces in the dimness of the night and kicked herself mentally for not bringing the Guillotine. She felt about herself on the ground for a hammer, a crowbar. Anything that would grant her some purchase against these women.
“She’s here.” One of them warned, her voice that of an older woman. So, this was the matriarch. Solvi’s hand wrapped about the rusted head of what was once a hammer. A blacksmith’s hammer, Solvi turned the head to its point. A poor way to die, but Solvi would grant no honour to those who did not offer it. “Alive is the preference. I won’t say no to roughing her up though.” The voice added with a somewhat teasing tone, prompting Solvi to roll her eyes. Amateurs with yet more amateur scare tactics. As they passed her hiding place, the darkness obscuring the rear of the barrels, Solvi eased herself onto bended knee and hefted the hammer head. She held her breath, waited for the moment before flinging the hammer as far across the chamber as she could.
It clanged down on the rusted gangway that circumvented the remains of the walls. The senior of the three directed her underlings to the sound, resuming her search shortly after. She appeared to be smarter than the average thug, realising what could be at play. Having mentally mapped possible locations, the woman slipped into the darkness Solvi occupied. In silence, the two searched for each other without sight. The slightest rustle of cloth, the faintest exhalation of breath guided them.
The sounds of drunken patrons of Fred’s favourite haunt echoed throughout the forges, songs reverberating over the cold steel edifices.
“Probably slipped out the back while you two fell for the distraction!” The senior shouted over her shoulder, giving Solvi a start. She desperately, almost comically, attempted to press her large frame to the side of some large metal structure that the woman had seemingly passed by. The desperate thoughts invaded her mind as she considered what to do to her. She was certainly in striking distance. One simple crunch and it would be over. But what of her allies? No. Hope they give up and go away. “I’ll not take lip from you, Shoti! Find her!” The senior woman scolded one of her minions, who had dared to remark upon the orders they’d been given. It confirmed a suspicion that Solvi had been nurturing since seeing them. Shoti tribe mercenaries or soldiers. Which would make this loud-mouthed senior woman a Benti. The tribe she and her mother called their own.
Blissfully, two of the women departed out into the night through the throngs of Skitti and other peoples that had been enjoying their evening. The senior one seemed to stop in the doorway, scratching her chin in contemplation. The light of the moon and Solvi’s adjusted eyes gave her enough of the woman’s features to recognize. Solvi burned them into her memory, taking in every wrinkle and curled grey hair. She also seemed to be missing an eye, wearing an ornate eyepatch that bore an insignia upon it. The Heldothir. That explained the bravado, at least. Loyalists to a woman, Solvi had never known them to take marching orders from just anyone. If they wanted her, Solvi reasoned, her mother was involved to some degree. One day, she would find an excuse to succeed her early. Knowing well their persistence, Solvi elected to wait a good hour before moving from her musty hiding place. She spent that time pondering whether, for all his faults, that foppish professor’s offer might be useful after all. Her mother would cross a lot of lines, but Solvi was willing to wager her mother wouldn’t dare cross the Idharans.
With a fugitive look about her, Solvi stepped once more onto the street and headed towards the tavern where hopefully Fred was still guzzling his earnings from the temple. Once inside the homely wooden building, Solvi searched for the Skitti. He wasn’t difficult to find as Fred had surrounded himself by a gaggle of acquaintances and seemed to currently be regaling them with a heavily edited version of his adventures within the temple. Fred only noticed Solvi once she appeared over the rim of his tankard, which he’d been draining moments before. He smiled at her, hiccoughing a toast before downing the remainder of his drink. Those around him looked to her with a mixture of fear and respect, much to Solvi’s approval. It seemed she’d been the one non-Skitti that hadn’t been a total idiot on the mountain.
“The house has got termites, Fred.” Solvi snorted, seating herself on a stool and leaning over as if this were the meeting of two boarders. “We might have to sell up.” The woman added with a sincere stare that prompted the Skitti to lean forward with the drunkenness melting from his features. His eye did not seem so bleary now and Solvi briefly wondered how a man could lie so effectively that his own body sold the story.
“You sure we got to move? Could always get the exterminators in.” Fred grunted with a slight drunken slur that Solvi hoped was genuine. Otherwise, the poor fellow had been nursing a single drink his entire night. That, or he held his drink better than most.
“Not sure we could. There’s a queen somewhere in there. They’ll just come back. Might as well cut our losses for now.” Solvi made a great show of shrugging her shoulders, taking a moment to rifle through some bank notes she’d taken for the drinks and passing them discreetly to one of Fred’s companions. The brown furred Skitti took a moment to check the amount before slipping them into his overalls with a nod. Solvi watched him scamper off with a smirk, catching Fred’s eye which, somehow, winked.
“I’ll get the boys to find us a new place. Leave it with me!” Fred laughed easily, waving a paw at the larger woman. Solvi rolled her eyes and shook her head with some vigour.
“Already got a place. On contract. The professor is paying.” Solvi attempted to explain with as tight a lip as she could, causing Fred’s pseudo-jovial mood to instantly sour. His nostrils flared as he withdrew several curled papers from his overalls. Solvi did not need to read them to understand their contents.
“Funny. Arthur n’ me got one too.” Fred observed in a dangerous tone, one that Solvi had heard before. He only used the authority of his voice when dealing with the minions of Brother Gangrene. “Wouldn’ it be fascinatin’ if these termites got enticed to the ‘ouse?” Fred’s teeth were bared, which Solvi understood was not a good Skitti expression to see. “We both know somethin’s up with this. Ain’t gonna let it rest ‘til I know what’s what.” Fred growled, standing himself up after signing his name to the contract almost aggressively. Handing it to Solvi as if it were a live snake, the skitti man made his way towards the exit of the tavern. Solvi was very impressed until he collapsed like a felled tree. Getting back to his feet, Fred swore at the offending chair leg before staggering from the inn.
Solvi stared at the contract for some considerable time, noting Arthur’s copy underneath. With her accomplice keeping an eye out, she felt safer returning to the streets and the hostile apartment that awaited her. Contrary to what the elves in her life thought, Solvi was not stupid. She’d noticed a distinct decline in Mara’s moods ever since Twitcher and Renaud had emerged into her life. Their influence had driven the poor recluse to distraction with anxieties. However, even as she walked the now considerably emptier streets towards the apartment, a thought occurred to Solvi. Perhaps this was Mara’s natural state. The angry, arrogant mage who refused to talk and deflected any attempts to try. Or Solvi had simply began to annoy her. She’d made that clear enough in the caravan.
Thoughts of the caravan haunted her as she returned to the slightly more up market part of the city with its brick terraces and quaint corner shops. The Sunburst Army had used their presence and assistance at the temple as a rallying point. Elves now flocked to their banners in a vain attempt to borrow heroism from the old soldiers and vainglorious thugs that comprised their ranks. Naturally, Albrecht had been giving grand addresses on behalf of their glorious leader who, in Solvi’s mind, did not exist. A woman of that calibre should have spine enough to address her faithful. She had many reservations about her people and her mother, but the Beast of Karkun wasn’t a coward. Albrecht had justified his little charade by citing the import of their leader who would suffer consequences, should their true feelings be known. Solvi smirked at the thought, turning onto the street of her apartment. People like Albrecht didn’t suffer consequences for their beliefs. The little princeling was scion to one of the most powerful elvish families in existence. He could stab someone in broad daylight with that ridiculous sword and the greatest consequence would be hiding on his father’s estate for a few years.
As Solvi ruminated on her recent past, struggling with her key to the building, movement drew her eye. Fearing the return of the Shoti, she swiftly turned her keys into knuckledusters and turned to face her adversary.
What faced her was not a trio of orsan women. He was an elf, pale in complexion and with a distinct corpse-like pallor to his lips. He wore the rich furred robes of the human lords from years past, at the height of the Yandite Empire. At his side, hanging from belts, a black book gilt in silver marked him as a mage. But this was not the most disturbing thing about this translucent apparition. His eyes were empty sockets in which orange flames nested. He turned his gaze to Solvi, as if just noticing her and pointed a ghastly, skeletal finger at her. Silently, he mouthed words that she could not perceive.
Solvi backed away from the spirit, knowing well that nothing good could come of interacting with it. Mara may have her views on the dead, but Solvi’s people had theirs. Heeding her people, Solvi unlocked the door to the apartment and staggered inside. The spirit’s face contorted into one of anger as it glided forth, threatening her with grasping mummified hands.
A horn sounded in the distance. One of the old horns of her people. As if she had not excuse enough already, the familiar chill of fear crept up her spine. Both she and the spirit looked to the source of the disturbance. Solvi did not see anything, though the spirit must have for he was soon faded from view. Quashing her fear, Solvi resolved to go to Mara that night and request a little necromancy to repel spirits.
Chapter 11
Several weeks of chaos had heaped themselves upon the troupe after their return from Yanhelm. No sooner had they limped through the gates of the city did Renata lay claim to the Crook of Arawn and spirited it away to the University. Therein, she and Renaud began to examine it with conspiratorial glee. It was only after the second explosion that they deigned to have one of the Archmages in attendance. Whilst said Archmage was requested and Renata set about securing the staff from any would-be thieves, Renaud was summoned to speak on his adventures by several dignitaries. His swaggering step from radio studio to the front pages to the preamble of a book took him from frequent guest to household name.
Of course, that meant that his recounting featured his sana’s daring foray into Annun itself to retrieve the Crook. Many disbelieved his claims and rightly so. It was commonly held that those who fell into Annun died of necrotic exposure within the hour. Yet Mara had survived a sojourn into the forbidden realm not once but twice in her ninety-two years. The remainder of the party had been resolutely silent, hoping to avoid feeding the fire. Renaud proved to be quite the arsonist as he began to speak about elvish ingenuity being the key finding of the dig.
It was after the third week of this furore that Mara found herself the target of many a well-intentioned elf demanding she explain her magical prowess. And with this reluctant fame came the enduring infamy of being either fraud or freak. Many whispered behind her back as she enjoyed a drink at the taverns of Yanhelm about how she’d duped those around her. Still others returned to their favoured mode of interacting with her, throwing things. Mara ceased going out after the fourth week, becoming a shut-in of such paranoia that Solvi had been forced to develop a secret knock to allay her fears of imposters. In a world of magic and illusion, anyone could affect the image of Solvi. Thankfully, the ability to extract information via magical means was a decidedly rare talent.
It was during the afternoon of the fifth week’s final day that Mara sat at the kitchen table. She’d taken to grading student papers in the safety of her apartment. It was from behind this ponderous wall of paper that she was drawn when the secret knock came. Looking through the peephole, Mara saw perhaps the single most unexpected pairing in her life. Renaud and Solvi stood next to each other. Renaud grinned broadly whilst Solvi had the martyred expression of a woman long past her patience’s limit. Opening the door gingerly, Mara allowed the two to enter with a trepidatious look down the corridor behind them. Renaud swanned in with the grace of a man in his element, seating himself at the paper-laden table with a look of concern.
“This place is far beneath you, Mara. Honestly, how can you work in such squalor?” Renaud observed, taking a sheaf of paper from the table and grimacing. Mara knew the student he scorned. A young elf woman named Ines who, from name alone, Mara knew Renaud thought of as human. Returning the sheaf to its pile, the bright smile resumed its tenure and Mara braced herself for the man’s idiocies once again. “I have an exciting proposition for you!” Renaud flourished a small bow of his head, as if he were a chef presenting a meal. The extravagant wave of his hand forced a roll of Solvi’s eyes. She knew where this was headed and had already begun mentally packing.
“No.” Mara shot back at the professor, deflating him visibly with disbelief. He seemed to reorient himself as Solvi shot an eyebrow up at her roommate’s reticence. Perhaps she assumed any job the professor had now engendered a degree of life-threatening danger. Not that it seemed to bother Mara, putting her life on the line for Renaud.
“Rest assured dear sana-.” Renaud began, his voice somewhat unsteady as he began to speak again. But Mara held up a hand, silencing the man once more.
“Don’t you ‘dear sana’ me. Your showboating has made my life extremely difficult these last few weeks. I wanted to be a cloistered academic that didn’t have to deal with the rabble’s opinion on me. That’s the reason for the mask, in case you forgot.” Mara reprimanded with such force that Solvi found herself smiling despite the fact she’d promised to not let Mara off without an apology. The smile was soon stowed when Mara’s masked face shot over to her. “Is this your idea? Inflating his ego to bursting point, is it? Well forget it. You couldn’t pay me enough.” Mara’s grumpy voice suffused with contempt as her attention was directed back towards Renaud. She sat herself down at the table, defiantly taking her pen from its resting place and stubbornly grading papers as if her sora had vanished.
“Are you so sure of that?” Renaud schmoozed with a languid grin and lazy tilt of the hand. Solvi’s eyes locked onto the proffered paper and noted its quality. The excessive stationary was soon explained once her eyes came to rest on the coat of arms that sat as a letterhead. It was a shield flanked by a mermaid and unicorn, bearing a longsword wreathed in thorny vines. The sable field behind this feature informed Mara very quickly as to who this letter was from. She practically snatched it from Renaud’s grip, disbelief causing her fingers to hold the letter almost delicately as she began to read aloud. Solvi could not speak Idharan, which enforced translation upon Mara since her sora was hardly going to.
“’After some considerable dreary catch up, the writer has written to inform Renaud that his findings at the temple have enthused Her Majesty, Lyn Van Areth in the collection and investigation of similar Miran sites throughout the continent.’” Mara could hardly believe that the empress had taken personal interest in their adventure. Reflecting on it, the mage reasoned an ancient vampire from the days of Elys would naturally be curious, nostalgic even, for the artefacts of her youth. Solvi, however, darkened her expression considerably as the cursed name of the Vampire Queen was invoked. She indicated with a disgusted frown that Mara should continue. “’To wit, she has entrusted the overseeing of this task to her most trusted Lady of the Council, Countess Marie Bourbon. Gaius Renaud’s legal guardian and executor of his business ventures. Pursuant to this, she cordially invites you to her manor.’ You never told me you had businesses in Idhara.” Mara turned her gaze to her sora with a curious bite to her voice. Solvi’s contempt for the Idharans was snapped by the sudden cold tone of her roommate. Mara returned the letter without continuing to read, having clearly made up her mind on the subject of a venture in the cold north.
“Of course, I didn’t. My business is tedious even for me.” Renaud laughed, leaning back in his chair and taking his pipe from his jacket. He soon found Mara’s gloved fingers wrapped about it, drawn from his grip. The mask hid the expression yet the older elf’s smile left him, regardless. He stared down his sana with a condescending glare for the briefest of moments before it stowed behind the neutral mask of a diplomat.
“The largest empire in Phasian history, perhaps world history, has its hooks in you and you didn’t think that pertinent to mention when hiring us to do your dirty work?” Mara asked with such barbed words that even Solvi recoiled. She couldn’t deny thinking Renaud that deserved this grilling but disliked her friend’s tone. It was somewhat unlike Mara though, and a curdled edge to her voice roused a suspicious look in the orsan woman. “What else have they been bankrolling whilst you grandstand to anyone with ears?” Mara’s voice became dangerous as she pointed the stem of Renaud’s pipe accusingly at him. The older elf held the silence between them for a moment before removing his glasses with a sigh, hand coming up to rub his eyes.
“Do not begrudge an old man his old habits.” Renaud spoke wearily, as if he really were the three centuries old, he seemed to be. Mara did not seem to relent with barely a hint of movement from the mask. Renaud’s eyes flicked from the mask to behind Mara before moving back to meet his sana’s gaze. “Marie Bourbon was attending an execution when she saw my rotten carcass floating in the harbour. Without a thought for herself, she dove into the frigid waters and pulled me out. She ordered my care, paid for it even! What manner of elf would I be if I refused to pay a debt of kindness? She gave me coin; I returned her investment.” Renaud recounted his story with a mixture of nostalgia and reverence, as if he truly held this mysterious countess in high esteem. Solvi doubted the man could hold anyone that didn’t stand behind his mirror in high esteem. Mara did not seem to relent, shaking the pipe as if demanding more from her sora. The man beseeched the gods for patience before relenting on his silence once more. “I am not the avatar of Idhara. I am my own man with my own wants and projects. Believe me when I say that Marie Bourbon is the only vampire I respect.” Renaud spoke with finality, standing proudly as he plucked his pipe from Mara’s grip. The head turned to follow his route as Renaud made his exit. He did however pause, looking over his shoulder at the pair.
“I suggested this opportunity not because I require puppets. I suggested it as a means to escape the city for a while. It’s clear you’re haunted by the ghosts of what happened at the temple.” Renaud consoled them both, head hung low as if he were disappointed by their hostility. He then bade them good day and walked out into the corridor, allowing their new roommate into the apartment.
Twitcher, as they had come to be known, did not speak a lick of Gardish. Though Fred and Arthur had valiantly tried, Twitcher did not seem to value their input in any matters whatsoever. It had become necessity more than choice that the strange metallic survivor came to rest with Mara. Aside from the hermitic Renata, who even now refused to teach classes and barely ate outside of her lab, Mara was the only member of their group that spoke fluent Elysian elvish. Twitcher had been named for their erratic fighting style and habit of jumping at every offence to their ancient sensibilities. Mara remembered well the practical breakdown they’d had upon discovering Solvi would be their roommate. As compromise, Twitcher was given Mara’s room whilst Mara slept on the sofa. With a paper bag of food upon each hand and a basket hanging from each arm, they indicated to the door as they set down that evening’s lunch.
“Veth de o suden?” Twitcher asked, moving to the stove and passing a hand over the tinder to ignite it. The metal that made up the approximation of their face shifted, moving into what Mara had estimated to be a frown. “Orsana tu o?” They asked with a mocking quality, prompting Solvi to shoot a venomous glare at the other person. Mara sighed and admitted defeat, clearing away her papers as she prepared for yet another night of playing mediator between ancient Revcel and prickly orsana.
“Renaud mewa fu weithi.” Mara responded with patience towards Twitcher, who shrugged and began utilizing their arm sword to cut vegetables for the broth. Solvi’s eyes slid conspiratorially over to Mara’s mask, who turned her head with a defeated tilt. “Twitcher wasn’t inferring anything about you. They were commenting upon how we still use wood fires.” Mara explained patiently, making her way to the sofa and placing what little she’d managed to grade in her briefcase. Sitting upon the sofa, Mara took out her notes and began to write flowing arcanography that only seemed to grow her frustration, given how hard the pencil had dug into the page with every stroke.
“Why do you insist on referring to them like that?” Solvi asked with a pained expression, referring to Twitcher’s voice. Twitcher sounded to the average listener like a feminine voice echoing from within the helmet which had come to shift subtly in response to their emotions. The nib of Mara’s pencil snapped as she ceased her writing, turning with forced calm towards her roommate. Solvi sensed that she’d trod on elvish toes yet again.
“Being Elysian, they do not respect the human notions of gender. Their entire culture was built upon a rejection of your ancestor’s beliefs.” Mara explained with barely contained exasperation. Such a reaction would have been excessive were this not the third time Mara had explained this in as many weeks. “They take these rejections to their logical extreme. Whilst your average elf does not eschew human comfort, the empire had no such qualms. We shall be good hosts and respect our guest’s wishes.” Mara added, her voice coloured by her mood. Solvi took a moment, frowned and sat herself next to Mara. With firm hands, she closed the mage’s spell book and eased Mara by the shoulders to a more relaxed position. Mara simply allowed this, mask shifting over to meet Solvi’s firm gaze.
“Twitcher doesn’t speak Gardish. But you are right, we shall respect their wishes.” Solvi spoke with conviction before releasing Mara’s shoulders and turning her whole body towards her roommate, who likewise shifted her reclining form into the corner of their shared seat. “You have been a bundle of kindling for weeks. Any stray flame sets you off. Is there something you need to talk about?” Solvi inquired with an almost professional air. A script altered from her days in the Guard. Mara had seen it used to great effect on those involved in incidents. And that, too, rubbed her the wrong way. She was not a victim nor perpetrator of a crime. Exerting significant control over herself, she placed her spell book upon the table that sat before the cabinet that housed the radio.
“Annun is the most terrifying place in existence.” Mara replied cagily, a guarded posture contorting her body into a knotted tangle of limbs. Solvi attempted to rest a calming hand on Mara’s knee, only to find it withdrawn. She suppressed the pain it caused, focusing on the task at hand. With what she hoped was a reassuring look, Solvi attempted to prompt Mara into further speech. The mage simply returned her gaze almost challengingly.
“You may think you’re protecting me when you do this. I do not need protecting.” Solvi reassured in her calmest, yet firmest voice. That enticed Mara to touch a gloved hand to her mask, as if she worried it had slipped. Twitcher, who stood at the stove not too far, trained their gaze on Solvi as seasonings were dropped into the pot. Solvi caught it in the side of her vision, noting the hostility in the automaton’s burning orange eyes.
“What haunts me isn’t something you can help with. Twitcher can’t even remember the horrors of that place. They don’t even remember who they were before they dropped into it.” Mara sighed, as if the isolation were causing physical exhaustion. Her breath had become cloying and her heartbeat insistent. Her body fought her mind, desperately clashing against her ego to run. “There are voices in Annun that speak to the living and dead alike. And I was stupid enough to threaten one.” Mara swallowed, her fingers curling against her thighs. Were it not for the gloves, they would be drawing black blood from the poor woman. Solvi once again tried to reach out with a comforting hand, only to be rebuffed with something close to a slap down. “Every time I have visited Annun it has taken from me things I did not think possible to take. It is a world carved by a madman, ravaged so thusly by war that even space itself does not obey convention. It tears my mind apart to know it’s inevitable.”
The evening meal Twitcher had prepared was taken in abject silence, with Mara not so much as uttering another syllable. Several times, Solvi tried to move her roommate’s dark thoughts. Several times, Mara ignored her with only shaking hands betraying her true emotions. The mask had been oddly mundane, Solvi thought. Having finished her meal despite the frosty atmosphere, Solvi stood herself up and grabbed the large fur-lined coat she’d taken to wearing with the termination of her position at the Guard. Twitcher asked what Solvi assumed was a question based on the tone.
“Fred is down at the bar being his usual crooked self. I thought I might join him since nobody seems to want to speak Gardish anymore.” Solvi regretted her hostility as the harsh words left her lips, turning swiftly towards the door before leaving. She paused in the doorway, as if expecting the usual farewells from Mara. When they did not come, Solvi’s lips pressed into a thin line she shut the door with perhaps more force than was necessary.
Yanhelm, as ever, was a city that bustled even in the dead of night. The crystalline lanterns that hung from their bowed posts shed precious little light thanks to their poorly maintained glass coverings. Cobblestones clicked under Solvi’s boots as she made her way towards the somehow more impoverished districts that Fred favoured for his drinking. Many Skitti had been displaced there and, Solvi supposed, Renaud had a point regarding how peoples preferred the company of their own. She was perhaps unique in shunning the trappings of her culture and tradition. There it was again. Solvi’s musings had become memory and that memory had shifted to dull pain in her shoulder. She was perhaps fortunate to have this old wound.
With the distraction from her musing, Solvi noticed several tall women of strong build in the shadows beyond the streetlamps. Orsan women were not unusual in Yanhelm but something crawled up Solvi’s spine upon seeing them. A vague sense of threat that was perhaps the ghost of the war. Thus alerted, she continued on her route towards the less lit streets of the lower city. As she travelled, the crowds of jovial citizens began to thin. She didn’t dare look behind her, knowing without seeing that the women pursued her. As Solvi passed the bombed-out remains of a large forge, she ducked into the forlorn work floor that cast many shadows for her to hide in.
There they were. From her hiding place between two old rotten barrels of rainwater, Solvi heard three distinct sets of footsteps. With her breath shallow, restrained to the barest of nasal breezes, Solvi leant back against the wall of fragile brick and moulding mortar to see the three powerfully built women creeping throughout the work floor. They moved with grace and care for the noise they created, roving about the foundry. Solvi could not see their faces in the dimness of the night and kicked herself mentally for not bringing the Guillotine. She felt about herself on the ground for a hammer, a crowbar. Anything that would grant her some purchase against these women.
“She’s here.” One of them warned, her voice that of an older woman. So, this was the matriarch. Solvi’s hand wrapped about the rusted head of what was once a hammer. A blacksmith’s hammer, Solvi turned the head to its point. A poor way to die, but Solvi would grant no honour to those who did not offer it. “Alive is the preference. I won’t say no to roughing her up though.” The voice added with a somewhat teasing tone, prompting Solvi to roll her eyes. Amateurs with yet more amateur scare tactics. As they passed her hiding place, the darkness obscuring the rear of the barrels, Solvi eased herself onto bended knee and hefted the hammer head. She held her breath, waited for the moment before flinging the hammer as far across the chamber as she could.
It clanged down on the rusted gangway that circumvented the remains of the walls. The senior of the three directed her underlings to the sound, resuming her search shortly after. She appeared to be smarter than the average thug, realising what could be at play. Having mentally mapped possible locations, the woman slipped into the darkness Solvi occupied. In silence, the two searched for each other without sight. The slightest rustle of cloth, the faintest exhalation of breath guided them.
The sounds of drunken patrons of Fred’s favourite haunt echoed throughout the forges, songs reverberating over the cold steel edifices.
“Probably slipped out the back while you two fell for the distraction!” The senior shouted over her shoulder, giving Solvi a start. She desperately, almost comically, attempted to press her large frame to the side of some large metal structure that the woman had seemingly passed by. The desperate thoughts invaded her mind as she considered what to do to her. She was certainly in striking distance. One simple crunch and it would be over. But what of her allies? No. Hope they give up and go away. “I’ll not take lip from you, Shoti! Find her!” The senior woman scolded one of her minions, who had dared to remark upon the orders they’d been given. It confirmed a suspicion that Solvi had been nurturing since seeing them. Shoti tribe mercenaries or soldiers. Which would make this loud-mouthed senior woman a Benti. The tribe she and her mother called their own.
Blissfully, two of the women departed out into the night through the throngs of Skitti and other peoples that had been enjoying their evening. The senior one seemed to stop in the doorway, scratching her chin in contemplation. The light of the moon and Solvi’s adjusted eyes gave her enough of the woman’s features to recognize. Solvi burned them into her memory, taking in every wrinkle and curled grey hair. She also seemed to be missing an eye, wearing an ornate eyepatch that bore an insignia upon it. The Heldothir. That explained the bravado, at least. Loyalists to a woman, Solvi had never known them to take marching orders from just anyone. If they wanted her, Solvi reasoned, her mother was involved to some degree. One day, she would find an excuse to succeed her early. Knowing well their persistence, Solvi elected to wait a good hour before moving from her musty hiding place. She spent that time pondering whether, for all his faults, that foppish professor’s offer might be useful after all. Her mother would cross a lot of lines, but Solvi was willing to wager her mother wouldn’t dare cross the Idharans.
With a fugitive look about her, Solvi stepped once more onto the street and headed towards the tavern where hopefully Fred was still guzzling his earnings from the temple. Once inside the homely wooden building, Solvi searched for the Skitti. He wasn’t difficult to find as Fred had surrounded himself by a gaggle of acquaintances and seemed to currently be regaling them with a heavily edited version of his adventures within the temple. Fred only noticed Solvi once she appeared over the rim of his tankard, which he’d been draining moments before. He smiled at her, hiccoughing a toast before downing the remainder of his drink. Those around him looked to her with a mixture of fear and respect, much to Solvi’s approval. It seemed she’d been the one non-Skitti that hadn’t been a total idiot on the mountain.
“The house has got termites, Fred.” Solvi snorted, seating herself on a stool and leaning over as if this were the meeting of two boarders. “We might have to sell up.” The woman added with a sincere stare that prompted the Skitti to lean forward with the drunkenness melting from his features. His eye did not seem so bleary now and Solvi briefly wondered how a man could lie so effectively that his own body sold the story.
“You sure we got to move? Could always get the exterminators in.” Fred grunted with a slight drunken slur that Solvi hoped was genuine. Otherwise, the poor fellow had been nursing a single drink his entire night. That, or he held his drink better than most.
“Not sure we could. There’s a queen somewhere in there. They’ll just come back. Might as well cut our losses for now.” Solvi made a great show of shrugging her shoulders, taking a moment to rifle through some bank notes she’d taken for the drinks and passing them discreetly to one of Fred’s companions. The brown furred Skitti took a moment to check the amount before slipping them into his overalls with a nod. Solvi watched him scamper off with a smirk, catching Fred’s eye which, somehow, winked.
“I’ll get the boys to find us a new place. Leave it with me!” Fred laughed easily, waving a paw at the larger woman. Solvi rolled her eyes and shook her head with some vigour.
“Already got a place. On contract. The professor is paying.” Solvi attempted to explain with as tight a lip as she could, causing Fred’s pseudo-jovial mood to instantly sour. His nostrils flared as he withdrew several curled papers from his overalls. Solvi did not need to read them to understand their contents.
“Funny. Arthur n’ me got one too.” Fred observed in a dangerous tone, one that Solvi had heard before. He only used the authority of his voice when dealing with the minions of Brother Gangrene. “Wouldn’ it be fascinatin’ if these termites got enticed to the ‘ouse?” Fred’s teeth were bared, which Solvi understood was not a good Skitti expression to see. “We both know somethin’s up with this. Ain’t gonna let it rest ‘til I know what’s what.” Fred growled, standing himself up after signing his name to the contract almost aggressively. Handing it to Solvi as if it were a live snake, the skitti man made his way towards the exit of the tavern. Solvi was very impressed until he collapsed like a felled tree. Getting back to his feet, Fred swore at the offending chair leg before staggering from the inn.
Solvi stared at the contract for some considerable time, noting Arthur’s copy underneath. With her accomplice keeping an eye out, she felt safer returning to the streets and the hostile apartment that awaited her. Contrary to what the elves in her life thought, Solvi was not stupid. She’d noticed a distinct decline in Mara’s moods ever since Twitcher and Renaud had emerged into her life. Their influence had driven the poor recluse to distraction with anxieties. However, even as she walked the now considerably emptier streets towards the apartment, a thought occurred to Solvi. Perhaps this was Mara’s natural state. The angry, arrogant mage who refused to talk and deflected any attempts to try. Or Solvi had simply began to annoy her. She’d made that clear enough in the caravan.
Thoughts of the caravan haunted her as she returned to the slightly more up market part of the city with its brick terraces and quaint corner shops. The Sunburst Army had used their presence and assistance at the temple as a rallying point. Elves now flocked to their banners in a vain attempt to borrow heroism from the old soldiers and vainglorious thugs that comprised their ranks. Naturally, Albrecht had been giving grand addresses on behalf of their glorious leader who, in Solvi’s mind, did not exist. A woman of that calibre should have spine enough to address her faithful. She had many reservations about her people and her mother, but the Beast of Karkun wasn’t a coward. Albrecht had justified his little charade by citing the import of their leader who would suffer consequences, should their true feelings be known. Solvi smirked at the thought, turning onto the street of her apartment. People like Albrecht didn’t suffer consequences for their beliefs. The little princeling was scion to one of the most powerful elvish families in existence. He could stab someone in broad daylight with that ridiculous sword and the greatest consequence would be hiding on his father’s estate for a few years.
As Solvi ruminated on her recent past, struggling with her key to the building, movement drew her eye. Fearing the return of the Shoti, she swiftly turned her keys into knuckledusters and turned to face her adversary.
What faced her was not a trio of orsan women. He was an elf, pale in complexion and with a distinct corpse-like pallor to his lips. He wore the rich furred robes of the human lords from years past, at the height of the Yandite Empire. At his side, hanging from belts, a black book gilt in silver marked him as a mage. But this was not the most disturbing thing about this translucent apparition. His eyes were empty sockets in which orange flames nested. He turned his gaze to Solvi, as if just noticing her and pointed a ghastly, skeletal finger at her. Silently, he mouthed words that she could not perceive.
Solvi backed away from the spirit, knowing well that nothing good could come of interacting with it. Mara may have her views on the dead, but Solvi’s people had theirs. Heeding her people, Solvi unlocked the door to the apartment and staggered inside. The spirit’s face contorted into one of anger as it glided forth, threatening her with grasping mummified hands.
A horn sounded in the distance. One of the old horns of her people. As if she had not excuse enough already, the familiar chill of fear crept up her spine. Both she and the spirit looked to the source of the disturbance. Solvi did not see anything, though the spirit must have for he was soon faded from view. Quashing her fear, Solvi resolved to go to Mara that night and request a little necromancy to repel spirits.
