“Is this the prodigy I was told would one day carry us to greatness?” The Herald scolded in a voice pitched with anger. The stone above Mara’s head detonated into shards. She weakly shielded her head, grunting with bleary vision as the detritus fell. “This is the woman who walked into Annun twice and lived to speak of it?” The Herald scorned as a second eruption sent soil skywards next to Mara’s knee, causing her to flinch. “Are you nothing more than a trickster with a pet ghost?!” He demanded as the head of his staff became charged with power once more. Rather than send it forth, he chose to swing the staff downwards. He wanted this detonation to have the personal touch.
Mara’s hand came up, braced against her sickle as the spell set within the staff head erupted, her ears ringing as it passed through her. As the Herald brought his staff back for another blow, Mara’s hand reached out. A ball of flame erupted from her gloved hand, which the Herald cast aside with a contemptuous flick of his wrist.
“Pedestrian!” He spat, using that same hand to take control of the wall behind Mara. With a shout of fury, he sent the wall careening outwards. It carried the unbalanced Mara with it, rolling her painfully across the ground only to land with a grunt of pain. She wasn’t even sure if she’d recovered from the last ordeal she’d dealt with. She was only thankful that her body’s natural defences stopped the Herald taking direct control of her.
The Herald looked down at the other mage with a sigh of disgust, raising his staff yet again to deliver the final blow. As the staff head ploughed into the back of his prone target, it vanished into the ground. The Herald snarled, looking about frantically. There she was. Running towards the pavilion like a coward.
“Face me! I want to see a necromancer not a scared child!” The Herald howled, holding out a claw like hand as he seized control of the twin pillars that held the gates to the area aloft. With twin crashes, the rubble and twisted iron piled high enough to make running a decidedly poor option. Mara could only turn and fling her sickle as Armin had once done for her, animating it and sending it flying at the man’s neck. Even that was to no avail as he batted it out of the way. “I set this meeting here. I have given you every advantage. And you throw telekinetic toys at me?!” The Herald demanded incredulously. Hands were held aloft once more. It seemed to be a considerably more powerful spell, as he incanted this particular one. Mara wove protective charms about herself, hoping to forestall whatever came next.
Several gravestones ripped themselves from the ground and slowly broke into shards of stone. With another invocation, the Herald set each of the miniscule daggers alight. A wreath of tiny flames encircled him in the ruddy light beyond their portion of graveyard, whirling about like a voracious sandstorm. Then, like a tide of flaming glass, the Herald sent the stones at Mara.
The masked mage could do little to defend herself except run along the fence, shielding herself with a spell whenever the stream got too close. Even her quickest reactions were insufficient and by spell’s end, Mara found herself clutching a bleeding arm. She almost lost consciousness as she saw a particularly large shard poking from the pale flesh beneath.
“Fight back, damn you!” The Herald snarled, casting a flaming bullet at her. She ducked below a headstone, which exploded from the force of the projectile. Mara staggered to her next cover. A low mausoleum that likely contained several members of a family. “Are the dead here not good enough? Shall I have Thora bring me your companions’ corpses?” He taunted, just before a tell-tale whistle streaked into the sky above them. Mara’s arm shrieked as she flung herself once more into a run, a thundering detonation sending her sprawling once more. As she looked back to spy the Herald, she saw the deep crater he’d just carved into the earth behind her.
“Why are you even doing this?! I’m an elf, a noble!” Mara called over her shoulder. She gasped through clenched teeth as her forearm seared in pain. But the spell she had cast took and soon, a great barrier of fire wrapped itself around the Herald. She didn’t want to hurt him. Merely contain him. Through the weak blue flames, the lavender eyes of her foe sparkled with amusement.
“I grew up being spat on by nobles like you.” The Herald scoffed, swiping his staff through the flames to no avail. At least he needed another attempt to dispel these ones. “Even if I respected nobility, you are no elf. You are an abomination.” He appended, seemingly with the sole intention of hurting Mara in more ways than just one.
“I was born to an elvish family. I speak our language, live our life, know our history. What more can you ask of me?” Mara shouted at the flaming wall, pointing her sickle accusingly at the Herald. With another pass of his staff, he callously walked from within the flames and regarded her with a contemptuous stare.
“Do elves have horns, Mara?” The Herald asked.
The elf’s reaction was immediate. She froze where she stood, sickle lowering in disbelief. She felt her breath hitch in her throat, panic and indecision fighting each other. The Herald did not attack for he saw what his words had wrought and grinned at the woman wickedly. Mara took a step back, a disbelieving laugh escaping her lips. She pointed at him with her stomach roiling, a cold sweat breaking out. Armin appeared next to her, manifesting from the sickle as her control over it weakened.
“What does he mean?” Armin asked with concern as he beheld his friend well and truly shaken. The mage seemed to ignore him, pacing about as her anxiety at once bid her flee but also confront this man’s knowledge. In the dissonance she looked behind him to see Lyra regard her with those accusatory eyes. Her visage combined with the voice of Maddie from their training.
A new emotion began to take root in Mara. And it seared her very soul. It demanded to be voiced, to be acted upon. For the first time, she understood the Herald as he was.
“Who told you that?” Mara asked with a dreadful coldness. It was as if the anxiety had been devoured and the shaking of her hands was derived from its demise. The Herald’s contempt melted away to abject glee, his face graced by the first genuine smile the man had worn all night.
“If you fight and win, I shall tell you.” He answered evasively, winking as he took a stance once again. Mara sighed, a cruel laugh escaping her mask as she shook her head. The sickle was more of a prop than weapon as she wagged it disapprovingly at him.
“You misunderstand. I’m not going to fight you.” Mara chided scornfully, recalling Armin to the sickle. It was better that he did not see this. “I’m going to slaughter you. And when your twitching carcass lies at my feet, I’m going to rip your soul out of it. Then I’m going to use this sickle to flay it to the bone. If by then you haven’t told me, I will personally carry your soul to the black tower. After that, the Barghests can have you.” Mara threatened in a voice so dripping with hate even the Herald’s confident look faltered. He looked like he was about to give a pithy remark, but Mara was past conversation. Now was the time for cruelty. Now was the time for terror.
The ghastly claws that had saved her from Albrecht manifested wholly, long and spindly as they raked the air where the Herald had barely left. His eyes were wide as the necromancer’s second pair of claws raked through his leather overcoat. The gouges were deep enough that the Herald began using his staff to block the claws. Better to burn magic than risk her opening an artery.
The Herald saw an opening, abutting the head of his staff against Mara’s stomach. The detonation however rippled only through empty air as the necromancer vanished from sight. He looked about himself. It had to be another illusion or form of invisibility. With shouts of anger, he flung dispelling magic in every which direction, demanding to know where she had gone.
Mara burst from the ground beneath him, claws scoring the flesh of his thigh. He winced, blocking the claws with his staff once again. Her anatomical knowledge had come in useful. As she swung at his head, the Herald took a hand from his staff to punch her masked cheek. Mara grunted, staggering as the Herald sent a tombstone fragment into her chest. He roared triumphantly, pages of his spell book flying as he used the flight spell. High above Mara, he thought himself safe as he flung fire bolt after fire bolt. They exploded about Mara, who diverted them with her spectral claws. The Herald almost laughed with the thrill of it all. This relentless monster truly was what had been promised!
“The one spell you could never master!” The Herald taunted, gathering his power for yet another mighty explosion. The necromancer looked up before almost contemptuously throwing her sickle into the sky. From it, a skeletal horror erupted in all its ghastly terror. The Herald had but a moment to widen his eyes as the creature sent him careening to the ground, gritting his teeth in pain. Savagely he plunged a flaming hand into the creature’s chest, sending it screeching into the night. “Is this all you have? Haunts and spectral manifestations? Where’s the flair? The showmanship!?” The Herald cackled, plunging his staff into the ground. All around him, a web of flaming threads grew. Mara did not recognize the spell as she jumped with enhanced agility to the top of a mausoleum. That did not save her from the explosive force the ground buckled upwards with. She was flung from the collapsing mausoleum to the ground, pelted with soil and pebbles.
“Shut up and die.” Mara snarled at the Herald, more vicious beast than mage now. Reaching forth a hand, the shards of tombstones began to light with spectral blue light. “You took them from their rest. Destroyed their home. It’s only right that your bones fall here.” The necromancer hissed, larger motes of magical light beginning to form about the Herald. He surrounded himself in a halo of flames, repelling the cold deathly touch of the wisps that threatened to overwhelm him.
“How typical of a weakling like you to have your betters fight on your behalf.” The Herald snorted, extending his halo with a grunt of exertion. The wound on his leg was clearly taking a toll. “Even if you made this graveyard boil with the bones of the dead, you wouldn’t have the power to lay a finger on me!” The Herald bellowed, a cataclysmic billowing flame escaping the tip of his staff as he directed it at Mara. Yet as the blast cleared, she had once again vanished. Only falling cinders and gently glowing stone lay in its wake.
The Herald first felt it as a growing coldness slowly working its way up his leg. As he looked down, worried that she’d hit an artery after all, he saw Mara ghoulishly rising from the earth between his feet. Her hand clutched his ankle, wreathed in a dark green glow. He desperately chuckled, swaying as he did so. Necrotic poisoning was one of the worst ways to go. And it seemed she intended on making good on that promise.
“The irony isn’t lost on me.” She taunted in a voice of cruel triumph.
“Got you.” The Herald breathed as he viciously slammed the butt of his staff against the mask between his feet. He threw his strength behind the spell, knowing that failure would mean his demise. The blast threw him off his feet and sent Mara’s head snapping backwards. She was flung from the earth and catapulted from him. There the two lay still, neither one the sure victor.
The Herald was the first to stir, rolling onto hands and knees with a grunt of pure agony. He now used his staff as more of a crutch than a weapon, clutching his side as he limped towards Mara’s unmoving form. His face had a stoic set to it as he grabbed the other mage’s shoulder and rolled her onto her back. He was impressed the mask had survived the blast so well. The top left third had been utterly destroyed, cracks forming throughout the rest. Underneath, the abnormally pale skin had been seared into a dark, bloodied mess. Through the top of her forehead, the nub of a filed down horn could be seen, attracting an incredulous laugh from the Herald. It soon stopped as he winced, coughing a smattering of blood onto the robes of his fellow mage. He sank to his knees beside her, staff dropping with him.
“Set yourself alight just to kill me, did you? Whoever told you to cast like that?” The Herald playfully teased before falling onto his back once more. “Hatred can only provide the drive. Too talentless to see the real problem.” He added, seemingly unaware of the eyes that fluttered open under the mask. Her fingers curled about the sickle.
“Shame has guided my every step, reminders of my failure my constant companion.” Mara’s voice echoed weakly from within the mask. The Herald’s eyes widened as he weakly fumbled for his staff. “Hatred has been the only driving force. I know nothing else. Their hate for me. And my hate for myself.” Mara confessed to the night sky, every inch of her body thundering with pain. She considered her injuries and pondered a prognosis. It was grim.
“Why are you telling me this?” The Herald wheezed, pressing a hand experimentally to his ribs.
“I think you and I, much as you might protest, are the same.” Mara chuckled weakly, bringing the sickle up to inspect. “It’s why you’re thinking about killing me right now. Why you challenged me so harshly. Why you lied to all those people.” The necromancer explained before her eyes closed, filled with acceptance. “We are the walking dead. We were dead long before we set foot in this graveyard. And now we rest.” Mara dropped the sickle then, extending her hand to the man and gripping his wrist reassuringly. She did not want him to be alone at the end.
“I will not die tonight. Even if I do, my Army will march on. Raise your head and look what I have wrought.” The Herald chuckled, pulling his wrist from Mara’s fingertips. The older mage raised her head, propping herself up on the elbow that wasn’t next to suspected broken ribs. She looked across the graveyard to see the sky above Lureaux a rich orange, as the shouts of riots carried through the empty fields. The poorer districts that housed non-elves and elves alike had been set alight, their majority wooden frames spreading the destruction across the horizon.
Mara summoned what little strength she had to roll over, her whole body shaking from the pain as she levelled the sickle’s tip against the Herald’s chest. She felt her breath come in strained bursts, constantly catching her breath. There had to be justice for this. He had to be stopped. The Herald looked up and saw it at last. The eye of a monster. He smiled and closed his own, accepting his end if it be at the hands of this thing. This thing that would not be her afterwards.
“We are the same. Your sanctimonious platitudes aside, we were both forged by the atrocities of others. I know why you wear that mask. You are ashamed.” The Herald smiled up at the panting mage, a single glowing white iris visible behind her shield. The white of her eye, by what sorcery he knew not, had been turned entirely black. “This is our truth, Mara. Righteousness drives us. Compassion damns us.”
“I wanted to find common ground not this!” Mara pleaded, hand shaking as it held the sickle. He met her eye with a cold gaze. “They’re just scared. Nobody has committed an atrocity against me.” Mara seemed lost for the moment before whimpering as the pain in her body grew more intense. The prognosis grew more desperate by the moment. She doubted the Herald was doing much better.
“We’ll call it food for thought. The upright citizenry of Lureaux have come to arrest me.” The Herald smirked. Mara was unable to see him tilt his head towards the crumbled gateway, which suddenly blasted outwards. A thunderously angry Maddie marched down the pathway, her fury melting away as she saw the scene before her. Twitcher followed with a stretcher tied to their back. Behind them, Arthur carried the medicine bag with wide eyes. A small crowd of chevaliers made their way through the graveyard as the spirits Mara raised guided them to the devastation.
Twitcher, being blessed with greater alacrity than most, was the first to arrive. Without pause, they unfurled the stretcher next to Mara’s flagging form. Maddie arrived thereafter, checking the Herald’s vitals with a practiced hand before looking expectantly at Twitcher. They nodded back as they pushed Mara onto the stretcher, tenderly laying her prone. Before long, Arthur arrived and unburdened himself of the medical tools Maddie soon began using on the Herald. Mara was vaguely aware of Twitcher splinting her leg and applying a tourniquet to her arm. She was beyond pain now. Her vision was rimmed in darkness, her mind foggy. The jostling of her stretcher did not bother her. Even the screeching agony of earlier had descended to a dull throbbing. As they carried her from the graveyard, Mara heard Arthur beseeching Sirona to save the Herald’s life. The hatred of earlier now had hardened to a burning core in her breast. He should not be saved. Tonight, with words alone, he took the lives of Lureaux’s citizens. There should be punishment. And there would have been, had she not been so weak.
The pavilion had emptied of people save for a contingent of chevaliers and her friends. The chevaliers appeared to be questioning witnesses, arresting leaders of the Army and administering aid to the injured. Fred sat smoking with a chunk missing from his ear, pausing only to dab it with a handkerchief every so often. Julie’s forearm was being bandaged by another chevalier. Solvi nursed a head wound while repairing a strap in her armour. Though her face fell as she rushed over to Twitcher and possibly Maddie. It looked like Maddie, with the dark curls.
“What were you thinking?” Solvi demanded with a frantic expression. Mara attempted an answer only to find her voice strangled. Something had taken the breath from her. She briefly began to worry a rib had perforated her lung. Blessedly, Twitcher insistently told Solvi to back off in Elysian. The tone conveyed things well enough as the pair carried her to the back of an alleg-drawn medical carriage. Within, Geoffrey awaited with various medical apparatus to ensure Mara continued breathing. He applied them with considerable skill as Solvi crowded into the carriage. Maddie leapt to the driver’s seat and snapped the reigns. Before long, they were hurtling through the city of Lureaux as fast as the alleg dared go through the crowds of riotous citizens. Some were fleeing, others clutched makeshift weapons. Some few lay motionless in the street.
“This doesn’t seem like the route to the hospital.” Solvi growled at Twitcher, who regarded her with a blank expression. Geoffrey looked up from his ministrations to glare Solvi with some irritation. He pushed her knee from him with a disgruntled squawk as he inspected the splint on Mara’s leg.
“Half of Lureaux is on fire and its citizens lay dying in the street. You think the hospital is equipped to deal with this?” Geoffrey demanded contemptuously as he rebound the leg with more form-fitting splints. Solvi noticed he did not set the leg. A very good or very bad sign. “You are in good hands with me. I was a healer before retirement.” Geoffrey smirked over his shoulder. “The problem is your friend’s flesh is so saturated with necrotic energy that any healing magic will place her in agony.” He then unrolled a series of tools and took from them a syringe which he held over a flaming hand for a moment. Then, after a moment to cool, he loaded it with some manner of medicine and sent Mara to sleep. Her weak wriggles of pain subsided.
“We should summon her mentor. Both to help save her and mourn her if not.” Solvi spoke gravely, recalling the archmage’s area of study. The fey had the ability to manipulate magic in interesting ways. A gift from their creators. Solvi prayed in that moment that Lorana had learned some things from her most fearful weapons.
“As best I can tell from her breathing, her lung has been perforated.” Geoffrey sighed as he listened to Mara’s heart through a trumpet-shaped object. “Gods save us from warring mages.” The coblini grumbled as he sat back. Solvi’s mind revolted against the idea that Geoffrey would simply watch. The stern voice of her mother reminded her that he likely couldn’t do anything more. From outside, Maddie shouted at those in the way, even threatening to run through anyone bearing Army iconography. Before long, the carriage made its way to the fine houses of Lureaux’s great and good. Chevaliers had set up blockades and stood guard with naked sabres. To move these resolute guardians, Maddie simply bared her fangs and held aloft some slip of vellum produced from her shirt. The alleg cooed with exhaustion as it pulled the carriage into the countess’ gardens. Marie Bourbon herself was present before the statue, giving instructions to several dark robed figures. Twitcher and Solvi emerged from the carriage as Maddie moved to engage her sister. By virtue of the spacious gardens, Solvi briefly caught their conversation.
“What in the gods’ name is happening? I thought you had this in hand!” The countess challenged ferociously, her robed underlings scurrying into the darkness as she turned to her sister. Maddie remained silent for a few moments before a growl of frustration left her.
“I did up until the damned Herald set them off. I thought he’d just make a pretty speech then get lost!” Maddie paced, arms flailing as Geoffrey whispered to his mistress. The countess’ eyes widened as she regarded her sister. Her hand raised up as if intending to slap the other woman before a warning glare dissuaded that entire notion.
“You took outsiders, foreigners into our confidence and sent them to grievous ends?!” The countess demanded, livid temper forcing her fangs into prominence. “What could have possessed you to throw a firebrand into the powder keg?”
“They are outsiders. They can’t be bought by certain actors. I needed people capable and unaffiliated.” Maddie replied coolly, her usual good humour vanished. The countess stared at her with abject disbelief before turning her back. She began to walk towards the gates of her manor before awkwardly turning and curtsying to her sister. Solvi’s eyes narrowed as they entered the chateau. But Mara stirred in her stupor and all thoughts of that strangeness were driven from her mind.
The mage was taken to the dining room where the silverware and fine dishes had been cleared away in anticipation of injuries. There, Mara was laid as ragged breaths escaped her. Then, Geoffrey called for his assistants who brought out an array of knives and other surgical tools. Solvi was aghast and drew breath to protest before Geoffrey met her gaze with such steel she backed down.
“Summon the archmage. I can repair the physical damage only. The rest, I shall leave to you.” Geoffrey spoke solemnly, donning an apron and gloves after vigorously washing his hands. Solvi looked to Mara’s gasping form with tears standing in her eyes, turning away. She was no mage and could not send her words through the wind. She cursed her refusal to adhere to her people’s lessons. As she raced to find Maddie, she could only find Julie and those still capable of walking returning to the manor. Arthur had seemingly repaired the tear in Fred’s ear. The skitti pushed Arthur away whenever the young man dared to check up on his work. Solvi ran towards them with desperate tears stinging her wind-worn cheeks.
“Tell me one of you can send for someone. We need Archmage Lorana.” Solvi panted after coming to a halt before her compatriots. Julie briefly pondered her speaking stone but shook her head. They only worked within a network of stones, not across the sea. Arthur shook his head gravely, looking to Fred who regarded him as if he were insane. “None of you? She could be dying!” Solvi pleaded, casting about with wringing hands.
“Shouldn’t we ask for Renaud?” Arthur asked in a small voice. Solvi may not have thought much of the man, but he was still Mara’s sora. He had a right to be there.
“That man can be flayed by the devils for what he put us through.” Solvi snarled with dreadful anger, Julie placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The powerlessness and rage clashed within her, shattering her thoughts into myriad mental absurdities. Fred then walked forward, pushing Julie aside to look up at the large woman. His eye met hers before he tapped his eye patch contemplatively.
“I’m goin’ to kill ya for making me get all emotional.” Fred began, lifting his hands to the straps that held his patch in place. With obvious discomfort as the cold wind hit the raw skin beneath, Fred removed the patch and showed the hollow socket that had once been his eye. Then, for the first time, he looked to Solvi with an uncompromising glare. “We don’ get to choose who we are Solvi. I’m a fighter. Always been a fighter. Only choice was for what cause.” Fred then inhaled deeply, as if steeling himself for something. “I don’ regret this reminder. Don’ stop me fightin’. You are orsan, Solvi. Magic’s in yer blood. You don’ need books to help ‘er.” Fred then pulled a small wooden carving from his pocket. The same one Solvi had whittled at Arawn’s temple.
Solvi took the carving with a resolute frown, nodding down to Fred. Mara needed her and it did not matter what shades of her people, of her mother scalded her memories. She called the magic to her with clarity of purpose, just as Mara had always said. She invested every element of her being into remembering Lorana. Her face, her dour expression, her perpetual prickly personality. And she bid the magic carry her words to the ears of this person. The wind would bellow them into her mind, that she might come to save Mara.
“Lorana. I do not know if you can hear me. Please come to Lureaux. Countess Bourbon’s manor. Mara’s hurt. It is an emergency.” Solvi spoke in a voice charged with power, her skin burning and sending wisps of steam into the air above her. As she finished speaking, the magic left her with such force that she staggered to her knees. The pain was worth it. Every single searing cell of her body would be worth Mara’s salvation.
There was no immediate reaction. Arthur used what little magic was left to him for that day to repair the burns Solvi had sustained. The orsan woman groaned, teeth bared as her flesh crawled under the influence of the magic. Julie soothed and whispered reassurance in her ear, arm around her shoulders. Fred replaced his eye patch with an approving nod, looking out into the swirling snowfall as if expecting Lorana to fly in at any moment. Solvi was of considerably less faith. She’d seen the spell used by her mother before. People replied, spoke affirmation to make sure the message had been received. Yet as the moments drew into seconds then drew into minutes, Solvi’s dread grew all the more. It was only when Arthur suggested they retire to a warmer environment that something happened.
It first began as a thin sliver of light before the statue as if a door had been left ajar. The party approached cautiously, Fred and Arthur looking to each other. Without warning, the sliver grew to the height of Solvi. It then split open like an eye opening to reveal a shadowy figure emerging, clutching her head.
What emerged was an elvish woman with grey streaks in her hair tied into a tight bun. She held an overgrown or poorly wrought staff set with luminous markings that crawled along its length. A black bird perched upon its head which Solvi knew, with a grin splitting her face, was a familiar. The thick, dark purple woollen robes with gold trim marked her as an archmage. As she looked up with a thunderous frown, Solvi laughed with relief.
“Your sending spell is loud enough to wake the dead. Needed to check I hadn’t scrambled my brains with your shoddy spell work.” Lorana kvetched, jabbing Solvi’s stomach with the butt of her stave. “What’s she done this time? Blown up another battery? Walked into Annun on a trip to the shops?” The archmage demanded, looking about for Mara. Not finding her, Lorana’s scowl was replaced by a concern.
“Show me to my apprentice.” Lorana ordered with dreadful gravitas.
“Is this the prodigy I was told would one day carry us to greatness?” The Herald scolded in a voice pitched with anger. The stone above Mara’s head detonated into shards. She weakly shielded her head, grunting with bleary vision as the detritus fell. “This is the woman who walked into Annun twice and lived to speak of it?” The Herald scorned as a second eruption sent soil skywards next to Mara’s knee, causing her to flinch. “Are you nothing more than a trickster with a pet ghost?!” He demanded as the head of his staff became charged with power once more. Rather than send it forth, he chose to swing the staff downwards. He wanted this detonation to have the personal touch.
Mara’s hand came up, braced against her sickle as the spell set within the staff head erupted, her ears ringing as it passed through her. As the Herald brought his staff back for another blow, Mara’s hand reached out. A ball of flame erupted from her gloved hand, which the Herald cast aside with a contemptuous flick of his wrist.
“Pedestrian!” He spat, using that same hand to take control of the wall behind Mara. With a shout of fury, he sent the wall careening outwards. It carried the unbalanced Mara with it, rolling her painfully across the ground only to land with a grunt of pain. She wasn’t even sure if she’d recovered from the last ordeal she’d dealt with. She was only thankful that her body’s natural defences stopped the Herald taking direct control of her.
The Herald looked down at the other mage with a sigh of disgust, raising his staff yet again to deliver the final blow. As the staff head ploughed into the back of his prone target, it vanished into the ground. The Herald snarled, looking about frantically. There she was. Running towards the pavilion like a coward.
“Face me! I want to see a necromancer not a scared child!” The Herald howled, holding out a claw like hand as he seized control of the twin pillars that held the gates to the area aloft. With twin crashes, the rubble and twisted iron piled high enough to make running a decidedly poor option. Mara could only turn and fling her sickle as Armin had once done for her, animating it and sending it flying at the man’s neck. Even that was to no avail as he batted it out of the way. “I set this meeting here. I have given you every advantage. And you throw telekinetic toys at me?!” The Herald demanded incredulously. Hands were held aloft once more. It seemed to be a considerably more powerful spell, as he incanted this particular one. Mara wove protective charms about herself, hoping to forestall whatever came next.
Several gravestones ripped themselves from the ground and slowly broke into shards of stone. With another invocation, the Herald set each of the miniscule daggers alight. A wreath of tiny flames encircled him in the ruddy light beyond their portion of graveyard, whirling about like a voracious sandstorm. Then, like a tide of flaming glass, the Herald sent the stones at Mara.
The masked mage could do little to defend herself except run along the fence, shielding herself with a spell whenever the stream got too close. Even her quickest reactions were insufficient and by spell’s end, Mara found herself clutching a bleeding arm. She almost lost consciousness as she saw a particularly large shard poking from the pale flesh beneath.
“Fight back, damn you!” The Herald snarled, casting a flaming bullet at her. She ducked below a headstone, which exploded from the force of the projectile. Mara staggered to her next cover. A low mausoleum that likely contained several members of a family. “Are the dead here not good enough? Shall I have Thora bring me your companions’ corpses?” He taunted, just before a tell-tale whistle streaked into the sky above them. Mara’s arm shrieked as she flung herself once more into a run, a thundering detonation sending her sprawling once more. As she looked back to spy the Herald, she saw the deep crater he’d just carved into the earth behind her.
“Why are you even doing this?! I’m an elf, a noble!” Mara called over her shoulder. She gasped through clenched teeth as her forearm seared in pain. But the spell she had cast took and soon, a great barrier of fire wrapped itself around the Herald. She didn’t want to hurt him. Merely contain him. Through the weak blue flames, the lavender eyes of her foe sparkled with amusement.
“I grew up being spat on by nobles like you.” The Herald scoffed, swiping his staff through the flames to no avail. At least he needed another attempt to dispel these ones. “Even if I respected nobility, you are no elf. You are an abomination.” He appended, seemingly with the sole intention of hurting Mara in more ways than just one.
“I was born to an elvish family. I speak our language, live our life, know our history. What more can you ask of me?” Mara shouted at the flaming wall, pointing her sickle accusingly at the Herald. With another pass of his staff, he callously walked from within the flames and regarded her with a contemptuous stare.
“Do elves have horns, Mara?” The Herald asked.
The elf’s reaction was immediate. She froze where she stood, sickle lowering in disbelief. She felt her breath hitch in her throat, panic and indecision fighting each other. The Herald did not attack for he saw what his words had wrought and grinned at the woman wickedly. Mara took a step back, a disbelieving laugh escaping her lips. She pointed at him with her stomach roiling, a cold sweat breaking out. Armin appeared next to her, manifesting from the sickle as her control over it weakened.
“What does he mean?” Armin asked with concern as he beheld his friend well and truly shaken. The mage seemed to ignore him, pacing about as her anxiety at once bid her flee but also confront this man’s knowledge. In the dissonance she looked behind him to see Lyra regard her with those accusatory eyes. Her visage combined with the voice of Maddie from their training.
A new emotion began to take root in Mara. And it seared her very soul. It demanded to be voiced, to be acted upon. For the first time, she understood the Herald as he was.
“Who told you that?” Mara asked with a dreadful coldness. It was as if the anxiety had been devoured and the shaking of her hands was derived from its demise. The Herald’s contempt melted away to abject glee, his face graced by the first genuine smile the man had worn all night.
“If you fight and win, I shall tell you.” He answered evasively, winking as he took a stance once again. Mara sighed, a cruel laugh escaping her mask as she shook her head. The sickle was more of a prop than weapon as she wagged it disapprovingly at him.
“You misunderstand. I’m not going to fight you.” Mara chided scornfully, recalling Armin to the sickle. It was better that he did not see this. “I’m going to slaughter you. And when your twitching carcass lies at my feet, I’m going to rip your soul out of it. Then I’m going to use this sickle to flay it to the bone. If by then you haven’t told me, I will personally carry your soul to the black tower. After that, the Barghests can have you.” Mara threatened in a voice so dripping with hate even the Herald’s confident look faltered. He looked like he was about to give a pithy remark, but Mara was past conversation. Now was the time for cruelty. Now was the time for terror.
The ghastly claws that had saved her from Albrecht manifested wholly, long and spindly as they raked the air where the Herald had barely left. His eyes were wide as the necromancer’s second pair of claws raked through his leather overcoat. The gouges were deep enough that the Herald began using his staff to block the claws. Better to burn magic than risk her opening an artery.
The Herald saw an opening, abutting the head of his staff against Mara’s stomach. The detonation however rippled only through empty air as the necromancer vanished from sight. He looked about himself. It had to be another illusion or form of invisibility. With shouts of anger, he flung dispelling magic in every which direction, demanding to know where she had gone.
Mara burst from the ground beneath him, claws scoring the flesh of his thigh. He winced, blocking the claws with his staff once again. Her anatomical knowledge had come in useful. As she swung at his head, the Herald took a hand from his staff to punch her masked cheek. Mara grunted, staggering as the Herald sent a tombstone fragment into her chest. He roared triumphantly, pages of his spell book flying as he used the flight spell. High above Mara, he thought himself safe as he flung fire bolt after fire bolt. They exploded about Mara, who diverted them with her spectral claws. The Herald almost laughed with the thrill of it all. This relentless monster truly was what had been promised!
“The one spell you could never master!” The Herald taunted, gathering his power for yet another mighty explosion. The necromancer looked up before almost contemptuously throwing her sickle into the sky. From it, a skeletal horror erupted in all its ghastly terror. The Herald had but a moment to widen his eyes as the creature sent him careening to the ground, gritting his teeth in pain. Savagely he plunged a flaming hand into the creature’s chest, sending it screeching into the night. “Is this all you have? Haunts and spectral manifestations? Where’s the flair? The showmanship!?” The Herald cackled, plunging his staff into the ground. All around him, a web of flaming threads grew. Mara did not recognize the spell as she jumped with enhanced agility to the top of a mausoleum. That did not save her from the explosive force the ground buckled upwards with. She was flung from the collapsing mausoleum to the ground, pelted with soil and pebbles.
“Shut up and die.” Mara snarled at the Herald, more vicious beast than mage now. Reaching forth a hand, the shards of tombstones began to light with spectral blue light. “You took them from their rest. Destroyed their home. It’s only right that your bones fall here.” The necromancer hissed, larger motes of magical light beginning to form about the Herald. He surrounded himself in a halo of flames, repelling the cold deathly touch of the wisps that threatened to overwhelm him.
“How typical of a weakling like you to have your betters fight on your behalf.” The Herald snorted, extending his halo with a grunt of exertion. The wound on his leg was clearly taking a toll. “Even if you made this graveyard boil with the bones of the dead, you wouldn’t have the power to lay a finger on me!” The Herald bellowed, a cataclysmic billowing flame escaping the tip of his staff as he directed it at Mara. Yet as the blast cleared, she had once again vanished. Only falling cinders and gently glowing stone lay in its wake.
The Herald first felt it as a growing coldness slowly working its way up his leg. As he looked down, worried that she’d hit an artery after all, he saw Mara ghoulishly rising from the earth between his feet. Her hand clutched his ankle, wreathed in a dark green glow. He desperately chuckled, swaying as he did so. Necrotic poisoning was one of the worst ways to go. And it seemed she intended on making good on that promise.
“The irony isn’t lost on me.” She taunted in a voice of cruel triumph.
“Got you.” The Herald breathed as he viciously slammed the butt of his staff against the mask between his feet. He threw his strength behind the spell, knowing that failure would mean his demise. The blast threw him off his feet and sent Mara’s head snapping backwards. She was flung from the earth and catapulted from him. There the two lay still, neither one the sure victor.
The Herald was the first to stir, rolling onto hands and knees with a grunt of pure agony. He now used his staff as more of a crutch than a weapon, clutching his side as he limped towards Mara’s unmoving form. His face had a stoic set to it as he grabbed the other mage’s shoulder and rolled her onto her back. He was impressed the mask had survived the blast so well. The top left third had been utterly destroyed, cracks forming throughout the rest. Underneath, the abnormally pale skin had been seared into a dark, bloodied mess. Through the top of her forehead, the nub of a filed down horn could be seen, attracting an incredulous laugh from the Herald. It soon stopped as he winced, coughing a smattering of blood onto the robes of his fellow mage. He sank to his knees beside her, staff dropping with him.
“Set yourself alight just to kill me, did you? Whoever told you to cast like that?” The Herald playfully teased before falling onto his back once more. “Hatred can only provide the drive. Too talentless to see the real problem.” He added, seemingly unaware of the eyes that fluttered open under the mask. Her fingers curled about the sickle.
“Shame has guided my every step, reminders of my failure my constant companion.” Mara’s voice echoed weakly from within the mask. The Herald’s eyes widened as he weakly fumbled for his staff. “Hatred has been the only driving force. I know nothing else. Their hate for me. And my hate for myself.” Mara confessed to the night sky, every inch of her body thundering with pain. She considered her injuries and pondered a prognosis. It was grim.
“Why are you telling me this?” The Herald wheezed, pressing a hand experimentally to his ribs.
“I think you and I, much as you might protest, are the same.” Mara chuckled weakly, bringing the sickle up to inspect. “It’s why you’re thinking about killing me right now. Why you challenged me so harshly. Why you lied to all those people.” The necromancer explained before her eyes closed, filled with acceptance. “We are the walking dead. We were dead long before we set foot in this graveyard. And now we rest.” Mara dropped the sickle then, extending her hand to the man and gripping his wrist reassuringly. She did not want him to be alone at the end.
“I will not die tonight. Even if I do, my Army will march on. Raise your head and look what I have wrought.” The Herald chuckled, pulling his wrist from Mara’s fingertips. The older mage raised her head, propping herself up on the elbow that wasn’t next to suspected broken ribs. She looked across the graveyard to see the sky above Lureaux a rich orange, as the shouts of riots carried through the empty fields. The poorer districts that housed non-elves and elves alike had been set alight, their majority wooden frames spreading the destruction across the horizon.
Mara summoned what little strength she had to roll over, her whole body shaking from the pain as she levelled the sickle’s tip against the Herald’s chest. She felt her breath come in strained bursts, constantly catching her breath. There had to be justice for this. He had to be stopped. The Herald looked up and saw it at last. The eye of a monster. He smiled and closed his own, accepting his end if it be at the hands of this thing. This thing that would not be her afterwards.
“We are the same. Your sanctimonious platitudes aside, we were both forged by the atrocities of others. I know why you wear that mask. You are ashamed.” The Herald smiled up at the panting mage, a single glowing white iris visible behind her shield. The white of her eye, by what sorcery he knew not, had been turned entirely black. “This is our truth, Mara. Righteousness drives us. Compassion damns us.”
“I wanted to find common ground not this!” Mara pleaded, hand shaking as it held the sickle. He met her eye with a cold gaze. “They’re just scared. Nobody has committed an atrocity against me.” Mara seemed lost for the moment before whimpering as the pain in her body grew more intense. The prognosis grew more desperate by the moment. She doubted the Herald was doing much better.
“We’ll call it food for thought. The upright citizenry of Lureaux have come to arrest me.” The Herald smirked. Mara was unable to see him tilt his head towards the crumbled gateway, which suddenly blasted outwards. A thunderously angry Maddie marched down the pathway, her fury melting away as she saw the scene before her. Twitcher followed with a stretcher tied to their back. Behind them, Arthur carried the medicine bag with wide eyes. A small crowd of chevaliers made their way through the graveyard as the spirits Mara raised guided them to the devastation.
Twitcher, being blessed with greater alacrity than most, was the first to arrive. Without pause, they unfurled the stretcher next to Mara’s flagging form. Maddie arrived thereafter, checking the Herald’s vitals with a practiced hand before looking expectantly at Twitcher. They nodded back as they pushed Mara onto the stretcher, tenderly laying her prone. Before long, Arthur arrived and unburdened himself of the medical tools Maddie soon began using on the Herald. Mara was vaguely aware of Twitcher splinting her leg and applying a tourniquet to her arm. She was beyond pain now. Her vision was rimmed in darkness, her mind foggy. The jostling of her stretcher did not bother her. Even the screeching agony of earlier had descended to a dull throbbing. As they carried her from the graveyard, Mara heard Arthur beseeching Sirona to save the Herald’s life. The hatred of earlier now had hardened to a burning core in her breast. He should not be saved. Tonight, with words alone, he took the lives of Lureaux’s citizens. There should be punishment. And there would have been, had she not been so weak.
The pavilion had emptied of people save for a contingent of chevaliers and her friends. The chevaliers appeared to be questioning witnesses, arresting leaders of the Army and administering aid to the injured. Fred sat smoking with a chunk missing from his ear, pausing only to dab it with a handkerchief every so often. Julie’s forearm was being bandaged by another chevalier. Solvi nursed a head wound while repairing a strap in her armour. Though her face fell as she rushed over to Twitcher and possibly Maddie. It looked like Maddie, with the dark curls.
“What were you thinking?” Solvi demanded with a frantic expression. Mara attempted an answer only to find her voice strangled. Something had taken the breath from her. She briefly began to worry a rib had perforated her lung. Blessedly, Twitcher insistently told Solvi to back off in Elysian. The tone conveyed things well enough as the pair carried her to the back of an alleg-drawn medical carriage. Within, Geoffrey awaited with various medical apparatus to ensure Mara continued breathing. He applied them with considerable skill as Solvi crowded into the carriage. Maddie leapt to the driver’s seat and snapped the reigns. Before long, they were hurtling through the city of Lureaux as fast as the alleg dared go through the crowds of riotous citizens. Some were fleeing, others clutched makeshift weapons. Some few lay motionless in the street.
“This doesn’t seem like the route to the hospital.” Solvi growled at Twitcher, who regarded her with a blank expression. Geoffrey looked up from his ministrations to glare Solvi with some irritation. He pushed her knee from him with a disgruntled squawk as he inspected the splint on Mara’s leg.
“Half of Lureaux is on fire and its citizens lay dying in the street. You think the hospital is equipped to deal with this?” Geoffrey demanded contemptuously as he rebound the leg with more form-fitting splints. Solvi noticed he did not set the leg. A very good or very bad sign. “You are in good hands with me. I was a healer before retirement.” Geoffrey smirked over his shoulder. “The problem is your friend’s flesh is so saturated with necrotic energy that any healing magic will place her in agony.” He then unrolled a series of tools and took from them a syringe which he held over a flaming hand for a moment. Then, after a moment to cool, he loaded it with some manner of medicine and sent Mara to sleep. Her weak wriggles of pain subsided.
“We should summon her mentor. Both to help save her and mourn her if not.” Solvi spoke gravely, recalling the archmage’s area of study. The fey had the ability to manipulate magic in interesting ways. A gift from their creators. Solvi prayed in that moment that Lorana had learned some things from her most fearful weapons.
“As best I can tell from her breathing, her lung has been perforated.” Geoffrey sighed as he listened to Mara’s heart through a trumpet-shaped object. “Gods save us from warring mages.” The coblini grumbled as he sat back. Solvi’s mind revolted against the idea that Geoffrey would simply watch. The stern voice of her mother reminded her that he likely couldn’t do anything more. From outside, Maddie shouted at those in the way, even threatening to run through anyone bearing Army iconography. Before long, the carriage made its way to the fine houses of Lureaux’s great and good. Chevaliers had set up blockades and stood guard with naked sabres. To move these resolute guardians, Maddie simply bared her fangs and held aloft some slip of vellum produced from her shirt. The alleg cooed with exhaustion as it pulled the carriage into the countess’ gardens. Marie Bourbon herself was present before the statue, giving instructions to several dark robed figures. Twitcher and Solvi emerged from the carriage as Maddie moved to engage her sister. By virtue of the spacious gardens, Solvi briefly caught their conversation.
“What in the gods’ name is happening? I thought you had this in hand!” The countess challenged ferociously, her robed underlings scurrying into the darkness as she turned to her sister. Maddie remained silent for a few moments before a growl of frustration left her.
“I did up until the damned Herald set them off. I thought he’d just make a pretty speech then get lost!” Maddie paced, arms flailing as Geoffrey whispered to his mistress. The countess’ eyes widened as she regarded her sister. Her hand raised up as if intending to slap the other woman before a warning glare dissuaded that entire notion.
“You took outsiders, foreigners into our confidence and sent them to grievous ends?!” The countess demanded, livid temper forcing her fangs into prominence. “What could have possessed you to throw a firebrand into the powder keg?”
“They are outsiders. They can’t be bought by certain actors. I needed people capable and unaffiliated.” Maddie replied coolly, her usual good humour vanished. The countess stared at her with abject disbelief before turning her back. She began to walk towards the gates of her manor before awkwardly turning and curtsying to her sister. Solvi’s eyes narrowed as they entered the chateau. But Mara stirred in her stupor and all thoughts of that strangeness were driven from her mind.
The mage was taken to the dining room where the silverware and fine dishes had been cleared away in anticipation of injuries. There, Mara was laid as ragged breaths escaped her. Then, Geoffrey called for his assistants who brought out an array of knives and other surgical tools. Solvi was aghast and drew breath to protest before Geoffrey met her gaze with such steel she backed down.
“Summon the archmage. I can repair the physical damage only. The rest, I shall leave to you.” Geoffrey spoke solemnly, donning an apron and gloves after vigorously washing his hands. Solvi looked to Mara’s gasping form with tears standing in her eyes, turning away. She was no mage and could not send her words through the wind. She cursed her refusal to adhere to her people’s lessons. As she raced to find Maddie, she could only find Julie and those still capable of walking returning to the manor. Arthur had seemingly repaired the tear in Fred’s ear. The skitti pushed Arthur away whenever the young man dared to check up on his work. Solvi ran towards them with desperate tears stinging her wind-worn cheeks.
“Tell me one of you can send for someone. We need Archmage Lorana.” Solvi panted after coming to a halt before her compatriots. Julie briefly pondered her speaking stone but shook her head. They only worked within a network of stones, not across the sea. Arthur shook his head gravely, looking to Fred who regarded him as if he were insane. “None of you? She could be dying!” Solvi pleaded, casting about with wringing hands.
“Shouldn’t we ask for Renaud?” Arthur asked in a small voice. Solvi may not have thought much of the man, but he was still Mara’s sora. He had a right to be there.
“That man can be flayed by the devils for what he put us through.” Solvi snarled with dreadful anger, Julie placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The powerlessness and rage clashed within her, shattering her thoughts into myriad mental absurdities. Fred then walked forward, pushing Julie aside to look up at the large woman. His eye met hers before he tapped his eye patch contemplatively.
“I’m goin’ to kill ya for making me get all emotional.” Fred began, lifting his hands to the straps that held his patch in place. With obvious discomfort as the cold wind hit the raw skin beneath, Fred removed the patch and showed the hollow socket that had once been his eye. Then, for the first time, he looked to Solvi with an uncompromising glare. “We don’ get to choose who we are Solvi. I’m a fighter. Always been a fighter. Only choice was for what cause.” Fred then inhaled deeply, as if steeling himself for something. “I don’ regret this reminder. Don’ stop me fightin’. You are orsan, Solvi. Magic’s in yer blood. You don’ need books to help ‘er.” Fred then pulled a small wooden carving from his pocket. The same one Solvi had whittled at Arawn’s temple.
Solvi took the carving with a resolute frown, nodding down to Fred. Mara needed her and it did not matter what shades of her people, of her mother scalded her memories. She called the magic to her with clarity of purpose, just as Mara had always said. She invested every element of her being into remembering Lorana. Her face, her dour expression, her perpetual prickly personality. And she bid the magic carry her words to the ears of this person. The wind would bellow them into her mind, that she might come to save Mara.
“Lorana. I do not know if you can hear me. Please come to Lureaux. Countess Bourbon’s manor. Mara’s hurt. It is an emergency.” Solvi spoke in a voice charged with power, her skin burning and sending wisps of steam into the air above her. As she finished speaking, the magic left her with such force that she staggered to her knees. The pain was worth it. Every single searing cell of her body would be worth Mara’s salvation.
There was no immediate reaction. Arthur used what little magic was left to him for that day to repair the burns Solvi had sustained. The orsan woman groaned, teeth bared as her flesh crawled under the influence of the magic. Julie soothed and whispered reassurance in her ear, arm around her shoulders. Fred replaced his eye patch with an approving nod, looking out into the swirling snowfall as if expecting Lorana to fly in at any moment. Solvi was of considerably less faith. She’d seen the spell used by her mother before. People replied, spoke affirmation to make sure the message had been received. Yet as the moments drew into seconds then drew into minutes, Solvi’s dread grew all the more. It was only when Arthur suggested they retire to a warmer environment that something happened.
It first began as a thin sliver of light before the statue as if a door had been left ajar. The party approached cautiously, Fred and Arthur looking to each other. Without warning, the sliver grew to the height of Solvi. It then split open like an eye opening to reveal a shadowy figure emerging, clutching her head.
What emerged was an elvish woman with grey streaks in her hair tied into a tight bun. She held an overgrown or poorly wrought staff set with luminous markings that crawled along its length. A black bird perched upon its head which Solvi knew, with a grin splitting her face, was a familiar. The thick, dark purple woollen robes with gold trim marked her as an archmage. As she looked up with a thunderous frown, Solvi laughed with relief.
“Your sending spell is loud enough to wake the dead. Needed to check I hadn’t scrambled my brains with your shoddy spell work.” Lorana kvetched, jabbing Solvi’s stomach with the butt of her stave. “What’s she done this time? Blown up another battery? Walked into Annun on a trip to the shops?” The archmage demanded, looking about for Mara. Not finding her, Lorana’s scowl was replaced by a concern.
“Show me to my apprentice.” Lorana ordered with dreadful gravitas.
