A bargain once struck was a dangerous thing. It granted leverage over each party, a sword poised over their heads in every move they made. Dana would have to accompany Mara on her trip to Gard. The others of their party, the mage tried to reason out of the venture one by one. Julie was the first she attempted to convince with no success. The legionnaire pointed out that Solvi was her lover and therefore would not be facing that monster alone. And Solvi herself, the ever-faithful companion who’d taken such pains to ensure Mara’s safety, had every right to be there. Arthur was invited in the confidence his wisdom would temper any rash decisions either of the two women made. Though upon being invited to the conspiracy in those dark hours at the hermitage, he advised that the proper authorities should be informed. That idea was shot down once Mara pointed out how his allies in the Idharan establishment would send him careening to a new hiding place before he even saw the Chevalier uniforms. Fred needed no incitement and upon entering the cottage very firmly informed Solvi that should she wish to pass on the duties of executioner, he’d be only too happy. Twitcher was the last to be informed because Mara didn’t want to tear them from the life they’d slowly been building as an Imperial Engineer. However, the blood-stained portrait was consulted before the Elysian agreed to the mission.
“We won’t be seeing Ardan tomorrow or the day after. Before I meet with him, I need to do something.” Mara announced with pushback from her party, some of which would swim to Gard if permitted. “I am aware you all want him to hang from Yanhelm’s gates. But he will wait for me. He always does. Mark me; he is sitting in his hiding place writing his lecture as we speak.” Their ringleader reassured them. She cast a suspicious look toward Julie, keen that an agent of the Idharan state does not know until absolutely necessary. Trust was a precious resource since Renaud’s treason and the human woman did not begrudge Mara’s misgivings.
“He couldn’t convince you two steps from success. What persuasion does he hope to work with failure?” Twitcher asked with a tiny hammer pointed at her. They appeared to be repairing Fred’s rifle after he’d used the stock as a hammer. Desperate times to be sure, but he’d bent the connection if Twitcher was to be believed.
“He will never stop trying to convince me. I am his prodigy, his pet project.” Mara answered sadly, all too aware that Renaud felt just as betrayed by her actions as she had by his. Her sadness evaporated as the memory of Armin pointedly reminded her that he was a murderer. Arthur, the largest advocate of finding Renaud, questioned his zeal as he saw the mage sway between sorrow and fury. “And his narcissism will not allow an elf he respects to refute him.” The mage spat, returning to the map of Gard she’d purchased that very morning. As a failsafe, she’d bought maps of Elatta, Idhara, Renora and Spardale. She marked several with false leads, one of which had ‘Mira’s Tomb’ next to it. They’d be traipsing all over Renora for that one.
The mage then pointed to the northern coast, hoping that her friends would commit their plans to memory. She directed their attention to the fortress city of Easthelm then to a small town several miles south of it. Ruran, her hometown. The room grew considerably more sombre from those who’d known Mara longest and understood her insistence.
“Ardan could be in either of these two places. Fred’s shot injured him so he will have to go where he both has allies and an infirmary of sufficient quality to treat his wounds.” Mara explained as she raked her eyes over the faces of her friends. Their reactions were carefully controlled, save for Arthur’s who looked indignant at the very suggestion he would hide in Ruran.
“My father would not consent to caring for Renaud! Not after what he’s done.” Arthur retorted with a voice that was more theatrical whisper than subtle due to his anger. The cleric’s father still maintained a clinic in the town. Through Arthur, Mara was kept abreast of the happenings in her home. Though recently, there had been little time for familial catch ups.
“That’s your mistake. You’re not thinking like Ardan. He needs a place with hostages, a small enough population to control and medical intervention. By the way, your father is actually obstinately principled enough to treat a known murderer. He treated me, didn’t he?” Mara countermanded with a cynical edge. Twitcher and Fred looked mildly confused, Julie looking aghast at the admission. Arthur looked to the rest of the party with a pleading expression before determining that was insufficient.
“You didn’t murder them. He could see it, we all could. The constable didn’t even think so.” Arthur explained to both the party, hoping to convince Mara at the same time. The mage’s expression did not shift as she returned to her maps, double checking where she had deduced the mad professor’s locations to be. “Gods, is that what this is about? It was decades ago Mara!” The cleric pleaded with his friend as if she had gone mad. His pleas were met with a frosty stare.
“My negligence and pride hurt the ones I loved. I will not allow it to happen. Not again. I was warned what he was, and I didn’t listen.” She explained with finality and force that Arthur dropped the topic, lapsing into silence rather than attempt to reason with her. Satisfied she had silenced sufficient dissent, the three-eyed woman placed several tickets upon the table. “I wrangled these from Rochefort. Ardan’s not the only one with friends in high places.” Mara slid one towards each of her conspirators, all too aware that Idhara would take a dim view of their plan. That was why Dana, at this very moment, was very visibly about town. The others were dismissed after pocketing their tickets, Mara bidding Solvi and Julie a goodnight as she made her way to the door.
“You never told me about them.” Solvi commented towards her companion’s back, which visibly grew taut against the accusation. Mara looked over her shoulder with a deep pain in her eyes, one that the Orsan yearned to bring comfort to. But she seemed to think better of it, offering Mara a seat should she wish to discuss it.
“His name was Edmund. He wanted to be a chemist. Her name was Lyra. She wanted to study the stars. I loved her.” Mara answered simply before leaving the cottage and the couple to their evening. She took the broken segaris wand from her robes and held it between her hands, sighing after some time. Perhaps Arawn had been right. Seven centuries seemed awfully long.
The next day was the day of their departure and the party left in solemn spirits. To Marie, they were splitting the difference between holiday and trip to retrieve some of Mara’s belongings from her mother. Fred made a great show of hiring several of his associates to bring their old home’s items to the apartment Idhara had gifted Solvi. The vampire queen had conspicuously given Mara a home in the capital, near the palace itself. Whether luxury or to keep an eye on the necromancer, she did not know.
As they made their way onto the docks, Dana met them from the inn she’d been occupying. The hotels and inns were the first things to be rebuilt, given their ability to hold many people. Even as they boarded the sanlater the party could see a city regenerating. Timber structures had been erected; some rooves half-finished while others were covered in canvas to protect them from the weather. The coffers of the empire had opened for such a valued trading city. The small towns and lesser cities of other nations had not fared so well, if Haytham’s papers were to be believed. Which Mara doubted ever more as spurious accounts of Army members returning as undead monsters flew wildly about. Even so, it hadn’t taken people long to speculate the necromancer was at fault.
She turned her mind from such dark thoughts as the ship crested above the cloud layer, magical shield shimmering in the dim light of the early morning. High above them, the rings of Auryth were painted in pastel pinks and yellows, giving them an ethereal shine. Mara was reminded of Armin’s old saying, that people were worth it only when they were far away. She sighed with her elbows propped upon the rail of the top deck. It was a long way down to the patchwork of farms and towns, the tiny villages and their fields of caprin. In all the fury and frenetic fluster, Mara had not appreciated the world’s beauty. That brought a smile back to her face, as she looked ahead to the sparkling, undulating ocean. She understood the name now, at least. It would be a fair few hours over the bay before Easthelm came into sight. After that, Ruran was less than an hour beyond. Determined to keep her good mood, Mara removed herself from the deck and ascended the staircase that led to the bridge. Through a tiny corridor next to the helmsman’s room, the mage knocked upon the door to the captain’s cabin. The ever-suffering Rochefort rummaged and begged for a moment before allowing her entry. She saw him swiftly tidying the bed that had been built into the wall. The mage had been given to understand it was a carryover from standard Idharan Navy vessel designs.
“Before we land, I wanted to get your opinion on something. As a neutral party.” Mara explained her presence, noticing Rochefort’s look of confusion. He seemed to go slack jawed for a moment before sighing and hurrying over to his table. He sat himself down with a relieved gasp, reaching below his desk to take out a bottle of port. Taking the cork out with his teeth, he bade she continue. “It concerns Ardan. Renaud. His perfidy has sat in my mind for weeks. I keep wondering what I’d do if it were up to me. What punishment he’s most deserving of.” The elf explained to her audience, who took a deep swig of port at the mention of Renaud. Perhaps Marie had leaned on him to divulge the particulars in case Mara were doing something stupid. She wasn’t exactly sure if she was.
“On the subject of that man I am not a neutral party. He is Idharan.” Rochefort hedged with a guarded expression. Seeing Mara’s face fall however, he took another drink. He extended the bottle to the mage, who refused politely. “You want to know if he should see another dawn. It’s a terrible thing to think about your loved ones.” The captain asserted with an air of experience. It was probably rude to pry, yet the Idharan seemed to sense her curiosity. “I’m forty-one years of age. I enlisted at eighteen. Caught the tail-end of the war as a commissioned officer in the navy. I was a landing officer at the Siege of Karkun. It was as if the jaws of Isalum had yawned wide and screaming Orsan devils had poured out when the walls fell. One of my juniors took his regiment and tried to flee. Court Martialled him right then and there. Standing orders were to shoot him. In the back if necessary.” Rochefort explained with a heavy heart weighing in his voice. His guest was unsure exactly what the Siege of Karkun had to do with it, though she was willing to humour him at the mention of a court martial.
“Why did you disobey your orders?” Mara asked with an innocent abandon. It was perhaps that innocence that stymied the look of annoyance on Rochefort’s face being given a voice. Instead, he ruminated, staring into the middle distance.
“They had me up for that too. I was in danger of losing my commission. I was spared by the man presiding over my trial, Field Marshal Talleyrand. The same man who had the deserters shot. Right there on the ship. He said we could not afford the luxury of conscience.” Rochefort sighed before laying the port upon his desk with a reluctant hand, staring at Mara with a cynical expression. She sensed that something more hung on the story, something the captain was not divulging. Her curiosity burned, evidently enough that the Idharan laughed. His gold tooth glinted in the morning light as he looked out the window. “I disobeyed orders because the officer was my brother. And even if they’d shot me for trying to save his life, I would have considered that worth it.” Rochefort smiled to himself as he looked back on a life of regret, turning to Mara with suddenly serious eyes. “Who and what we sacrifice in pursuit of victory is not a case of whether we shall or not. It’s a question of how much you’re willing to give up. So, when you face Renaud, wherever he is, ask yourself that question. Are you willing to sacrifice what little peace you have bought?” The captain impressed upon his guest in a deadly serious tone. In that moment, Mara felt a surge of trust for the man. As he’d commended his life’s woes to her, she had to trust that he would allow her this closure.
“It’s not just my own peace. If he lives, he will almost certainly go on to hurt others. He’s dangerous, even with a pen in his hand or words on his lips.” Mara thought aloud, rubbing the back of her head.
“He is also intelligent, a man grown. His followers listened to him because he offered them something they’d lacked.” Rochefort countered as he set his feet upon the desk with a casual air. “Why should the weight of his crimes fall upon your shoulders? Being deceived is not complacency.” He then paused, seeming to remind himself of his allegiances. “I hope I have helped. If not, it’s your fault for asking a drunkard.” Rochefort cheerily dismissed her, raising his port bottle once again. As Mara turned to leave, she noticed the captain staring out of the windows with a morose look. She felt ashamed to have dragged him through the past for her own gain. She briefly murmured an apology before closing the cabin door, her head heavy with thoughts of Ardan and his fate. More than justice, more than blood, she wanted answers. Had the man who’d sheltered her, uplifted her, truly been a lie?
The sheltered town of Ruran was an island in the sea of forestry around it. Traditionally a mining town, the houses were close-packed and built of soot-stained brick from the mills that ground aulind ore into smeltable chunks. More of a glorified village than a town, the common was decorated with a statue of some long-dead local functionary who likely gave the town its name. It was onto this common that the sanlater docked with mixed success. It got to the ground, though it sunk into the loamy earth pretty readily. The crew looked about as they disembarked, those not assigned to resupply finding the thatched-roof inn pretty quickly. Mara emerged with the party haranguing her to allow them to begin the search for Renaud. She allowed them to leave only once she’d taken out an effigy of carved bones and black soil. The party were only too happy to leave the necromancer to her device, the crew keeping a wide berth of the strange skull with glowing green eyes set atop it.
Mara began her journey to her first destination with tentative steps, as if the house she knew lay further in the forest were coming to her. She supposed that the house and its occupants had been chasing her since she’d left Ruran. She found her hand intwined with another’s. Looking over, she saw Solvi with compassionate eyes indicating to the road she faced. As they walked, faces both familiar and foreign affixed their eyes to the pair. Some were curious, others disapproving. Some were outright hostile. Mara walked past the ranks of grocers, butchers and a quaint shop with Haytham’s rags fluttering in the warming breeze. Its owner sat upon his doorstep, puffing a pipe. She recognized him as Zareth Ver Sorden, though he probably did not recognize her. His friendly smile as they passed hadn’t changed and Mara found herself foolishly returning it.
Solvi whistled as her companion drew them to a large wrought iron gate with a spiked fence jutting from the stonework that encircled Mara’s childhood home. Through the thick trees that surrounded the lower grounds, where her mother grew her ingredients, Mara could barely make out the little cottage she’d made with them. Overcome with moss and crumbling, the mage felt a pang of regret.
“Should we call for the butler?” Solvi teased as she pointed to the gate. Her companion gave her a withering look as she errantly waved her hand toward the lock, which ticked before clicking. “Of course, why bother with a normal lock when you’re an elf.” She smirked sarcastically as her short friend opened the gate for her. Mara led them up a dirt road worn with carriage wheels. Small motes of light dropped from the lower branches of the trees, enriching the darkened space beneath them. Edaris trees passed the light of the canopy to the floor, allowing denizens of the dark to thrive.
“My grandmother settled here after the fall of the Yandite Empire. The land was extremely cheap with the recently collapsed local government. So, she bought us a huge plot, told my grandfather that he’d never have to leave this place. Five centuries later, we’re still here.” Mara explained as she trekked up the perilously long driveway with Solvi admiring the commitment to agriculture her companion’s mother seemed to have. As they left the thick band of trees circling the property, they came to allotments aplenty hemmed in with string and posts. The Orsan had to wonder why this place bore no signs of occupation. A veritable pocket of tranquillity surrounding an elegant, spacious house of two floors and many rooms. Windows looked out from the slate roof, white smoke rising merrily from a chimney. She had trouble discerning what kind of stone the house was made from as it seemed to be one contiguous rock face. Elves and their reliance on magic again, she thought.
As Solvi took in the sight of the house still quite a way off, Mara froze next to her with sudden anxiety. Like a faithful hound, the Orsan’s eyes flicked about for threats. Her grip on the Guillotine tightened until her eyes came to rest on a woman crouching in a nearby allotment. She hadn’t appeared to have noticed them and was busy swearing at turgis gourds. She hacked away petulantly with a trowel, stones flying over her stained blue sun dress as she did so. Eventually, she seemed to concede her battle with the legumes and straighten with a grunt of pain. Solvi involuntarily gasped; she was the spitting image of Mara before the accident. With some slight differences, now that she saw those green eyes narrowed in anger. She pointed her trowel like a weapon, waving it aggressively as she began to march towards the pair. She gripped her dress above her boots as she did so, intending to kick them off the property in all senses of that phrase.
“No, no absolutely not! I shall not be having Idharan soldiers in my house. Now begone before I set the tordis on you!” Mara’s mother ordered as she approached the pair without fear. Her daughter’s eyes slid to the jangling bottles on her belt and instantly knew why. As the older woman drew closer, arresting Solvi with how close she looked to Mara’s age, she suddenly stopped. Surprised eyes once again squinted. Curiosity was overcome by recognition and the trowel fell at her feet. “M-Mara?” She stammered out dumbly, unable to fully comprehend what stood before her.
“Hi mum.” Mara breathed, incapable of doing much else. Seven decades of repressed emotions came to the fore with such force that the mage felt her eyes prick with tears. She felt Solvi’s arm about her briefly before her mother dragged her into an asphyxiating hug. Her hand rested on the back of her daughter’s head, cradling her possessively. “I can’t recommend Annun. Even for holidays.” The mage joked into her mother’s shoulder, hiding her eyes from Solvi. The Orsan couldn’t help but smile.
“Doran? Doran! Come outside this instant!” Mara’s mother called up to the house. After a brief pause, an elvish man with short hair and sensible work clothes spattered with paint emerged from a hidden door around the corner, wiping his hands with an oily cloth as he did so. He’d awkwardly placed an easel’s needle in the front pocket of his overalls, worried for his wife. Though when he spotted her in the company of an Orsana and her strange accomplice, his frown only deepened. Cautiously, he made his way down the steps of the house with a gentle inquiry as to what was happening. “It’s Mara. She’s back. We thought you’d left us for good.”
“Yina, what on Auryth is going on?” Doran asked with a pained expression as he approached, disbelief wrinkling his brow. Though once he too was close enough to see the contours and details of Mara’s face, doubt melted away to abject elation. He grasped his daughter’s arm as if he were afraid, she was an illusion or a ghost. “Where have you been? It was only through Alexander that we knew you were still alive!” He asked, attempting to keep the hurt and accusation from his voice. Mara turned her head from them in shame. Fallen to using the family doctor to speak to her parents. Though she struggled to meet their eyes, she bravely attempted the feat.
“I’m only here for a few hours. I came to apologize. To tell you that you are wonderful. And that I am unworthy of you. And that when I’m finished with my task, I will return. And you will know me better.” Mara spoke the words as if they were rehearsed, her parents bewildered as she did so. Then, a look of concern so profound as to verge on terror dawned across Doran’s face. The mage realised what it sounded like but couldn’t refute their anxiety. She had effectively staked her life and those of her friends on the assumption that she knew well a man whose subterfuge had fooled her for decades. But she refused to believe the man she’d known had been a complete fabrication.
“On my life, she’ll be safe. We’ve been through too much for it to be otherwise.” Solvi offered, hefting the Guillotine with a confident smirk. It did little to quell the unrest so clearly visible on the faces of her parents.
“Did my scholar daughter go off and become a warrior?” Yina asked faintly, her eyes almost hurt by the realisation. “Did she find you on the battlefield, marry you?” She then pointed her inquiries toward Solvi, who shook her head with alarm at the suggestion. Mara’s mother paced with exasperation, weighing whether to go join her daughter most likely. Zareth had been right. It wasn’t just hyperbole that her daughter had done battle with Renaud in some Elysian ruin. “He’s not your fight, Mara. You belong here, with us.” She eventually decided, her voice firm. Her husband wrapped an arm about her shoulders, nodding in silent agreement.
“If I turn my back on him, he wins. And I will not allow him to dictate any more of my life. He must answer for what he’s done. And I, as his enabler, must be his inquisitor. Without this, I will never rest. But if this is my end, I would know whether you resent that I fled. If I made the right choice.” Mara responded, her stance set against the pleas of her parents. The two of them looked to each other for council. After a few heartbeats, it fell to Doran to answer his daughter. Whether to reprimand or correct was not obvious, his face a battleground of conflicting emotions.
“When you left, we were heartbroken. But you were a woman grown. We had faith you would find your own way in the world. We don’t resent you. But to say it didn’t hurt would be a lie.” He recalled with a sombre expression his eyes cast downward as if now he feared to meet his daughter’s gaze. “If this is something you have to do then we can’t stop you. But it would be the cruellest thing to appear as only the passing of the season. So, you bring her back alive. You do whatever’s necessary. If not, that man will make warriors of us all.” Doran directed Solvi with a glint in his eye that neither had ever seen before. A steel of his soul that had been hardened out of conflict. Perhaps the war had come to Ruran, after all.
“Make sure you get every embarrassing memory, awkward phase and tantrum to the fore. I’d very much like to hear about them. That, and her romance with Lyra.” Solvi offered a hand before Mara’s aghast face. Doran took it before flinching at the larger woman’s grip strength. “And rest assured. Now that I’m healthy, he won’t be escaping this time. Whatever you decide, I’ll knock Fred unconscious to make it happen.” Solvi turned her attention to Mara before heaving a sigh and noting the position of the sun. The mage followed her gaze and embraced her parents once more, her mother holding back fretful tears. The pair then said their goodbyes, Solvi doing her level best to convince all involved that they would be irritating house guests by the end of the week.
As the pair left the grounds, Mara could barely contain herself. She heaved shuddering breaths that threatened to become sobs at any moment. Solvi had to grasp her companion’s hands to stop her claws from scratching. Again. The mage remained resolute however and her gaze turned not towards the sanlater and distant Easthelm. Instead, her eyes fell upon a high hill that emerged from the green sea of trees. In the first blush of spring on the mainland, where the air was scented with the pollen and flowering of myriad different plants, the hill hosted an ominous dead-looking tree. Even from their great distance, Solvi could see its gnarled twisting branches hung heavy with zeffi. A shudder ran up the Orsan’s spine as she sensed a snarling evil in that area of the forest. An area that her mage was walking towards with the vigour of a woman possessed. As she walked beyond the safe nest of houses and gardens toward the ominous dark archway of the forest proper, the large woman felt her mother’s blood burn in her veins. She rarely heeded the voice of her ancestors. They screamed now; this forest was wrong.
“Mara. What is this place?” Solvi hissed with an eye cast about the darkness. Even the bright sunlight that would deter the most determined vampire held no sway in this place. A thin gloom of greenish light hung sickly in the forest, a silence oppressively sitting on every fungus-ridden dead log.
“When your people invaded this town, they did so foolishly. They came on allegs with markswomen and swords. Not a single shaman was there to warn them.” Mara spoke with ghoulish delight, something that even Solvi found distasteful. Though she could not deny her own curiosity as they walked up the gently rising ground. “Zareth is the grandson of my grandmother’s advisor. That advisor was a druid. Someone connected to the deep knowledge of our people. The truths of life and death Ferral herself feared. That night, he used his grandmother’s knowledge to release the horrors that the zeffi placate.” The necromancer spoke with such awe that Solvi found the hairs on her arms standing on end. She’d never heard tell of an entire invasion squadron going missing, much less defeated. Desertions, distractions and delusion often reigned in war, but never over so large a sum. “Do you recall the funeral? How we mark our graves?” Mara looked over her shoulder at her companion, winking as she patted a nearby tree with affection. Upon inspection, Solvi saw aulind rings dangling from weathered ribbons in the branches. It took her straining eyes to other trees which also hung with the mysterious elvish grave markers. Ah, so that was the way of it. The elves had turned their dead to defence. The forest itself had marched upon the Orsan moving through it.
“Why are we marching through a graveyard of angry spirits? Especially when I look like their last enemies?” Solvi asked with urgent glances to the shadows. She hoped against all things that her eyes were playing tricks on her. Every so often as they stalked through the graves, a shadow would wriggle or whisper or utter some animalistic grunt. She felt a hand sneak into hers, three eyes meeting hers with a sweet smile below them.
“Modern necromancy is an invention of Mira. But nobody owns a monopoly on the dead. And the dead have voices, if you’re prepared to listen. I came here to listen to a particular pair.” Mara explained in a low voice. In a bygone age, long before the Elysians and the Yandites laid claim to the land they stood on, this forest had been one of the last refuges of the druids. But it was not some ancient elder she hoped to consult as she very deliberately walked past a well-worn path that descended to the yawning maw of a familiar cave. Solvi craned her neck to see the ancient drawings, her unease only growing. Mara eventually ascended to the foot of the hill, where myriad urns lay in neat piles with zeffi sealing their lids. Mara ran her fingers over a particular one, an incomparable sadness overcoming her. Not the screeching, tearing despair of fresh loss. The low lull of inner death, where all emotions struggled to shine their light. All save one for the mage, regret.
“Hello Lyra. It’s time we talked.”
A bargain once struck was a dangerous thing. It granted leverage over each party, a sword poised over their heads in every move they made. Dana would have to accompany Mara on her trip to Gard. The others of their party, the mage tried to reason out of the venture one by one. Julie was the first she attempted to convince with no success. The legionnaire pointed out that Solvi was her lover and therefore would not be facing that monster alone. And Solvi herself, the ever-faithful companion who’d taken such pains to ensure Mara’s safety, had every right to be there. Arthur was invited in the confidence his wisdom would temper any rash decisions either of the two women made. Though upon being invited to the conspiracy in those dark hours at the hermitage, he advised that the proper authorities should be informed. That idea was shot down once Mara pointed out how his allies in the Idharan establishment would send him careening to a new hiding place before he even saw the Chevalier uniforms. Fred needed no incitement and upon entering the cottage very firmly informed Solvi that should she wish to pass on the duties of executioner, he’d be only too happy. Twitcher was the last to be informed because Mara didn’t want to tear them from the life they’d slowly been building as an Imperial Engineer. However, the blood-stained portrait was consulted before the Elysian agreed to the mission.
“We won’t be seeing Ardan tomorrow or the day after. Before I meet with him, I need to do something.” Mara announced with pushback from her party, some of which would swim to Gard if permitted. “I am aware you all want him to hang from Yanhelm’s gates. But he will wait for me. He always does. Mark me; he is sitting in his hiding place writing his lecture as we speak.” Their ringleader reassured them. She cast a suspicious look toward Julie, keen that an agent of the Idharan state does not know until absolutely necessary. Trust was a precious resource since Renaud’s treason and the human woman did not begrudge Mara’s misgivings.
“He couldn’t convince you two steps from success. What persuasion does he hope to work with failure?” Twitcher asked with a tiny hammer pointed at her. They appeared to be repairing Fred’s rifle after he’d used the stock as a hammer. Desperate times to be sure, but he’d bent the connection if Twitcher was to be believed.
“He will never stop trying to convince me. I am his prodigy, his pet project.” Mara answered sadly, all too aware that Renaud felt just as betrayed by her actions as she had by his. Her sadness evaporated as the memory of Armin pointedly reminded her that he was a murderer. Arthur, the largest advocate of finding Renaud, questioned his zeal as he saw the mage sway between sorrow and fury. “And his narcissism will not allow an elf he respects to refute him.” The mage spat, returning to the map of Gard she’d purchased that very morning. As a failsafe, she’d bought maps of Elatta, Idhara, Renora and Spardale. She marked several with false leads, one of which had ‘Mira’s Tomb’ next to it. They’d be traipsing all over Renora for that one.
The mage then pointed to the northern coast, hoping that her friends would commit their plans to memory. She directed their attention to the fortress city of Easthelm then to a small town several miles south of it. Ruran, her hometown. The room grew considerably more sombre from those who’d known Mara longest and understood her insistence.
“Ardan could be in either of these two places. Fred’s shot injured him so he will have to go where he both has allies and an infirmary of sufficient quality to treat his wounds.” Mara explained as she raked her eyes over the faces of her friends. Their reactions were carefully controlled, save for Arthur’s who looked indignant at the very suggestion he would hide in Ruran.
“My father would not consent to caring for Renaud! Not after what he’s done.” Arthur retorted with a voice that was more theatrical whisper than subtle due to his anger. The cleric’s father still maintained a clinic in the town. Through Arthur, Mara was kept abreast of the happenings in her home. Though recently, there had been little time for familial catch ups.
“That’s your mistake. You’re not thinking like Ardan. He needs a place with hostages, a small enough population to control and medical intervention. By the way, your father is actually obstinately principled enough to treat a known murderer. He treated me, didn’t he?” Mara countermanded with a cynical edge. Twitcher and Fred looked mildly confused, Julie looking aghast at the admission. Arthur looked to the rest of the party with a pleading expression before determining that was insufficient.
“You didn’t murder them. He could see it, we all could. The constable didn’t even think so.” Arthur explained to both the party, hoping to convince Mara at the same time. The mage’s expression did not shift as she returned to her maps, double checking where she had deduced the mad professor’s locations to be. “Gods, is that what this is about? It was decades ago Mara!” The cleric pleaded with his friend as if she had gone mad. His pleas were met with a frosty stare.
“My negligence and pride hurt the ones I loved. I will not allow it to happen. Not again. I was warned what he was, and I didn’t listen.” She explained with finality and force that Arthur dropped the topic, lapsing into silence rather than attempt to reason with her. Satisfied she had silenced sufficient dissent, the three-eyed woman placed several tickets upon the table. “I wrangled these from Rochefort. Ardan’s not the only one with friends in high places.” Mara slid one towards each of her conspirators, all too aware that Idhara would take a dim view of their plan. That was why Dana, at this very moment, was very visibly about town. The others were dismissed after pocketing their tickets, Mara bidding Solvi and Julie a goodnight as she made her way to the door.
“You never told me about them.” Solvi commented towards her companion’s back, which visibly grew taut against the accusation. Mara looked over her shoulder with a deep pain in her eyes, one that the Orsan yearned to bring comfort to. But she seemed to think better of it, offering Mara a seat should she wish to discuss it.
“His name was Edmund. He wanted to be a chemist. Her name was Lyra. She wanted to study the stars. I loved her.” Mara answered simply before leaving the cottage and the couple to their evening. She took the broken segaris wand from her robes and held it between her hands, sighing after some time. Perhaps Arawn had been right. Seven centuries seemed awfully long.
The next day was the day of their departure and the party left in solemn spirits. To Marie, they were splitting the difference between holiday and trip to retrieve some of Mara’s belongings from her mother. Fred made a great show of hiring several of his associates to bring their old home’s items to the apartment Idhara had gifted Solvi. The vampire queen had conspicuously given Mara a home in the capital, near the palace itself. Whether luxury or to keep an eye on the necromancer, she did not know.
As they made their way onto the docks, Dana met them from the inn she’d been occupying. The hotels and inns were the first things to be rebuilt, given their ability to hold many people. Even as they boarded the sanlater the party could see a city regenerating. Timber structures had been erected; some rooves half-finished while others were covered in canvas to protect them from the weather. The coffers of the empire had opened for such a valued trading city. The small towns and lesser cities of other nations had not fared so well, if Haytham’s papers were to be believed. Which Mara doubted ever more as spurious accounts of Army members returning as undead monsters flew wildly about. Even so, it hadn’t taken people long to speculate the necromancer was at fault.
She turned her mind from such dark thoughts as the ship crested above the cloud layer, magical shield shimmering in the dim light of the early morning. High above them, the rings of Auryth were painted in pastel pinks and yellows, giving them an ethereal shine. Mara was reminded of Armin’s old saying, that people were worth it only when they were far away. She sighed with her elbows propped upon the rail of the top deck. It was a long way down to the patchwork of farms and towns, the tiny villages and their fields of caprin. In all the fury and frenetic fluster, Mara had not appreciated the world’s beauty. That brought a smile back to her face, as she looked ahead to the sparkling, undulating ocean. She understood the name now, at least. It would be a fair few hours over the bay before Easthelm came into sight. After that, Ruran was less than an hour beyond. Determined to keep her good mood, Mara removed herself from the deck and ascended the staircase that led to the bridge. Through a tiny corridor next to the helmsman’s room, the mage knocked upon the door to the captain’s cabin. The ever-suffering Rochefort rummaged and begged for a moment before allowing her entry. She saw him swiftly tidying the bed that had been built into the wall. The mage had been given to understand it was a carryover from standard Idharan Navy vessel designs.
“Before we land, I wanted to get your opinion on something. As a neutral party.” Mara explained her presence, noticing Rochefort’s look of confusion. He seemed to go slack jawed for a moment before sighing and hurrying over to his table. He sat himself down with a relieved gasp, reaching below his desk to take out a bottle of port. Taking the cork out with his teeth, he bade she continue. “It concerns Ardan. Renaud. His perfidy has sat in my mind for weeks. I keep wondering what I’d do if it were up to me. What punishment he’s most deserving of.” The elf explained to her audience, who took a deep swig of port at the mention of Renaud. Perhaps Marie had leaned on him to divulge the particulars in case Mara were doing something stupid. She wasn’t exactly sure if she was.
“On the subject of that man I am not a neutral party. He is Idharan.” Rochefort hedged with a guarded expression. Seeing Mara’s face fall however, he took another drink. He extended the bottle to the mage, who refused politely. “You want to know if he should see another dawn. It’s a terrible thing to think about your loved ones.” The captain asserted with an air of experience. It was probably rude to pry, yet the Idharan seemed to sense her curiosity. “I’m forty-one years of age. I enlisted at eighteen. Caught the tail-end of the war as a commissioned officer in the navy. I was a landing officer at the Siege of Karkun. It was as if the jaws of Isalum had yawned wide and screaming Orsan devils had poured out when the walls fell. One of my juniors took his regiment and tried to flee. Court Martialled him right then and there. Standing orders were to shoot him. In the back if necessary.” Rochefort explained with a heavy heart weighing in his voice. His guest was unsure exactly what the Siege of Karkun had to do with it, though she was willing to humour him at the mention of a court martial.
“Why did you disobey your orders?” Mara asked with an innocent abandon. It was perhaps that innocence that stymied the look of annoyance on Rochefort’s face being given a voice. Instead, he ruminated, staring into the middle distance.
“They had me up for that too. I was in danger of losing my commission. I was spared by the man presiding over my trial, Field Marshal Talleyrand. The same man who had the deserters shot. Right there on the ship. He said we could not afford the luxury of conscience.” Rochefort sighed before laying the port upon his desk with a reluctant hand, staring at Mara with a cynical expression. She sensed that something more hung on the story, something the captain was not divulging. Her curiosity burned, evidently enough that the Idharan laughed. His gold tooth glinted in the morning light as he looked out the window. “I disobeyed orders because the officer was my brother. And even if they’d shot me for trying to save his life, I would have considered that worth it.” Rochefort smiled to himself as he looked back on a life of regret, turning to Mara with suddenly serious eyes. “Who and what we sacrifice in pursuit of victory is not a case of whether we shall or not. It’s a question of how much you’re willing to give up. So, when you face Renaud, wherever he is, ask yourself that question. Are you willing to sacrifice what little peace you have bought?” The captain impressed upon his guest in a deadly serious tone. In that moment, Mara felt a surge of trust for the man. As he’d commended his life’s woes to her, she had to trust that he would allow her this closure.
“It’s not just my own peace. If he lives, he will almost certainly go on to hurt others. He’s dangerous, even with a pen in his hand or words on his lips.” Mara thought aloud, rubbing the back of her head.
“He is also intelligent, a man grown. His followers listened to him because he offered them something they’d lacked.” Rochefort countered as he set his feet upon the desk with a casual air. “Why should the weight of his crimes fall upon your shoulders? Being deceived is not complacency.” He then paused, seeming to remind himself of his allegiances. “I hope I have helped. If not, it’s your fault for asking a drunkard.” Rochefort cheerily dismissed her, raising his port bottle once again. As Mara turned to leave, she noticed the captain staring out of the windows with a morose look. She felt ashamed to have dragged him through the past for her own gain. She briefly murmured an apology before closing the cabin door, her head heavy with thoughts of Ardan and his fate. More than justice, more than blood, she wanted answers. Had the man who’d sheltered her, uplifted her, truly been a lie?
The sheltered town of Ruran was an island in the sea of forestry around it. Traditionally a mining town, the houses were close-packed and built of soot-stained brick from the mills that ground aulind ore into smeltable chunks. More of a glorified village than a town, the common was decorated with a statue of some long-dead local functionary who likely gave the town its name. It was onto this common that the sanlater docked with mixed success. It got to the ground, though it sunk into the loamy earth pretty readily. The crew looked about as they disembarked, those not assigned to resupply finding the thatched-roof inn pretty quickly. Mara emerged with the party haranguing her to allow them to begin the search for Renaud. She allowed them to leave only once she’d taken out an effigy of carved bones and black soil. The party were only too happy to leave the necromancer to her device, the crew keeping a wide berth of the strange skull with glowing green eyes set atop it.
Mara began her journey to her first destination with tentative steps, as if the house she knew lay further in the forest were coming to her. She supposed that the house and its occupants had been chasing her since she’d left Ruran. She found her hand intwined with another’s. Looking over, she saw Solvi with compassionate eyes indicating to the road she faced. As they walked, faces both familiar and foreign affixed their eyes to the pair. Some were curious, others disapproving. Some were outright hostile. Mara walked past the ranks of grocers, butchers and a quaint shop with Haytham’s rags fluttering in the warming breeze. Its owner sat upon his doorstep, puffing a pipe. She recognized him as Zareth Ver Sorden, though he probably did not recognize her. His friendly smile as they passed hadn’t changed and Mara found herself foolishly returning it.
Solvi whistled as her companion drew them to a large wrought iron gate with a spiked fence jutting from the stonework that encircled Mara’s childhood home. Through the thick trees that surrounded the lower grounds, where her mother grew her ingredients, Mara could barely make out the little cottage she’d made with them. Overcome with moss and crumbling, the mage felt a pang of regret.
“Should we call for the butler?” Solvi teased as she pointed to the gate. Her companion gave her a withering look as she errantly waved her hand toward the lock, which ticked before clicking. “Of course, why bother with a normal lock when you’re an elf.” She smirked sarcastically as her short friend opened the gate for her. Mara led them up a dirt road worn with carriage wheels. Small motes of light dropped from the lower branches of the trees, enriching the darkened space beneath them. Edaris trees passed the light of the canopy to the floor, allowing denizens of the dark to thrive.
“My grandmother settled here after the fall of the Yandite Empire. The land was extremely cheap with the recently collapsed local government. So, she bought us a huge plot, told my grandfather that he’d never have to leave this place. Five centuries later, we’re still here.” Mara explained as she trekked up the perilously long driveway with Solvi admiring the commitment to agriculture her companion’s mother seemed to have. As they left the thick band of trees circling the property, they came to allotments aplenty hemmed in with string and posts. The Orsan had to wonder why this place bore no signs of occupation. A veritable pocket of tranquillity surrounding an elegant, spacious house of two floors and many rooms. Windows looked out from the slate roof, white smoke rising merrily from a chimney. She had trouble discerning what kind of stone the house was made from as it seemed to be one contiguous rock face. Elves and their reliance on magic again, she thought.
As Solvi took in the sight of the house still quite a way off, Mara froze next to her with sudden anxiety. Like a faithful hound, the Orsan’s eyes flicked about for threats. Her grip on the Guillotine tightened until her eyes came to rest on a woman crouching in a nearby allotment. She hadn’t appeared to have noticed them and was busy swearing at turgis gourds. She hacked away petulantly with a trowel, stones flying over her stained blue sun dress as she did so. Eventually, she seemed to concede her battle with the legumes and straighten with a grunt of pain. Solvi involuntarily gasped; she was the spitting image of Mara before the accident. With some slight differences, now that she saw those green eyes narrowed in anger. She pointed her trowel like a weapon, waving it aggressively as she began to march towards the pair. She gripped her dress above her boots as she did so, intending to kick them off the property in all senses of that phrase.
“No, no absolutely not! I shall not be having Idharan soldiers in my house. Now begone before I set the tordis on you!” Mara’s mother ordered as she approached the pair without fear. Her daughter’s eyes slid to the jangling bottles on her belt and instantly knew why. As the older woman drew closer, arresting Solvi with how close she looked to Mara’s age, she suddenly stopped. Surprised eyes once again squinted. Curiosity was overcome by recognition and the trowel fell at her feet. “M-Mara?” She stammered out dumbly, unable to fully comprehend what stood before her.
“Hi mum.” Mara breathed, incapable of doing much else. Seven decades of repressed emotions came to the fore with such force that the mage felt her eyes prick with tears. She felt Solvi’s arm about her briefly before her mother dragged her into an asphyxiating hug. Her hand rested on the back of her daughter’s head, cradling her possessively. “I can’t recommend Annun. Even for holidays.” The mage joked into her mother’s shoulder, hiding her eyes from Solvi. The Orsan couldn’t help but smile.
“Doran? Doran! Come outside this instant!” Mara’s mother called up to the house. After a brief pause, an elvish man with short hair and sensible work clothes spattered with paint emerged from a hidden door around the corner, wiping his hands with an oily cloth as he did so. He’d awkwardly placed an easel’s needle in the front pocket of his overalls, worried for his wife. Though when he spotted her in the company of an Orsana and her strange accomplice, his frown only deepened. Cautiously, he made his way down the steps of the house with a gentle inquiry as to what was happening. “It’s Mara. She’s back. We thought you’d left us for good.”
“Yina, what on Auryth is going on?” Doran asked with a pained expression as he approached, disbelief wrinkling his brow. Though once he too was close enough to see the contours and details of Mara’s face, doubt melted away to abject elation. He grasped his daughter’s arm as if he were afraid, she was an illusion or a ghost. “Where have you been? It was only through Alexander that we knew you were still alive!” He asked, attempting to keep the hurt and accusation from his voice. Mara turned her head from them in shame. Fallen to using the family doctor to speak to her parents. Though she struggled to meet their eyes, she bravely attempted the feat.
“I’m only here for a few hours. I came to apologize. To tell you that you are wonderful. And that I am unworthy of you. And that when I’m finished with my task, I will return. And you will know me better.” Mara spoke the words as if they were rehearsed, her parents bewildered as she did so. Then, a look of concern so profound as to verge on terror dawned across Doran’s face. The mage realised what it sounded like but couldn’t refute their anxiety. She had effectively staked her life and those of her friends on the assumption that she knew well a man whose subterfuge had fooled her for decades. But she refused to believe the man she’d known had been a complete fabrication.
“On my life, she’ll be safe. We’ve been through too much for it to be otherwise.” Solvi offered, hefting the Guillotine with a confident smirk. It did little to quell the unrest so clearly visible on the faces of her parents.
“Did my scholar daughter go off and become a warrior?” Yina asked faintly, her eyes almost hurt by the realisation. “Did she find you on the battlefield, marry you?” She then pointed her inquiries toward Solvi, who shook her head with alarm at the suggestion. Mara’s mother paced with exasperation, weighing whether to go join her daughter most likely. Zareth had been right. It wasn’t just hyperbole that her daughter had done battle with Renaud in some Elysian ruin. “He’s not your fight, Mara. You belong here, with us.” She eventually decided, her voice firm. Her husband wrapped an arm about her shoulders, nodding in silent agreement.
“If I turn my back on him, he wins. And I will not allow him to dictate any more of my life. He must answer for what he’s done. And I, as his enabler, must be his inquisitor. Without this, I will never rest. But if this is my end, I would know whether you resent that I fled. If I made the right choice.” Mara responded, her stance set against the pleas of her parents. The two of them looked to each other for council. After a few heartbeats, it fell to Doran to answer his daughter. Whether to reprimand or correct was not obvious, his face a battleground of conflicting emotions.
“When you left, we were heartbroken. But you were a woman grown. We had faith you would find your own way in the world. We don’t resent you. But to say it didn’t hurt would be a lie.” He recalled with a sombre expression his eyes cast downward as if now he feared to meet his daughter’s gaze. “If this is something you have to do then we can’t stop you. But it would be the cruellest thing to appear as only the passing of the season. So, you bring her back alive. You do whatever’s necessary. If not, that man will make warriors of us all.” Doran directed Solvi with a glint in his eye that neither had ever seen before. A steel of his soul that had been hardened out of conflict. Perhaps the war had come to Ruran, after all.
“Make sure you get every embarrassing memory, awkward phase and tantrum to the fore. I’d very much like to hear about them. That, and her romance with Lyra.” Solvi offered a hand before Mara’s aghast face. Doran took it before flinching at the larger woman’s grip strength. “And rest assured. Now that I’m healthy, he won’t be escaping this time. Whatever you decide, I’ll knock Fred unconscious to make it happen.” Solvi turned her attention to Mara before heaving a sigh and noting the position of the sun. The mage followed her gaze and embraced her parents once more, her mother holding back fretful tears. The pair then said their goodbyes, Solvi doing her level best to convince all involved that they would be irritating house guests by the end of the week.
As the pair left the grounds, Mara could barely contain herself. She heaved shuddering breaths that threatened to become sobs at any moment. Solvi had to grasp her companion’s hands to stop her claws from scratching. Again. The mage remained resolute however and her gaze turned not towards the sanlater and distant Easthelm. Instead, her eyes fell upon a high hill that emerged from the green sea of trees. In the first blush of spring on the mainland, where the air was scented with the pollen and flowering of myriad different plants, the hill hosted an ominous dead-looking tree. Even from their great distance, Solvi could see its gnarled twisting branches hung heavy with zeffi. A shudder ran up the Orsan’s spine as she sensed a snarling evil in that area of the forest. An area that her mage was walking towards with the vigour of a woman possessed. As she walked beyond the safe nest of houses and gardens toward the ominous dark archway of the forest proper, the large woman felt her mother’s blood burn in her veins. She rarely heeded the voice of her ancestors. They screamed now; this forest was wrong.
“Mara. What is this place?” Solvi hissed with an eye cast about the darkness. Even the bright sunlight that would deter the most determined vampire held no sway in this place. A thin gloom of greenish light hung sickly in the forest, a silence oppressively sitting on every fungus-ridden dead log.
“When your people invaded this town, they did so foolishly. They came on allegs with markswomen and swords. Not a single shaman was there to warn them.” Mara spoke with ghoulish delight, something that even Solvi found distasteful. Though she could not deny her own curiosity as they walked up the gently rising ground. “Zareth is the grandson of my grandmother’s advisor. That advisor was a druid. Someone connected to the deep knowledge of our people. The truths of life and death Ferral herself feared. That night, he used his grandmother’s knowledge to release the horrors that the zeffi placate.” The necromancer spoke with such awe that Solvi found the hairs on her arms standing on end. She’d never heard tell of an entire invasion squadron going missing, much less defeated. Desertions, distractions and delusion often reigned in war, but never over so large a sum. “Do you recall the funeral? How we mark our graves?” Mara looked over her shoulder at her companion, winking as she patted a nearby tree with affection. Upon inspection, Solvi saw aulind rings dangling from weathered ribbons in the branches. It took her straining eyes to other trees which also hung with the mysterious elvish grave markers. Ah, so that was the way of it. The elves had turned their dead to defence. The forest itself had marched upon the Orsan moving through it.
“Why are we marching through a graveyard of angry spirits? Especially when I look like their last enemies?” Solvi asked with urgent glances to the shadows. She hoped against all things that her eyes were playing tricks on her. Every so often as they stalked through the graves, a shadow would wriggle or whisper or utter some animalistic grunt. She felt a hand sneak into hers, three eyes meeting hers with a sweet smile below them.
“Modern necromancy is an invention of Mira. But nobody owns a monopoly on the dead. And the dead have voices, if you’re prepared to listen. I came here to listen to a particular pair.” Mara explained in a low voice. In a bygone age, long before the Elysians and the Yandites laid claim to the land they stood on, this forest had been one of the last refuges of the druids. But it was not some ancient elder she hoped to consult as she very deliberately walked past a well-worn path that descended to the yawning maw of a familiar cave. Solvi craned her neck to see the ancient drawings, her unease only growing. Mara eventually ascended to the foot of the hill, where myriad urns lay in neat piles with zeffi sealing their lids. Mara ran her fingers over a particular one, an incomparable sadness overcoming her. Not the screeching, tearing despair of fresh loss. The low lull of inner death, where all emotions struggled to shine their light. All save one for the mage, regret.
“Hello Lyra. It’s time we talked.”
