Chapter 22
The rusted wheels of bureaucracy turned slowly at the best of times and as the days turned to two weeks, the party had become gravely concerned with Idharan politics. Count Laurent had been wretchedly obstinate, even when his fellow nobles pressed him. Very terse letters had wended their way to Marie’s desk, reminding her that the temple was under his stewardship. It was not until the evening of Lorana’s departure that said wheels received some grease. The archmage could not shirk her duties any longer, especially now that Mara was hale once more. She’d also moved out specifically to give Solvi and Julie greater privacy. The two of them had been spending a lot of time together, taking in the sights of Lureaux almost nightly. Mara was truly happy for them.
The party joined the countess and Maddie in the dining hall which, to Mara’s mind, was being used far too soon after her surgery. She tried to banish from her mind thoughts of dark blood staining the surfaces. As the food was brought forth, Fred arched his eyebrow at Mara’s portion. She seemed to forgo almost all vegetables, preferring various meats from sausages to a half rack of ribs. Arthur did his best to pay no heed as he thanked Sirona for providing the meal. He then turned to Geoffrey, who served his mistress wine, and thanked him with a warm smile. Mara thanked him through a mouth of meat, mask dripping with juices. She was somewhat thankful that she’d enchanted it to clean itself. The ravenous hunger that grew within her day by day would not permit delicate eating.
“Alright. I’ll ask.” Fred grunted as he finished his mound of sechwyn-spiced yotul ribs. “What’s with the alleg diet?” The revolutionary pointed with his fork towards Mara’s meal, which was vanishing by the second down a hungry maw. Mara paused from her carnivorous feast before swallowing her mouthful.
“Vampires.” Mara answered simply, cracking open one of the ribs and lapping at the marrow that fell out. At Fred’s confused expression, Mara relented to explain again. “Undead are ultimately powered by the latent energies of living beings. Whether that be a necromancer imparting some of theirs or taking it from the others, all creatures of necrotic energy must devour the living.” Mara explained, placing extra ghoulish emphasis on the final three words. Fred recoiled slightly, wondering whether his friend had truly met her match in the Herald and simply refused to die.
“Don’t unsettle him, Mara.” Arthur berated gently as he tried the wine with an appreciative expression towards Geoffrey. “This Martel vintage is lovely, thank you.” Arthur commented before returning to the topic at hand, absently stroking his beard. Fred thought all humans looked better with beards. Especially Arthur. “Undead are static creatures. Their internal processes are repaired by radiant energy. Not too much, of course.” Arthur made an apologetic look towards Mara, remembering well the time he’d caused her to faint from pain. Such a rapid healing spell must have felt like being set on fire.
“All things are a balance of processes, reactions and impulses.” Lorana added with a pointed look at Maddie, who smiled reservedly in return. Vampires had no need of mundane sustenance, but Mara found their desire to have tasting platters fascinating. Did that mean Mira had bequeathed them with the ability to taste? Whatever for? “The genius of mages past was to see this fact for what it is. With the smallest application of pressure, whole systems no matter how well wrought can be brought low.” Lorana returned to her meal as she spoke. Fred levelled a hostile quizzical look at Lorana’s statement, wondering why she’d departed from the subject. Mara’s mentor had always been a fan of a long-winded analogy when it came to her diplomacy. It made being thorny less of an issue. Geoffrey brought forth the evening letters, which the rest of the table ignored as they continued their conversation. Curiously, unlike other evenings, Geoffrey paused next to Mara’s bone-crunching form and placed an envelope on the table. Fred practically surged out of his seat as Mara made to open it, lying prone on the table to stop her hand.
“Crest.” Fred said simply, pointing to the Tuil family crest stamped into the wax seal. Very formal for a bomb, Mara thought. Yet Fred hopped from his chair and made his way over to the letter, taking out several implements as he went.
“We check all the mail before it even enters the grounds. We cannot promise the contents will be pleasant, but it almost certainly isn’t dangerous.” Marie condescended with a dismissive wave of her hand. Fred cast her a look of aspersion before running his instruments over the seal, the body and under the lip of the envelope. Satisfied it was not trapped, the skitti nodded to Mara and replaced his tools within his overalls. Mara acknowledged his work, taking the letter with some unease. She was surprised she’d even received the letter. “It’s written in elvish, but appears to be from Eire Van Tuil, not his failure of a son.” Marie smugly opined over her wine glass, causing Mara to give her an incredulous look which, thanks to her mask, was now visible. “Do not think yourself above the national security concerns of Idhara in my house.” Marie warned through a curled lip, Maddie rolling her eyes behind her sister’s view. Not her sister, if Solvi’s theory was correct. Mara doubted it somewhat- surely, she would sense the presence of a former Solve Macht member?
Mara read the letter to herself, not wanting to encourage Marie’s paranoia. The letter seemed to be a congratulations on the defeat of the Herald and his minions. Every so often, there would be an inconsistency between the modern elvish with anachronistic elements. Something most non-native speakers wouldn’t care to note beyond it being a flourish or mistake. Armin, invisible behind her shoulder, growled with displeasure. He seemed to recall Maddie seeing him and stood upright, making some noncommittal comment on Spardali elves. Mara folded the letter, slipping it in her cloak with a very visible roll of her eyes. Fred snorted into his mug, giving her a wink in response. Mara thought it was a wink. That or he had a head twitch.
“Eire Van Tuil trying to massage the reputation of his house with his relatives. Seems Albrecht has been causing him no end of trouble.” Mara reported with a derisive bite. She returned to her meal as Arthur tugged his beard in thought. Lorana, however, gave Mara a direct look with something close to amusement.
“Reminds me of the time Azra Van Tuil came to Lemuria to make sure you weren’t turning out like him.” Lorana recalled to the room, to which Mara nodded eagerly. She knew full well that it was a lie. The elders of the clan never bothered with inferior branches. Even if Albrecht became the abject failure he was projected to be, nothing more than a nameless mercenary, they wouldn’t so much as turn their nose up at Mara. Albrecht’s siblings, Rhiannon and Vorsen would be their next port of call.
After finishing her meal, Mara excused herself and made her way to the cottage Solvi and Julie had been using. There was still time before Lorana made her way back to Lemuria and Mara walked with the eagerness of a woman who would not wait. Fred and Arthur barely kept up with her as she traversed the gardens. Lorana’s familiar, ever dutiful at the door of the cottage, crowed at their arrival before Mara directed him to summon Twitcher. Arthur couldn’t help but smile as he watched the frantic twitching stare of his friend. Finally, bit by bit, he could see her. Not the carefully constructed façade but the woman underneath. Far more expressive than he thought she’d be.
The party made their way inside to see Solvi and Julie sharing their meal. Julie, taking leave from her chevalier duties, had dressed herself in a leather jacket and breeches with thick leather boots. Her daggers, never far from their owner’s call, sat holstered at her hips. Solvi meanwhile had taken to wearing some Idharan fashions. Her tattooed fingers knotted together once she spied the concern in Mara’s eyes. After settling down and informing the pair of the letter, Mara waited for Twitcher’s arrival. They were heralded by the clanking of metal on metal and the crowing of Lorana’s familiar. Twitcher carried a fresh iteration of Fred’s rifle with a lever contraption on the underside. Fred needed no explanation and giggled with delight as he pressed the crystalline ammunition into the magazine.
“The letter isn’t from Eire.” Mara stated simply, taking it from her cloak and passing it to Twitcher, the only other member of their troupe fluent in elvish. It was much like its ancestor, thanks to the length of the elvish lifespan. They cocked their head to the side, confused by the improper use of tonal punctuation.
“Why is the writer angry and sad?” Twitcher asked with bemusement, placing the letter on the table. Fred took up the letter before Julie could so much as snag a glance and pushed it under his overalls. Arthur regarded him quizzically whilst Julie looked almost offended.
“We sure we can trust ‘er?” Fred pointed to Julie with a suspicious ear flick, his eye narrowed in her direction. “’ad a theory that Mara probably ‘grees with. That the Idharans are givin’ us the Sordon shakedown.” The skitti expounded, referring to a story of his people’s history. The devil Sordon who made deals with many mortals and chose which ones to enforce at what time. In so doing, he was freed from the binding that shackled all his kin. Mara pondered the allegory for a second and frowned. It was possible that there were ulterior agendas in play. Where Idhara was concerned, there always were. Solvi rose to defend her lover, fork pointed accusingly at Fred before Julie intervened to prevent the argument.
“You can trust me not to tell the chevaliers. Caught Burgundy talking to Thora the other day.” Julie shook her head, a look of disappointment wracking her features. “As to the nobles, they can bite a stone.” She added, casting a scornful look towards the barricades that had been erected to protect the wealthy parts of the city from looters. The citizenry who hadn’t been evacuated had nowhere else to go, and so stole what they could to buy another dawn. The Idharan winter was unforgiving, its beautiful sheets of light in the sky a distraction from its savagery.
“Trusted one too many folks at their word. Y’gonna have to do better than a pretty speech.” Fred bared his teeth, personal grievance burning in his eyes. Arthur placed a hand on his bicep, holding the diminutive rodentlike man back. Julie returned his hostility with a hostile gaze of her own, Solvi’s fingers curling into fists.
“They told me they have Renaud.” Mara interjected, slightly too loudly. Her voice had broken with distress. Taking a moment to calm herself, she looked into the fireplace pensively as the room sat in silence. “If my theory is correct and the tonal punctuation indicates words to be removed, the letter reads very differently. It tells me that they want me to see what the Army’s true plans are. That they want one last attempt at convincing me.” She explained after a pause. The room’s silence only grew hostile, and Mara knew why. They suspected a trap, who wouldn’t?
“Pretty obvious cipher, why wouldn’t the countess’ agents detect it?” Julie questioned the tense silence, continuing to eat her meal with a thoughtful air.
“’Cause they don’ care.” Fred grinned, shaking his head. “Way I see it, y’got two options. They don’t read a lick of elvish an’ don’ care to. Or her majesty wants ya to see it.” Fred indicated with his thumb up at the house, where the countess presumably was engaging in the long-drawn-out affair of bidding farewell to Lorana.
“Did they prove it was genuine?” Solvi asked with gravity, eyes already looking to Julie with concern. There was conflict in her eyes, Mara could see it. There shouldn’t have been. Wordlessly, Mara held up a lock of brown hair with threads of silver throughout it. The hair had been knotted with string, Renaud’s signet ring dangling from it. The room once again became hostile.
“I have to save him.” Mara spoke resolutely, fist tightening over the arm of the chair.
“Absolutely not. Even if it’s not a trap, they’ll only try to tempt you into their lunacy.” Arthur countered, standing firmly between Mara and the rest of the party. Mara could see why it was him. There was nobody whose judgement she trusted more, since she’d been a child, than the De Reyes family. “And if it is a trap, they have two powerful mages. One of the only necromancers known to the modern world. Whatever their madcap scheme is, they appear to need elvish mages.” Arthur reasoned, his voice rising as he enumerated his argument.
“Even if it is a trap, I will carve me way through a hundred Army goons to get him back.” Mara responded darkly, surprising even Fred. Violence was always a tool in his repertoire. A tool that he’d always thought Mara incapable of using. That the Herald had simply pushed her. Perhaps she’d been pushed too far.
“I’m begging you. Please don’t throw your life away on his account. Tell Maddie, tell anyone! They’ll send an army.” Arthur pleaded, the words tasting false even as they left his lips. The scornful look Mara directed towards him took him by surprise. He sighed, closing his own but briefly. “You don’t owe him anything. Whenever I saw him speak to you, it was to tear you down. He denigrated Solvi, threw us all into danger. And you want to save him? What could he possibly have over you?” Arthur cajoled with hands held out imploringly towards the sedentary mage. Her glowing irises flicked to Solvi before settling once more on the cleric.
“Before Solvi, before you, before Thomas, Renaud was there for me. He always took care of me, secured me new jobs when the prejudices of my peers sent me from university to university. It was only in Yanhelm that his influence kept me employed.” Mara began sadly with her hands fidgeting in her lap. A flutter of anxiety that had been hidden. “We taught each other about our cultures. We picked up pieces of ourselves. We were both outsiders and he offered me somewhere to belong.” The mage choked up then, holding back tears as she remembered the painful years before the war. How uncommon disfigurement had been, how reviled before the shrapnel and spell fire tore beauty from the faces of thousands. It tore much more from many others. Others she’d been unable to save. “Now he needs me, and I can’t help him because I’m too weak. If I were something more I could but I can’t. I can’t.” Mara’s composure broke and a sob escaped her, face hidden behind her hands. Julie held Solvi back from comforting Mara, her face a rictus of conflict. Arthur dared not embrace Mara, knowing well how she’d spurned such physical affections from all but Solvi.
The group allowed Mara to weep and calm herself. Twitcher quietly talked with Fred on the qualities of his new rifle while Arthur procured a tea for his inconsolable friend. Solvi and Julie spoke together quietly, the larger woman quite insistent on what lines Julie was not permitted to cross.
The conversations were brought to silence by the crowing of Lorana’s familiar, which perched on his mistress’ shoulder as she entered the cottage. She looked about briefly at those gathered before her gaze settled on Mara. She tapped her staff on the red tiles of the kitchen before exiting once more. She bade that Mara join her at the circle of stones when she could. The mage seemed not to heed her at first but once her grief had run itself into the ground, Mara staggered to her feet. Several of the party attempted to join her but a vicious grief-stricken stare stymied them.
Mara left the gardens in the wake of her senior, following the furrow her unfortunate familiar had likely ploughed. She supposed idly that a spell as powerful as teleportation would most likely require high amounts of ambient magic. Or not, where archmages were concerned. They were like whirlpools of power, dragging magic into their orbit like the sun. Mara could never fathom why it did that. Just another failure of her own education.
The two elves met within the stones, deep drifts of snow practically burying the table Lorana now stood on. Her familiar perched upon her staff as she stared at the younger elf with something approaching compassion. It was gentle by Lorana’s standards, Mara supposed. The archmage cast a hand skyward, the stones igniting once more.
“Are you about to send me through a magical trip down memory lane too?” Mara joked bitterly.
“Don’t be daft. I’m going to do something useful.” Lorana grunted, a ball of purple energy gathering in her hand. With a thrust downward, the energy crackled outwards. The snow parted like the wings of a bird, clearing away to the muddy ground beneath them. Cleary dissatisfied Lorana pressed her spell onward until the very soil beneath Mara’s shoes had been stripped away. The cloaked mage had to stagger against one of the standing stones as the circular arcanography made itself visible. It was of the same strange language the other stones possessed. Lorana seemed satisfied before seating herself on the low stone table.
“You look dreadful.” Lorana observed in a deceptively neutral tone of voice. Mara glared in return. The archmage merely grinned as she laid her staff across her lap. “I said I’d help with your inability to be healed by the bearded gentleman. The answer is so simple even a bissup-brain like Merddyn could see it. And I have no doubt he did.” The archmage ran her fingers over her familiar’s head, causing him to croak with a mixture of appreciation and fear.
“I doubt it will be much use since they won’t help me save Renaud.” Mara grumbled as she leant against one of the standing stones. Its glow intensified under proximity, something she would have noted were her thoughts not elsewhere.
“Nor should they you’ll all die. Or get a boring lecture from yet another entitled little narcissist.” Lorana scoffed at the very notion, her eyebrows flying up with alarm. “In any case you’ll never be able to cast a half-decent spell with that as it is.” Lorana indicated with her staff to Mara’s body more generally.
“I knew it. One mistake and that damnable place took everything from me. Even my one joy.” Mara scowled, punching the rock next to her with frustration. Lorana looked on with patience, recognizing all too well the sight of someone struggling. As the mage returned to composure, Lorana smiled sarcastically at the woman. Mara looked over sheepishly in response.
“Annun didn’t take anything from you except maybe your youthful good looks. I don’t know, you were probably average at best.” Lorana snorted before her tone softened considerably. It even verged on somewhat friendly now. “You are at war with yourself. This we established. That war has taken the shape of being unable to let go. Every spell you’ve ever cast has remained with you in the form of residual energy. Your eyes literally glow with it.” The archmage drew a hand mirror from the sleeve of her robe, holding it up to Mara. She shied away as if it were a weapon. But without prompting, the elf dared to look herself in the eye. It wasn’t just the hyperbole of her friends. Her eyes truly were unnerving to behold.
“When I redirected the energy that escaped the temple.” Mara thought aloud, recalling the magnificent power she’d felt in that moment. The archmage smirked with a knowing look, waggling her finger.
“In that moment, whatever holds you in check did not matter. The resistance didn’t exist. You were at your truest potential.” Lorana posited. She then stood herself up, harnessing the power surrounding them quite suddenly. Mara’s eyes widened, taking a step away from the stones that surrounded her with a start. The motes of light that signalled the presence of magic grew and swirled in agitation as they heeded the archmage’s wordless call. They began to trace signs and formulations in the air. This superlative act of spellcasting awed Mara as she failed to keep track of the multiple spells being cast.
Without warning, the older elf flung that power at her. It rushed and screeched dangerously and without time to counteract the spell, the disfigured woman had no choice but to dissipate the energy.
The magic struck in much the same way the energies of the temple had. Its all-consuming burning might was a considerable change, writhing against Mara’s attempts to control it. It was like trying to corral sunshine. But grapple with it she did, for there was no alternative. Clearing her mind, she allowed the sunlight to flow through her body without interruption. She would become nothing more than a vacuum, a space through which the power could pass and leave nothing of itself. There was no time for formulations or memories as she held the magic within her body, no thoughts beyond the single clear purpose of survival. Mara took a deep breath, a signal to the magic as she turned to face the twinkling lights of Lureaux. She held aloft a single hand, stretching skywards as trails of purple energy began to leave her fingertips. She would not hurry it, not impose any will. To acknowledge its existence would make a mage of her. And she wished to be empty in that moment.
Lorana’s gasp intruded into the emptiness of her mind, reminding her of the fearsome force of nature she reckoned with. Her fingertips burned, bringing the voice of Renaud into her mind as he firmly reminded her to concentrate. She was alone this time, with nobody to save her should she fail. Would Lorana even intervene if she did? The burning grew worse, stretching down her hands to her forearms. Her shins too began to burn as the magic left through other limbs. She winced and cried out in pain. Then, the magic was gone.
The silence grew between the two of them while Mara caught her breath, plunging her gloves into the snow to assuage the burning sensation. She breathed raggedly, blood pounding against her skull as if the fleshy mass of her brain rebelled against her stupidity.
“I don’t understand.” Lorana’s voice drifted over to Mara’s hunkered down form. “You were doing it. You were wielding enough power to make me worried. It wasn’t even pooling in your body.” She thought aloud to herself rather than engage Mara in conversation. The archmage then placed her hands over one of Mara’s and the pain abated considerably. The younger mage looked out in confusion before her elder chose to explain. “I wrapped the necessary spell in enough power to scare you. Guide ropes until you can convert necrotic energy into radiance.” The archmage explained nonchalantly, her eyes fixated on the motes of energy Mara had vented through herself.
“True Arcanoreversal is beyond me, and I think I’ve blown up enough things for one lifetime.” Mara replied cheekily through her still frightened breathing. She understood the lack of warning but begrudged it all the same. Life was frightening enough without archmages throwing random spells your way.
“Do you think I or Renaud would waste our time with someone incapable of it?” Lorana bit back, giving her fellow mage a disapproving, almost irritated look. Mara plucked her hand from the other woman’s with a bitter laugh, her earlier bad mood reasserting itself.
“Don’t. Just don’t.” Mara commanded cynically. She appeared to make her way back to Lureaux before thinking better of it and turning to face the archmage. “I am so tired of being told I have potential. I am so tired of being told that if I applied myself just a little more, I could be great. It’s not encouragement, it’s a millstone about my neck wherever I go. No matter where I am or how hard I work, it never makes a difference. So please, for the love of the Gods and me, stop lying.” She said with utter conviction, her voice pained beyond even the thoroughness of her words.
Lorana took a moment to consider her, a moment which Mara took to take her leave. The archmage called her back, staff thudding as she ran through the now well-worn furrow. The younger mage stubbornly refused to stop walking until Lorana uttered an incantation that drew the snow up into an impressively tall ice wall. The masked mage turned with eyes ablaze. A blaze that soon burnt out when she beheld her senior’s expression.
“I am not lying. And for whatever it’s worth, I don’t think Renaud was either. Despite his reputation he is known to be honest sometimes.” The archmage scowled as she manifested a seat for herself made of ice. Though far from comfortable, standing wasn’t much better for a woman of her age. “When I tell you of your potential it is not an expectation. It is a hope. A hope that one day you will do what you love not for the commendation of your teachers but for yourself. That is what it means to be a mage. To take the world as we find it, dig at the diamond walls of the unknown and gift whatever insights we have to the next generation. We sow what we cannot reap. And reap what we did not sow. I was a teacher because I have faith in not just the exemplary students, but all of us. The mortal peoples of this world.” Lorana expounded passionately, hand gesticulating wildly with a mixture of anger and pride. “People want the archmages and heroes of eld to lift the world onto their shoulders and carry it forth. But we’re not the ones who move the world. It’s them. We are simply their beneficiaries.” Lorana pointed to the harbour below where the lamps illuminated miniscule moving figures scurrying to and fro.
In the illumination of the northern lights, Mara’s face was difficult to read even with the visibility of her eyes. At first, the younger woman wanted to argue back. To say that it didn’t matter what their intent was. But that was simply untrue. Intentions always mattered. Fred’s rebellious brethren had sought to throw off the chains Idhara had placed on them. Yet now, Brother Gangrene held sway. Mira had sought to end slavery, only to plunge her empire into endless war. But for all his good intentions, Renaud had placed the weight on her shoulders and sent her to bear it. A spectral blue flame appeared at Mara’s shoulder, lighting the way for them both.
“I think I made the wrong choice.” Mara began in a voice choked with emotion. Her eyes shone, reflecting the flame as tears began to fall. “You would have made the better sora.”
“Regret won’t serve you well, Mara.” Lorana consoled with a sad smile as she stood, taking the other woman by the shoulder and guiding her back towards the manor. “Though for what it’s worth, you would have been an excellent sana. That fop Renaud doesn’t know what he’s got.” She continued before rummaging in her satchel for a few moments. She eventually pulled a small glass bottle from within and gave it to Mara, who experimentally tested the cork before its owner slapped the back of her hand. “Read the label!” Came the instruction, which Mara followed. The label read simply ‘I am transport. Do not open unless in a large area and away from you.’
“What is it exactly?” Mara asked with suspicion, analysing Lorana’s mischievously innocent expression.
“A project Merddyn and I were working on. We retrofit an old Elysian design for overground transport then I enfolded a bottle around it using a little fey magic.” Lorana grinned animatedly. “Quite what use there is for a bike in a bottle is up for debate.” She shrugged before closing her satchel and looking towards the manor with concern. She then seemed to remember Mara and straightened her dishevelled appearance as a mother might with their child. “Now, I suggest you get back to your friends. Tell them to ask Solvi about holidays in Lemuria. It’ll make sense.” Lorana took a timepiece from her robes and scoffed.
“Thank you for trying, Lorana.” Mara said morosely, meeting the other woman’s eyes. “Goodbye. Good luck finding Merddyn.”
“Bah! That old caprin probably teleported himself into the bank vault accidentally. Again.” Lorana dismissed with a hint of humour, beginning to walk back towards the standing stones. “Keep thinking on what I said. Maybe we’ll turn that attempt into a success.” She shot over her shoulder before waving lazily farewell. Mara looked back to the manor for a second, worrying for her friends, before returning to look at empty space behind her. The mage shivered in the cold, looking about for the archmage. It seemed that she didn’t need the stones after all.
Chapter 22
The rusted wheels of bureaucracy turned slowly at the best of times and as the days turned to two weeks, the party had become gravely concerned with Idharan politics. Count Laurent had been wretchedly obstinate, even when his fellow nobles pressed him. Very terse letters had wended their way to Marie’s desk, reminding her that the temple was under his stewardship. It was not until the evening of Lorana’s departure that said wheels received some grease. The archmage could not shirk her duties any longer, especially now that Mara was hale once more. She’d also moved out specifically to give Solvi and Julie greater privacy. The two of them had been spending a lot of time together, taking in the sights of Lureaux almost nightly. Mara was truly happy for them.
The party joined the countess and Maddie in the dining hall which, to Mara’s mind, was being used far too soon after her surgery. She tried to banish from her mind thoughts of dark blood staining the surfaces. As the food was brought forth, Fred arched his eyebrow at Mara’s portion. She seemed to forgo almost all vegetables, preferring various meats from sausages to a half rack of ribs. Arthur did his best to pay no heed as he thanked Sirona for providing the meal. He then turned to Geoffrey, who served his mistress wine, and thanked him with a warm smile. Mara thanked him through a mouth of meat, mask dripping with juices. She was somewhat thankful that she’d enchanted it to clean itself. The ravenous hunger that grew within her day by day would not permit delicate eating.
“Alright. I’ll ask.” Fred grunted as he finished his mound of sechwyn-spiced yotul ribs. “What’s with the alleg diet?” The revolutionary pointed with his fork towards Mara’s meal, which was vanishing by the second down a hungry maw. Mara paused from her carnivorous feast before swallowing her mouthful.
“Vampires.” Mara answered simply, cracking open one of the ribs and lapping at the marrow that fell out. At Fred’s confused expression, Mara relented to explain again. “Undead are ultimately powered by the latent energies of living beings. Whether that be a necromancer imparting some of theirs or taking it from the others, all creatures of necrotic energy must devour the living.” Mara explained, placing extra ghoulish emphasis on the final three words. Fred recoiled slightly, wondering whether his friend had truly met her match in the Herald and simply refused to die.
“Don’t unsettle him, Mara.” Arthur berated gently as he tried the wine with an appreciative expression towards Geoffrey. “This Martel vintage is lovely, thank you.” Arthur commented before returning to the topic at hand, absently stroking his beard. Fred thought all humans looked better with beards. Especially Arthur. “Undead are static creatures. Their internal processes are repaired by radiant energy. Not too much, of course.” Arthur made an apologetic look towards Mara, remembering well the time he’d caused her to faint from pain. Such a rapid healing spell must have felt like being set on fire.
“All things are a balance of processes, reactions and impulses.” Lorana added with a pointed look at Maddie, who smiled reservedly in return. Vampires had no need of mundane sustenance, but Mara found their desire to have tasting platters fascinating. Did that mean Mira had bequeathed them with the ability to taste? Whatever for? “The genius of mages past was to see this fact for what it is. With the smallest application of pressure, whole systems no matter how well wrought can be brought low.” Lorana returned to her meal as she spoke. Fred levelled a hostile quizzical look at Lorana’s statement, wondering why she’d departed from the subject. Mara’s mentor had always been a fan of a long-winded analogy when it came to her diplomacy. It made being thorny less of an issue. Geoffrey brought forth the evening letters, which the rest of the table ignored as they continued their conversation. Curiously, unlike other evenings, Geoffrey paused next to Mara’s bone-crunching form and placed an envelope on the table. Fred practically surged out of his seat as Mara made to open it, lying prone on the table to stop her hand.
“Crest.” Fred said simply, pointing to the Tuil family crest stamped into the wax seal. Very formal for a bomb, Mara thought. Yet Fred hopped from his chair and made his way over to the letter, taking out several implements as he went.
“We check all the mail before it even enters the grounds. We cannot promise the contents will be pleasant, but it almost certainly isn’t dangerous.” Marie condescended with a dismissive wave of her hand. Fred cast her a look of aspersion before running his instruments over the seal, the body and under the lip of the envelope. Satisfied it was not trapped, the skitti nodded to Mara and replaced his tools within his overalls. Mara acknowledged his work, taking the letter with some unease. She was surprised she’d even received the letter. “It’s written in elvish, but appears to be from Eire Van Tuil, not his failure of a son.” Marie smugly opined over her wine glass, causing Mara to give her an incredulous look which, thanks to her mask, was now visible. “Do not think yourself above the national security concerns of Idhara in my house.” Marie warned through a curled lip, Maddie rolling her eyes behind her sister’s view. Not her sister, if Solvi’s theory was correct. Mara doubted it somewhat- surely, she would sense the presence of a former Solve Macht member?
Mara read the letter to herself, not wanting to encourage Marie’s paranoia. The letter seemed to be a congratulations on the defeat of the Herald and his minions. Every so often, there would be an inconsistency between the modern elvish with anachronistic elements. Something most non-native speakers wouldn’t care to note beyond it being a flourish or mistake. Armin, invisible behind her shoulder, growled with displeasure. He seemed to recall Maddie seeing him and stood upright, making some noncommittal comment on Spardali elves. Mara folded the letter, slipping it in her cloak with a very visible roll of her eyes. Fred snorted into his mug, giving her a wink in response. Mara thought it was a wink. That or he had a head twitch.
“Eire Van Tuil trying to massage the reputation of his house with his relatives. Seems Albrecht has been causing him no end of trouble.” Mara reported with a derisive bite. She returned to her meal as Arthur tugged his beard in thought. Lorana, however, gave Mara a direct look with something close to amusement.
“Reminds me of the time Azra Van Tuil came to Lemuria to make sure you weren’t turning out like him.” Lorana recalled to the room, to which Mara nodded eagerly. She knew full well that it was a lie. The elders of the clan never bothered with inferior branches. Even if Albrecht became the abject failure he was projected to be, nothing more than a nameless mercenary, they wouldn’t so much as turn their nose up at Mara. Albrecht’s siblings, Rhiannon and Vorsen would be their next port of call.
After finishing her meal, Mara excused herself and made her way to the cottage Solvi and Julie had been using. There was still time before Lorana made her way back to Lemuria and Mara walked with the eagerness of a woman who would not wait. Fred and Arthur barely kept up with her as she traversed the gardens. Lorana’s familiar, ever dutiful at the door of the cottage, crowed at their arrival before Mara directed him to summon Twitcher. Arthur couldn’t help but smile as he watched the frantic twitching stare of his friend. Finally, bit by bit, he could see her. Not the carefully constructed façade but the woman underneath. Far more expressive than he thought she’d be.
The party made their way inside to see Solvi and Julie sharing their meal. Julie, taking leave from her chevalier duties, had dressed herself in a leather jacket and breeches with thick leather boots. Her daggers, never far from their owner’s call, sat holstered at her hips. Solvi meanwhile had taken to wearing some Idharan fashions. Her tattooed fingers knotted together once she spied the concern in Mara’s eyes. After settling down and informing the pair of the letter, Mara waited for Twitcher’s arrival. They were heralded by the clanking of metal on metal and the crowing of Lorana’s familiar. Twitcher carried a fresh iteration of Fred’s rifle with a lever contraption on the underside. Fred needed no explanation and giggled with delight as he pressed the crystalline ammunition into the magazine.
“The letter isn’t from Eire.” Mara stated simply, taking it from her cloak and passing it to Twitcher, the only other member of their troupe fluent in elvish. It was much like its ancestor, thanks to the length of the elvish lifespan. They cocked their head to the side, confused by the improper use of tonal punctuation.
“Why is the writer angry and sad?” Twitcher asked with bemusement, placing the letter on the table. Fred took up the letter before Julie could so much as snag a glance and pushed it under his overalls. Arthur regarded him quizzically whilst Julie looked almost offended.
“We sure we can trust ‘er?” Fred pointed to Julie with a suspicious ear flick, his eye narrowed in her direction. “’ad a theory that Mara probably ‘grees with. That the Idharans are givin’ us the Sordon shakedown.” The skitti expounded, referring to a story of his people’s history. The devil Sordon who made deals with many mortals and chose which ones to enforce at what time. In so doing, he was freed from the binding that shackled all his kin. Mara pondered the allegory for a second and frowned. It was possible that there were ulterior agendas in play. Where Idhara was concerned, there always were. Solvi rose to defend her lover, fork pointed accusingly at Fred before Julie intervened to prevent the argument.
“You can trust me not to tell the chevaliers. Caught Burgundy talking to Thora the other day.” Julie shook her head, a look of disappointment wracking her features. “As to the nobles, they can bite a stone.” She added, casting a scornful look towards the barricades that had been erected to protect the wealthy parts of the city from looters. The citizenry who hadn’t been evacuated had nowhere else to go, and so stole what they could to buy another dawn. The Idharan winter was unforgiving, its beautiful sheets of light in the sky a distraction from its savagery.
“Trusted one too many folks at their word. Y’gonna have to do better than a pretty speech.” Fred bared his teeth, personal grievance burning in his eyes. Arthur placed a hand on his bicep, holding the diminutive rodentlike man back. Julie returned his hostility with a hostile gaze of her own, Solvi’s fingers curling into fists.
“They told me they have Renaud.” Mara interjected, slightly too loudly. Her voice had broken with distress. Taking a moment to calm herself, she looked into the fireplace pensively as the room sat in silence. “If my theory is correct and the tonal punctuation indicates words to be removed, the letter reads very differently. It tells me that they want me to see what the Army’s true plans are. That they want one last attempt at convincing me.” She explained after a pause. The room’s silence only grew hostile, and Mara knew why. They suspected a trap, who wouldn’t?
“Pretty obvious cipher, why wouldn’t the countess’ agents detect it?” Julie questioned the tense silence, continuing to eat her meal with a thoughtful air.
“’Cause they don’ care.” Fred grinned, shaking his head. “Way I see it, y’got two options. They don’t read a lick of elvish an’ don’ care to. Or her majesty wants ya to see it.” Fred indicated with his thumb up at the house, where the countess presumably was engaging in the long-drawn-out affair of bidding farewell to Lorana.
“Did they prove it was genuine?” Solvi asked with gravity, eyes already looking to Julie with concern. There was conflict in her eyes, Mara could see it. There shouldn’t have been. Wordlessly, Mara held up a lock of brown hair with threads of silver throughout it. The hair had been knotted with string, Renaud’s signet ring dangling from it. The room once again became hostile.
“I have to save him.” Mara spoke resolutely, fist tightening over the arm of the chair.
“Absolutely not. Even if it’s not a trap, they’ll only try to tempt you into their lunacy.” Arthur countered, standing firmly between Mara and the rest of the party. Mara could see why it was him. There was nobody whose judgement she trusted more, since she’d been a child, than the De Reyes family. “And if it is a trap, they have two powerful mages. One of the only necromancers known to the modern world. Whatever their madcap scheme is, they appear to need elvish mages.” Arthur reasoned, his voice rising as he enumerated his argument.
“Even if it is a trap, I will carve me way through a hundred Army goons to get him back.” Mara responded darkly, surprising even Fred. Violence was always a tool in his repertoire. A tool that he’d always thought Mara incapable of using. That the Herald had simply pushed her. Perhaps she’d been pushed too far.
“I’m begging you. Please don’t throw your life away on his account. Tell Maddie, tell anyone! They’ll send an army.” Arthur pleaded, the words tasting false even as they left his lips. The scornful look Mara directed towards him took him by surprise. He sighed, closing his own but briefly. “You don’t owe him anything. Whenever I saw him speak to you, it was to tear you down. He denigrated Solvi, threw us all into danger. And you want to save him? What could he possibly have over you?” Arthur cajoled with hands held out imploringly towards the sedentary mage. Her glowing irises flicked to Solvi before settling once more on the cleric.
“Before Solvi, before you, before Thomas, Renaud was there for me. He always took care of me, secured me new jobs when the prejudices of my peers sent me from university to university. It was only in Yanhelm that his influence kept me employed.” Mara began sadly with her hands fidgeting in her lap. A flutter of anxiety that had been hidden. “We taught each other about our cultures. We picked up pieces of ourselves. We were both outsiders and he offered me somewhere to belong.” The mage choked up then, holding back tears as she remembered the painful years before the war. How uncommon disfigurement had been, how reviled before the shrapnel and spell fire tore beauty from the faces of thousands. It tore much more from many others. Others she’d been unable to save. “Now he needs me, and I can’t help him because I’m too weak. If I were something more I could but I can’t. I can’t.” Mara’s composure broke and a sob escaped her, face hidden behind her hands. Julie held Solvi back from comforting Mara, her face a rictus of conflict. Arthur dared not embrace Mara, knowing well how she’d spurned such physical affections from all but Solvi.
The group allowed Mara to weep and calm herself. Twitcher quietly talked with Fred on the qualities of his new rifle while Arthur procured a tea for his inconsolable friend. Solvi and Julie spoke together quietly, the larger woman quite insistent on what lines Julie was not permitted to cross.
The conversations were brought to silence by the crowing of Lorana’s familiar, which perched on his mistress’ shoulder as she entered the cottage. She looked about briefly at those gathered before her gaze settled on Mara. She tapped her staff on the red tiles of the kitchen before exiting once more. She bade that Mara join her at the circle of stones when she could. The mage seemed not to heed her at first but once her grief had run itself into the ground, Mara staggered to her feet. Several of the party attempted to join her but a vicious grief-stricken stare stymied them.
Mara left the gardens in the wake of her senior, following the furrow her unfortunate familiar had likely ploughed. She supposed idly that a spell as powerful as teleportation would most likely require high amounts of ambient magic. Or not, where archmages were concerned. They were like whirlpools of power, dragging magic into their orbit like the sun. Mara could never fathom why it did that. Just another failure of her own education.
The two elves met within the stones, deep drifts of snow practically burying the table Lorana now stood on. Her familiar perched upon her staff as she stared at the younger elf with something approaching compassion. It was gentle by Lorana’s standards, Mara supposed. The archmage cast a hand skyward, the stones igniting once more.
“Are you about to send me through a magical trip down memory lane too?” Mara joked bitterly.
“Don’t be daft. I’m going to do something useful.” Lorana grunted, a ball of purple energy gathering in her hand. With a thrust downward, the energy crackled outwards. The snow parted like the wings of a bird, clearing away to the muddy ground beneath them. Cleary dissatisfied Lorana pressed her spell onward until the very soil beneath Mara’s shoes had been stripped away. The cloaked mage had to stagger against one of the standing stones as the circular arcanography made itself visible. It was of the same strange language the other stones possessed. Lorana seemed satisfied before seating herself on the low stone table.
“You look dreadful.” Lorana observed in a deceptively neutral tone of voice. Mara glared in return. The archmage merely grinned as she laid her staff across her lap. “I said I’d help with your inability to be healed by the bearded gentleman. The answer is so simple even a bissup-brain like Merddyn could see it. And I have no doubt he did.” The archmage ran her fingers over her familiar’s head, causing him to croak with a mixture of appreciation and fear.
“I doubt it will be much use since they won’t help me save Renaud.” Mara grumbled as she leant against one of the standing stones. Its glow intensified under proximity, something she would have noted were her thoughts not elsewhere.
“Nor should they you’ll all die. Or get a boring lecture from yet another entitled little narcissist.” Lorana scoffed at the very notion, her eyebrows flying up with alarm. “In any case you’ll never be able to cast a half-decent spell with that as it is.” Lorana indicated with her staff to Mara’s body more generally.
“I knew it. One mistake and that damnable place took everything from me. Even my one joy.” Mara scowled, punching the rock next to her with frustration. Lorana looked on with patience, recognizing all too well the sight of someone struggling. As the mage returned to composure, Lorana smiled sarcastically at the woman. Mara looked over sheepishly in response.
“Annun didn’t take anything from you except maybe your youthful good looks. I don’t know, you were probably average at best.” Lorana snorted before her tone softened considerably. It even verged on somewhat friendly now. “You are at war with yourself. This we established. That war has taken the shape of being unable to let go. Every spell you’ve ever cast has remained with you in the form of residual energy. Your eyes literally glow with it.” The archmage drew a hand mirror from the sleeve of her robe, holding it up to Mara. She shied away as if it were a weapon. But without prompting, the elf dared to look herself in the eye. It wasn’t just the hyperbole of her friends. Her eyes truly were unnerving to behold.
“When I redirected the energy that escaped the temple.” Mara thought aloud, recalling the magnificent power she’d felt in that moment. The archmage smirked with a knowing look, waggling her finger.
“In that moment, whatever holds you in check did not matter. The resistance didn’t exist. You were at your truest potential.” Lorana posited. She then stood herself up, harnessing the power surrounding them quite suddenly. Mara’s eyes widened, taking a step away from the stones that surrounded her with a start. The motes of light that signalled the presence of magic grew and swirled in agitation as they heeded the archmage’s wordless call. They began to trace signs and formulations in the air. This superlative act of spellcasting awed Mara as she failed to keep track of the multiple spells being cast.
Without warning, the older elf flung that power at her. It rushed and screeched dangerously and without time to counteract the spell, the disfigured woman had no choice but to dissipate the energy.
The magic struck in much the same way the energies of the temple had. Its all-consuming burning might was a considerable change, writhing against Mara’s attempts to control it. It was like trying to corral sunshine. But grapple with it she did, for there was no alternative. Clearing her mind, she allowed the sunlight to flow through her body without interruption. She would become nothing more than a vacuum, a space through which the power could pass and leave nothing of itself. There was no time for formulations or memories as she held the magic within her body, no thoughts beyond the single clear purpose of survival. Mara took a deep breath, a signal to the magic as she turned to face the twinkling lights of Lureaux. She held aloft a single hand, stretching skywards as trails of purple energy began to leave her fingertips. She would not hurry it, not impose any will. To acknowledge its existence would make a mage of her. And she wished to be empty in that moment.
Lorana’s gasp intruded into the emptiness of her mind, reminding her of the fearsome force of nature she reckoned with. Her fingertips burned, bringing the voice of Renaud into her mind as he firmly reminded her to concentrate. She was alone this time, with nobody to save her should she fail. Would Lorana even intervene if she did? The burning grew worse, stretching down her hands to her forearms. Her shins too began to burn as the magic left through other limbs. She winced and cried out in pain. Then, the magic was gone.
The silence grew between the two of them while Mara caught her breath, plunging her gloves into the snow to assuage the burning sensation. She breathed raggedly, blood pounding against her skull as if the fleshy mass of her brain rebelled against her stupidity.
“I don’t understand.” Lorana’s voice drifted over to Mara’s hunkered down form. “You were doing it. You were wielding enough power to make me worried. It wasn’t even pooling in your body.” She thought aloud to herself rather than engage Mara in conversation. The archmage then placed her hands over one of Mara’s and the pain abated considerably. The younger mage looked out in confusion before her elder chose to explain. “I wrapped the necessary spell in enough power to scare you. Guide ropes until you can convert necrotic energy into radiance.” The archmage explained nonchalantly, her eyes fixated on the motes of energy Mara had vented through herself.
“True Arcanoreversal is beyond me, and I think I’ve blown up enough things for one lifetime.” Mara replied cheekily through her still frightened breathing. She understood the lack of warning but begrudged it all the same. Life was frightening enough without archmages throwing random spells your way.
“Do you think I or Renaud would waste our time with someone incapable of it?” Lorana bit back, giving her fellow mage a disapproving, almost irritated look. Mara plucked her hand from the other woman’s with a bitter laugh, her earlier bad mood reasserting itself.
“Don’t. Just don’t.” Mara commanded cynically. She appeared to make her way back to Lureaux before thinking better of it and turning to face the archmage. “I am so tired of being told I have potential. I am so tired of being told that if I applied myself just a little more, I could be great. It’s not encouragement, it’s a millstone about my neck wherever I go. No matter where I am or how hard I work, it never makes a difference. So please, for the love of the Gods and me, stop lying.” She said with utter conviction, her voice pained beyond even the thoroughness of her words.
Lorana took a moment to consider her, a moment which Mara took to take her leave. The archmage called her back, staff thudding as she ran through the now well-worn furrow. The younger mage stubbornly refused to stop walking until Lorana uttered an incantation that drew the snow up into an impressively tall ice wall. The masked mage turned with eyes ablaze. A blaze that soon burnt out when she beheld her senior’s expression.
“I am not lying. And for whatever it’s worth, I don’t think Renaud was either. Despite his reputation he is known to be honest sometimes.” The archmage scowled as she manifested a seat for herself made of ice. Though far from comfortable, standing wasn’t much better for a woman of her age. “When I tell you of your potential it is not an expectation. It is a hope. A hope that one day you will do what you love not for the commendation of your teachers but for yourself. That is what it means to be a mage. To take the world as we find it, dig at the diamond walls of the unknown and gift whatever insights we have to the next generation. We sow what we cannot reap. And reap what we did not sow. I was a teacher because I have faith in not just the exemplary students, but all of us. The mortal peoples of this world.” Lorana expounded passionately, hand gesticulating wildly with a mixture of anger and pride. “People want the archmages and heroes of eld to lift the world onto their shoulders and carry it forth. But we’re not the ones who move the world. It’s them. We are simply their beneficiaries.” Lorana pointed to the harbour below where the lamps illuminated miniscule moving figures scurrying to and fro.
In the illumination of the northern lights, Mara’s face was difficult to read even with the visibility of her eyes. At first, the younger woman wanted to argue back. To say that it didn’t matter what their intent was. But that was simply untrue. Intentions always mattered. Fred’s rebellious brethren had sought to throw off the chains Idhara had placed on them. Yet now, Brother Gangrene held sway. Mira had sought to end slavery, only to plunge her empire into endless war. But for all his good intentions, Renaud had placed the weight on her shoulders and sent her to bear it. A spectral blue flame appeared at Mara’s shoulder, lighting the way for them both.
“I think I made the wrong choice.” Mara began in a voice choked with emotion. Her eyes shone, reflecting the flame as tears began to fall. “You would have made the better sora.”
“Regret won’t serve you well, Mara.” Lorana consoled with a sad smile as she stood, taking the other woman by the shoulder and guiding her back towards the manor. “Though for what it’s worth, you would have been an excellent sana. That fop Renaud doesn’t know what he’s got.” She continued before rummaging in her satchel for a few moments. She eventually pulled a small glass bottle from within and gave it to Mara, who experimentally tested the cork before its owner slapped the back of her hand. “Read the label!” Came the instruction, which Mara followed. The label read simply ‘I am transport. Do not open unless in a large area and away from you.’
“What is it exactly?” Mara asked with suspicion, analysing Lorana’s mischievously innocent expression.
“A project Merddyn and I were working on. We retrofit an old Elysian design for overground transport then I enfolded a bottle around it using a little fey magic.” Lorana grinned animatedly. “Quite what use there is for a bike in a bottle is up for debate.” She shrugged before closing her satchel and looking towards the manor with concern. She then seemed to remember Mara and straightened her dishevelled appearance as a mother might with their child. “Now, I suggest you get back to your friends. Tell them to ask Solvi about holidays in Lemuria. It’ll make sense.” Lorana took a timepiece from her robes and scoffed.
“Thank you for trying, Lorana.” Mara said morosely, meeting the other woman’s eyes. “Goodbye. Good luck finding Merddyn.”
“Bah! That old caprin probably teleported himself into the bank vault accidentally. Again.” Lorana dismissed with a hint of humour, beginning to walk back towards the standing stones. “Keep thinking on what I said. Maybe we’ll turn that attempt into a success.” She shot over her shoulder before waving lazily farewell. Mara looked back to the manor for a second, worrying for her friends, before returning to look at empty space behind her. The mage shivered in the cold, looking about for the archmage. It seemed that she didn’t need the stones after all.
