Fred snipped another tripwire, mumbling to himself about old tricks as the party followed in his wake. They had their weapons at the ready, expecting another ambush. Save for Ranva impaling her slender golden sword into the leg of an unfortunate Army member, Albrecht had not seen fit to impede their progress beyond traps. From the presence of this luck lacking lacky, Mara deduced that Albrecht did not seriously expect his grenades to polish them off. This area of the temple was by far the best preserved, rivulets of magic streaming through the walls and casting the entire corridor in a dim purplish haze. Mara made calculations in her pocketbook as they walked, paying close attention to this phenomenon.
The group came to rest ahead of a pair of bulky doors that lay partially ajar. Upon them, the fearsome relief of a dragon snarling the eight flames of Mira glared silently. Arthur, a man who had little to fear from the gods, clutched at his armlet a little tighter as he beheld the heralds of the Winter Whisperer. The party felt the collective hand of anxiety press upon them as they heard voices conversing in quiet elvish. Mara flipped to a blank page of her book, writing in real time what was being said. It appeared to be a conversation about moving the ‘cargo’. Cargo that was referred to as if they were animals. Fred’s expression went from one of focus to a grim resolve that Mara knew all too well. The same look he’d worn when holding the Army grunt at gunpoint.
Through a complex relay of hand signals from the war, Mara’s scribblings and Fred’s emphatic pantomiming, the party agreed that the civilians would have to leave through the portal before they attacked. Ranva placed her hand against the ground, closing her eyes as she felt the flow of magic around her. She gasped involuntarily, looking to Mara with a grave expression. A look that the mage returned with a firm nod. Flipping to her earlier calculations, Mara showed the party a statement underlined thrice; ‘too much magic’.
Arthur and Solvi took each other by the hand, squeezing affirmatively as they prepared to brave the vanguard once more. Twitcher affixed their cannon attachment, preparing to catch Albrecht by the flank should he try to flee. The sound of his voice sent a shiver down Mara’s spine as he directed several soldiers to hang back. She looked down to see a thin golden wire trapped beneath Arthur’s boot and cursed at full volume. The party looked at her with abject fear before following her gaze to the wire. Then it was Ranva’s turn to curse, drawing three of her remaining crystals. Mara unwound the wire from its piton, stowing it in her robe. Always useful to have a scrap of aulind on hand.
They wasted no time, Solvi and Arthur bursting through the door as planned, followed by Mara and Ranva. Julie and Twitcher protected the rear for the moment while Fred scurried up wooden scaffolds to deal with any potential firearms. There were no battle cries, insults or din of war. The party operated with the cold acapella of their footsteps as they ran into the room.
Their final destination was an ancient teleportation nexus, as expected. Archways that once held portals to far off locales now stood silently, their circles destroyed eons ago. Save one. Like a tear into the very fabric of the world, a purple-edged window into some remote land of white spires and moonlit evenings sat. In the centre of the room, surrounded by boxes of stockpiled supplies and wrought iron cages no larger than a human, eight figures stood arrayed in defensive formation. They were experienced, by their stances and old battle wounds. Several elves wore their uniforms from decades ago, medals shown proudly on their chests. In the centre, devoid of his ostentatious cape, stood Albrecht in his armour with a naked blade.
“I’m glad you finally decided to join us after tripping the alarm. Wondrous how careless people will get through repetition and overconfidence.” Albrecht taunted in his thick Spardali accent, pointing his blade casually towards the two mages who sat central to the invading posse. “The one in the mask should be spared. The rest are tagged maro.” The nobleman drawled with a spiteful glee as if he’d finally been allowed off his leash. His soldiers nodded, pulling several weapons of various kinds from their holsters. Mara spied a staff and nudged Ranva, who grunted in acknowledgement. A faint click was heard from Julie, which the mage took to be a throwing knife sliding into position. She was oddly overqualified for a chevalier, Mara thought to herself as she gathered the necessary magic. But something nibbled at her. An insistence that would not leave her until she gave it voice.
“You were never the type to spare me for familial sake. Why now?” Mara shouted towards Albrecht, taking aback his soldiers. Albrecht snarled in his native tongue towards his underlings, forcing them back into readied position. She smiled beneath her mask. So, they were dyed in the wool, were they?
“After your stunt at Lureaux, I received orders.” Albrecht sniffed as if having to explain himself were beneath him. Though he seemed to take sadistic pleasure in knowing something Mara did not. She supposed it was rare for him, knowing something others didn’t. “Count yourself lucky. The Marshal doesn’t see you as a complete traitor to your people.” He seemed to be trying for a rise with very little success. Mara remembered well the Herald’s words. They didn’t consider her an elf. And they’d find any excuse.
“Enough of your preening, boy.” Ranva grunted as she ran her fingers along the length of her sword. After them, a trail of white flames sprang to life. One of her crystals, which pulsed with life normally, grew dim. Mara recoiled with revulsion, unsure whether bringing her had been the best call. “Tell me where Renaud is.” The demonologist instructed with such steel in her voice that those around her began to suspect her interest was far from business alone.
“He’s through this portal with the slaves.” Albrecht replied casually before his face took a far more sinister affectation. From a nearby supply box, he procured his helmet and pulled it over his head. “To put it in a way your primitive little brains can understand, through me. Maroch de!” The knight of Spardale then swiped his sword through the air, sending a ripple of force towards the party. They scattered before it as the ground beneath Fred’s previous location buckled upwards. His soldiers used the distraction and took cover, the mage among them chanting rites of protection. Spells discharged from rifles and casting alike flew across the space, detonating the supply caches. Stolen items were flung from within, sending precious metals and jewels twinkling through the air. In the midst of this blizzard of metal and magic, Albrecht stood as an ominous storm of his own. As he moved through the boxes towards his quarry, his sword sent arc after arc to blister the hide of any party member too slow to escape.
Solvi cornered a slim looking veteran between boxes and stone, using her vastly superior strength to crush his defences whilst he either evaded or flicked his knives at her. With a whispered word, they returned to his hand every time. Ranva wasted no time in going for Albrecht himself, flinging her two crystals at his subordinates. Vemite devils emerged as snarling, tail-lashing monstrosities that flung a greatsword-wielding woman across the room. Their mistress parried the rippling blows of Albrecht, shattering them mid-air with arcs of golden flame. One of Albrecht’s soldiers had been brave enough to emerge from cover, only to receive one of Fred’s bullets to the eye. He still fought, shooting back with his own rifle.
Mara chose to focus the other mage, knowing well that her magic would not land whilst they cast. Whipping the sickle from her belt, she flung it towards the protruding staff of the mage. Her companion came to the rescue, hopping over the boxes whilst Fred was occupied. He moved preternaturally fast, sabre glinting as he shifted from one angle to another. Mara countered, flinging fire bolts at him. Frustration rising, she snapped her fingers. The sickle whirled back to her, narrowly missing her assailant. He knew how to fight mages, that much was clear.
Julie had slipped into the shadows whilst the fight had begun. The poor light served her well as she chose the weakest-looking of Albrecht’s lackies. Wearing mostly leather armour, they’d left their neck exposed. As they retreated to cover to reload, hoping to suppress the crack shot skitti, they found Julie’s hand on their face and a dagger in their throat. Then they knew no more as the chevalier sank back into the darkness.
Solvi’s adversary had finally gained his footing, slipping under a halberd strike to stab at her abdomen. Solvi’s armour saved her, sending a shower of sparks between them. She winced as the dagger cut into her hip, where breastplate and tassets met. Used to flesh wounds, Solvi adjusted her grip and slammed the butt of her halberd into the back of her assailant. He screeched out in pain, recoiling to her flank. There they resumed their dance, considerably more defensive now.
Albrecht and Ranva’s conflict destroyed all it came close to, swords detonating as they collided sending errant magic hither and thither. The Spardali grinned broadly, laughing with battle lust as they traded blows. Ranva was reserved, analytical almost automatic in her parries and thrusts. She took no risks, a fact Albrecht noted as he attempted to break her guard. With a quick spell, a shadowy version of himself manifested. Mara gasped as she caught her opponent’s sabre on her sickle. Albrecht knew how to create tactile illusions. Where had he learned that?!
“Here I was hoping the demonologist would use actual demons!” Albrecht taunted as both he and his illusion thrust out, becoming his own flank support. Ranva did not deign to answer in words as a serpentine devil emerged from her robe to catch the blade in its mouth. It screeched in pain, yet the momentary surprise allowed the golden sword to whip across Albrecht’s neck. It was only through a warrior’s reflexes that the fight did not end there.
Julie dropped something at the feet of her next victim, sending them sprawling from cover as he clutched his face. Caustic gas that inflicted terrible pain on the eyes and mouth, the Army man had no chance as Fred’s eyes flicked to Mara. With a sigh, he worked the lever and sent a stunning bolt directly into the man’s head. Not usually fatal, definitely debilitating.
As the Orsan and her foe battled, a second soldier joined the chaos after failing to even dent the avatar of mechanised brutality that Twitcher had become. Between them and Arthur, two of the soldiers were on the back foot as avoiding Twitcher only placed them in the crushing swings of Arthur. On their last legs, Arthur dispatched one of them with a gauntleted punch to the head. As Solvi endured the two-pronged assault, she grew increasingly desperate.
The speed of Mara’s antagonist threatened to overwhelm the inexperienced mage as she manifested claws to save herself. Her sickle, still animated, defended her from the mage’s projectiles as she gave ground against the flashing sabre that threatened to open her veins at any moment. Even the sparking of her claws brought her no comfort, each parry draining her magical reserves. She eventually retreated to Solvi, realising that she’d accidentally surrounded the pair of them. With three murderous elves closing in, Mara spat a curse at the sabre-wielding predator that hunted her.
Albrecht saw the stealthy chevalier out of the corner of his eye, manifesting a second illusion to parry the dagger blow that would have ended him. A bead of sweat traced down his brow as he focused his attention three ways. Even the serpent dared to strike whenever he did not occupy it. The mage, seeing her leader’s distress, sent a gout of flame towards Ranva. The maimed elf gave a ghastly shriek as her robe caught fire, patting it out frantically. Albrecht moved to capitalize, only to find Julie’s dagger sparking his blade upwards. The Spardali looked down at the chevalier and shrugged.
“As you wish.” The nobleman scoffed, flicking his blade across Julie’s guard experimentally. She did not fall for the bait, stepping back to catch the illusory blade that threatened her. They traded blows, Albrecht losing his cocky probing sword swipes as Julie proved more than his match. He began to leverage his strength, taking his sword in two hands. The chevalier responded by refusing to catch it, dodging and feinting in a desperate attempt to keep him busy. She could not keep this up forever, the nobleman’s sword pinning a dagger against a box. Julie let go of it immediately, her eyes widening as an illusion came in with an overhead blow that would have severed her arm. With a single dagger, Julie could do naught but dodge and feebly block the rain of blows heading her way. Blows which left rivulets of red in their wake or sundered armour. He felt confident enough to look about briefly, noting that his underlings were not faring too well. Fred’s unopposed bolts were laying low even his most armoured soldiers. With his main sword, he feinted while an illusion dove in for a strike. Simple arithmetic for a seasoned fighter like Julie. She chose to injure the knee than lose her head. As she staggered, Albrecht retreated towards the portal. The chevalier shouted warning, prompting Solvi’s head to turn.
Arthur and Twitcher had joined the Orsan, creating an opening. Solvi wrapped an arm about Mara’s waist and hefted her onto her shoulder. With a roar of battle fury, Solvi hurtled towards the portal with such force that the sabre-wielding soldier was knocked flat. As he rose to give chase, Arthur’s mace found his head.
With only the mage between the pair and their quarry, Mara managed through the bouncing to cast a flame wall behind them. The mage took the bait, countering the magic as the pair flung themselves through the portal. With distinct numbers advantage, Mara hoped against hope that her friends could overcome the soldiers. But they couldn’t allow Albrecht to escape, not with the mysterious Marshal to back him up. Who knew how many more Army members were prepared to pounce beyond the portal? It was an extraordinarily quick traversal, barely a flicker of the world around them before Solvi released her cargo with a gasp. As the elf recovered her stature, she too exhaled in amazement.
They had arrived upon a platform with two staircases spreading like wings to a lower atrium. Similar platforms gleamed in their marble glory with aulind inlay sending rivers of magic through the ground. Above them, a complex glass structure interlaced with a web of golden metal gleamed in the moonlight. There was precious little time to marvel at what Mara assumed was a teleportation nexus as they resumed the chase with Albrecht. The armoured man was panting heavily as he flew down the stairway, shooting what spells he could behind him to slow their progress. Solvi grit her teeth against the blows raining onto her armour. In that moment, her companion felt a surge similar to a spell being cast. She looked on as the Orsan’s weapon glow intensified, suddenly sending her flying through the air with a supernatural jump. Albrecht turned and managed a strangled shout as he evaded the thundering blow. The Guillotine sparked and detonated against the blade of its enemy, keeping Albrecht at a distance as he desperately tried to continue the chase. Every time he turned to run, the halberd’s axe blade would attempt to hook his ankle, forestalling his escape.
“You’re not going anywhere.” Solvi growled after another attempt, seeming to trigger something within Albrecht. He set his stance, taking his longsword in both hands. “Finally, some spine from the boy at last.” The tall woman taunted as Mara closed the distance. She aimed a spell at the Spardali, hoping to incapacitate him before Solvi could have her way. The elvish man’s helmet turned to her briefly as the two traded blows, laughing at her mockingly. “Keep any friends he has off my back. This bastard is going to Tessa Dol today.” The Orsan commanded, parrying one of her antagonist’s blows before indicating with a finger towards a crowd that had begun to gather under the lacework of golden metal that were the entranceways.
Mara ran to them, holding her hands out in warning as another thunderous detonation sounded behind her. As she approached the crowd she recoiled slightly. What she saw would spook even the most seasoned necromancers as a throng of undead gathered. They were not immediately hostile and did not seem overly decayed. Mara marvelled at how several seemed to have taken their skeletal forms and decorated them. Others were leathery, tanned and sporting glowing eyeballs. Several looked so fresh as to be alive. The mage’s confusion intensified when she noted several were alive, only to be brought back to the present by a cruel taunt by Albrecht. Mara turned to see him kick Solvi in the gut, his sword over his head. Without thinking, the mage shot a fire bolt his way. It pinged off his helmet, forcing him to parry a blow from Solvi’s halberd butt. Satisfied her companion had things in hand, Mara turned to face the dead.
“I don’t know if you speak Gardish but please help us! He’s a madman!” Mara pleaded to the blank faces. Several of the dead looked to each other and nattered away in a curiously familiar language. It appeared to have the intended affect as one of the crowd detached and streaked down a neatly paved street. Mara’s eyes followed the retreating figure, noting the buildings of elegant, curved design, appearing like more spacious round houses. Several of the larger ones resembled miniature towers with rows and rows of windows. Wait a moment, she recognized this architecture. She snapped upright, turning to Solvi with panic rising in her eyes.
“He really is a madman!” Mara shouted over the clashing sounds of the duel. “It’s Elys! He’s brought us to the Elysian Empire’s bloody capital!” She bellowed, looking about with new eyes. She saw it now. The advanced technology, the teleportation network, the undead milling about. They now sat in the heart of her people’s most ancient civilization. The gods who walked upon the moon, brought ruin to the empires of humanity and enslaved a hundred generations. Where Ir Tolves once put nine hundred souls to the sword for daring to defy her. Hallowed, cursed ground such as this came but once in a lifetime.
Solvi paused for a moment in shock, her enemy’s blade shearing through her helmet with the force of his fury. The Orsan woman howled in pain, clutching at her eye before a spiteful, clumsy stab with her weapon disarmed her. Mara flung her sickle without thinking, clanging it off Albrecht’s head as he prepared to land the final blow. Now that he was sufficiently distracted, Solvi stooped to retrieve her weapon. While there, she attempted to kick Albrecht’s feet from under him. Agilely, he leapt over the leg and put distance between himself and his enemy. The two stood opposing each other, heaving breaths and aching from bruises under their armour.
“Look like your mother now.” Albrecht laughed weakly, pointing with his blade. Solvi’s eyes narrowed aggressively as he brought up the sorest of subjects for her. The sadistic Spardali’s grin only grew wider. “Met her once on a diplomatic mission. A strong woman back then. Easily able to wrestle a bear, I bet. Shame her daughter got the character of her feckless father!” He needled which only enflamed Solvi’s rage further. She charged him, her grip on her halberd choked up for close range. With the snare closing, Albrecht manifested an illusion behind his foe before occupying her weapon with his longsword. Solvi realised her mistake too late as the illusory blade was thrust under her backplate. The Orsan screamed in pain, her eyes aflame as Albrecht cruelly kicked her away from him. Overcome with pain, she fell onto her back. Soon, the elvish man’s boot stomped against her wrist to stop any further attempts on his life.
“Do you see now, cousin?” Albrecht turned to face Mara, a hand moving to open his visor that she might see his gloating face. “They’re savages, unable to control themselves. Better this one die now so we can end her aggressive bloodline. If they’re your type I shan’t judge, I’ve done things I’m ashamed of. But can we at least get you a more placid one?” The elvish man spoke with malicious mockery edging his every syllable. He was goading her too; she knew that much. Heaving a recalcitrant sigh, Mara drew the wand from her robe lazily and held it idle, as if ready to use it on him. He regarded her incredulously before nodding to his illusory self. The illusion began to walk towards her menacingly, blade held aloft. “The Marshal might protect your life, but he doesn’t protect your limbs, dear cousin. And you’re more naïve than I thought if you expected me to treat you as family.” The nobleman drawled as he looked for signs of battle from Mara. When none came, Albrecht’s eyes suddenly widened with realisation. Once his illusion had left deadly range, Solvi plunged a dagger behind the elf’s knee.
Albrecht fell immediately, his confidence replaced by a murderous rage as he pulled his own dagger free. It dripped with necrotic energies; an effect of the blade being made of pure crystallized magic. Mara did not have time to react as he aimed to retaliate. A strike to the neck with that weapon would be fatal in seconds.
“That’s enough of that, boy.” Armin chided, manifesting from the sickle of his own accord. The hand with which he held Albrecht’s wrist oozed its own necrotic energy, causing his fellow elf to squirm before a shriek of agony escaped him. Unable to hold the dagger any longer, it skittered away. Armin seemed satisfied and patted the Spardali on the back, causing him to gasp with yet more pain. Solvi, able to stand if only just, retrieved her Halberd from the ground and hefted it with cold, determined eyes. Mara wanted to call out but found her cry frozen in her throat as a chill ran down her spine. She turned just as Solvi lofted her weapon for the coup de grace.
“Any final words for your sire?” Solvi asked dutifully, like any good Orsan executioner would. Her hands shook, holding back tears. But the resolve had hardened, shattered and been hardened again. Now, its jagged edges sat poised to fall on the neck of Albrecht Van Tuil.
“None for your ears, savage. My father will hear of this and think it an honourable death for a failure like me.” Albrecht grunted before removing his helmet with one hand. Even if he’d wished to continue the fight, that infernal ghost would simply choke him to death. “I will never escape his shadow even in death. Just as you won’t escape hers.” The elf shot over his shoulder with aggression once the blow did not come. He sat there, staring up at his would-be executioner. “I did not lose to a coward now do it!” Albrecht bellowed at the shaking Orsan, who seemed torn between hate and fear and a whole medley of other emotions.
“This aberrant pantomime has gone on long enough!” A skeletal denizen exclaimed, Mara at his shoulder. Two pairs of heavily armoured people the size of Solvi brought stretchers, promptly loading the combatants onto them. The skeleton’s order had come charged with magic, forcing both to stay their hands. As they were carried away, the resplendently dressed skeleton rounded on his new acquaintance. “There had best be a very good explanation for this. And it better come before I summon the Rev Chelli.” He growled, pinching the bridge of what had once been his nose. Mara had to appreciate the complexity of his reanimation. An entire personality implied the existence of an actual soul. He wore a fine purple robe over baggy white clothes that appeared designed for skeletal proportions, gold hanging from his clavicle and jangling about his wrists. His horns, for he’d been a cambion in life Mara estimated, were filed with complex geometric patterns. The authority he spoke with may possibly have been genuine.
“They’ve been transporting kidnapped people through the portal there. We were trying to stop them. The leader of their group, named the Marshal, is here. I think that’s everything Van…?” Mara trailed off, realising that her brief conversation with him whilst Solvi and Albrecht were duelling hadn’t included an introduction. She craned her neck to see where her roommate was being taken, only to find her view blocked by purple robes once more.
“Garet. Just Garet.” The skeleton introduced himself, looking Mara over. “Are you undead too? If so, you fall under my authority here in Elys. Well, the council’s authority. But I am the council in this moment.” Garet informed her, waving off the crowd with calls of the spectacle being over. As he walked with his arm uncomfortably about Mara’s shoulders, several of the huge, armoured figures fell into a cordon around them. They emanated such power that the necromancer could only conclude that they were Rev Chelli, raised by Mira herself. With that assumption, the way the crowd parted like wheat in the wind made far more sense.
“I’m not undead though if you’re magically inclined, I might feel like one.” Mara uneasily explained, eyes flicking from deathly grimaces to very alive and curious humans. Garet lacked a face, making reading him impossible. Mara’s earliest impression was of a man who was used to getting what he wanted. “My flesh is just very saturated with necrotic energy. My friends will likely be through the portal soon.” The mage added as she jumped up every so often to see the grandiose buildings they were walking past. The circular complexes of apartments had been replaced by curling, sprawling villas with expansive gardens where the number of undead increased. Curiously for Mara, they appeared to be doing mundane tasks such as watering their gardens or tending to their wotlings. Which were also undead. They looked considerably more disturbing without their feathers, empty eye sockets glaring at her. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity, and cry in terror.
“Oh, excellent more Northerners to upset my day. I’ll have an attendant bring them to my villa.” Garet grumbled, rounding a corner towards the Road of Irs. Mara had seen maps of this very city yet never expected to walk the historic streets. As they moved to the thinnest sliver of the upper crusts’ houses, Mara saw skeletons draped in gold, leathery corpses conversing with their living servants as if it were just another day. One skeleton had even plated every bone in gold. The entourage stopped just before they reached the namesake of the road- a bridge over a chasm that led to the Lonely Rock, the artificial island that held the Star Palace, Seat of the Ir. Garet indicated to the large gates and high walls that enclosed an entire compound. The gates opened and the skeletal man practically marched Mara through them. The Rev Chelli saluted the Miran Salute before marching over the bridge.
“I apologize for not letting you see the Palace, but sightseeing will have to wait.” Garet informed her casually. He appeared to be searching the rooms of his own home before sighing and calling out for assistance. Before long, a young woman with mousy brown braided hair and large, round spectacles appeared. “Ah, Livia, excellent. I will require food. Whatever elves eat these days. Plenty of it, let nobody say Garet is an ungracious host!” The skeleton instructed before producing a weighty purse of gold from his sleeve. Livia looked at him incredulously before he seemed to relent. “Very well, very well! Take the wotlings. Also hire a chef, tell them to bill my account manager. And be quick about it! I’m expecting more of them. No more than ten, I imagine.” The nobleman, by his comfort giving orders, appended as he fretted about his house. He lit lights set into the edges of the ceiling with a flick of his fingers. The fireplace soon had a roaring purple flame set into it. Mara had to admire the Elysian eye for detail as the circular walls seemed to interlink in a most pleasing way. This parlour had seats carved into its walls, a table growing from the floor as if everything were natural rather than a construction.
“As pleasant as your hospitality is, Garet, I don’t remember asking for it. We’re to stop the Marshal and save my sora, Renaud.” Mara explained fitfully through her host’s erratic preparations. At the mention of the Marshal he froze, turning to stare at her with beady blue lights in place of eyeballs. He seemed to take stock before coughing awkwardly.
“Ah yes I forgot you’re not up to speed on Elysian politics.” Garet awkwardly observed. He straightened up from the fireplace, fidgeting as he attempted to find the words. “The Army have been doing work for us. I always found them suspect but never had a lead. Now I have one.” He explained in a voice tinged with glee. With a conspiratorial look about him, he leaned in close lest the walls hear. “You’re going to help me upend this little charade.” He whispered.
Fred snipped another tripwire, mumbling to himself about old tricks as the party followed in his wake. They had their weapons at the ready, expecting another ambush. Save for Ranva impaling her slender golden sword into the leg of an unfortunate Army member, Albrecht had not seen fit to impede their progress beyond traps. From the presence of this luck lacking lacky, Mara deduced that Albrecht did not seriously expect his grenades to polish them off. This area of the temple was by far the best preserved, rivulets of magic streaming through the walls and casting the entire corridor in a dim purplish haze. Mara made calculations in her pocketbook as they walked, paying close attention to this phenomenon.
The group came to rest ahead of a pair of bulky doors that lay partially ajar. Upon them, the fearsome relief of a dragon snarling the eight flames of Mira glared silently. Arthur, a man who had little to fear from the gods, clutched at his armlet a little tighter as he beheld the heralds of the Winter Whisperer. The party felt the collective hand of anxiety press upon them as they heard voices conversing in quiet elvish. Mara flipped to a blank page of her book, writing in real time what was being said. It appeared to be a conversation about moving the ‘cargo’. Cargo that was referred to as if they were animals. Fred’s expression went from one of focus to a grim resolve that Mara knew all too well. The same look he’d worn when holding the Army grunt at gunpoint.
Through a complex relay of hand signals from the war, Mara’s scribblings and Fred’s emphatic pantomiming, the party agreed that the civilians would have to leave through the portal before they attacked. Ranva placed her hand against the ground, closing her eyes as she felt the flow of magic around her. She gasped involuntarily, looking to Mara with a grave expression. A look that the mage returned with a firm nod. Flipping to her earlier calculations, Mara showed the party a statement underlined thrice; ‘too much magic’.
Arthur and Solvi took each other by the hand, squeezing affirmatively as they prepared to brave the vanguard once more. Twitcher affixed their cannon attachment, preparing to catch Albrecht by the flank should he try to flee. The sound of his voice sent a shiver down Mara’s spine as he directed several soldiers to hang back. She looked down to see a thin golden wire trapped beneath Arthur’s boot and cursed at full volume. The party looked at her with abject fear before following her gaze to the wire. Then it was Ranva’s turn to curse, drawing three of her remaining crystals. Mara unwound the wire from its piton, stowing it in her robe. Always useful to have a scrap of aulind on hand.
They wasted no time, Solvi and Arthur bursting through the door as planned, followed by Mara and Ranva. Julie and Twitcher protected the rear for the moment while Fred scurried up wooden scaffolds to deal with any potential firearms. There were no battle cries, insults or din of war. The party operated with the cold acapella of their footsteps as they ran into the room.
Their final destination was an ancient teleportation nexus, as expected. Archways that once held portals to far off locales now stood silently, their circles destroyed eons ago. Save one. Like a tear into the very fabric of the world, a purple-edged window into some remote land of white spires and moonlit evenings sat. In the centre of the room, surrounded by boxes of stockpiled supplies and wrought iron cages no larger than a human, eight figures stood arrayed in defensive formation. They were experienced, by their stances and old battle wounds. Several elves wore their uniforms from decades ago, medals shown proudly on their chests. In the centre, devoid of his ostentatious cape, stood Albrecht in his armour with a naked blade.
“I’m glad you finally decided to join us after tripping the alarm. Wondrous how careless people will get through repetition and overconfidence.” Albrecht taunted in his thick Spardali accent, pointing his blade casually towards the two mages who sat central to the invading posse. “The one in the mask should be spared. The rest are tagged maro.” The nobleman drawled with a spiteful glee as if he’d finally been allowed off his leash. His soldiers nodded, pulling several weapons of various kinds from their holsters. Mara spied a staff and nudged Ranva, who grunted in acknowledgement. A faint click was heard from Julie, which the mage took to be a throwing knife sliding into position. She was oddly overqualified for a chevalier, Mara thought to herself as she gathered the necessary magic. But something nibbled at her. An insistence that would not leave her until she gave it voice.
“You were never the type to spare me for familial sake. Why now?” Mara shouted towards Albrecht, taking aback his soldiers. Albrecht snarled in his native tongue towards his underlings, forcing them back into readied position. She smiled beneath her mask. So, they were dyed in the wool, were they?
“After your stunt at Lureaux, I received orders.” Albrecht sniffed as if having to explain himself were beneath him. Though he seemed to take sadistic pleasure in knowing something Mara did not. She supposed it was rare for him, knowing something others didn’t. “Count yourself lucky. The Marshal doesn’t see you as a complete traitor to your people.” He seemed to be trying for a rise with very little success. Mara remembered well the Herald’s words. They didn’t consider her an elf. And they’d find any excuse.
“Enough of your preening, boy.” Ranva grunted as she ran her fingers along the length of her sword. After them, a trail of white flames sprang to life. One of her crystals, which pulsed with life normally, grew dim. Mara recoiled with revulsion, unsure whether bringing her had been the best call. “Tell me where Renaud is.” The demonologist instructed with such steel in her voice that those around her began to suspect her interest was far from business alone.
“He’s through this portal with the slaves.” Albrecht replied casually before his face took a far more sinister affectation. From a nearby supply box, he procured his helmet and pulled it over his head. “To put it in a way your primitive little brains can understand, through me. Maroch de!” The knight of Spardale then swiped his sword through the air, sending a ripple of force towards the party. They scattered before it as the ground beneath Fred’s previous location buckled upwards. His soldiers used the distraction and took cover, the mage among them chanting rites of protection. Spells discharged from rifles and casting alike flew across the space, detonating the supply caches. Stolen items were flung from within, sending precious metals and jewels twinkling through the air. In the midst of this blizzard of metal and magic, Albrecht stood as an ominous storm of his own. As he moved through the boxes towards his quarry, his sword sent arc after arc to blister the hide of any party member too slow to escape.
Solvi cornered a slim looking veteran between boxes and stone, using her vastly superior strength to crush his defences whilst he either evaded or flicked his knives at her. With a whispered word, they returned to his hand every time. Ranva wasted no time in going for Albrecht himself, flinging her two crystals at his subordinates. Vemite devils emerged as snarling, tail-lashing monstrosities that flung a greatsword-wielding woman across the room. Their mistress parried the rippling blows of Albrecht, shattering them mid-air with arcs of golden flame. One of Albrecht’s soldiers had been brave enough to emerge from cover, only to receive one of Fred’s bullets to the eye. He still fought, shooting back with his own rifle.
Mara chose to focus the other mage, knowing well that her magic would not land whilst they cast. Whipping the sickle from her belt, she flung it towards the protruding staff of the mage. Her companion came to the rescue, hopping over the boxes whilst Fred was occupied. He moved preternaturally fast, sabre glinting as he shifted from one angle to another. Mara countered, flinging fire bolts at him. Frustration rising, she snapped her fingers. The sickle whirled back to her, narrowly missing her assailant. He knew how to fight mages, that much was clear.
Julie had slipped into the shadows whilst the fight had begun. The poor light served her well as she chose the weakest-looking of Albrecht’s lackies. Wearing mostly leather armour, they’d left their neck exposed. As they retreated to cover to reload, hoping to suppress the crack shot skitti, they found Julie’s hand on their face and a dagger in their throat. Then they knew no more as the chevalier sank back into the darkness.
Solvi’s adversary had finally gained his footing, slipping under a halberd strike to stab at her abdomen. Solvi’s armour saved her, sending a shower of sparks between them. She winced as the dagger cut into her hip, where breastplate and tassets met. Used to flesh wounds, Solvi adjusted her grip and slammed the butt of her halberd into the back of her assailant. He screeched out in pain, recoiling to her flank. There they resumed their dance, considerably more defensive now.
Albrecht and Ranva’s conflict destroyed all it came close to, swords detonating as they collided sending errant magic hither and thither. The Spardali grinned broadly, laughing with battle lust as they traded blows. Ranva was reserved, analytical almost automatic in her parries and thrusts. She took no risks, a fact Albrecht noted as he attempted to break her guard. With a quick spell, a shadowy version of himself manifested. Mara gasped as she caught her opponent’s sabre on her sickle. Albrecht knew how to create tactile illusions. Where had he learned that?!
“Here I was hoping the demonologist would use actual demons!” Albrecht taunted as both he and his illusion thrust out, becoming his own flank support. Ranva did not deign to answer in words as a serpentine devil emerged from her robe to catch the blade in its mouth. It screeched in pain, yet the momentary surprise allowed the golden sword to whip across Albrecht’s neck. It was only through a warrior’s reflexes that the fight did not end there.
Julie dropped something at the feet of her next victim, sending them sprawling from cover as he clutched his face. Caustic gas that inflicted terrible pain on the eyes and mouth, the Army man had no chance as Fred’s eyes flicked to Mara. With a sigh, he worked the lever and sent a stunning bolt directly into the man’s head. Not usually fatal, definitely debilitating.
As the Orsan and her foe battled, a second soldier joined the chaos after failing to even dent the avatar of mechanised brutality that Twitcher had become. Between them and Arthur, two of the soldiers were on the back foot as avoiding Twitcher only placed them in the crushing swings of Arthur. On their last legs, Arthur dispatched one of them with a gauntleted punch to the head. As Solvi endured the two-pronged assault, she grew increasingly desperate.
The speed of Mara’s antagonist threatened to overwhelm the inexperienced mage as she manifested claws to save herself. Her sickle, still animated, defended her from the mage’s projectiles as she gave ground against the flashing sabre that threatened to open her veins at any moment. Even the sparking of her claws brought her no comfort, each parry draining her magical reserves. She eventually retreated to Solvi, realising that she’d accidentally surrounded the pair of them. With three murderous elves closing in, Mara spat a curse at the sabre-wielding predator that hunted her.
Albrecht saw the stealthy chevalier out of the corner of his eye, manifesting a second illusion to parry the dagger blow that would have ended him. A bead of sweat traced down his brow as he focused his attention three ways. Even the serpent dared to strike whenever he did not occupy it. The mage, seeing her leader’s distress, sent a gout of flame towards Ranva. The maimed elf gave a ghastly shriek as her robe caught fire, patting it out frantically. Albrecht moved to capitalize, only to find Julie’s dagger sparking his blade upwards. The Spardali looked down at the chevalier and shrugged.
“As you wish.” The nobleman scoffed, flicking his blade across Julie’s guard experimentally. She did not fall for the bait, stepping back to catch the illusory blade that threatened her. They traded blows, Albrecht losing his cocky probing sword swipes as Julie proved more than his match. He began to leverage his strength, taking his sword in two hands. The chevalier responded by refusing to catch it, dodging and feinting in a desperate attempt to keep him busy. She could not keep this up forever, the nobleman’s sword pinning a dagger against a box. Julie let go of it immediately, her eyes widening as an illusion came in with an overhead blow that would have severed her arm. With a single dagger, Julie could do naught but dodge and feebly block the rain of blows heading her way. Blows which left rivulets of red in their wake or sundered armour. He felt confident enough to look about briefly, noting that his underlings were not faring too well. Fred’s unopposed bolts were laying low even his most armoured soldiers. With his main sword, he feinted while an illusion dove in for a strike. Simple arithmetic for a seasoned fighter like Julie. She chose to injure the knee than lose her head. As she staggered, Albrecht retreated towards the portal. The chevalier shouted warning, prompting Solvi’s head to turn.
Arthur and Twitcher had joined the Orsan, creating an opening. Solvi wrapped an arm about Mara’s waist and hefted her onto her shoulder. With a roar of battle fury, Solvi hurtled towards the portal with such force that the sabre-wielding soldier was knocked flat. As he rose to give chase, Arthur’s mace found his head.
With only the mage between the pair and their quarry, Mara managed through the bouncing to cast a flame wall behind them. The mage took the bait, countering the magic as the pair flung themselves through the portal. With distinct numbers advantage, Mara hoped against hope that her friends could overcome the soldiers. But they couldn’t allow Albrecht to escape, not with the mysterious Marshal to back him up. Who knew how many more Army members were prepared to pounce beyond the portal? It was an extraordinarily quick traversal, barely a flicker of the world around them before Solvi released her cargo with a gasp. As the elf recovered her stature, she too exhaled in amazement.
They had arrived upon a platform with two staircases spreading like wings to a lower atrium. Similar platforms gleamed in their marble glory with aulind inlay sending rivers of magic through the ground. Above them, a complex glass structure interlaced with a web of golden metal gleamed in the moonlight. There was precious little time to marvel at what Mara assumed was a teleportation nexus as they resumed the chase with Albrecht. The armoured man was panting heavily as he flew down the stairway, shooting what spells he could behind him to slow their progress. Solvi grit her teeth against the blows raining onto her armour. In that moment, her companion felt a surge similar to a spell being cast. She looked on as the Orsan’s weapon glow intensified, suddenly sending her flying through the air with a supernatural jump. Albrecht turned and managed a strangled shout as he evaded the thundering blow. The Guillotine sparked and detonated against the blade of its enemy, keeping Albrecht at a distance as he desperately tried to continue the chase. Every time he turned to run, the halberd’s axe blade would attempt to hook his ankle, forestalling his escape.
“You’re not going anywhere.” Solvi growled after another attempt, seeming to trigger something within Albrecht. He set his stance, taking his longsword in both hands. “Finally, some spine from the boy at last.” The tall woman taunted as Mara closed the distance. She aimed a spell at the Spardali, hoping to incapacitate him before Solvi could have her way. The elvish man’s helmet turned to her briefly as the two traded blows, laughing at her mockingly. “Keep any friends he has off my back. This bastard is going to Tessa Dol today.” The Orsan commanded, parrying one of her antagonist’s blows before indicating with a finger towards a crowd that had begun to gather under the lacework of golden metal that were the entranceways.
Mara ran to them, holding her hands out in warning as another thunderous detonation sounded behind her. As she approached the crowd she recoiled slightly. What she saw would spook even the most seasoned necromancers as a throng of undead gathered. They were not immediately hostile and did not seem overly decayed. Mara marvelled at how several seemed to have taken their skeletal forms and decorated them. Others were leathery, tanned and sporting glowing eyeballs. Several looked so fresh as to be alive. The mage’s confusion intensified when she noted several were alive, only to be brought back to the present by a cruel taunt by Albrecht. Mara turned to see him kick Solvi in the gut, his sword over his head. Without thinking, the mage shot a fire bolt his way. It pinged off his helmet, forcing him to parry a blow from Solvi’s halberd butt. Satisfied her companion had things in hand, Mara turned to face the dead.
“I don’t know if you speak Gardish but please help us! He’s a madman!” Mara pleaded to the blank faces. Several of the dead looked to each other and nattered away in a curiously familiar language. It appeared to have the intended affect as one of the crowd detached and streaked down a neatly paved street. Mara’s eyes followed the retreating figure, noting the buildings of elegant, curved design, appearing like more spacious round houses. Several of the larger ones resembled miniature towers with rows and rows of windows. Wait a moment, she recognized this architecture. She snapped upright, turning to Solvi with panic rising in her eyes.
“He really is a madman!” Mara shouted over the clashing sounds of the duel. “It’s Elys! He’s brought us to the Elysian Empire’s bloody capital!” She bellowed, looking about with new eyes. She saw it now. The advanced technology, the teleportation network, the undead milling about. They now sat in the heart of her people’s most ancient civilization. The gods who walked upon the moon, brought ruin to the empires of humanity and enslaved a hundred generations. Where Ir Tolves once put nine hundred souls to the sword for daring to defy her. Hallowed, cursed ground such as this came but once in a lifetime.
Solvi paused for a moment in shock, her enemy’s blade shearing through her helmet with the force of his fury. The Orsan woman howled in pain, clutching at her eye before a spiteful, clumsy stab with her weapon disarmed her. Mara flung her sickle without thinking, clanging it off Albrecht’s head as he prepared to land the final blow. Now that he was sufficiently distracted, Solvi stooped to retrieve her weapon. While there, she attempted to kick Albrecht’s feet from under him. Agilely, he leapt over the leg and put distance between himself and his enemy. The two stood opposing each other, heaving breaths and aching from bruises under their armour.
“Look like your mother now.” Albrecht laughed weakly, pointing with his blade. Solvi’s eyes narrowed aggressively as he brought up the sorest of subjects for her. The sadistic Spardali’s grin only grew wider. “Met her once on a diplomatic mission. A strong woman back then. Easily able to wrestle a bear, I bet. Shame her daughter got the character of her feckless father!” He needled which only enflamed Solvi’s rage further. She charged him, her grip on her halberd choked up for close range. With the snare closing, Albrecht manifested an illusion behind his foe before occupying her weapon with his longsword. Solvi realised her mistake too late as the illusory blade was thrust under her backplate. The Orsan screamed in pain, her eyes aflame as Albrecht cruelly kicked her away from him. Overcome with pain, she fell onto her back. Soon, the elvish man’s boot stomped against her wrist to stop any further attempts on his life.
“Do you see now, cousin?” Albrecht turned to face Mara, a hand moving to open his visor that she might see his gloating face. “They’re savages, unable to control themselves. Better this one die now so we can end her aggressive bloodline. If they’re your type I shan’t judge, I’ve done things I’m ashamed of. But can we at least get you a more placid one?” The elvish man spoke with malicious mockery edging his every syllable. He was goading her too; she knew that much. Heaving a recalcitrant sigh, Mara drew the wand from her robe lazily and held it idle, as if ready to use it on him. He regarded her incredulously before nodding to his illusory self. The illusion began to walk towards her menacingly, blade held aloft. “The Marshal might protect your life, but he doesn’t protect your limbs, dear cousin. And you’re more naïve than I thought if you expected me to treat you as family.” The nobleman drawled as he looked for signs of battle from Mara. When none came, Albrecht’s eyes suddenly widened with realisation. Once his illusion had left deadly range, Solvi plunged a dagger behind the elf’s knee.
Albrecht fell immediately, his confidence replaced by a murderous rage as he pulled his own dagger free. It dripped with necrotic energies; an effect of the blade being made of pure crystallized magic. Mara did not have time to react as he aimed to retaliate. A strike to the neck with that weapon would be fatal in seconds.
“That’s enough of that, boy.” Armin chided, manifesting from the sickle of his own accord. The hand with which he held Albrecht’s wrist oozed its own necrotic energy, causing his fellow elf to squirm before a shriek of agony escaped him. Unable to hold the dagger any longer, it skittered away. Armin seemed satisfied and patted the Spardali on the back, causing him to gasp with yet more pain. Solvi, able to stand if only just, retrieved her Halberd from the ground and hefted it with cold, determined eyes. Mara wanted to call out but found her cry frozen in her throat as a chill ran down her spine. She turned just as Solvi lofted her weapon for the coup de grace.
“Any final words for your sire?” Solvi asked dutifully, like any good Orsan executioner would. Her hands shook, holding back tears. But the resolve had hardened, shattered and been hardened again. Now, its jagged edges sat poised to fall on the neck of Albrecht Van Tuil.
“None for your ears, savage. My father will hear of this and think it an honourable death for a failure like me.” Albrecht grunted before removing his helmet with one hand. Even if he’d wished to continue the fight, that infernal ghost would simply choke him to death. “I will never escape his shadow even in death. Just as you won’t escape hers.” The elf shot over his shoulder with aggression once the blow did not come. He sat there, staring up at his would-be executioner. “I did not lose to a coward now do it!” Albrecht bellowed at the shaking Orsan, who seemed torn between hate and fear and a whole medley of other emotions.
“This aberrant pantomime has gone on long enough!” A skeletal denizen exclaimed, Mara at his shoulder. Two pairs of heavily armoured people the size of Solvi brought stretchers, promptly loading the combatants onto them. The skeleton’s order had come charged with magic, forcing both to stay their hands. As they were carried away, the resplendently dressed skeleton rounded on his new acquaintance. “There had best be a very good explanation for this. And it better come before I summon the Rev Chelli.” He growled, pinching the bridge of what had once been his nose. Mara had to appreciate the complexity of his reanimation. An entire personality implied the existence of an actual soul. He wore a fine purple robe over baggy white clothes that appeared designed for skeletal proportions, gold hanging from his clavicle and jangling about his wrists. His horns, for he’d been a cambion in life Mara estimated, were filed with complex geometric patterns. The authority he spoke with may possibly have been genuine.
“They’ve been transporting kidnapped people through the portal there. We were trying to stop them. The leader of their group, named the Marshal, is here. I think that’s everything Van…?” Mara trailed off, realising that her brief conversation with him whilst Solvi and Albrecht were duelling hadn’t included an introduction. She craned her neck to see where her roommate was being taken, only to find her view blocked by purple robes once more.
“Garet. Just Garet.” The skeleton introduced himself, looking Mara over. “Are you undead too? If so, you fall under my authority here in Elys. Well, the council’s authority. But I am the council in this moment.” Garet informed her, waving off the crowd with calls of the spectacle being over. As he walked with his arm uncomfortably about Mara’s shoulders, several of the huge, armoured figures fell into a cordon around them. They emanated such power that the necromancer could only conclude that they were Rev Chelli, raised by Mira herself. With that assumption, the way the crowd parted like wheat in the wind made far more sense.
“I’m not undead though if you’re magically inclined, I might feel like one.” Mara uneasily explained, eyes flicking from deathly grimaces to very alive and curious humans. Garet lacked a face, making reading him impossible. Mara’s earliest impression was of a man who was used to getting what he wanted. “My flesh is just very saturated with necrotic energy. My friends will likely be through the portal soon.” The mage added as she jumped up every so often to see the grandiose buildings they were walking past. The circular complexes of apartments had been replaced by curling, sprawling villas with expansive gardens where the number of undead increased. Curiously for Mara, they appeared to be doing mundane tasks such as watering their gardens or tending to their wotlings. Which were also undead. They looked considerably more disturbing without their feathers, empty eye sockets glaring at her. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity, and cry in terror.
“Oh, excellent more Northerners to upset my day. I’ll have an attendant bring them to my villa.” Garet grumbled, rounding a corner towards the Road of Irs. Mara had seen maps of this very city yet never expected to walk the historic streets. As they moved to the thinnest sliver of the upper crusts’ houses, Mara saw skeletons draped in gold, leathery corpses conversing with their living servants as if it were just another day. One skeleton had even plated every bone in gold. The entourage stopped just before they reached the namesake of the road- a bridge over a chasm that led to the Lonely Rock, the artificial island that held the Star Palace, Seat of the Ir. Garet indicated to the large gates and high walls that enclosed an entire compound. The gates opened and the skeletal man practically marched Mara through them. The Rev Chelli saluted the Miran Salute before marching over the bridge.
“I apologize for not letting you see the Palace, but sightseeing will have to wait.” Garet informed her casually. He appeared to be searching the rooms of his own home before sighing and calling out for assistance. Before long, a young woman with mousy brown braided hair and large, round spectacles appeared. “Ah, Livia, excellent. I will require food. Whatever elves eat these days. Plenty of it, let nobody say Garet is an ungracious host!” The skeleton instructed before producing a weighty purse of gold from his sleeve. Livia looked at him incredulously before he seemed to relent. “Very well, very well! Take the wotlings. Also hire a chef, tell them to bill my account manager. And be quick about it! I’m expecting more of them. No more than ten, I imagine.” The nobleman, by his comfort giving orders, appended as he fretted about his house. He lit lights set into the edges of the ceiling with a flick of his fingers. The fireplace soon had a roaring purple flame set into it. Mara had to admire the Elysian eye for detail as the circular walls seemed to interlink in a most pleasing way. This parlour had seats carved into its walls, a table growing from the floor as if everything were natural rather than a construction.
“As pleasant as your hospitality is, Garet, I don’t remember asking for it. We’re to stop the Marshal and save my sora, Renaud.” Mara explained fitfully through her host’s erratic preparations. At the mention of the Marshal he froze, turning to stare at her with beady blue lights in place of eyeballs. He seemed to take stock before coughing awkwardly.
“Ah yes I forgot you’re not up to speed on Elysian politics.” Garet awkwardly observed. He straightened up from the fireplace, fidgeting as he attempted to find the words. “The Army have been doing work for us. I always found them suspect but never had a lead. Now I have one.” He explained in a voice tinged with glee. With a conspiratorial look about him, he leaned in close lest the walls hear. “You’re going to help me upend this little charade.” He whispered.
