Chapter 23
Mara woke before the sunrise, though that was no great feat considering Idharan latitude. She rummaged through her belongings and packed only the essentials. With Lorana’s gift, she could be at the temple within the day and back before anyone noticed. The lie had been concocted, the narrative already in motion with Armin using the sickle to carry a note to Solvi’s door. While he did that, Mara scurried through the quiet house hoping against hope that the vampires had taken an early morning to their beds. Though they did not fear the sun, they vastly preferred the darker hours of the day. Their reticence and sloth would be Mara’s allies as she slipped into the gardens and met with Armin who gracefully flew from an upstairs window. A perk of his spectral nature, ghosts could navigate the world with thought alone. Walls were only as solid as one believed them to be in the Ephemeral Lands.
Once she’d waved cheerily to the guard on duty, another detail of her deception, the mage made her way to the edge of the manor district. She looked out over the burnt-out husks of Lureaux’s impoverished district and fixed the sight in her mind. No matter what fanciful flattery they flung her way, no matter the threats they made, this was their legacy. Their glorious future. No matter what transpired that day, Mara had only one objective; to retrieve Gaius Renaud and the Crook, if possible.
Mara took Lorana’s bottled bike with trepidation and pointed the corked neck gingerly away from herself. With a shared look of consternation between her and Armin, Mara pulled the string that would break the wax seal on the stopper. With a whirring bang, the stasis field of the demiplane collapsed and sent a metal blur detonating from her hands. Though the bottle remained intact, Mara felt as if her hands had been struck by a ruler.
Before her sat the most unusual ‘bike’ the woman had ever seen. It had the approximate shape of a bike with handlebars and two brackets. Yet the body was solid, a shell of metal built around what appeared to be a miniscule airship core. The ‘wheels’ were nothing more than hooded propulsion generators akin to the ones used by trains. Mara had no doubt that this metal monstrosity had the power to carry a person. She was more concerned about the manner of their arrival. Her arrival, she reminded herself grimly. At least it featured a comfortable-looking seat and stirrups to keep her feet from touching the ground.
“Fine steed y’got there.” Fred’s voice interjected smugly. Mara whipped around with surprise to see the skitti man dressed for travel with a long winter overcoat the mage knew was stuffed with knickknacks and weapons. “Plannin’ on taking on the Army all on yer lonesome?” The Cobbler inquired, itching at where his eyepatch sat on his snout. His coat had the insignia of his Union, the group he’d fought for. Fred seemed to notice her staring and looked down at his lapel with a blasé frown. “Yeah, ain’t one for lettin’ them off. An’ when they see me, I wan’ ‘em to know it was the Cobblers. The real Cobblers.” Fred grunted as he spat between his shoes with the final sentence. Mara could understand the sentiment. Gangrene had taken his Union far from its roots.
“I appreciate the offer, Fred.” Mara held out a hand placatingly, sickle shining at her hip. Armin had taken to cleverly manifesting only a tiny portion of himself to listen in. “But I’m not interested in taking down the Army. I just want my sora. After that, the vampires can have them.” She continued, motioning with her head towards the manor where lights were already beginning to turn out in the pale blue morning.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I was so looking forward to meting out the justice they so richly deserve.” Arthur rounded the corner of a nearby house, followed shortly by the rest of the party. Solvi stood tall with her mother’s armour and weapon. She held the antler of her helmet in one hand. Arthur wore the armour the countess had given him, though Fred had clearly been at it with his chisel. Now, elegant vines and reliefs of animals snarled from his pauldrons and breastplate. Twitcher appeared to have taken cloth and leather armour, styling themselves after the Elysian scouts of eld. Even Julie had joined them, wearing the chevalier armour and a determined frown on her face. She’d even removed her customary crystal earring. After a beat, Solvi stood forward with the Guillotine shouldered. She looked down at Mara with many emotions playing over her features. With a breath, she seemed to resolve herself.
“Goddesses know I hate that man. I would let him rot with the detritus of his ‘history’.” Solvi began in a scornful voice, a voice that softened as her eyes met Mara’s. “But he means the world to you. And that alone is enough.” Solvi then knelt with a metallic clank before Mara, a hand placed in the other woman’s. The mage’s eyes seemed to glow more brightly in the darkness, stirring something within the Orsana. “When you asked Armin to slay those vampires, you saved my life. But it was what you did after that gave me a new one. I owe you more than you know.” She smiled, rising to her feet with an awkward clearing of her throat. “Enough sentiment. We have an annoying uncle to save.”
“He’s not my uncle.” Mara grunted, heaving a deep breath. “And these people will not mess around. They are Albrecht’s creatures. Spardali soldiers with Spardali war ethic. They will spare an elf under truce, but I cannot guarantee your safety.”
“An’ there she goes again. Thinkin’ their word means anythin’ to ‘em.” Fred sighed, righting himself from the lean against the wall he’d been enjoying. “We ain’t dressed like this ‘cause we’re expectin’ a nice day out. You mark my words, Mara. They’ll string you up jus’ the same as us if you cross ‘em.” The skitti warned with a grave tone before rustling through his coat. He eventually removed a glass bottle, identical to the one Mara had just employed. “Now ‘ow you use this thing? Yer crazy aunt told us you knew.”
Mara took a step back from her friends, disbelief radiating from her eyes as Fred eyed the cork suspiciously. She flapped her arms briefly, looking to the rings of Auryth as if they might provide some guidance. The Army was just implacable. Nothing mattered, not love nor honour or even their beliefs as the words left their mouths. How then was she to deal with them?
“I don’t understand! Why do they care so much about this…this fiction?!” Mara ranted as she paced. She did not look at her friends for they were as bloody minded as the Army were. They had resolved to be enemies and Mara could not see why. “The world they long for never existed. Elys was constantly at war, built on slavery and ended up destroying itself! Oh yes model society, that one! And then they act like Spardale and Eurale didn’t spend the better half of a thousand years ripping each other to shreds! So why persist in this fantasy?! Why act like Yan targeted us specifically?” The mage continued her rant in hushed tones to avoid waking those around them. She angrily righted the bike she’d been given and marvelled at how it hovered in place, as if waiting for a rider. She then looked back to her friends, who remained stoic in the face of the elf’s outburst. “Am I mad? Why can’t they leave it by the wayside? Just be Gardish or Idharan or whatever.”
“Because it’s all they have.” Arthur eventually answered solemnly. “As a cleric I am given to hear the words of the downtrodden and dispossessed. Of the elves who fell to the Herald’s honeyed words, many of them saw gold pass through their fingers as water. They had loveless lives, even as they did and believed as they were told. And so, they clung to tales of their ancestors. Of their greatness. And they imagine themselves the successors of that greatness. But for a few inferior, overwhelmingly powerful humans.” Arthur explained before he withdrew a notebook from his satchel. Opening it to a marked page, he showed Mara a list of names. Elvish names. “My friends. Lost souls. I take no pleasure in what has become of them. For they suffer, even now. The Herald will pay for what he did, but we might never undo the damage he has wrought.” The cleric then closed the book and fixed Mara with a resolute stare.
“Someone has to tell them that the law still applies.” Julie snarled, testing the point of her dagger. “Whether by my hand, the hand of the chevaliers or the gods themselves, they will face Idharan justice.” She appended with a nod towards Solvi, who regarded her with a warm smile. Was that what she lacked, Mara thought? A willingness to do what was necessary? Conviction or principle? The mage pondered as Twitcher seemed to gather their courage and step forward. They looked the bike over with an approving stare before an elegant magical gesture sent the bike whirring to life.
“This is not just about Renaud.” Twitcher said with gravitas. They then looked up to meet Mara’s confused gaze. “They took the smiling faces of my memories. The laughing Mira, the smart Mira. They replaced her with a monster. Confused our greatness with empire.” Twitcher then stood to their full impressive height. Their arm sword shot skywards as they tested the mechanism. “We were your past. Not villains, but a people.” Twitcher then took their bottle and demonstrated to the group exactly how to remove the bike from it. They started the engine with another errant wave of their hand and sat upon it, expectantly. “We will save Renaud. And break the back of the Army. Albrecht will go to prison.” Twitcher commanded with such authority that Mara found herself awkwardly sitting on the bike as the automaton rattled off instructions to the group on how best to drive these ancient modes of transport.
Just like that, the group hurtled down the remains of Lureaux’s main street, bikes whirring more intensely under strain. To Mara it felt as if she were riding a perfectly stable wotling, its speed rising and falling in cadence with the twitch of her thumb. She smirked under her mask. She could get used to such a reliable contraption. Even now as they jettisoned from the city proper at speeds many wotlings would struggle to maintain, Mara felt no dizziness nor curdling stomach. The bikes slid over the drifts and snowbanks as if they weren’t there, the fresh fall nothing more than the twinkling carpet which reflected the sun’s beauty. Fred flicked his ear as he passed her, his good eye covered by a monocular goggle of some kind. Composing the arcanography in her mind to pass the time, once they entered the forest a shimmering shield had manifested over the eyeholes of her mask.
“I don’t suppose there are any more surprise comrades to our little venture?” Julie shouted over the whipping wind and whirring engines. Mara briefly checked over her shoulder to see their progress being tailed by a trio of wotling riders some distance away. From the briefest glimpse, it was too far to tell details about the figures save for their height. The breed they rode was well equipped for larger riders.
“Traders, most likely. They will fall behind a vinthutir unless they ride hard.” Twitcher called over their shoulder. They steered with one hand whilst modifying one of their arm swords with their mouth. Before long, the blade mounting retreated into the forearm, which rotated to a new armament.
As the group continued and the sun rose ever higher, Arthur remarked upon how little daylight they would have. Perhaps it would be pertinent to stop for the night, long as it was. Solvi put her experience in the great wilds of her homeland to use, checking the surrounding forest. She shook her head at Arthur’s suggestion, indicating towards the unforgiving looking mountain range that crowned the world. The Giant’s Teeth. Home to the largest mountains on the planet, it ran the gamut of the continent and found its terminus in the far south. It was within these forlorn peaks that the temple lay on the far edge of Count Laurent’s territory.
As the group ascended the foothills where caprin grazed and stared dully at their travel, with heavily furred Idharan farmers scurrying away, their pursuers made themselves known. It was Fred who spotted them first, removing his rifle from the saddle holster with a curse. Solvi barked for them to find a defensible position, an order the group were not reluctant to follow. They slowed the bikes to a stop on a rocky outcropping where the remains of an abandoned stone cottage sat. It had lost its roof entirely, hemmed in by dry stone walls toppled by time. The yard lay thick with the detritus of wolves, vagrants and other fair-weather users. Mara, Fred and Twitcher took cover within the cottage itself, their various implements of war trained outwards through windows. The mage of their company settled for keeping her head down, working a glowing ball of flames with murmured incantations.
They were silent for some considerable time after, suppressing shivers in the chill breeze. The only sounds were the rustling of Fred’s ammo boxes, Twitcher’s subtle unsheathing of the arm sword and the creaking of a rusted well crank nearby. Solvi and her cadre of melee combatants held the gate of the house, the Guillotine poised to fall. Then, the hurried pattering of wotling feet through snow broke the quiet. Solvi swore as their hunters closed in.
The one who rode at the fore dressed in meticulously maintained fur-lined armour. She bore a missing eye. Strands of curly grey hair were visible under the helmet she wore. Solvi snarled a curse as she saw the eyepatch that bore the Heldothir crest. At her flanks rode two white-garbed women with covered faces. From the grace with which they dismounted and the slim sabres they wielded Solvi surmised that her relentless antagonist was still using the Shoti. The most ostentatious of the three walked towards the farm gate with a swagger that none of the vanguard were pleased to see. Arthur readied his shield, uncomfortable with the prospect of this woman’s war hammer crashing into him.
“Here at the top of the world with some ragtag mercenaries we find the prestigious Solvi Ser Benti.” The woman grinned mockingly, adding an extravagant bow to her derision. “But your little tantrum has run its course. You are to return home.” She then hefted her hammer from her back, planting the surprisingly slender head on the ground. Fred knew enough physics to know that was the point. It was the spike on its reverse that filled him with dread.
“Sorry, Bruna. I don’t have time for a Heldothir or her lowborn bounty hunters.” Solvi snarled back, hefting the Guillotine into a readied position. At that response, the Benti named Bruna showed her teeth in the most menacing smile yet. Mara stirred in her hiding place, Fred laying a hand on her elbow as he slowly levelled his rifle with a hole in the stonework. The mage caught his intentions, awaiting the signal to ambush.
“I’m so glad you decided to be stubborn.” Bruna chuckled as she hefted her hammer onto her shoulder. “You think this chevalier and tiny man will save you? I’ve had bigger than him in my alehouse.” Bruna pointed with the butt of her hammer towards the dour-looking Arthur. He seemed to the uninitiated to be just another hireling. Solvi hoped against hope that Bruna was as ignorant of religion as she was everything else.
As Solvi drew breath to buy herself time with a witty retort, the Shoti to Bruna’s left flicked her hand. A small buzzing object flew through the air. It glanced off Solvi’s pauldron as she recoiled, slipping her helmet on with one fluid motion. Bruna bellowed something to her underling in their native tongue. She then turned to the gate and magically set the head of her hammer alight. Mara hissed out a breath. A cleric, just as Arthur was. Though from the fire, she was most likely a devotee of Gofannon the Worldsmith. And she put that devotion to good work, sending the gate splintering inwards with a single spelled strike.
Fred and Twitcher gave fire, his rifle and their arm cannon shooting whizzing projectiles towards their enemies. The Shoti showed the expertise of their clan and ducked beneath the stonework for protection. Soon after, deadly darts would buzz from their position. Bruna, for all their efforts, simply batted the projectiles aside with her hammer before closing her visor with a disdainful grunt. Solvi, who’d recovered from the implosion of their barricade, took aim at Bruna’s helmet with a massive overhead swing. The large woman hefted her hammer to catch the blow, kicking Solvi in the stomach for her troubles. Arthur harkened to his Goddess’ wisdom and sought to stop the juggernaut in her tracks. With magical vigour, the overgrown bushes and tendrils of plants wrapped themselves about Bruna, who hammered at them with her flaming weapon.
“Bomb’s out!” Mara shouted over the din, flinging a whistling missile through the air. The Shoti must have known from the war what that fatal whistle meant for they hauled themselves over the wall towards the well as Mara’s spell impacted the ground with a thundering detonation. With a savagely victorious shout, the mage watched as her handiwork spun stones into the back of a Shoti soldier. They collapsed, winded for the moment. Mara then turned her attention to Bruna, picking up a stone and sending it forth with telekinesis. The Herald wasn’t superior to her, not today! Not while Solvi was in danger.
Bruna hunkered down with her gauntlet protecting her eyes as the projectiles bounced off her armour. Arthur had to maintain the spell to keep her pinned while Solvi tried in vain to smash through the other woman’s defences. The two of them were fairly even in skill, blocking and parrying each other’s blows. Fred saw the stalemate coming and angrily rummaged through his ammunition. Finding the correct rounds, he worked the lever and took aim at Bruna. The Shoti, not content to be forgotten, had finished dragging their compatriot out of the firing line and sent a dagger spiralling towards Fred. It caught him on the eyepatch, snapping his head back forcefully. Mara looked down to see the skitti on the ground and briefly felt panic take her. Fred soon got up, tearing the dagger free from his face with nary a cut to show for it. And a ruined eyepatch.
“Wrong eye, leadwit!” Fred bellowed, aiming the round at the Shoti instead. With a sound like a roll of thunder, the rifle sent a glowing blue projectile into the chest of the woman. She convulsed violently, managing only a strangled scream before falling unconscious to the ground. Fred cursed his temper, noting his lack of replacements. Mara took the spent crystalline casing and began muttering to it under cover. Twitcher, realising their arm cannon would not penetrate Bruna’s armour, vaulted the window and crossed the yard in a few short leaps. Once upon Bruna, they attempted to jam their sword into the eyeholes of their enemy’s helmet. The Heldothir, sensing death was imminent, parried the blade with her gauntlet before wrapping her fist to clench Twitcher’s wrist firmly. Without her other hand, her battle with Solvi grew more desperate until her prey turned hunter smashed Bruna’s fingers one too many times. With a yowl of pain, the older Orsan dropped her hammer where it extinguished. With an acceptance that surprised Mara, she presented her neck in preparation for the coup de grace.
The blow never came, prompting the other woman to commence struggling once more. Twitcher curled their fist and struck Bruna’s temple. The blow staggered her, even through her helmet. When the first did not do the job, Twitcher went for a second, then a third. Solvi simply stood by with the Guillotine poised to deliver the killing blow.
“Fred, reload. End this before Twitcher does something they’ll regret.” Mara directed in a low voice, bequeathing Fred a recharged round. He dutifully cocked his rifle and almost casually sent another stun round into Bruna’s chest. The woman twitched but with surprising dignity accepted her incapacitation. Twitcher looked down at Bruna with burning red eyes, something Mara had not seen in the automaton before.
“You dare attack me, savage?! You are lucky you live!” Twitcher thundered as they shook their sword threateningly at Bruna’s chin. Arthur took them to one side, seeming tired from the strain of maintaining his spell. Mara imagined it couldn’t be easy for a cleric of his disposition. Perhaps a single spike of radiant energy was more his speed. But both the mage and Julie had other matters on their hands as they both moved towards the frozen, shaking Solvi. Her eyes were haunted, teeth grit behind thin lips.
Julie wordlessly took hold of Solvi’s hands, drawing them downwards until the Orsan dropped the Guillotine with a clang. Both the chevalier and Mara shared a look before guiding her towards the cottage, the mage doing her level best to make the bare and rotten furnishings at least somewhat comfortable. Fred rather cheerfully sat in the fireplace, smoking his pipe with a satisfied sigh.
“I always knew my mother was cold. But this was cruel.” Solvi lamented under her breath, staring at the floor with that same haunted look. Mara looked to Arthur who regarded her over Twitcher’s shoulder, only for the elf to mime tying the three women up before they regained consciousness. Arthur then suggested it to Twitcher, who produced rope from their abdominal cavity. Mara supposed that was one of the few perks to having a body like Twitcher’s. Still, a body that could not feel, eat or drink likely took some getting used to. If one ever could.
“Who were these women, Solvi? Are they your mother’s creatures?” Julie asked with urgency, compassion suffusing her voice as her companion gained some grip of herself. Heaving a great sigh, she looked out to where Twitcher and Arthur were busy trussing up the remaining conscious Shoti.
“They are Helsdothir. The condemned. Criminals whose executions were bought by a noble for specific purpose.” Solvi’s face filled with contemptuous anger at the very mention of these billeted felons. Mara took her by the hand, squeezing it for encouragement. A curious look overcame the Orsan. A mixture of emotions that Mara couldn’t quite tease apart. There was sorrow, irritation, perhaps thankfulness. As if she were irritated by her own emotions. “Twenty-five years ago, during the war, a Benti woman killed her commanding officer. My mother oversaw her trial and condemned her to death. In her infinite efforts to toughen me up, to make me less compassionate to my inferiors, she ordered me to carry out the execution. With the Guillotine.” The Orsan recalled extracting a dark look from Julie. An injustice she recognized, perhaps? Mara’s softly glowing eyes were only empathetic for her companion’s plight. “That woman was Bruna. No doubt my mother kept her alive to force me to carry out her twisted will when she found me. But she never got the chance. Her underlings decided they knew better. Shot me in the back.” Solvi scorned as a hand automatically came up to her shoulder. Mara sighed and hung her head, unable to find the words for such horror. She’d heard the story before, but it never became easier to process in the retelling. Julie’s reaction relayed the horror of one hearing it for the first time.
“What kind of barbarism…?” Julie gasped with revulsion. Her fists clenched tight on Solvi’s thigh. The Orsan woman shrugged before looking into the middle distance. Memories were once again perniciously biting at the frayed ends of her mind. Mara gave a warning look to Julie, who returned her look with indignant confusion.
“With this we move beyond her reach, Solvi.” Mara soothed before reaching up to unbuckle her companion’s helmet and rest it gently in Julie’s hands. “Let your chevalier take care of you. I will handle everything else.” The mage smiled before standing up and turning her back to the pair. Ominously, she closed the tattered and splintering door of the cottage behind her, a resolute and grim stare consuming the empathy that had been there moments before. Arthur and Twitcher stood from their combined efforts as Bruna groggily reclaimed her consciousness. Mara gave the pair a softened expression before kneeling before the condemned. She asked for a moment with Bruna, the other two complying more out of trust than any reasonable expectation. At least, Mara hoped it was trust.
“Bruna? Bruna? Can you hear me?” The mage began with a friendly tone, waving her hand in front of the Heldothir. “It’s okay, I don’t really need you to understand. But the enchantment might not work if you’re out of it.” Mara explained in a blasé tone as she took her sickle from her belt and waved it in front of Bruna’s bleary eyes. “Hello, Sif! I have Frigg’s sickle. I made some improvements to it since she had it. Just wanted to clear a few things up with you before I send this defective toy of yours back to that godsforsaken, tempestuous backwater.” The elf’s tone shifted throughout her explanation, from one of congenial concord to a more sinister tone entirely. Shades of Renaud had worked their way into her speech from the threats he’d delivered on the rooftop. “If you don’t kill Bruna for her failure, I want you to know that if I see her near Julie or Solvi again, I will. Any of your agents, really. If somehow you don’t get the message after the second pile of bodies, I will manifest a spirit from Annun and kill you with it myself. Say hello, Armin.” Mara spoke with such a cold, convicted tone that Armin needn’t do much to sell the threat. He merely appeared from within the sickle as a grim-faced spectre with flaming eyes. Mara flicked her eyes over to her friend to check on his work before redirecting her gaze back to Bruna’s very lucid stare. “She’s a good woman. Better than you or me. Do you really want to spend the last years of your life trying to prove some facile point?” The mage continued to cajole before seeming to snort to herself, as if it were useless.
“Do you really think Sif Ser Benti is going to be scared of an elfling like you?” Bruna scorned as she struggled against her bonds. Mara looked to Armin with a neutral expression, hoping he would perform some feat of terror. The ghost merely returned the look for a few moments before levelling an altogether more sinister one at Bruna. Even the hardened criminal grew uncomfortable beneath his commanding gaze. The mage had to admit it was effective. Even she could perceive the cruelty and callousness in the flaming orange orbs.
“Get on your wotling, Bruna. Ride as far as you can from us. Then you won’t have to see us stop pulling punches.” Mara instructed with a chill every part as frigid as the air around them. She then began to walk towards the cottage where Arthur and Twitcher stood conversing. Surprisingly, Twitcher seemed to hold Arthur in high regard for a human. Perhaps the modern sensibilities were rubbing off on them.
“I’m curious. How much of that was genuine?” Armin pondered out loud, his voice emanating from somewhere just behind Mara’s ear. The elf woman sighed to herself, stopping in her tracks. She turned to face Armin with perhaps the most conflicted eyes he’d ever seen.
“I don’t know. Ever since I fought the Herald I’ve been slipping. For want of a better word.” Mara rubbed the bridge of her nose through the more spacious mask. Armin cocked his head, arms folding in an almost challenging way. “It’s so tempting to do it their way. To not care about the rules, do whatever I want to people who threaten us. Sometimes it feels like cruelty is just how the world was made. That by caring, I’m somehow weaker.” The mage opined before running her fingers over her spell book contemplatively. What terrors necromancy could wreak, if she but chose to use them. Armin saw her line of thought and shook his head almost as if he had a twitch.
“It’s a poisoned power. You shear off vulnerabilities. You cut away compassion and do what needs to be done. For the greater good.” Armin began as if recalling his own life. Mara supposed that by now, the duplicitous elf had learned a great deal of who he once was. “I thought like that once. I gave up everything that made me a man. An elf. As a horror Yandites told each other in whispers, I almost broke them. But look at me now- a curse on the lips of my own people.” The ghost seemed overcome for a moment before he stamped on the emotions that threatened him. Clearing a throat that no longer needed clearing, Armin shook his head and a strained smile returned to his face.
“I thought you did what you did for selfish reasons. That the others were just incidentals.” Mara teased in an attempt to lighten her friend’s mood. His smile became somewhat less feigned, and the approximation of his eyes lightened.
“Maybe I believed my own lies. Perhaps I gave up even the greater good. Who can say? I prefer myself when I’m with you. You’ve made a good man out of me, Mara.” Armin jokingly elbowed is friend in the ribs, passing right through her. He quickly righted himself, restoring what little dignity he had.
“You were both already good people. Someone just had to show you that.” Mara answered in a small voice. Armin looked down to see her eyes distant. In that moment he wondered who else she referred to.
Chapter 23
Mara woke before the sunrise, though that was no great feat considering Idharan latitude. She rummaged through her belongings and packed only the essentials. With Lorana’s gift, she could be at the temple within the day and back before anyone noticed. The lie had been concocted, the narrative already in motion with Armin using the sickle to carry a note to Solvi’s door. While he did that, Mara scurried through the quiet house hoping against hope that the vampires had taken an early morning to their beds. Though they did not fear the sun, they vastly preferred the darker hours of the day. Their reticence and sloth would be Mara’s allies as she slipped into the gardens and met with Armin who gracefully flew from an upstairs window. A perk of his spectral nature, ghosts could navigate the world with thought alone. Walls were only as solid as one believed them to be in the Ephemeral Lands.
Once she’d waved cheerily to the guard on duty, another detail of her deception, the mage made her way to the edge of the manor district. She looked out over the burnt-out husks of Lureaux’s impoverished district and fixed the sight in her mind. No matter what fanciful flattery they flung her way, no matter the threats they made, this was their legacy. Their glorious future. No matter what transpired that day, Mara had only one objective; to retrieve Gaius Renaud and the Crook, if possible.
Mara took Lorana’s bottled bike with trepidation and pointed the corked neck gingerly away from herself. With a shared look of consternation between her and Armin, Mara pulled the string that would break the wax seal on the stopper. With a whirring bang, the stasis field of the demiplane collapsed and sent a metal blur detonating from her hands. Though the bottle remained intact, Mara felt as if her hands had been struck by a ruler.
Before her sat the most unusual ‘bike’ the woman had ever seen. It had the approximate shape of a bike with handlebars and two brackets. Yet the body was solid, a shell of metal built around what appeared to be a miniscule airship core. The ‘wheels’ were nothing more than hooded propulsion generators akin to the ones used by trains. Mara had no doubt that this metal monstrosity had the power to carry a person. She was more concerned about the manner of their arrival. Her arrival, she reminded herself grimly. At least it featured a comfortable-looking seat and stirrups to keep her feet from touching the ground.
“Fine steed y’got there.” Fred’s voice interjected smugly. Mara whipped around with surprise to see the skitti man dressed for travel with a long winter overcoat the mage knew was stuffed with knickknacks and weapons. “Plannin’ on taking on the Army all on yer lonesome?” The Cobbler inquired, itching at where his eyepatch sat on his snout. His coat had the insignia of his Union, the group he’d fought for. Fred seemed to notice her staring and looked down at his lapel with a blasé frown. “Yeah, ain’t one for lettin’ them off. An’ when they see me, I wan’ ‘em to know it was the Cobblers. The real Cobblers.” Fred grunted as he spat between his shoes with the final sentence. Mara could understand the sentiment. Gangrene had taken his Union far from its roots.
“I appreciate the offer, Fred.” Mara held out a hand placatingly, sickle shining at her hip. Armin had taken to cleverly manifesting only a tiny portion of himself to listen in. “But I’m not interested in taking down the Army. I just want my sora. After that, the vampires can have them.” She continued, motioning with her head towards the manor where lights were already beginning to turn out in the pale blue morning.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I was so looking forward to meting out the justice they so richly deserve.” Arthur rounded the corner of a nearby house, followed shortly by the rest of the party. Solvi stood tall with her mother’s armour and weapon. She held the antler of her helmet in one hand. Arthur wore the armour the countess had given him, though Fred had clearly been at it with his chisel. Now, elegant vines and reliefs of animals snarled from his pauldrons and breastplate. Twitcher appeared to have taken cloth and leather armour, styling themselves after the Elysian scouts of eld. Even Julie had joined them, wearing the chevalier armour and a determined frown on her face. She’d even removed her customary crystal earring. After a beat, Solvi stood forward with the Guillotine shouldered. She looked down at Mara with many emotions playing over her features. With a breath, she seemed to resolve herself.
“Goddesses know I hate that man. I would let him rot with the detritus of his ‘history’.” Solvi began in a scornful voice, a voice that softened as her eyes met Mara’s. “But he means the world to you. And that alone is enough.” Solvi then knelt with a metallic clank before Mara, a hand placed in the other woman’s. The mage’s eyes seemed to glow more brightly in the darkness, stirring something within the Orsana. “When you asked Armin to slay those vampires, you saved my life. But it was what you did after that gave me a new one. I owe you more than you know.” She smiled, rising to her feet with an awkward clearing of her throat. “Enough sentiment. We have an annoying uncle to save.”
“He’s not my uncle.” Mara grunted, heaving a deep breath. “And these people will not mess around. They are Albrecht’s creatures. Spardali soldiers with Spardali war ethic. They will spare an elf under truce, but I cannot guarantee your safety.”
“An’ there she goes again. Thinkin’ their word means anythin’ to ‘em.” Fred sighed, righting himself from the lean against the wall he’d been enjoying. “We ain’t dressed like this ‘cause we’re expectin’ a nice day out. You mark my words, Mara. They’ll string you up jus’ the same as us if you cross ‘em.” The skitti warned with a grave tone before rustling through his coat. He eventually removed a glass bottle, identical to the one Mara had just employed. “Now ‘ow you use this thing? Yer crazy aunt told us you knew.”
Mara took a step back from her friends, disbelief radiating from her eyes as Fred eyed the cork suspiciously. She flapped her arms briefly, looking to the rings of Auryth as if they might provide some guidance. The Army was just implacable. Nothing mattered, not love nor honour or even their beliefs as the words left their mouths. How then was she to deal with them?
“I don’t understand! Why do they care so much about this…this fiction?!” Mara ranted as she paced. She did not look at her friends for they were as bloody minded as the Army were. They had resolved to be enemies and Mara could not see why. “The world they long for never existed. Elys was constantly at war, built on slavery and ended up destroying itself! Oh yes model society, that one! And then they act like Spardale and Eurale didn’t spend the better half of a thousand years ripping each other to shreds! So why persist in this fantasy?! Why act like Yan targeted us specifically?” The mage continued her rant in hushed tones to avoid waking those around them. She angrily righted the bike she’d been given and marvelled at how it hovered in place, as if waiting for a rider. She then looked back to her friends, who remained stoic in the face of the elf’s outburst. “Am I mad? Why can’t they leave it by the wayside? Just be Gardish or Idharan or whatever.”
“Because it’s all they have.” Arthur eventually answered solemnly. “As a cleric I am given to hear the words of the downtrodden and dispossessed. Of the elves who fell to the Herald’s honeyed words, many of them saw gold pass through their fingers as water. They had loveless lives, even as they did and believed as they were told. And so, they clung to tales of their ancestors. Of their greatness. And they imagine themselves the successors of that greatness. But for a few inferior, overwhelmingly powerful humans.” Arthur explained before he withdrew a notebook from his satchel. Opening it to a marked page, he showed Mara a list of names. Elvish names. “My friends. Lost souls. I take no pleasure in what has become of them. For they suffer, even now. The Herald will pay for what he did, but we might never undo the damage he has wrought.” The cleric then closed the book and fixed Mara with a resolute stare.
“Someone has to tell them that the law still applies.” Julie snarled, testing the point of her dagger. “Whether by my hand, the hand of the chevaliers or the gods themselves, they will face Idharan justice.” She appended with a nod towards Solvi, who regarded her with a warm smile. Was that what she lacked, Mara thought? A willingness to do what was necessary? Conviction or principle? The mage pondered as Twitcher seemed to gather their courage and step forward. They looked the bike over with an approving stare before an elegant magical gesture sent the bike whirring to life.
“This is not just about Renaud.” Twitcher said with gravitas. They then looked up to meet Mara’s confused gaze. “They took the smiling faces of my memories. The laughing Mira, the smart Mira. They replaced her with a monster. Confused our greatness with empire.” Twitcher then stood to their full impressive height. Their arm sword shot skywards as they tested the mechanism. “We were your past. Not villains, but a people.” Twitcher then took their bottle and demonstrated to the group exactly how to remove the bike from it. They started the engine with another errant wave of their hand and sat upon it, expectantly. “We will save Renaud. And break the back of the Army. Albrecht will go to prison.” Twitcher commanded with such authority that Mara found herself awkwardly sitting on the bike as the automaton rattled off instructions to the group on how best to drive these ancient modes of transport.
Just like that, the group hurtled down the remains of Lureaux’s main street, bikes whirring more intensely under strain. To Mara it felt as if she were riding a perfectly stable wotling, its speed rising and falling in cadence with the twitch of her thumb. She smirked under her mask. She could get used to such a reliable contraption. Even now as they jettisoned from the city proper at speeds many wotlings would struggle to maintain, Mara felt no dizziness nor curdling stomach. The bikes slid over the drifts and snowbanks as if they weren’t there, the fresh fall nothing more than the twinkling carpet which reflected the sun’s beauty. Fred flicked his ear as he passed her, his good eye covered by a monocular goggle of some kind. Composing the arcanography in her mind to pass the time, once they entered the forest a shimmering shield had manifested over the eyeholes of her mask.
“I don’t suppose there are any more surprise comrades to our little venture?” Julie shouted over the whipping wind and whirring engines. Mara briefly checked over her shoulder to see their progress being tailed by a trio of wotling riders some distance away. From the briefest glimpse, it was too far to tell details about the figures save for their height. The breed they rode was well equipped for larger riders.
“Traders, most likely. They will fall behind a vinthutir unless they ride hard.” Twitcher called over their shoulder. They steered with one hand whilst modifying one of their arm swords with their mouth. Before long, the blade mounting retreated into the forearm, which rotated to a new armament.
As the group continued and the sun rose ever higher, Arthur remarked upon how little daylight they would have. Perhaps it would be pertinent to stop for the night, long as it was. Solvi put her experience in the great wilds of her homeland to use, checking the surrounding forest. She shook her head at Arthur’s suggestion, indicating towards the unforgiving looking mountain range that crowned the world. The Giant’s Teeth. Home to the largest mountains on the planet, it ran the gamut of the continent and found its terminus in the far south. It was within these forlorn peaks that the temple lay on the far edge of Count Laurent’s territory.
As the group ascended the foothills where caprin grazed and stared dully at their travel, with heavily furred Idharan farmers scurrying away, their pursuers made themselves known. It was Fred who spotted them first, removing his rifle from the saddle holster with a curse. Solvi barked for them to find a defensible position, an order the group were not reluctant to follow. They slowed the bikes to a stop on a rocky outcropping where the remains of an abandoned stone cottage sat. It had lost its roof entirely, hemmed in by dry stone walls toppled by time. The yard lay thick with the detritus of wolves, vagrants and other fair-weather users. Mara, Fred and Twitcher took cover within the cottage itself, their various implements of war trained outwards through windows. The mage of their company settled for keeping her head down, working a glowing ball of flames with murmured incantations.
They were silent for some considerable time after, suppressing shivers in the chill breeze. The only sounds were the rustling of Fred’s ammo boxes, Twitcher’s subtle unsheathing of the arm sword and the creaking of a rusted well crank nearby. Solvi and her cadre of melee combatants held the gate of the house, the Guillotine poised to fall. Then, the hurried pattering of wotling feet through snow broke the quiet. Solvi swore as their hunters closed in.
The one who rode at the fore dressed in meticulously maintained fur-lined armour. She bore a missing eye. Strands of curly grey hair were visible under the helmet she wore. Solvi snarled a curse as she saw the eyepatch that bore the Heldothir crest. At her flanks rode two white-garbed women with covered faces. From the grace with which they dismounted and the slim sabres they wielded Solvi surmised that her relentless antagonist was still using the Shoti. The most ostentatious of the three walked towards the farm gate with a swagger that none of the vanguard were pleased to see. Arthur readied his shield, uncomfortable with the prospect of this woman’s war hammer crashing into him.
“Here at the top of the world with some ragtag mercenaries we find the prestigious Solvi Ser Benti.” The woman grinned mockingly, adding an extravagant bow to her derision. “But your little tantrum has run its course. You are to return home.” She then hefted her hammer from her back, planting the surprisingly slender head on the ground. Fred knew enough physics to know that was the point. It was the spike on its reverse that filled him with dread.
“Sorry, Bruna. I don’t have time for a Heldothir or her lowborn bounty hunters.” Solvi snarled back, hefting the Guillotine into a readied position. At that response, the Benti named Bruna showed her teeth in the most menacing smile yet. Mara stirred in her hiding place, Fred laying a hand on her elbow as he slowly levelled his rifle with a hole in the stonework. The mage caught his intentions, awaiting the signal to ambush.
“I’m so glad you decided to be stubborn.” Bruna chuckled as she hefted her hammer onto her shoulder. “You think this chevalier and tiny man will save you? I’ve had bigger than him in my alehouse.” Bruna pointed with the butt of her hammer towards the dour-looking Arthur. He seemed to the uninitiated to be just another hireling. Solvi hoped against hope that Bruna was as ignorant of religion as she was everything else.
As Solvi drew breath to buy herself time with a witty retort, the Shoti to Bruna’s left flicked her hand. A small buzzing object flew through the air. It glanced off Solvi’s pauldron as she recoiled, slipping her helmet on with one fluid motion. Bruna bellowed something to her underling in their native tongue. She then turned to the gate and magically set the head of her hammer alight. Mara hissed out a breath. A cleric, just as Arthur was. Though from the fire, she was most likely a devotee of Gofannon the Worldsmith. And she put that devotion to good work, sending the gate splintering inwards with a single spelled strike.
Fred and Twitcher gave fire, his rifle and their arm cannon shooting whizzing projectiles towards their enemies. The Shoti showed the expertise of their clan and ducked beneath the stonework for protection. Soon after, deadly darts would buzz from their position. Bruna, for all their efforts, simply batted the projectiles aside with her hammer before closing her visor with a disdainful grunt. Solvi, who’d recovered from the implosion of their barricade, took aim at Bruna’s helmet with a massive overhead swing. The large woman hefted her hammer to catch the blow, kicking Solvi in the stomach for her troubles. Arthur harkened to his Goddess’ wisdom and sought to stop the juggernaut in her tracks. With magical vigour, the overgrown bushes and tendrils of plants wrapped themselves about Bruna, who hammered at them with her flaming weapon.
“Bomb’s out!” Mara shouted over the din, flinging a whistling missile through the air. The Shoti must have known from the war what that fatal whistle meant for they hauled themselves over the wall towards the well as Mara’s spell impacted the ground with a thundering detonation. With a savagely victorious shout, the mage watched as her handiwork spun stones into the back of a Shoti soldier. They collapsed, winded for the moment. Mara then turned her attention to Bruna, picking up a stone and sending it forth with telekinesis. The Herald wasn’t superior to her, not today! Not while Solvi was in danger.
Bruna hunkered down with her gauntlet protecting her eyes as the projectiles bounced off her armour. Arthur had to maintain the spell to keep her pinned while Solvi tried in vain to smash through the other woman’s defences. The two of them were fairly even in skill, blocking and parrying each other’s blows. Fred saw the stalemate coming and angrily rummaged through his ammunition. Finding the correct rounds, he worked the lever and took aim at Bruna. The Shoti, not content to be forgotten, had finished dragging their compatriot out of the firing line and sent a dagger spiralling towards Fred. It caught him on the eyepatch, snapping his head back forcefully. Mara looked down to see the skitti on the ground and briefly felt panic take her. Fred soon got up, tearing the dagger free from his face with nary a cut to show for it. And a ruined eyepatch.
“Wrong eye, leadwit!” Fred bellowed, aiming the round at the Shoti instead. With a sound like a roll of thunder, the rifle sent a glowing blue projectile into the chest of the woman. She convulsed violently, managing only a strangled scream before falling unconscious to the ground. Fred cursed his temper, noting his lack of replacements. Mara took the spent crystalline casing and began muttering to it under cover. Twitcher, realising their arm cannon would not penetrate Bruna’s armour, vaulted the window and crossed the yard in a few short leaps. Once upon Bruna, they attempted to jam their sword into the eyeholes of their enemy’s helmet. The Heldothir, sensing death was imminent, parried the blade with her gauntlet before wrapping her fist to clench Twitcher’s wrist firmly. Without her other hand, her battle with Solvi grew more desperate until her prey turned hunter smashed Bruna’s fingers one too many times. With a yowl of pain, the older Orsan dropped her hammer where it extinguished. With an acceptance that surprised Mara, she presented her neck in preparation for the coup de grace.
The blow never came, prompting the other woman to commence struggling once more. Twitcher curled their fist and struck Bruna’s temple. The blow staggered her, even through her helmet. When the first did not do the job, Twitcher went for a second, then a third. Solvi simply stood by with the Guillotine poised to deliver the killing blow.
“Fred, reload. End this before Twitcher does something they’ll regret.” Mara directed in a low voice, bequeathing Fred a recharged round. He dutifully cocked his rifle and almost casually sent another stun round into Bruna’s chest. The woman twitched but with surprising dignity accepted her incapacitation. Twitcher looked down at Bruna with burning red eyes, something Mara had not seen in the automaton before.
“You dare attack me, savage?! You are lucky you live!” Twitcher thundered as they shook their sword threateningly at Bruna’s chin. Arthur took them to one side, seeming tired from the strain of maintaining his spell. Mara imagined it couldn’t be easy for a cleric of his disposition. Perhaps a single spike of radiant energy was more his speed. But both the mage and Julie had other matters on their hands as they both moved towards the frozen, shaking Solvi. Her eyes were haunted, teeth grit behind thin lips.
Julie wordlessly took hold of Solvi’s hands, drawing them downwards until the Orsan dropped the Guillotine with a clang. Both the chevalier and Mara shared a look before guiding her towards the cottage, the mage doing her level best to make the bare and rotten furnishings at least somewhat comfortable. Fred rather cheerfully sat in the fireplace, smoking his pipe with a satisfied sigh.
“I always knew my mother was cold. But this was cruel.” Solvi lamented under her breath, staring at the floor with that same haunted look. Mara looked to Arthur who regarded her over Twitcher’s shoulder, only for the elf to mime tying the three women up before they regained consciousness. Arthur then suggested it to Twitcher, who produced rope from their abdominal cavity. Mara supposed that was one of the few perks to having a body like Twitcher’s. Still, a body that could not feel, eat or drink likely took some getting used to. If one ever could.
“Who were these women, Solvi? Are they your mother’s creatures?” Julie asked with urgency, compassion suffusing her voice as her companion gained some grip of herself. Heaving a great sigh, she looked out to where Twitcher and Arthur were busy trussing up the remaining conscious Shoti.
“They are Helsdothir. The condemned. Criminals whose executions were bought by a noble for specific purpose.” Solvi’s face filled with contemptuous anger at the very mention of these billeted felons. Mara took her by the hand, squeezing it for encouragement. A curious look overcame the Orsan. A mixture of emotions that Mara couldn’t quite tease apart. There was sorrow, irritation, perhaps thankfulness. As if she were irritated by her own emotions. “Twenty-five years ago, during the war, a Benti woman killed her commanding officer. My mother oversaw her trial and condemned her to death. In her infinite efforts to toughen me up, to make me less compassionate to my inferiors, she ordered me to carry out the execution. With the Guillotine.” The Orsan recalled extracting a dark look from Julie. An injustice she recognized, perhaps? Mara’s softly glowing eyes were only empathetic for her companion’s plight. “That woman was Bruna. No doubt my mother kept her alive to force me to carry out her twisted will when she found me. But she never got the chance. Her underlings decided they knew better. Shot me in the back.” Solvi scorned as a hand automatically came up to her shoulder. Mara sighed and hung her head, unable to find the words for such horror. She’d heard the story before, but it never became easier to process in the retelling. Julie’s reaction relayed the horror of one hearing it for the first time.
“What kind of barbarism…?” Julie gasped with revulsion. Her fists clenched tight on Solvi’s thigh. The Orsan woman shrugged before looking into the middle distance. Memories were once again perniciously biting at the frayed ends of her mind. Mara gave a warning look to Julie, who returned her look with indignant confusion.
“With this we move beyond her reach, Solvi.” Mara soothed before reaching up to unbuckle her companion’s helmet and rest it gently in Julie’s hands. “Let your chevalier take care of you. I will handle everything else.” The mage smiled before standing up and turning her back to the pair. Ominously, she closed the tattered and splintering door of the cottage behind her, a resolute and grim stare consuming the empathy that had been there moments before. Arthur and Twitcher stood from their combined efforts as Bruna groggily reclaimed her consciousness. Mara gave the pair a softened expression before kneeling before the condemned. She asked for a moment with Bruna, the other two complying more out of trust than any reasonable expectation. At least, Mara hoped it was trust.
“Bruna? Bruna? Can you hear me?” The mage began with a friendly tone, waving her hand in front of the Heldothir. “It’s okay, I don’t really need you to understand. But the enchantment might not work if you’re out of it.” Mara explained in a blasé tone as she took her sickle from her belt and waved it in front of Bruna’s bleary eyes. “Hello, Sif! I have Frigg’s sickle. I made some improvements to it since she had it. Just wanted to clear a few things up with you before I send this defective toy of yours back to that godsforsaken, tempestuous backwater.” The elf’s tone shifted throughout her explanation, from one of congenial concord to a more sinister tone entirely. Shades of Renaud had worked their way into her speech from the threats he’d delivered on the rooftop. “If you don’t kill Bruna for her failure, I want you to know that if I see her near Julie or Solvi again, I will. Any of your agents, really. If somehow you don’t get the message after the second pile of bodies, I will manifest a spirit from Annun and kill you with it myself. Say hello, Armin.” Mara spoke with such a cold, convicted tone that Armin needn’t do much to sell the threat. He merely appeared from within the sickle as a grim-faced spectre with flaming eyes. Mara flicked her eyes over to her friend to check on his work before redirecting her gaze back to Bruna’s very lucid stare. “She’s a good woman. Better than you or me. Do you really want to spend the last years of your life trying to prove some facile point?” The mage continued to cajole before seeming to snort to herself, as if it were useless.
“Do you really think Sif Ser Benti is going to be scared of an elfling like you?” Bruna scorned as she struggled against her bonds. Mara looked to Armin with a neutral expression, hoping he would perform some feat of terror. The ghost merely returned the look for a few moments before levelling an altogether more sinister one at Bruna. Even the hardened criminal grew uncomfortable beneath his commanding gaze. The mage had to admit it was effective. Even she could perceive the cruelty and callousness in the flaming orange orbs.
“Get on your wotling, Bruna. Ride as far as you can from us. Then you won’t have to see us stop pulling punches.” Mara instructed with a chill every part as frigid as the air around them. She then began to walk towards the cottage where Arthur and Twitcher stood conversing. Surprisingly, Twitcher seemed to hold Arthur in high regard for a human. Perhaps the modern sensibilities were rubbing off on them.
“I’m curious. How much of that was genuine?” Armin pondered out loud, his voice emanating from somewhere just behind Mara’s ear. The elf woman sighed to herself, stopping in her tracks. She turned to face Armin with perhaps the most conflicted eyes he’d ever seen.
“I don’t know. Ever since I fought the Herald I’ve been slipping. For want of a better word.” Mara rubbed the bridge of her nose through the more spacious mask. Armin cocked his head, arms folding in an almost challenging way. “It’s so tempting to do it their way. To not care about the rules, do whatever I want to people who threaten us. Sometimes it feels like cruelty is just how the world was made. That by caring, I’m somehow weaker.” The mage opined before running her fingers over her spell book contemplatively. What terrors necromancy could wreak, if she but chose to use them. Armin saw her line of thought and shook his head almost as if he had a twitch.
“It’s a poisoned power. You shear off vulnerabilities. You cut away compassion and do what needs to be done. For the greater good.” Armin began as if recalling his own life. Mara supposed that by now, the duplicitous elf had learned a great deal of who he once was. “I thought like that once. I gave up everything that made me a man. An elf. As a horror Yandites told each other in whispers, I almost broke them. But look at me now- a curse on the lips of my own people.” The ghost seemed overcome for a moment before he stamped on the emotions that threatened him. Clearing a throat that no longer needed clearing, Armin shook his head and a strained smile returned to his face.
“I thought you did what you did for selfish reasons. That the others were just incidentals.” Mara teased in an attempt to lighten her friend’s mood. His smile became somewhat less feigned, and the approximation of his eyes lightened.
“Maybe I believed my own lies. Perhaps I gave up even the greater good. Who can say? I prefer myself when I’m with you. You’ve made a good man out of me, Mara.” Armin jokingly elbowed is friend in the ribs, passing right through her. He quickly righted himself, restoring what little dignity he had.
“You were both already good people. Someone just had to show you that.” Mara answered in a small voice. Armin looked down to see her eyes distant. In that moment he wondered who else she referred to.
