Chapter 12
After recovering from the night’s excitement, Solvi had been startled awake by Twitcher making angry demands of the radio. As Mara and herself made their way towards the University with their curious new charge in tow, Solvi recalled how Twitcher had received what sounded like a dressing down by Mara for refusing to learn Gardish. Her companion’s foul mood had seemingly spread to everyone in her life, not just long-time friends. As the trio made their way up the grand old stone staircase that had once transported Elysian nobility, the spectacle of religious groups haranguing campus security was revealed. To Solvi’s mind, they were right to be concerned that the University had simply taken possession of one of the Seven’s most powerful artefacts. Even Renaud’s constant boasts of Elysian greatness did little to dissuade the other nations of the world angrily demanding that the Crook be inspected by their authorities. All save one. Idhara, usually so involved in global affairs, had chosen to remain silent. As Solvi passed into the building with Mara, who’d lifted her staff medal to one of the guards, she began to get a growing sense of unease about their impending trip to the vampires’ den.
The interior of the building had remained as much as it had when they’d first embarked on Renata’s expedition. The only exception was that now a gaggle of blue-robed book-wielding people had assembled and were excitedly comparing notes as if an impromptu conference were being held. Mara and Solvi shared a glance after seeing the insignia of Lemuria stamped into the leather binding of their spell books. It seemed that the Archmage had arrived. Twitcher inquired something over their shoulders, hopping in place to get a better look at the varied and wildly gesticulating crowd of academics.
“Yes. Os.” Mara answered Twitcher, whose fiery eyes narrowed with a contemptuous huff. They seemed to valiantly struggle with the limited vocabulary they had chosen before angrily curling their fingers against their head. The, in Mara’s view, adorable porkpie hat that Solvi had purchased for Twitcher suffered greatly in these trying linguistic times. Though they were not a mage, they insisted on wearing a tunic styled after the robes Mara wore with baggy trousers tucked into Fred’s heavy work boots. The better to school the arrogant masses, in Twitcher’s view.
“Twitcher them look like mage.” Came the heavily accented composition of a sentence. Mara nodded approvingly whilst Solvi smirked at their martial comrade’s struggle. Even though Twitcher’s face was hardly the most expressive, somehow the contemptuous shame they felt managed to slither through the metal eye holes in their helmet. Mara did explain in their native tongue how the magical traditions of modernity descended from the Elysian refugees of the Godswar. Albeit heavily influenced by a budding human and coblini tradition birthed from necessity. Solvi rolled her eyes as the two excitedly nattered, having heard the Gardish version of that very same lecture. The only time Mara seemed to come alive lately seemed to be when teaching magic. Perhaps that was the reason for her foul mood, Solvi reasoned as the trio began their journey into the depths of the building where the labs were situated. Mara had not been able to teach since returning from the expedition. At first it had been her health. Then Renaud’s media circus rolled into town.
They passed no fewer than three layers of heavy Legionnaire presence. Each one was armed and armoured to the teeth, their thick black winter coats hanging with the same grenades Mara had disarmed in the Army hideout. Though some carried rifles and pistols akin to Fred’s, many carried the enchanted swords and shields of infantry. Mara supposed that if they were to defend against mages, they would need some means of protection from magic. The shields, as their bandit foes had demonstrated, served exactly that purpose.
Blessedly, the trio eventually arrived within the lab that held the Crook. It was being held within the most secure lab the University possessed. The walls were thick, reinforced and did not lie under the building itself. The door to enter the room was thicker than Mara’s forearm lengthways. Four Legionnaires saluted as they passed, attracting an awkward two finger salute in kind from Mara. The interior of the lab was likewise an abundance in extreme caution. The Crook had been sealed within three concentric circular cages with a tunnel of aulind wire being the only entry point. Tables of notes, instruments and various chemical flasks had been pushed to the side to contain the dangerous artefact. Renata had assembled a U-shaped rampart of desks around the cage itself and sat upon a stool writing like a woman possessed, hand running through her grey-streaked hair.
The man they had all come to see was busy speaking with an unknown third actor. Mara knew him by his robes alone for they were a resplendent purple with gold thread. The robes Mara hoped to one day wear. He was a cambion man that bore handsome features by Solvi’s reckoning. He had curiously dark eyes with no whites showing. Horns curling above his head hung with gold decorations. His hair had been grown long and heavily braided with beads, falling to the base of a thick tail that wrapped about the stem of a wineglass. As he spoke to Renaud, he held it to his lips and sipped. The Archmage wore a tight, painfully diplomatic smile as Renaud spoke to him about the trials he must have endured growing up in Khal. Mara supposed that the manner of decoration spoke to Khalan ancestry.
“Respectfully, Professor Renaud, I am Gardish. My father was Khalan.” The Archmage chuckled, clapping the red-faced Renaud on the back. Mara raised her eyebrows. She’d never seen her sora so flustered so easily. It wasn’t until the Archmage turned and reached out a hand to her in greeting that she fully understood Renaud’s awkwardness. His fanged, radiant smile put her on edge. The sheer power this man emanated was staggering. Renaud could work an illusion or two, but Mara was fairly sure this man could devastate a town by himself. “You must be Mara. I am Archmage Merddyn, representative of the council.” The man introduced himself, turning shortly and doing the same to Solvi, who wore such a strong mixture of emotions that Merddyn’s smile slipped. “I know what was done during the war was hard. But we’ll gain nothing by bringing up old wounds, eh?” He tried to look reassuring, but the baritone of his voice lent an accidental threatening aura to the statement. Merddyn had been a much younger man during the war. Barely a teenager during the Orsan Occupation, Mara remembered hearing tales of his exploits as a guerrilla. His magical talent was not learned but forged in a crucible of conflict.
“Your paper on the radiant resistance properties of various forms of aulind was truly enlightening! I managed to create my staff with it!” Mara blurted out quite suddenly, bringing an involuntary laugh to Solvi’s lips. The two mages regarded each other for a moment before Merddyn broke into a large smile once again.
“I should like to inspect your staff one of these days. Though there’s another staff that has my attention right now.” Merddyn chuckled, looking over at the Crook with a mysterious expression. Mara was not able to divine its meaning and so settled on curiosity. How could anyone be anything but curious when proof of Ir Tolves’ mastery of magic lay in this very room. “I do wonder how you managed to extract it from the land of the dead. The anomalous qualities of space within that realm are well known. You could have entered that tear and found yourself miles from the staff.” Merddyn continued, a decidedly different expression having replaced the inquisitiveness. A coldness seemed to lie behind those eyes in that moment. Solvi placed a hand on Mara’s shoulder, steadying her under the Archmage’s intense gaze. Renaud, having recovered from his faux pas, slithered around Merddyn’s elbow to stare at Mara encouragingly. He’d seen it with his own eyes, yet Merddyn brought an interesting question to the fore.
“I have experience with Annun. A helpful spirit guided me out the first time. The changes wrought by my first visit definitely helped on the second.” Mara recounted haltingly as spikes of panic were driven into her throat every so often. Her stomach roiled with the memories. The tragic night seventy years ago in which she’d reached beyond her grasp. “As you can imagine, I don’t like talking about it.” Mara attempted to inject some authority into her voice, yet the nervous energy garbled her speech and forced her to repeat herself. Merddyn regarded this explanation with a sceptical eye, holding a hand forth as if to inspect Mara’s disfigurement. She shied from him, only to find a comforting smile on his features.
“It seems you are suffused with enough necrotic energy to kill a regular person. Perhaps that is why…” Merddyn seemed to lose track of his thought before turning to look at the Crook once again. Mara allowed the silence to stretch between them while he inspected the Crook with his hand stretched forth. Some mages were so talented that their spells wasted no energy on the phosphorescence of most spellcasters. Merddyn appeared to be one such mage, seeming satisfied with his detection as he turned back to the group. “I was just confirming a theory Renata had concerning the primary sources. It appears that a powerful protective spell was laid upon the Crook. It will punish those who try to use it if they were not defined to do so by the caster who, I assume, was Arawn.” Merddyn observed with a pensive expression, which promptly snapped out of place by an irate Renata slapping both palms on the table before her.
“Punish? It’ll drain your life energies for daring! Every spell you cast with it and every ounce of energy you draw from that tainted well will slowly kill you! Empty husk before you even get the finalization off, you mark my words!” Renata ranted with almost frenetic zeal, holding sheafs of paper which appeared to be copies of Elysian texts judging by the presence of tone markers. That or, Mara reasoned, excessively formal modern Elvish. “There’s an account of Ir Tolves giving her staff to an uppity legate who challenged her to a duel. Dead before she even cast a spell.” Renata added, shaking her head in disgust. To Mara, this sounded entirely reasonable. A weapon of that calibre should only be in the safest of hands. Though three civil wars before her downfall after a nine-century rule was probably not the safest hands. “I suppose I should be thankful we can’t have another Decimation of Elys using it.” The irate woman echoed Mara’s thoughts, staring at the Crook with a mixture of disappointment, reverence and curiously disdain.
“The Decimation was a response to their refusal to surrender. Hardly excessive for the period.” Renaud scoffed, arms folding before he ducked a thrown stress ball from Renata. “Very mature debating strategy, Renny.” Renaud drawled with that irritating confidence that had vexed everyone in the room more than once. The Professor of Elvish History and the Professor of Arcanomechanics had to learn to get along eventually. They were being assigned co-leads on the project if Mara’s mail that morning was anything to go by. Solvi meanwhile gave the venerable Archmage a clap on the back, causing him to gasp as if suddenly winded.
“Seems you’ll be playing mediator while we’re in Idhara. Speaking of which.” Solvi japed before holding out a hand to Renaud palm-up. When he didn’t comply with the implied order, Solvi’s fingers waved expectantly. He conceded with a rueful groan and laid three tickets into her palm almost gingerly. He gave Mara a look that she imagined was meant to imply something yet received no reply from the shorter mage.
“It was lovely to meet you Archmage. Do give my regards to Archmage Lorana. I was hoping she’d have come along, no offence.” Mara spoke in a bright voice which she hoped conveyed a smile. Thankfully, Merddyn waved a hand before taking out his pipe. Renata began to protest until the younger man pulled rank, placing the stem between his wine-red lips.
“Good luck with that. Miserable cow hasn’t left her tower for twenty years. Visited the other day and got a sprite thrown and my head.” Merddyn only half-joked, if Mara remembered her cantankerous old mentor well. A former teacher, the woman had devoted her life to the magical arts. Sadly, she only got her Archmage’s certification in the direst moments of her life. The only time Mara saw her smile had been seeing the bright faces of young mages performing their first spells. Solvi, of course, remembered a different side to the fearsome Archmage that had unleashed the Unseelie upon the Orsana.
The two discovered why Twitcher had been so curiously quiet. After seeing a non-elf in the robes of an Archmage, they had vacated the room quietly to steep in their revulsion. The two roommates met them as they drew on a paper pad that they’d brought for the journey to Idhara. Solvi tried to stomp on the memory that they’d entrusted their luggage to a gaggle of Fred’s ‘associates’. She took a moment to spy what the Elysian had been drawing. Her eyes shot up in surprise to see Twitcher had drawn some manner of portrait. An elvish woman with sublime features, a broad smile and intricate diadem upon her head. As the group made their way towards the upper city, where the old elvish keep housed the royal family, Solvi nudged Mara.
“They drew a lady. I think it’s them before they got all metallic.” Solvi grunted indicating as subtly as a woman of her size could to Twitcher, who followed in morose silence. The masked mage appeared to shrink in size as her shoulders drooped.
“It’s not them. It’s Mira Ir Tolves.” Mara spoke under her breath to Solvi, who arched an eyebrow. Well, now that was a revelation. It seemed that their dingy apartment had been playing host to some form of Elysian noble. It certainly explained the haughty attitude. “It’s the beginning of her reign. Means they were quite old when they fell into Annun, by my estimation.” Mara added, the group passing by the Royal Palace with its minarets, impressively high walls and rooms aplenty. Successive human rulers had attempted to suppress the elvish elements of the design. But they were still there if one knew where to look. Her people, Mara thought, had a tendency towards towers. And excessive durability.
“I don’t know how you’d tell that. Elves don’t seem to age until they get to their seven hundreds.” Solvi scoffed and folded her arms. Mara turned the mask towards her in what Solvi knew was a disapproving look. Thankfully, the mask wasn’t smoking. Always a warning sign with her little mage.
“She change. War did change her.” Twitcher suddenly added in a voice suffused with melancholy. Solvi turned to face the Elysian with a conflicted expression. This arrogant tin can had been giving orders and refusing to learn a word, and they chose now to change their tune? But Solvi had to concede that if anything could change one’s tune, war was definitely it. Mara asked a question in Elysian, attracting a sardonic reply from Twitcher. Another comment was added laced with malice, which Mara visibly recoiled from. Solvi arched an eyebrow at Mara.
“I asked if they were involved with the Ir in a non-professional context.” Mara explained with a stilted cough that pricked Solvi’s irritation. But the mage was being good and hadn’t snapped at anyone in hours, so the orsan woman bit her tongue. “They don’t remember and wouldn’t tell me if they were.” Mara relented, seeing Solvi’s expression. There was a hardness to the tone that Solvi could not parse and wouldn’t pursue for fear of sharing a Sanlater with a volatile, angry mage.
The trio came upon Yanhelm’s newest addition with decidedly mixed moods. The King had unveiled his parliament’s latest transport hub with great fanfare, boasting of a more interconnected Phasia. Mara admired the fusion of human and elvish architecture with a dash of coblini metallurgy. The result was a beautiful glass and steel awning that protected travellers from the weather while being open enough for Sanlaters to leave unhindered. In the courtyard before this awning, various buildings had been erected to handle travellers both magical and mundane. Mara almost seethed with jealousy as they entered the station only to see another Lemurian mage teleport themselves from within a quaint circle of runes on the ground.
Through the beautiful marble-pillared stone platforms, Mara spied their transport. A Sanlater was a fairly novel Idharan invention, slowly becoming mainstream. It consisted of a wooden ship-like structure reinforced and armoured with metal. Several wing-like sails folded up against the hull, ready to direct the wind around it as it flew through the skies. This particular model had been painted with the Countess Bourbon’s crest and decorated with a figurehead. As Mara and her posse walked on the gangways above the flying vessels, they saw that the figurehead depicted a bat in flight. From their vantage, they could also see Fred’s skitti arguing with the Idharans at every step of loading the luggage. As they came upon the Sanlater’s gangway, Solvi hoped that the vessel’s impressive bulk wouldn’t prohibit it from flying. She’d seen Idharans make larger things fly during the war, but the vines of doubt still wrapped themselves about her.
“Welcome to The Demeter. Chartered by Countess Bourbon, you will see excessive comfort and staggering views as we traverse the Bay of Fangs.” An extravagant Idharan-accented voice called to them. Looking over, Mara saw a humanoid figure approaching wearing an Idharan Navy uniform. He was impressively groomed, sporting a walrus moustache and captain’s tricorn. His black boots had been shined within an inch of their life and Mara felt surprisingly less anxious in his presence. “I am Captain Rochefort. I am only mildly cheesy.” He introduced with a welcoming grin, devoid of fangs much to Solvi’s approval. Twitcher lived up to their name by regarding the vessel around them from mast to bridge with anxious contempt. “Do not be alarmed. I’ve only crashed a single sanlater.” The captain joked as he noted Twitcher’s behaviour, attracting a snort of nervous laughter from Solvi.
“Don’t mind them. They have problems trusting magic.” Mara waved a hand to Captain Rochefort before handing him the tickets with some awkwardness. The captain took to duties not his own with aplomb, using a baring compass to stamp them with a wink. Mara passed the tickets to the jumpy pair, walking towards a door set into the base of the bridge decorated with delicate frosted windows. “I take it that demiplane stabilization is standardized on these vessels?” Mara asked the captain, who followed diligently behind.
“Alas, non! Those features are only supplied to the engine room. Dreadnoughts are outfitted with such features. Maybe you would like to buy one for me?” Captain Rochefort smirked to a decidedly less assured Mara. She entered the tight corridor behind the doors and began to descend the carpeted steps with Solvi complaining of the height restrictions. Mara looked to see her large companion almost bent double with a frown, entering her cabin ruefully as the captain directed her to it. “Now before I leave you, I must ask that you not bother the countess’ sister during the day.” Captain Rochefort warned, turning to face his three charges with a considerably more serious tone. “She is very irritable when it comes to daylight hours and will most likely have you flogged. And unfortunately, sister to the countess outranks guest of the countess.” He added before tipping his tricorn and bidding them good day. Twitcher didn’t even wait for the man to leave before diving into their cabin. The lock loudly clicked as, Mara assumed, panic attacks commenced.
“Odd that they’d put us in two separate cabins, being roommates and all.” Solvi observed innocently, eyes inspecting the roof spars with far too much enthusiasm.
“Renaud booked the tickets.” Mara replied coolly, turning to enter her own cabin without another word. Solvi pressed her lips together at this news, pondering whether Renaud had been doing her a favour. Deciding that it would be a remarkably poor decision to dwell on that, Solvi opened her trunk and grinned down at the bottle of spirits she’d managed to hide in her luggage. She was a woman grown and no stuffy Idharan was going to dictate what she couldn’t bring onto the ship.
Arthur, Solvi and Fred had all agreed to dine together that night and so when the appointed hour came, Solvi closed one of the many books she’d pilfered from Mara’s room for the journey. Briefly, she knocked on Mara’s door to invite her. When no reply came, Solvi cocked an ear at the door only to hear Mara’s irritated voice struggling with something. Something magical, given the specific insults she was directing at her work. Electing to leave the grumpy mage to her project, Solvi made her way to the galley where the guests and crew dined if they weren’t shut ins.
Over the course of their meal, Solvi learned a great deal about Idharans from the crew that chatted to their group. Vampires did not serve in low ranked positions in any capacity. Many were of the view that vampires only recruited the best of the best to be leaders. But everyone from the Empress to the meanest pauper loved their food. Fred had a few choice words, driving many of the more jingoistic interlocutors away. Eventually, tired of this cycle, Arthur turned to Fred and grave him a look of consternation.
“Fred. I know your opinions on Idharans. Why do they exist?” Arthur asked in what he hoped was a neutral tone that wouldn’t incite the smaller man into another of his long rants about the state of the world. Surprisingly, Fred carved a fresh slice of meat from his steak and seemed to give thought to the question for a few moments. Solvi gave him a surprised look, not expecting restraint from the skitti.
“Way I see it, what they did to us ain’t unusual.” Fred began, speaking in a low voice to avoid the angry stares of navy soldiers. “Sure, they spent a good century givin’ us scrip instead of pay. But they don’ even pretend to give you yer bread in the colonies. An’ when they get the boot, they have the cheek, the stones to say they ‘elped us out.” Fred explained, becoming steadily more animated before a thought seemed to grab him and take his mind elsewhere. A place he did not wish to go. “They ‘elped me alright. Showed me how far I was willin’ to go. What I’d give ‘em to be free. What devils I’d shake ‘ands with.” Fred sighed sombrely as he gazed into his mug, composure breaking as the last sentence left his lips. Arthur comforted the older man, grasping his shoulders wordlessly as Solvi nodded. The sides were different, but the war had been the same for Fred Seeker.
“Safe to say nah mate, don’t like ‘em.” Fred chuckled weakly, rubbing his eye free of the tear that had been building there. “’Appy to have you lot though. Even Renaud. Man’s an alleg’s ass but he was a good bloke when I met ‘im.” Fred continued, attracting a significant eyebrow raise from Solvi who leaned forward, gazing over the rim of her mug. Arthur too seemed suddenly curious, not having known this morsel of information.
“You knew Renaud before all this?” Arthur asked with bated breath, food lying purely abandoned now. Solvi likewise mirrored Arthur’s insistence with a hand gesture and an expectant look.
“Aye. After the uprisin’, I wasn’ ‘appy with how things shook out. Ended up in the Crucible not knowin’ what year it was.” Fred leaned back on the bench he occupied, scratching his chin through the slightly ale-muddled haze he found himself in. “One day this elf bloke comes up to me an’ says ‘I have a job for you’.” Fred continued, impersonating Renaud’s accent and high-class register. Arthur and Solvi shared a look while the skitti took another deep swig of his drink. Suppressing a burp, he seemed to pause for a moment, whiskers twitching. “Tells me to go clear out this old temple. Like the one we did few weeks back. But I ain’t too good with a rifle after not shootin’ for years. Get carried by this uppity elf git. Dana or somethin’.” Fred grunted, returning to his steak with a surly expression. Solvi and Arthur both sighed in unison, the drunken Fred looking up at them with a bleary eye.
“Renaud’s been funding expeditions to these temples for years.” Arthur observed with a deceptively neutral tone. A tone that drove Solvi’s mind to distraction. “I cannot fathom to what end. If Mara weren’t so distracted, we could ask her the purpose of that giant conduit. Moreover, whether all these temples contained one.” Arthur scratched the side of his head in thought before gripping his armlet for guidance. Fred snorted, having suspected that the older elf was up to something. The party idly wondered as to whether it was a plan at all. Renaud’s love of history was well known and, as an affluent businessman, had access to his own personal pursuits.
The trio spent tipsy hours speculating about various things. Whether elves didn’t sleep or whether it was a myth. They had ended in awkward silence once Solvi had admitted to seeing Mara sleep. Arthur had engaged in serious thought as to whether the gods were actually physical entities or merely thoughts projecting their vision of themselves. That conversation had been too much for Fred, who began his listing journey to bed with the rolling and pitching of the ship as it journeyed through the turbulent winds above Banahelm, a city at the mouth of the valley they lived in.
To preserve the crew’s night vision, the ship’s crystalline lamps had been shuttered to produce a dim red light which the pair found themselves staggering through. Arthur once again suggested they bed down in the galley for the night or risk being thrown from the top deck. Solvi had never heard such idiocy as she dragged her feet along the carpeted floor. Once again, she hit her head on the roof spars.
“Do you see him?” Arthur asked in hushed, insistent tones. Solvi blinked a few times to stare back at her friend, who pointed to the corridor joining two wings of cabins together. Solvi followed his pointing to spy a dimly translucent figure. Solvi did see him. As clearly as last night, the spectre of the elvish man once again manifested before her. Only this time it couldn’t be denied as her mind playing tricks, as Mara had insisted.
“I see him. This is the second time.” Solvi snarled, resolving to carry the Guillotine from now on. This ghost would taunt her no longer with his unsettling appearance.
As if reading her mind, the ghost, which had been gazing out of a porthole at the rear of the ship, turned to stare at her. Its burning orange eyes seemed to ignite with fresh hatred, as it ranted silently to thin air, shaking its finger accusingly at her. Solvi seemed ready to punch the ghost regardless of how effective it was yet found Arthur’s hand staying her advance.
“I do not know you, spirit. But your time has passed.” Arthur thundered imperiously, somewhat undercut in his authority by staggering as the ship lurched in the turbulence. Regardless, he removed his armlet and held it aloft, where it began to glow with a soft light. Solvi felt emboldened by its sunlight, standing a little taller. “By the power of Sirona, Guardian of the Living, I compel thee back to thy rest! Begone from this plane, spirit!” Arthur bellowed, the power of his goddess radiating outwards from the armlet towards the vicious ghastly presence.
The sunlight lashed against its gaseous form ineffectually. To Solvi’s horror, the ghost appeared to shed his flesh to counteract the banishment. His handsome features and piercings of precious metals dissolved into black mist that shielded his now bare skull from the attempted exorcism. His jaws opened soundlessly in what both of them knew was mocking laughter. Lifting a withered hand, it sent the black mists of its form towards them. Solvi drunkenly grabbed Arthur around the midriff and in what she hoped was a sprint, dove headlong back towards the galley. As they made their way there, the duo slammed the double doors to the mess hall closed with heaving breaths.
“The power of Sirona needs a tune up.” Solvi slurred, flicking Arthur’s head playfully. The cleric gave her a withering look as the pair listened at the door. Aside from the howling wind outside and the creaking of the vessel, they could hear nothing. Solvi did perceive a low hum but assumed ghosts didn’t produce humming noises. “I just realised. What’s the door going to do against a ghost?” Solvi asked in theatrical whisper as the gaps in the woodwork began to ooze black mist.
“Absolutely nothing!” Arthur shouted as the pair staggered back, igniting his fists with holy fire. Even in his tipsy state, he seemed fairly competent. Solvi, far more gone by comparison, could barely manage to hold her balance. “Solvi I’m going to need you to sober up fast. That’s not an ordinary ghost.” Arthur grunted, searching the tables for forgotten mugs of water. Finding none, he looked up to see Solvi’s prone form snoring loudly upon a table. Cursing, he continued his search for some water to sober up his partner.
Or he would have. As Arthur turned to search the table behind him, he saw eye sockets filled with burning flames. And at once his senses left him, sending him spiralling to the ground. His unresponsive form lay beneath the ghost, who once again manifested his flesh before vanishing from sight.
Chapter 12
After recovering from the night’s excitement, Solvi had been startled awake by Twitcher making angry demands of the radio. As Mara and herself made their way towards the University with their curious new charge in tow, Solvi recalled how Twitcher had received what sounded like a dressing down by Mara for refusing to learn Gardish. Her companion’s foul mood had seemingly spread to everyone in her life, not just long-time friends. As the trio made their way up the grand old stone staircase that had once transported Elysian nobility, the spectacle of religious groups haranguing campus security was revealed. To Solvi’s mind, they were right to be concerned that the University had simply taken possession of one of the Seven’s most powerful artefacts. Even Renaud’s constant boasts of Elysian greatness did little to dissuade the other nations of the world angrily demanding that the Crook be inspected by their authorities. All save one. Idhara, usually so involved in global affairs, had chosen to remain silent. As Solvi passed into the building with Mara, who’d lifted her staff medal to one of the guards, she began to get a growing sense of unease about their impending trip to the vampires’ den.
The interior of the building had remained as much as it had when they’d first embarked on Renata’s expedition. The only exception was that now a gaggle of blue-robed book-wielding people had assembled and were excitedly comparing notes as if an impromptu conference were being held. Mara and Solvi shared a glance after seeing the insignia of Lemuria stamped into the leather binding of their spell books. It seemed that the Archmage had arrived. Twitcher inquired something over their shoulders, hopping in place to get a better look at the varied and wildly gesticulating crowd of academics.
“Yes. Os.” Mara answered Twitcher, whose fiery eyes narrowed with a contemptuous huff. They seemed to valiantly struggle with the limited vocabulary they had chosen before angrily curling their fingers against their head. The, in Mara’s view, adorable porkpie hat that Solvi had purchased for Twitcher suffered greatly in these trying linguistic times. Though they were not a mage, they insisted on wearing a tunic styled after the robes Mara wore with baggy trousers tucked into Fred’s heavy work boots. The better to school the arrogant masses, in Twitcher’s view.
“Twitcher them look like mage.” Came the heavily accented composition of a sentence. Mara nodded approvingly whilst Solvi smirked at their martial comrade’s struggle. Even though Twitcher’s face was hardly the most expressive, somehow the contemptuous shame they felt managed to slither through the metal eye holes in their helmet. Mara did explain in their native tongue how the magical traditions of modernity descended from the Elysian refugees of the Godswar. Albeit heavily influenced by a budding human and coblini tradition birthed from necessity. Solvi rolled her eyes as the two excitedly nattered, having heard the Gardish version of that very same lecture. The only time Mara seemed to come alive lately seemed to be when teaching magic. Perhaps that was the reason for her foul mood, Solvi reasoned as the trio began their journey into the depths of the building where the labs were situated. Mara had not been able to teach since returning from the expedition. At first it had been her health. Then Renaud’s media circus rolled into town.
They passed no fewer than three layers of heavy Legionnaire presence. Each one was armed and armoured to the teeth, their thick black winter coats hanging with the same grenades Mara had disarmed in the Army hideout. Though some carried rifles and pistols akin to Fred’s, many carried the enchanted swords and shields of infantry. Mara supposed that if they were to defend against mages, they would need some means of protection from magic. The shields, as their bandit foes had demonstrated, served exactly that purpose.
Blessedly, the trio eventually arrived within the lab that held the Crook. It was being held within the most secure lab the University possessed. The walls were thick, reinforced and did not lie under the building itself. The door to enter the room was thicker than Mara’s forearm lengthways. Four Legionnaires saluted as they passed, attracting an awkward two finger salute in kind from Mara. The interior of the lab was likewise an abundance in extreme caution. The Crook had been sealed within three concentric circular cages with a tunnel of aulind wire being the only entry point. Tables of notes, instruments and various chemical flasks had been pushed to the side to contain the dangerous artefact. Renata had assembled a U-shaped rampart of desks around the cage itself and sat upon a stool writing like a woman possessed, hand running through her grey-streaked hair.
The man they had all come to see was busy speaking with an unknown third actor. Mara knew him by his robes alone for they were a resplendent purple with gold thread. The robes Mara hoped to one day wear. He was a cambion man that bore handsome features by Solvi’s reckoning. He had curiously dark eyes with no whites showing. Horns curling above his head hung with gold decorations. His hair had been grown long and heavily braided with beads, falling to the base of a thick tail that wrapped about the stem of a wineglass. As he spoke to Renaud, he held it to his lips and sipped. The Archmage wore a tight, painfully diplomatic smile as Renaud spoke to him about the trials he must have endured growing up in Khal. Mara supposed that the manner of decoration spoke to Khalan ancestry.
“Respectfully, Professor Renaud, I am Gardish. My father was Khalan.” The Archmage chuckled, clapping the red-faced Renaud on the back. Mara raised her eyebrows. She’d never seen her sora so flustered so easily. It wasn’t until the Archmage turned and reached out a hand to her in greeting that she fully understood Renaud’s awkwardness. His fanged, radiant smile put her on edge. The sheer power this man emanated was staggering. Renaud could work an illusion or two, but Mara was fairly sure this man could devastate a town by himself. “You must be Mara. I am Archmage Merddyn, representative of the council.” The man introduced himself, turning shortly and doing the same to Solvi, who wore such a strong mixture of emotions that Merddyn’s smile slipped. “I know what was done during the war was hard. But we’ll gain nothing by bringing up old wounds, eh?” He tried to look reassuring, but the baritone of his voice lent an accidental threatening aura to the statement. Merddyn had been a much younger man during the war. Barely a teenager during the Orsan Occupation, Mara remembered hearing tales of his exploits as a guerrilla. His magical talent was not learned but forged in a crucible of conflict.
“Your paper on the radiant resistance properties of various forms of aulind was truly enlightening! I managed to create my staff with it!” Mara blurted out quite suddenly, bringing an involuntary laugh to Solvi’s lips. The two mages regarded each other for a moment before Merddyn broke into a large smile once again.
“I should like to inspect your staff one of these days. Though there’s another staff that has my attention right now.” Merddyn chuckled, looking over at the Crook with a mysterious expression. Mara was not able to divine its meaning and so settled on curiosity. How could anyone be anything but curious when proof of Ir Tolves’ mastery of magic lay in this very room. “I do wonder how you managed to extract it from the land of the dead. The anomalous qualities of space within that realm are well known. You could have entered that tear and found yourself miles from the staff.” Merddyn continued, a decidedly different expression having replaced the inquisitiveness. A coldness seemed to lie behind those eyes in that moment. Solvi placed a hand on Mara’s shoulder, steadying her under the Archmage’s intense gaze. Renaud, having recovered from his faux pas, slithered around Merddyn’s elbow to stare at Mara encouragingly. He’d seen it with his own eyes, yet Merddyn brought an interesting question to the fore.
“I have experience with Annun. A helpful spirit guided me out the first time. The changes wrought by my first visit definitely helped on the second.” Mara recounted haltingly as spikes of panic were driven into her throat every so often. Her stomach roiled with the memories. The tragic night seventy years ago in which she’d reached beyond her grasp. “As you can imagine, I don’t like talking about it.” Mara attempted to inject some authority into her voice, yet the nervous energy garbled her speech and forced her to repeat herself. Merddyn regarded this explanation with a sceptical eye, holding a hand forth as if to inspect Mara’s disfigurement. She shied from him, only to find a comforting smile on his features.
“It seems you are suffused with enough necrotic energy to kill a regular person. Perhaps that is why…” Merddyn seemed to lose track of his thought before turning to look at the Crook once again. Mara allowed the silence to stretch between them while he inspected the Crook with his hand stretched forth. Some mages were so talented that their spells wasted no energy on the phosphorescence of most spellcasters. Merddyn appeared to be one such mage, seeming satisfied with his detection as he turned back to the group. “I was just confirming a theory Renata had concerning the primary sources. It appears that a powerful protective spell was laid upon the Crook. It will punish those who try to use it if they were not defined to do so by the caster who, I assume, was Arawn.” Merddyn observed with a pensive expression, which promptly snapped out of place by an irate Renata slapping both palms on the table before her.
“Punish? It’ll drain your life energies for daring! Every spell you cast with it and every ounce of energy you draw from that tainted well will slowly kill you! Empty husk before you even get the finalization off, you mark my words!” Renata ranted with almost frenetic zeal, holding sheafs of paper which appeared to be copies of Elysian texts judging by the presence of tone markers. That or, Mara reasoned, excessively formal modern Elvish. “There’s an account of Ir Tolves giving her staff to an uppity legate who challenged her to a duel. Dead before she even cast a spell.” Renata added, shaking her head in disgust. To Mara, this sounded entirely reasonable. A weapon of that calibre should only be in the safest of hands. Though three civil wars before her downfall after a nine-century rule was probably not the safest hands. “I suppose I should be thankful we can’t have another Decimation of Elys using it.” The irate woman echoed Mara’s thoughts, staring at the Crook with a mixture of disappointment, reverence and curiously disdain.
“The Decimation was a response to their refusal to surrender. Hardly excessive for the period.” Renaud scoffed, arms folding before he ducked a thrown stress ball from Renata. “Very mature debating strategy, Renny.” Renaud drawled with that irritating confidence that had vexed everyone in the room more than once. The Professor of Elvish History and the Professor of Arcanomechanics had to learn to get along eventually. They were being assigned co-leads on the project if Mara’s mail that morning was anything to go by. Solvi meanwhile gave the venerable Archmage a clap on the back, causing him to gasp as if suddenly winded.
“Seems you’ll be playing mediator while we’re in Idhara. Speaking of which.” Solvi japed before holding out a hand to Renaud palm-up. When he didn’t comply with the implied order, Solvi’s fingers waved expectantly. He conceded with a rueful groan and laid three tickets into her palm almost gingerly. He gave Mara a look that she imagined was meant to imply something yet received no reply from the shorter mage.
“It was lovely to meet you Archmage. Do give my regards to Archmage Lorana. I was hoping she’d have come along, no offence.” Mara spoke in a bright voice which she hoped conveyed a smile. Thankfully, Merddyn waved a hand before taking out his pipe. Renata began to protest until the younger man pulled rank, placing the stem between his wine-red lips.
“Good luck with that. Miserable cow hasn’t left her tower for twenty years. Visited the other day and got a sprite thrown and my head.” Merddyn only half-joked, if Mara remembered her cantankerous old mentor well. A former teacher, the woman had devoted her life to the magical arts. Sadly, she only got her Archmage’s certification in the direst moments of her life. The only time Mara saw her smile had been seeing the bright faces of young mages performing their first spells. Solvi, of course, remembered a different side to the fearsome Archmage that had unleashed the Unseelie upon the Orsana.
The two discovered why Twitcher had been so curiously quiet. After seeing a non-elf in the robes of an Archmage, they had vacated the room quietly to steep in their revulsion. The two roommates met them as they drew on a paper pad that they’d brought for the journey to Idhara. Solvi tried to stomp on the memory that they’d entrusted their luggage to a gaggle of Fred’s ‘associates’. She took a moment to spy what the Elysian had been drawing. Her eyes shot up in surprise to see Twitcher had drawn some manner of portrait. An elvish woman with sublime features, a broad smile and intricate diadem upon her head. As the group made their way towards the upper city, where the old elvish keep housed the royal family, Solvi nudged Mara.
“They drew a lady. I think it’s them before they got all metallic.” Solvi grunted indicating as subtly as a woman of her size could to Twitcher, who followed in morose silence. The masked mage appeared to shrink in size as her shoulders drooped.
“It’s not them. It’s Mira Ir Tolves.” Mara spoke under her breath to Solvi, who arched an eyebrow. Well, now that was a revelation. It seemed that their dingy apartment had been playing host to some form of Elysian noble. It certainly explained the haughty attitude. “It’s the beginning of her reign. Means they were quite old when they fell into Annun, by my estimation.” Mara added, the group passing by the Royal Palace with its minarets, impressively high walls and rooms aplenty. Successive human rulers had attempted to suppress the elvish elements of the design. But they were still there if one knew where to look. Her people, Mara thought, had a tendency towards towers. And excessive durability.
“I don’t know how you’d tell that. Elves don’t seem to age until they get to their seven hundreds.” Solvi scoffed and folded her arms. Mara turned the mask towards her in what Solvi knew was a disapproving look. Thankfully, the mask wasn’t smoking. Always a warning sign with her little mage.
“She change. War did change her.” Twitcher suddenly added in a voice suffused with melancholy. Solvi turned to face the Elysian with a conflicted expression. This arrogant tin can had been giving orders and refusing to learn a word, and they chose now to change their tune? But Solvi had to concede that if anything could change one’s tune, war was definitely it. Mara asked a question in Elysian, attracting a sardonic reply from Twitcher. Another comment was added laced with malice, which Mara visibly recoiled from. Solvi arched an eyebrow at Mara.
“I asked if they were involved with the Ir in a non-professional context.” Mara explained with a stilted cough that pricked Solvi’s irritation. But the mage was being good and hadn’t snapped at anyone in hours, so the orsan woman bit her tongue. “They don’t remember and wouldn’t tell me if they were.” Mara relented, seeing Solvi’s expression. There was a hardness to the tone that Solvi could not parse and wouldn’t pursue for fear of sharing a Sanlater with a volatile, angry mage.
The trio came upon Yanhelm’s newest addition with decidedly mixed moods. The King had unveiled his parliament’s latest transport hub with great fanfare, boasting of a more interconnected Phasia. Mara admired the fusion of human and elvish architecture with a dash of coblini metallurgy. The result was a beautiful glass and steel awning that protected travellers from the weather while being open enough for Sanlaters to leave unhindered. In the courtyard before this awning, various buildings had been erected to handle travellers both magical and mundane. Mara almost seethed with jealousy as they entered the station only to see another Lemurian mage teleport themselves from within a quaint circle of runes on the ground.
Through the beautiful marble-pillared stone platforms, Mara spied their transport. A Sanlater was a fairly novel Idharan invention, slowly becoming mainstream. It consisted of a wooden ship-like structure reinforced and armoured with metal. Several wing-like sails folded up against the hull, ready to direct the wind around it as it flew through the skies. This particular model had been painted with the Countess Bourbon’s crest and decorated with a figurehead. As Mara and her posse walked on the gangways above the flying vessels, they saw that the figurehead depicted a bat in flight. From their vantage, they could also see Fred’s skitti arguing with the Idharans at every step of loading the luggage. As they came upon the Sanlater’s gangway, Solvi hoped that the vessel’s impressive bulk wouldn’t prohibit it from flying. She’d seen Idharans make larger things fly during the war, but the vines of doubt still wrapped themselves about her.
“Welcome to The Demeter. Chartered by Countess Bourbon, you will see excessive comfort and staggering views as we traverse the Bay of Fangs.” An extravagant Idharan-accented voice called to them. Looking over, Mara saw a humanoid figure approaching wearing an Idharan Navy uniform. He was impressively groomed, sporting a walrus moustache and captain’s tricorn. His black boots had been shined within an inch of their life and Mara felt surprisingly less anxious in his presence. “I am Captain Rochefort. I am only mildly cheesy.” He introduced with a welcoming grin, devoid of fangs much to Solvi’s approval. Twitcher lived up to their name by regarding the vessel around them from mast to bridge with anxious contempt. “Do not be alarmed. I’ve only crashed a single sanlater.” The captain joked as he noted Twitcher’s behaviour, attracting a snort of nervous laughter from Solvi.
“Don’t mind them. They have problems trusting magic.” Mara waved a hand to Captain Rochefort before handing him the tickets with some awkwardness. The captain took to duties not his own with aplomb, using a baring compass to stamp them with a wink. Mara passed the tickets to the jumpy pair, walking towards a door set into the base of the bridge decorated with delicate frosted windows. “I take it that demiplane stabilization is standardized on these vessels?” Mara asked the captain, who followed diligently behind.
“Alas, non! Those features are only supplied to the engine room. Dreadnoughts are outfitted with such features. Maybe you would like to buy one for me?” Captain Rochefort smirked to a decidedly less assured Mara. She entered the tight corridor behind the doors and began to descend the carpeted steps with Solvi complaining of the height restrictions. Mara looked to see her large companion almost bent double with a frown, entering her cabin ruefully as the captain directed her to it. “Now before I leave you, I must ask that you not bother the countess’ sister during the day.” Captain Rochefort warned, turning to face his three charges with a considerably more serious tone. “She is very irritable when it comes to daylight hours and will most likely have you flogged. And unfortunately, sister to the countess outranks guest of the countess.” He added before tipping his tricorn and bidding them good day. Twitcher didn’t even wait for the man to leave before diving into their cabin. The lock loudly clicked as, Mara assumed, panic attacks commenced.
“Odd that they’d put us in two separate cabins, being roommates and all.” Solvi observed innocently, eyes inspecting the roof spars with far too much enthusiasm.
“Renaud booked the tickets.” Mara replied coolly, turning to enter her own cabin without another word. Solvi pressed her lips together at this news, pondering whether Renaud had been doing her a favour. Deciding that it would be a remarkably poor decision to dwell on that, Solvi opened her trunk and grinned down at the bottle of spirits she’d managed to hide in her luggage. She was a woman grown and no stuffy Idharan was going to dictate what she couldn’t bring onto the ship.
Arthur, Solvi and Fred had all agreed to dine together that night and so when the appointed hour came, Solvi closed one of the many books she’d pilfered from Mara’s room for the journey. Briefly, she knocked on Mara’s door to invite her. When no reply came, Solvi cocked an ear at the door only to hear Mara’s irritated voice struggling with something. Something magical, given the specific insults she was directing at her work. Electing to leave the grumpy mage to her project, Solvi made her way to the galley where the guests and crew dined if they weren’t shut ins.
Over the course of their meal, Solvi learned a great deal about Idharans from the crew that chatted to their group. Vampires did not serve in low ranked positions in any capacity. Many were of the view that vampires only recruited the best of the best to be leaders. But everyone from the Empress to the meanest pauper loved their food. Fred had a few choice words, driving many of the more jingoistic interlocutors away. Eventually, tired of this cycle, Arthur turned to Fred and grave him a look of consternation.
“Fred. I know your opinions on Idharans. Why do they exist?” Arthur asked in what he hoped was a neutral tone that wouldn’t incite the smaller man into another of his long rants about the state of the world. Surprisingly, Fred carved a fresh slice of meat from his steak and seemed to give thought to the question for a few moments. Solvi gave him a surprised look, not expecting restraint from the skitti.
“Way I see it, what they did to us ain’t unusual.” Fred began, speaking in a low voice to avoid the angry stares of navy soldiers. “Sure, they spent a good century givin’ us scrip instead of pay. But they don’ even pretend to give you yer bread in the colonies. An’ when they get the boot, they have the cheek, the stones to say they ‘elped us out.” Fred explained, becoming steadily more animated before a thought seemed to grab him and take his mind elsewhere. A place he did not wish to go. “They ‘elped me alright. Showed me how far I was willin’ to go. What I’d give ‘em to be free. What devils I’d shake ‘ands with.” Fred sighed sombrely as he gazed into his mug, composure breaking as the last sentence left his lips. Arthur comforted the older man, grasping his shoulders wordlessly as Solvi nodded. The sides were different, but the war had been the same for Fred Seeker.
“Safe to say nah mate, don’t like ‘em.” Fred chuckled weakly, rubbing his eye free of the tear that had been building there. “’Appy to have you lot though. Even Renaud. Man’s an alleg’s ass but he was a good bloke when I met ‘im.” Fred continued, attracting a significant eyebrow raise from Solvi who leaned forward, gazing over the rim of her mug. Arthur too seemed suddenly curious, not having known this morsel of information.
“You knew Renaud before all this?” Arthur asked with bated breath, food lying purely abandoned now. Solvi likewise mirrored Arthur’s insistence with a hand gesture and an expectant look.
“Aye. After the uprisin’, I wasn’ ‘appy with how things shook out. Ended up in the Crucible not knowin’ what year it was.” Fred leaned back on the bench he occupied, scratching his chin through the slightly ale-muddled haze he found himself in. “One day this elf bloke comes up to me an’ says ‘I have a job for you’.” Fred continued, impersonating Renaud’s accent and high-class register. Arthur and Solvi shared a look while the skitti took another deep swig of his drink. Suppressing a burp, he seemed to pause for a moment, whiskers twitching. “Tells me to go clear out this old temple. Like the one we did few weeks back. But I ain’t too good with a rifle after not shootin’ for years. Get carried by this uppity elf git. Dana or somethin’.” Fred grunted, returning to his steak with a surly expression. Solvi and Arthur both sighed in unison, the drunken Fred looking up at them with a bleary eye.
“Renaud’s been funding expeditions to these temples for years.” Arthur observed with a deceptively neutral tone. A tone that drove Solvi’s mind to distraction. “I cannot fathom to what end. If Mara weren’t so distracted, we could ask her the purpose of that giant conduit. Moreover, whether all these temples contained one.” Arthur scratched the side of his head in thought before gripping his armlet for guidance. Fred snorted, having suspected that the older elf was up to something. The party idly wondered as to whether it was a plan at all. Renaud’s love of history was well known and, as an affluent businessman, had access to his own personal pursuits.
The trio spent tipsy hours speculating about various things. Whether elves didn’t sleep or whether it was a myth. They had ended in awkward silence once Solvi had admitted to seeing Mara sleep. Arthur had engaged in serious thought as to whether the gods were actually physical entities or merely thoughts projecting their vision of themselves. That conversation had been too much for Fred, who began his listing journey to bed with the rolling and pitching of the ship as it journeyed through the turbulent winds above Banahelm, a city at the mouth of the valley they lived in.
To preserve the crew’s night vision, the ship’s crystalline lamps had been shuttered to produce a dim red light which the pair found themselves staggering through. Arthur once again suggested they bed down in the galley for the night or risk being thrown from the top deck. Solvi had never heard such idiocy as she dragged her feet along the carpeted floor. Once again, she hit her head on the roof spars.
“Do you see him?” Arthur asked in hushed, insistent tones. Solvi blinked a few times to stare back at her friend, who pointed to the corridor joining two wings of cabins together. Solvi followed his pointing to spy a dimly translucent figure. Solvi did see him. As clearly as last night, the spectre of the elvish man once again manifested before her. Only this time it couldn’t be denied as her mind playing tricks, as Mara had insisted.
“I see him. This is the second time.” Solvi snarled, resolving to carry the Guillotine from now on. This ghost would taunt her no longer with his unsettling appearance.
As if reading her mind, the ghost, which had been gazing out of a porthole at the rear of the ship, turned to stare at her. Its burning orange eyes seemed to ignite with fresh hatred, as it ranted silently to thin air, shaking its finger accusingly at her. Solvi seemed ready to punch the ghost regardless of how effective it was yet found Arthur’s hand staying her advance.
“I do not know you, spirit. But your time has passed.” Arthur thundered imperiously, somewhat undercut in his authority by staggering as the ship lurched in the turbulence. Regardless, he removed his armlet and held it aloft, where it began to glow with a soft light. Solvi felt emboldened by its sunlight, standing a little taller. “By the power of Sirona, Guardian of the Living, I compel thee back to thy rest! Begone from this plane, spirit!” Arthur bellowed, the power of his goddess radiating outwards from the armlet towards the vicious ghastly presence.
The sunlight lashed against its gaseous form ineffectually. To Solvi’s horror, the ghost appeared to shed his flesh to counteract the banishment. His handsome features and piercings of precious metals dissolved into black mist that shielded his now bare skull from the attempted exorcism. His jaws opened soundlessly in what both of them knew was mocking laughter. Lifting a withered hand, it sent the black mists of its form towards them. Solvi drunkenly grabbed Arthur around the midriff and in what she hoped was a sprint, dove headlong back towards the galley. As they made their way there, the duo slammed the double doors to the mess hall closed with heaving breaths.
“The power of Sirona needs a tune up.” Solvi slurred, flicking Arthur’s head playfully. The cleric gave her a withering look as the pair listened at the door. Aside from the howling wind outside and the creaking of the vessel, they could hear nothing. Solvi did perceive a low hum but assumed ghosts didn’t produce humming noises. “I just realised. What’s the door going to do against a ghost?” Solvi asked in theatrical whisper as the gaps in the woodwork began to ooze black mist.
“Absolutely nothing!” Arthur shouted as the pair staggered back, igniting his fists with holy fire. Even in his tipsy state, he seemed fairly competent. Solvi, far more gone by comparison, could barely manage to hold her balance. “Solvi I’m going to need you to sober up fast. That’s not an ordinary ghost.” Arthur grunted, searching the tables for forgotten mugs of water. Finding none, he looked up to see Solvi’s prone form snoring loudly upon a table. Cursing, he continued his search for some water to sober up his partner.
Or he would have. As Arthur turned to search the table behind him, he saw eye sockets filled with burning flames. And at once his senses left him, sending him spiralling to the ground. His unresponsive form lay beneath the ghost, who once again manifested his flesh before vanishing from sight.
