Battle was joined as the enchantments in Solvi’s armour flared, the bolt skittering off her helm with a grating ping. She staggered, shaking her head before letting loose a fearsome battle cry. It heralded a vicious swing with the hammer side of her halberd. The skeletons that did not manage to block her attack were sent flying backwards, jaws working in a parody of speech. Mara sought to make herself useful with the small breathing room she was afforded. With a muttered spell, the light at the end of her staff began to cast a red glow. The mage sent it flying into the sky above the glade, the light strobing slowly before emitting a loud bang.
“Your accomplices will avail you nothing, thieves!” The strange orsan woman accused, striking her sickle through the air with a blaze of green light. The skeletons that had been laid low suddenly righted themselves and pawed at the ground blindly for their weaponry. A few took swings at Solvi, but her armour and skilled blocks kept their weapons at bay. Mara’s defender did not turn her gaze backwards but directed a question to her regardless. Solvi needed Mara to stymy the other woman’s magic somehow. The mage could barely think through the din of combat, let alone formulate a spell worthy of such a task.
“We’re not thieves! We came to investigate the disappearances!” Mara shouted at their assailant. It did not seem to faze her, though the horned guise she wore obscured her face. Mara repeated her shout, this time using magic to communicate directly to the woman’s ear. This common spell, Mara hoped, would reach the necromancer. It did seem to influence her, thankfully. The necromancer clenched her sickle all the tighter and held it to her breast, recoiling physically from where Mara assumed her whisper had emanated. She was a shaman, well versed in the ways of magic. She could likely perform the spell herself. Why the fear?
“Voice of Annun! You dare speak in this sacred place?!” The woman howled, running directly at the pair with her sickle raised high. As she approached in those moments, Mara caught a glimpse of her eyes which were feral with a mixture of rage and fear. Solvi, however, had the opposite reaction. A laugh reverberated behind her helmet. A savage laugh that spoke of impending triumph. As the woman came into range, Solvi kicked the skeleton down before her and whipped her weapon across the space between them. But Solvi had miscalculated. Her target was not the brutish, fully armoured orsan warrior but rather the slight, scared mage behind her.
The sickle came down on her shoulder, embedding itself in the muscle beneath and extracting a scream of pain from the mage. Solvi whipped around only to find her back hammered by strikes from the skeletons, sparking across her armour. She staggered, almost losing her footing before grabbing their attacker and flinging her away. Her halberd clattered to the ground and Solvi’s bare fists smashed into the skeletons as Mara clutched her shoulder in desperation. She then whispered something in the din that Solvi could not hear, throwing the sickle on a wide trajectory. She’d taken it out of her own shoulder.
“Pain is such a clarifying influence.” Mara’s voice came from behind Solvi, a mocking half-laughter underpinning the words. With a glowing hand, the mage redirected the sickle to fly towards its owner, spinning at a vicious speed. She ducked under it, pulling a dagger from her belt and reinvigorating her assault. Only now harried by a flying sickle under the control of her would-be victim.
“You speak devilry to the ears of this woman. Your very presence brings the stench of death upon us! I will free her from your wicked grasp.” The woman declared, parrying the sickle with gusto before her other hand flung a rock at Mara’s head, hitting her squarely in the middle of the forehead. The mask protected against this impact, if only barely. But the mage’s concentration was broken, and the sickle flew into the forest, clattering off nearby stones.
Just then, the cracking discharge of a rifle could be heard. The orsan woman, showing excellent reflexes for her age, dove to the ground and avoided a bolt of magical energy that would have struck her head otherwise. Solvi looked briefly over her shoulder to spy their saviours. Fred and Arthur sat astride a wotling, Fred’s rifle smoking from where its coils had discharged the shot. With a curse, he worked the lever under the rifle to reload, crystalline bullet spiralling free of the chamber. Arthur was already free of his mount, charging down the slippery incline with a fierce yell. His mace burned with an ethereal radiant light as it ploughed into a minion’s skull, dropping it instantly like a puppet without strings. Arthur grunted with approval, shoving his shield against the skeletons and peeling them away from Solvi, who found enough room to retrieve her halberd.
“Surrender the day, stranger, or it will end in blood.” Arthur ordered with a stern, commanding voice that Solvi had never heard from the man. His holy robes would be known to the necromancer and indeed they were, for she made signs and drew spirits to her aid. All about her, wolves and foxes manifested from spectral blue light, their eyes blazing with fury. Behind her, standing taller than any gathered, was a bear of such superlative proportions Solvi had trouble believing it was real. Arthur curled his lip, hefting his mace as he did so. “Blood it is, then.” He muttered, nodding to Fred who hefted his rifle and fired.
The woman reached out, firing a bolt to counter Fred’s. The two shots impacted mid-air with a screeching detonation. Solvi and Arthur began to hew their way through her minions, desperately trying to end the battle. Mara, who seemed oddly unconcerned, bent down to pick up a rock. She idly hefted it, bouncing it a few times while the orsan woman and Fred traded shots. He managed a few glancing blows and would eventually win the exchange, in the mage’s view. A spirit wolf made a daring charge through Arthur and Solvi, taking a shield blow to its back leg for the trouble. Yet it was set upon her with slathering jaws and sharp claws. As it approached, Mara raised her hand and with an arrogant dismissive snap, the creature exploded into shining blue motes.
Mara was feeling impatient and so inscribed the rock with a rune in her crystalline ink. An expensive trick, but she was in a hurry. Whispering the command word, she sent the stone skittering across the clearing directly under the woman’s feet. So preoccupied with stopping Fred’s shots, the woman barely had time to notice the stone emitting a black gaseous fog that rose in great billowing clouds. Being so close to the source, the woman let loose a hacking cough that made casting impossible. She ducked, rolled and desperately tried to inhale against the cloud. The skeletons twitched, their weapons faltering for just a second. The only second that was needed.
With her hand held aloft, the masked mage seized control of the minions. She had them step back with military precision. She even had their weapons raised in mock parade. A wind began to ease its way through the clearing, confusion dawning on everyone. Even the Orsan woman, barely conscious, seemed confused as Mara ended the spell on the rock she’d thrown. This unknown shaman who’d dared to attack them looked up from the ground weakly to see the blank stare of the mask meeting her gaze.
“If it were up to me, you’d be as lifeless as your puppets over there. But she’s not a fan of killing. None of them are, really. They lack the spine.” Mara observed, squatting next to the prone shaman. The defeated woman attempted to raise herself to her elbows, attracting a pointed finger to press her back down to the ground. “Understand this, shaman of the orsana. There are no lengths I would not go to if it meant protecting my companion and her friends. The breath in you is a gift. Don’t waste it on silly things like the Voice of Annun.” Mara’s voice came with an icy chill that only the shaman could hear. The others were busying themselves inspecting injuries and prodding the still-standing undead. An understanding passed between them in that moment. Mara nodded in the direction of the grisly tree the shaman had erected.
“The icon is within the tomb I emerged from. See that these tombs are protected.” The shaman grumbled, rolling onto her side. Mara allowed it this time, their faces less than a hand’s breadth away. The shaman had been around long enough to hear the unbearable arrogance in the voice that addressed her and so took a moment to catch her breath before speaking again. “I do wonder if you’ll ever tire of lying to those around you. Though you’ve been lost longer than I’ve been alive, I’d wager.” The shaman taunted, causing a sharp intake of breath from Mara. Her hand whipped back as if to strike the woman before her shoulders seemed to relax and her posture shift. She winced with pain and seemed to take stock for a moment.
“She’s alive! Exposure to necrotic energy, it seems!” Mara shot over her shoulder. Solvi came up with the medical supplies in hand. With the application of a few herbs, crushed in a bowl and set alight, the shaman began to recover from the partial paralysis she’d been enduring. All the while, Mara felt the shaman’s eyes bore into her own with trepidation. Solvi ministered to the older woman as if she were her own grandmother, making sure the flesh wounds and bruises from Fred’s gun hadn’t cut into anything important.
“Oh good! I can have the pleasure myself.” Fred cheerfully chimed in, loading another power source into the barrel and pulling back the striker with an ominous click. The shaman’s confusion deepened as Fred levelled his rifle at her forehead. Solvi rolled her eyes, flipping a coin to the skittish man. His whiskers twitched and he experimentally bit into the coin before grumbling and rendering his rifle safe once more.
“Honoured elder, we are no longer welcome in these lands. Our sisters and mothers would understand if we left them to rest.” Solvi spoke with a meaningful look at the skeletons. The shaman nodded, waving a hand and sending the skeletons back to their barrows. Arthur, ever mindful of people’s faith, began to conduct the last rites for them. His armlet glowed with a wondrous warm light as he did so, evocative of the sun. Fred, after being instructed on the icon’s location, set about destroying it and laying the spirits of the forest to rest. The shaman turned her gaze onto Mara and, in a malicious voice, agreed with her junior.
“I am confident they are in the best of hands. Though the laws of men prohibit their proper care and in time, they will suffer. I hope you don’t incur any wrath from them in future.” The shaman spoke with such hatred that Mara was briefly taken back. She’d accused them of theft! And worse, attacked them! The mage huffed at such self-righteousness before making her way to the wotlings. Fred emerged from the tomb, smoking his pipe with a bag over his shoulder. He placed them next to the woman’s feet before looking up at her defiantly.
“Yer affects.” He said simply, nudging the bag with his foot before watching the lights of the cursed tree slowly go out. Of the spirits remaining, several simply faded from view. Others, perhaps drawn by great anger, were drawn away in rivulets of blue motes as they clawed and snarled against their fate. Solvi gasped with a sympathetic expression as she saw them go. The shaman, for her part, took the bag and slung it over her shoulder. With some formality, she turned to Solvi and bowed her head before removing her horned mask and placing it at her feet. Solvi’s eyes went wide, her face a picture of shock as the woman’s lined, scarred face was revealed. A face weathered by blades and weather alike. Her gaze was even more stern without the mask.
“What message then should I convey to your mother? That you live in shame, or that you died in the bay?” The shaman spoke through narrowed eyes. Solvi, too moved by surprise to form much in the way of a coherent thought, simply gawked at the shaman for a few seconds before collecting herself.
“I would have you tell her the truth, if you wish. That I live and I am happier for her absence.” Solvi spoke in a small voice, as if she had regressed to her younger self. Her shoulders had shrunken, her posture slumped. The weight of her mother’s anger had once again settled after so long without that burden. “Though, if my desires mean anything to you Frigg, I want my mother’s silence to follow her into the grave.” Solvi’s resolve hardened, it seemed, and a defiance crept into her voice that surprised the shaman, who raised her eyebrows.
“A harsh truth. A harsher desire. Have a care that this coldness does not spread. A life lived in rejection of the old ways will render you a stranger to everyone.” Frigg spoke solemnly before she turned to walk deeper into the forest. A wise choice, Arthur thought, given his countrymen’s opinion on the orsana and their shamans. There were rumours of dark rites, evil spirits that haunted the defenders of Yanhelm during the war. It seemed that the stories had some validity after all. The young cleric began to spread cleansing herbs about the barrows, making sure the dead would not rise again. In some small way, he hoped that he had helped them find rest. Though to truly placate their spirits, a cleric of Arawn would be required. He sighed once more for his countrymen. The nearest Arawnite cleric was probably over the mountains or across the sea.
“You found yer fight pretty quick.” Fred observed, chasing up to Mara. She was packing her wotling’s saddlebag with the various things they’d taken out of it. One new addition had been found by Mara and now lay hidden in the medicine bag’s outer pocket. A decent job by Fred’s account and it would probably have fooled someone else. Sitting within the bag’s outer pocket, he surmised by the shape, was Frigg’s sickle. “An’ last I checked, Gard didn’t ‘llow necromancy. So, what’s a good cob like you doing with ‘er trinket?” Fred added, motioning with his snout to the bag. Mara’s head shot around to fix her gaze on the skitti, who tightened his grip on his rifle. But the Mara of five minutes past was not in charge, it seemed. Fred breathed a sigh of relief.
“You’re the last person to be talking about legality, Fred. Which one of us is the revolutionary again?” Mara asked with a spuriously light tone, finishing her tending to the straps. Evidently, she agitated her injury as she gasped with pain, hand going once more to the shoulder. Fred reached up instinctively with his hand outstretched. “It’s fine. Leave it be.” Mara hissed, a dark patch staining her cloak over the malady. Fred snorted derisively, arms folding as Arthur and Solvi led the additional wotling to the road where the first pair had tethered theirs. Arthur dismounted before the wotling had even finished moving and raced to Mara. The mage barely had time to voice a protest before Arthur lifted her arm to excruciating degrees and pressed his hand to the injury with painful tightness.
“Solvi told me of you were harmed. You must allow me to tend to it.” Arthur insisted with impressive zeal, his face set with determination that Mara found difficult to ignore. Once again, Mara attempted to wave him off as she had Fred, yet the cleric was having none of it. “Based on the position alone you’ve lost enough blood to feed an Idharan cocktail party now let me stitch it!” Arthur demanded, his voice climbing in frustration as Mara attempted to pull away, sending shocks of agony through her whole upper body. She briefly lost vision in her left eye as the pain seared through her head.
“If it’s such an emergency use magic. I’m not taking this fedan robe off.” Mara grumbled loudly, attracting Arthur’s ire. He breathed a calming sigh before a dangerously bright smile graced his features. With a prayer he’d uttered hundreds of times across his pilgrimage, he invested the wound with the healing energies his goddess’ rites granted her servants. But Mara, realising he was attempting it after all, attempted to splutter out a retraction before an ear-piercing shriek split the midday sky. A shriek so loud and long that birds were disturbed from the nearby trees and Solvi leapt forward to peel Arthur away. The cleric, leveraging his athletic frame against Solvi’s weight, managed to complete the healing before Solvi threw him to the ground with a thunderous rage reddening her cheeks. With gritted teeth, Arthur pulled himself up, hand on his mace.
“You bloody amateur you’ve killed her!” Solvi howled, raising her halberd with malicious intent. Arthur ducked behind his shield and spied Mara sprawled on the ground where she’d been standing moments before. Fred raised his rifle, level with Solvi’s head. His eye gleamed with resolve as he cocked the striker once more. “If I have to stove your head in too, ratman, I will!” Solvi threatened with malignity clinging to every syllable. The battle still burned in her blood and turned to face Fred who kept the distance with slow, deliberate steps. Arthur, meanwhile, had crawled his way over to Mara’s prone body and sighed with relief.
“Fainted. From the pain. She shouldn’t have felt anything!” Arthur called over at Solvi, who looked over with confusion. Fred held his ground then, rifle muzzle still pointed directly at the orsan. Arthur clapped his hands together, a look of intense focus on his face as he passed his hands over the mage. His bewilderment deepened as he came back to himself. “She has no internal injuries either. I…” He trailed off, standing once more and looking at Solvi. She slowly lowered her weapon, prompting Fred to do the same. Briefly, he wondered how many people he’d be threatening today. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong.” Arthur apologised. His voice was distant as he reached into his belt pouch. He produced a small, sealed tin which he opened beneath the ‘mouth’ of Mara’s mask, praying she could smell the acerbic sand within. With a coughing splutter, Mara came back to consciousness. Even as Arthur began to apologize profusely, Mara opened her medical bag and rummaged for a few seconds. She took a foul black oil from it and slipped the pipet beneath her mask. A sigh of relief came from within.
“You’ve given me a burn, good doctor. But it’s sealed and sterilized. We can count small victories.” Mara groaned as she slipped a hand into the folds of dark cloth around her neck to apply a large gauze to the area. “You overinvested energy on the spell in your anger. But it had the desired effect.” Mara chided, seeming far more agreeable after her medicine. Solvi attempted an embrace, but Mara somehow manoeuvred it into an awkward sideways approximation of a hug. She was probably still in pain, Solvi reasoned. “How did you two know we were in trouble?” Mara added over Solvi’s hip, prompting Arthur out of his guilt spiral.
“We didn’t, at first. Renaud sent us after you when he learned you’d gone to help Solvi. Then we saw a giant red bang in the sky and assumed you were in trouble.” Arthur explained, choosing to ignore Solvi’s scoffing disapproval. “We’re just happy we found you before anything truly horrifying happened. It would be a poor continuation of the family tradition to let you die.” Arthur smiled warmly at Mara, who suppressed a laugh. Oh, how sadly true that statement was becoming.
“Aw, I love me a good ol’ love in. But ‘less you forget, Renaud ‘as us by the tail. Up the mountain we go.” Fred pointed to the road, shaking his head at the antics before him. Awkwardly, he scrambled up the side of the wotling only for Arthur to shove him into the saddle seconds later. The two of them began racing up the road as Solvi offered a leg up to Mara. The mage took it, unable to lift her arm higher than the shoulder. With her teeth and left hand, Mara began to fashion a sling from a belt. Solvi mounted in the meantime, easing the wotling into a slow trot which, though easier on Mara’s arm, still sent jolts of pain through her with every step of the avian creature’s claws.
The two of them made their way along the road, watching the gnarled old growth trees flit past as the wotling strained against its reigns. Mara felt her stomach roil from motion sickness, paired with the dull throbbing pain of her burned shoulder. Adventure and opportunity had seemed so much less vile in her head. The medicine she’d taken swam through her veins and made her feel light, sleepy almost. She was thankful for it as it dulled the pain. Solvi slowed to a stop, untying her hair to use the length of leather string. With surprising deftness, Solvi knotted Mara’s broach to the cape pin of her breastplate. Testing it a few times, she continued safe in the knowledge that the drowsy mage wouldn’t fall out of the saddle.
In her medicine-addled state, Mara found herself pleasantly enjoying the breeze that wafted past her. The fading scents of summer filled her nose while the slight chill that promised winter kept her awake. She was at once thankful for this and resentful of it. The medicine called her to sleep while the tenuous wakefulness allowed her to stay in the saddle. Whilst Solvi did the hard work of riding, Mara found herself too addled to feel motion sick. Soon, Solvi heard munching sounds behind her only to find the mage tucking into her lunch mid-ride. Mara noticed Solvi’s stare and offered to her the remaining half a sandwich. After a snort of laughter, Solvi tried to explain the concept of riding to her insensible companion. This had the effect of Mara attempting to feed her whilst she drove the wotling. Solvi at first attempted to push Mara’s hand away but after their third close call relented to being served her lunch. Her body ached, her nerves were frayed and yet she couldn’t help but giggle to herself between bites, rolling her shoulder to ask for another as the leather string tugged at Mara.
Solvi almost regretted the mage’s strange body as the medicine began to wear off an hour later. As they climbed out of the valley, Solvi heaved a lungful of fresh mountain air. The wotling had expended much of its energy and was now reduced to a plodding gait up the first switchback of the mountain pass. In the distance, they saw the first bandit checkpoint. There was smoke rising from it in lazy curls.
As the pair of them approached the hastily constructed fortifications, they noticed a black sunburst hanging from what was once a watchtower, since burned to a husk of its former self. The ravine in which these barricades were constructed had been carved by a dried-up stream with a shallow cave quarried into the steep incline of the mountain. Within this glorified indentation, seated on low stools, were Fred, Arthur and two unknown elves. One was of darker complexion with dull purple eyes, sharpening his sabre with slow deliberate strokes. The other was a woman with fair hair and skin, her face a picturesque ideal of beauty, akin to portraits Mara had seen in the library. Yet she held the bow in her hand with practiced care, eyeing Fred with suspicion. Mara couldn’t blame her; he’d laid his rifle across his lap with a finger on the trigger guard. Arthur seemed similarly ill at ease with his shield placed between himself and the two elves. He was making a great show of polishing it, yet Mara was sure she could see her reflection in it already.
“Renaud isn’t known for his taste, but I never knew he’d be hiring Mirans.” Solvi spat the final word as her wotling pulled up. With a deft motion, she pulled the knot holding Mara to the saddle and slid off. Feeling quite outnumbered, it seemed, the two elves angled themselves to keep all four of their guests in sight, backs against each other and the wall of the cave.
“We have no quarrel. Albrecht left us to inform his employers the path ahead will be cleared. Ankou’s Beggars posed very little challenge, save for our injuries.” The male elf said with some shame, gesturing to his leg. It sat in a rough-made splint that Mara imagined supported a fracture. The female elf sported a bandaged head wound of some kind, her eyes slightly out of focus. Solvi, it appeared, had very little sympathy as she gave a mouth twitch that was more grimace than smile. “Albrecht is also of the opinion that the fortress itself should be cleared and the cowards driven from the valley. Into the countryside or Annun, he leaves for Renata to decide.” The man added, Fred huffing in response before Arthur grasped his shoulder reassuringly.
“Tend to your wounds and begone. I won’t have your kind anywhere near this dig.” Solvi ordered, the cold wind nothing before the chill that had crept into her voice. If concern could be construed as a threat, that statement was certainly a contender. The elvish woman, seeming to return to lucidity briefly, looked up at the orsan woman with bleary eyes.
“Bite your tongue, savage. Albrecht is here at the behest of the leader. And he won’t leave without the leader’s permission.” The woman scornfully retorted, blinking stupidly into the sunlight. Solvi took one threatening step forward before Mara descended from the wotling, giving her companion a cheery clap on the back. A tug of her long braid was all that was required for Solvi to turn heel on the two elves, though not before spitting before them in disgust.
“I was under the impression that Albrecht was the leader of your organization.” Mara spoke with a diplomatic tone that struggled to find the correct word to describe her thoughts on their gang. Ruffians in the guise of freedom fighters, wearing history and culture as a protective cloak. She’d seen all she’d needed to see looking upon their victims, bound and gagged in some dingy backroom. Gods only knew what purpose was intended for them.
“Albrecht? Gods, no! He’s got the pedigree and the dashing face. But he’s not good with people. The right people with the deepest pockets, if you follow.” The woman smiled vacantly, only to be shushed by her male companion. Mara turned her gaze upon this man, tilting her head. She unhooked her staff, leaning on it as if tired from the journey. Though, from his suspicious gaze, Mara gathered he’d understood the implicit threat of a mage. He hissed to his companion to be silent, that her head injury had robbed her of what little wit she possessed.
“That seems awfully rude. She’s only trying to make conversation.” Mara said airily, grateful for her mask obscuring her eyes as she took a quick glance at Solvi. The huge woman had devoted her small break to seething on a bench made of fallen lumber. She showed no signs of imminent violence. The day’s events might tempt her to see every conflict as something to be solved with her fists and Mara didn’t feel like depleting her medical supplies further. Especially not on these people.
“If I wanted the opinion of a sentimental human, I would have invited your dullard priest to opine.” The man leered, standing quite suddenly. Arthur’s gaze hardened, visibly attempting to contain himself against the taunts. The man’s eyes ignited with glee, seeing those around him lose their composure. “What years have you had to build your wisdom, hm? By the sound of you, you’re barely out of your cradle. Do humans use cradles or do they simply swaddle you in straw like the other animals?” The man continued in a mocking drawl, accentuating his arrogance despite needing the cave wall to support his weight. Solvi stood abruptly, eyes ablaze as she reached for her dagger. The man flinched, sitting himself back down with wide eyes. Solvi’s expression cracked into a wicked grin. She pointed a finger knowingly at him. Mara, on the other hand, strode into the cave with an ominous presence. Her mask was once again issuing forth the black mist from its openings, prompting the man to crawl even further away. He knew not what manner of mage he was provoking, and his fear betrayed him on that front.
“My name is Ver Fatuil. I’m ninety-two years of age. Your senior by forty years, pup. I’d scold you in elvish but my experience with your group is that you’re only interested in our people so far as it gives an excuse to vent your impotent rage.” Mara invested her full authority into her voice as she spoke, climbing from teacher to at least Professor Renaud’s tenor. Yet she faltered, leaning away from the pair of them and turning her back to remount her wotling. Tired creature or no, she would rather tend to it where she need not involve herself with their prattle. “I’m done with you. Solvi, we’re leaving. You two would be wise to do the same. Their idiocy might be contagious.” Mara shot over her shoulder, climbing into the saddle. Solvi needed no convincing, practically vaulting into the saddle.
“You can call yourself an elf, but you still hide behind a mask! At least I show my ears with pride, coward!” The elf man shot back, feeling considerably more confident with Mara rapidly retreating up the road.
Arthur stood himself up, dusted his robes and smiled to the pair. Fred merely snuffed his pipe and shouldered his rifle. One quick remounting later, the pair were following their companions with the growling, grunting barks of allegs sounding in at the foot of the climb. Fred allowed himself a smirk as he imagined what Renata would do to them. They had uses, he thought. Where brute force was required, they cleared the way admirably. Now the road was clear to the secluded basin the dig was commencing within. Fred mused on whether the findings would agitate or placate these elvish youths. Too much fire, not enough direction.
Battle was joined as the enchantments in Solvi’s armour flared, the bolt skittering off her helm with a grating ping. She staggered, shaking her head before letting loose a fearsome battle cry. It heralded a vicious swing with the hammer side of her halberd. The skeletons that did not manage to block her attack were sent flying backwards, jaws working in a parody of speech. Mara sought to make herself useful with the small breathing room she was afforded. With a muttered spell, the light at the end of her staff began to cast a red glow. The mage sent it flying into the sky above the glade, the light strobing slowly before emitting a loud bang.
“Your accomplices will avail you nothing, thieves!” The strange orsan woman accused, striking her sickle through the air with a blaze of green light. The skeletons that had been laid low suddenly righted themselves and pawed at the ground blindly for their weaponry. A few took swings at Solvi, but her armour and skilled blocks kept their weapons at bay. Mara’s defender did not turn her gaze backwards but directed a question to her regardless. Solvi needed Mara to stymy the other woman’s magic somehow. The mage could barely think through the din of combat, let alone formulate a spell worthy of such a task.
“We’re not thieves! We came to investigate the disappearances!” Mara shouted at their assailant. It did not seem to faze her, though the horned guise she wore obscured her face. Mara repeated her shout, this time using magic to communicate directly to the woman’s ear. This common spell, Mara hoped, would reach the necromancer. It did seem to influence her, thankfully. The necromancer clenched her sickle all the tighter and held it to her breast, recoiling physically from where Mara assumed her whisper had emanated. She was a shaman, well versed in the ways of magic. She could likely perform the spell herself. Why the fear?
“Voice of Annun! You dare speak in this sacred place?!” The woman howled, running directly at the pair with her sickle raised high. As she approached in those moments, Mara caught a glimpse of her eyes which were feral with a mixture of rage and fear. Solvi, however, had the opposite reaction. A laugh reverberated behind her helmet. A savage laugh that spoke of impending triumph. As the woman came into range, Solvi kicked the skeleton down before her and whipped her weapon across the space between them. But Solvi had miscalculated. Her target was not the brutish, fully armoured orsan warrior but rather the slight, scared mage behind her.
The sickle came down on her shoulder, embedding itself in the muscle beneath and extracting a scream of pain from the mage. Solvi whipped around only to find her back hammered by strikes from the skeletons, sparking across her armour. She staggered, almost losing her footing before grabbing their attacker and flinging her away. Her halberd clattered to the ground and Solvi’s bare fists smashed into the skeletons as Mara clutched her shoulder in desperation. She then whispered something in the din that Solvi could not hear, throwing the sickle on a wide trajectory. She’d taken it out of her own shoulder.
“Pain is such a clarifying influence.” Mara’s voice came from behind Solvi, a mocking half-laughter underpinning the words. With a glowing hand, the mage redirected the sickle to fly towards its owner, spinning at a vicious speed. She ducked under it, pulling a dagger from her belt and reinvigorating her assault. Only now harried by a flying sickle under the control of her would-be victim.
“You speak devilry to the ears of this woman. Your very presence brings the stench of death upon us! I will free her from your wicked grasp.” The woman declared, parrying the sickle with gusto before her other hand flung a rock at Mara’s head, hitting her squarely in the middle of the forehead. The mask protected against this impact, if only barely. But the mage’s concentration was broken, and the sickle flew into the forest, clattering off nearby stones.
Just then, the cracking discharge of a rifle could be heard. The orsan woman, showing excellent reflexes for her age, dove to the ground and avoided a bolt of magical energy that would have struck her head otherwise. Solvi looked briefly over her shoulder to spy their saviours. Fred and Arthur sat astride a wotling, Fred’s rifle smoking from where its coils had discharged the shot. With a curse, he worked the lever under the rifle to reload, crystalline bullet spiralling free of the chamber. Arthur was already free of his mount, charging down the slippery incline with a fierce yell. His mace burned with an ethereal radiant light as it ploughed into a minion’s skull, dropping it instantly like a puppet without strings. Arthur grunted with approval, shoving his shield against the skeletons and peeling them away from Solvi, who found enough room to retrieve her halberd.
“Surrender the day, stranger, or it will end in blood.” Arthur ordered with a stern, commanding voice that Solvi had never heard from the man. His holy robes would be known to the necromancer and indeed they were, for she made signs and drew spirits to her aid. All about her, wolves and foxes manifested from spectral blue light, their eyes blazing with fury. Behind her, standing taller than any gathered, was a bear of such superlative proportions Solvi had trouble believing it was real. Arthur curled his lip, hefting his mace as he did so. “Blood it is, then.” He muttered, nodding to Fred who hefted his rifle and fired.
The woman reached out, firing a bolt to counter Fred’s. The two shots impacted mid-air with a screeching detonation. Solvi and Arthur began to hew their way through her minions, desperately trying to end the battle. Mara, who seemed oddly unconcerned, bent down to pick up a rock. She idly hefted it, bouncing it a few times while the orsan woman and Fred traded shots. He managed a few glancing blows and would eventually win the exchange, in the mage’s view. A spirit wolf made a daring charge through Arthur and Solvi, taking a shield blow to its back leg for the trouble. Yet it was set upon her with slathering jaws and sharp claws. As it approached, Mara raised her hand and with an arrogant dismissive snap, the creature exploded into shining blue motes.
Mara was feeling impatient and so inscribed the rock with a rune in her crystalline ink. An expensive trick, but she was in a hurry. Whispering the command word, she sent the stone skittering across the clearing directly under the woman’s feet. So preoccupied with stopping Fred’s shots, the woman barely had time to notice the stone emitting a black gaseous fog that rose in great billowing clouds. Being so close to the source, the woman let loose a hacking cough that made casting impossible. She ducked, rolled and desperately tried to inhale against the cloud. The skeletons twitched, their weapons faltering for just a second. The only second that was needed.
With her hand held aloft, the masked mage seized control of the minions. She had them step back with military precision. She even had their weapons raised in mock parade. A wind began to ease its way through the clearing, confusion dawning on everyone. Even the Orsan woman, barely conscious, seemed confused as Mara ended the spell on the rock she’d thrown. This unknown shaman who’d dared to attack them looked up from the ground weakly to see the blank stare of the mask meeting her gaze.
“If it were up to me, you’d be as lifeless as your puppets over there. But she’s not a fan of killing. None of them are, really. They lack the spine.” Mara observed, squatting next to the prone shaman. The defeated woman attempted to raise herself to her elbows, attracting a pointed finger to press her back down to the ground. “Understand this, shaman of the orsana. There are no lengths I would not go to if it meant protecting my companion and her friends. The breath in you is a gift. Don’t waste it on silly things like the Voice of Annun.” Mara’s voice came with an icy chill that only the shaman could hear. The others were busying themselves inspecting injuries and prodding the still-standing undead. An understanding passed between them in that moment. Mara nodded in the direction of the grisly tree the shaman had erected.
“The icon is within the tomb I emerged from. See that these tombs are protected.” The shaman grumbled, rolling onto her side. Mara allowed it this time, their faces less than a hand’s breadth away. The shaman had been around long enough to hear the unbearable arrogance in the voice that addressed her and so took a moment to catch her breath before speaking again. “I do wonder if you’ll ever tire of lying to those around you. Though you’ve been lost longer than I’ve been alive, I’d wager.” The shaman taunted, causing a sharp intake of breath from Mara. Her hand whipped back as if to strike the woman before her shoulders seemed to relax and her posture shift. She winced with pain and seemed to take stock for a moment.
“She’s alive! Exposure to necrotic energy, it seems!” Mara shot over her shoulder. Solvi came up with the medical supplies in hand. With the application of a few herbs, crushed in a bowl and set alight, the shaman began to recover from the partial paralysis she’d been enduring. All the while, Mara felt the shaman’s eyes bore into her own with trepidation. Solvi ministered to the older woman as if she were her own grandmother, making sure the flesh wounds and bruises from Fred’s gun hadn’t cut into anything important.
“Oh good! I can have the pleasure myself.” Fred cheerfully chimed in, loading another power source into the barrel and pulling back the striker with an ominous click. The shaman’s confusion deepened as Fred levelled his rifle at her forehead. Solvi rolled her eyes, flipping a coin to the skittish man. His whiskers twitched and he experimentally bit into the coin before grumbling and rendering his rifle safe once more.
“Honoured elder, we are no longer welcome in these lands. Our sisters and mothers would understand if we left them to rest.” Solvi spoke with a meaningful look at the skeletons. The shaman nodded, waving a hand and sending the skeletons back to their barrows. Arthur, ever mindful of people’s faith, began to conduct the last rites for them. His armlet glowed with a wondrous warm light as he did so, evocative of the sun. Fred, after being instructed on the icon’s location, set about destroying it and laying the spirits of the forest to rest. The shaman turned her gaze onto Mara and, in a malicious voice, agreed with her junior.
“I am confident they are in the best of hands. Though the laws of men prohibit their proper care and in time, they will suffer. I hope you don’t incur any wrath from them in future.” The shaman spoke with such hatred that Mara was briefly taken back. She’d accused them of theft! And worse, attacked them! The mage huffed at such self-righteousness before making her way to the wotlings. Fred emerged from the tomb, smoking his pipe with a bag over his shoulder. He placed them next to the woman’s feet before looking up at her defiantly.
“Yer affects.” He said simply, nudging the bag with his foot before watching the lights of the cursed tree slowly go out. Of the spirits remaining, several simply faded from view. Others, perhaps drawn by great anger, were drawn away in rivulets of blue motes as they clawed and snarled against their fate. Solvi gasped with a sympathetic expression as she saw them go. The shaman, for her part, took the bag and slung it over her shoulder. With some formality, she turned to Solvi and bowed her head before removing her horned mask and placing it at her feet. Solvi’s eyes went wide, her face a picture of shock as the woman’s lined, scarred face was revealed. A face weathered by blades and weather alike. Her gaze was even more stern without the mask.
“What message then should I convey to your mother? That you live in shame, or that you died in the bay?” The shaman spoke through narrowed eyes. Solvi, too moved by surprise to form much in the way of a coherent thought, simply gawked at the shaman for a few seconds before collecting herself.
“I would have you tell her the truth, if you wish. That I live and I am happier for her absence.” Solvi spoke in a small voice, as if she had regressed to her younger self. Her shoulders had shrunken, her posture slumped. The weight of her mother’s anger had once again settled after so long without that burden. “Though, if my desires mean anything to you Frigg, I want my mother’s silence to follow her into the grave.” Solvi’s resolve hardened, it seemed, and a defiance crept into her voice that surprised the shaman, who raised her eyebrows.
“A harsh truth. A harsher desire. Have a care that this coldness does not spread. A life lived in rejection of the old ways will render you a stranger to everyone.” Frigg spoke solemnly before she turned to walk deeper into the forest. A wise choice, Arthur thought, given his countrymen’s opinion on the orsana and their shamans. There were rumours of dark rites, evil spirits that haunted the defenders of Yanhelm during the war. It seemed that the stories had some validity after all. The young cleric began to spread cleansing herbs about the barrows, making sure the dead would not rise again. In some small way, he hoped that he had helped them find rest. Though to truly placate their spirits, a cleric of Arawn would be required. He sighed once more for his countrymen. The nearest Arawnite cleric was probably over the mountains or across the sea.
“You found yer fight pretty quick.” Fred observed, chasing up to Mara. She was packing her wotling’s saddlebag with the various things they’d taken out of it. One new addition had been found by Mara and now lay hidden in the medicine bag’s outer pocket. A decent job by Fred’s account and it would probably have fooled someone else. Sitting within the bag’s outer pocket, he surmised by the shape, was Frigg’s sickle. “An’ last I checked, Gard didn’t ‘llow necromancy. So, what’s a good cob like you doing with ‘er trinket?” Fred added, motioning with his snout to the bag. Mara’s head shot around to fix her gaze on the skitti, who tightened his grip on his rifle. But the Mara of five minutes past was not in charge, it seemed. Fred breathed a sigh of relief.
“You’re the last person to be talking about legality, Fred. Which one of us is the revolutionary again?” Mara asked with a spuriously light tone, finishing her tending to the straps. Evidently, she agitated her injury as she gasped with pain, hand going once more to the shoulder. Fred reached up instinctively with his hand outstretched. “It’s fine. Leave it be.” Mara hissed, a dark patch staining her cloak over the malady. Fred snorted derisively, arms folding as Arthur and Solvi led the additional wotling to the road where the first pair had tethered theirs. Arthur dismounted before the wotling had even finished moving and raced to Mara. The mage barely had time to voice a protest before Arthur lifted her arm to excruciating degrees and pressed his hand to the injury with painful tightness.
“Solvi told me of you were harmed. You must allow me to tend to it.” Arthur insisted with impressive zeal, his face set with determination that Mara found difficult to ignore. Once again, Mara attempted to wave him off as she had Fred, yet the cleric was having none of it. “Based on the position alone you’ve lost enough blood to feed an Idharan cocktail party now let me stitch it!” Arthur demanded, his voice climbing in frustration as Mara attempted to pull away, sending shocks of agony through her whole upper body. She briefly lost vision in her left eye as the pain seared through her head.
“If it’s such an emergency use magic. I’m not taking this fedan robe off.” Mara grumbled loudly, attracting Arthur’s ire. He breathed a calming sigh before a dangerously bright smile graced his features. With a prayer he’d uttered hundreds of times across his pilgrimage, he invested the wound with the healing energies his goddess’ rites granted her servants. But Mara, realising he was attempting it after all, attempted to splutter out a retraction before an ear-piercing shriek split the midday sky. A shriek so loud and long that birds were disturbed from the nearby trees and Solvi leapt forward to peel Arthur away. The cleric, leveraging his athletic frame against Solvi’s weight, managed to complete the healing before Solvi threw him to the ground with a thunderous rage reddening her cheeks. With gritted teeth, Arthur pulled himself up, hand on his mace.
“You bloody amateur you’ve killed her!” Solvi howled, raising her halberd with malicious intent. Arthur ducked behind his shield and spied Mara sprawled on the ground where she’d been standing moments before. Fred raised his rifle, level with Solvi’s head. His eye gleamed with resolve as he cocked the striker once more. “If I have to stove your head in too, ratman, I will!” Solvi threatened with malignity clinging to every syllable. The battle still burned in her blood and turned to face Fred who kept the distance with slow, deliberate steps. Arthur, meanwhile, had crawled his way over to Mara’s prone body and sighed with relief.
“Fainted. From the pain. She shouldn’t have felt anything!” Arthur called over at Solvi, who looked over with confusion. Fred held his ground then, rifle muzzle still pointed directly at the orsan. Arthur clapped his hands together, a look of intense focus on his face as he passed his hands over the mage. His bewilderment deepened as he came back to himself. “She has no internal injuries either. I…” He trailed off, standing once more and looking at Solvi. She slowly lowered her weapon, prompting Fred to do the same. Briefly, he wondered how many people he’d be threatening today. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong.” Arthur apologised. His voice was distant as he reached into his belt pouch. He produced a small, sealed tin which he opened beneath the ‘mouth’ of Mara’s mask, praying she could smell the acerbic sand within. With a coughing splutter, Mara came back to consciousness. Even as Arthur began to apologize profusely, Mara opened her medical bag and rummaged for a few seconds. She took a foul black oil from it and slipped the pipet beneath her mask. A sigh of relief came from within.
“You’ve given me a burn, good doctor. But it’s sealed and sterilized. We can count small victories.” Mara groaned as she slipped a hand into the folds of dark cloth around her neck to apply a large gauze to the area. “You overinvested energy on the spell in your anger. But it had the desired effect.” Mara chided, seeming far more agreeable after her medicine. Solvi attempted an embrace, but Mara somehow manoeuvred it into an awkward sideways approximation of a hug. She was probably still in pain, Solvi reasoned. “How did you two know we were in trouble?” Mara added over Solvi’s hip, prompting Arthur out of his guilt spiral.
“We didn’t, at first. Renaud sent us after you when he learned you’d gone to help Solvi. Then we saw a giant red bang in the sky and assumed you were in trouble.” Arthur explained, choosing to ignore Solvi’s scoffing disapproval. “We’re just happy we found you before anything truly horrifying happened. It would be a poor continuation of the family tradition to let you die.” Arthur smiled warmly at Mara, who suppressed a laugh. Oh, how sadly true that statement was becoming.
“Aw, I love me a good ol’ love in. But ‘less you forget, Renaud ‘as us by the tail. Up the mountain we go.” Fred pointed to the road, shaking his head at the antics before him. Awkwardly, he scrambled up the side of the wotling only for Arthur to shove him into the saddle seconds later. The two of them began racing up the road as Solvi offered a leg up to Mara. The mage took it, unable to lift her arm higher than the shoulder. With her teeth and left hand, Mara began to fashion a sling from a belt. Solvi mounted in the meantime, easing the wotling into a slow trot which, though easier on Mara’s arm, still sent jolts of pain through her with every step of the avian creature’s claws.
The two of them made their way along the road, watching the gnarled old growth trees flit past as the wotling strained against its reigns. Mara felt her stomach roil from motion sickness, paired with the dull throbbing pain of her burned shoulder. Adventure and opportunity had seemed so much less vile in her head. The medicine she’d taken swam through her veins and made her feel light, sleepy almost. She was thankful for it as it dulled the pain. Solvi slowed to a stop, untying her hair to use the length of leather string. With surprising deftness, Solvi knotted Mara’s broach to the cape pin of her breastplate. Testing it a few times, she continued safe in the knowledge that the drowsy mage wouldn’t fall out of the saddle.
In her medicine-addled state, Mara found herself pleasantly enjoying the breeze that wafted past her. The fading scents of summer filled her nose while the slight chill that promised winter kept her awake. She was at once thankful for this and resentful of it. The medicine called her to sleep while the tenuous wakefulness allowed her to stay in the saddle. Whilst Solvi did the hard work of riding, Mara found herself too addled to feel motion sick. Soon, Solvi heard munching sounds behind her only to find the mage tucking into her lunch mid-ride. Mara noticed Solvi’s stare and offered to her the remaining half a sandwich. After a snort of laughter, Solvi tried to explain the concept of riding to her insensible companion. This had the effect of Mara attempting to feed her whilst she drove the wotling. Solvi at first attempted to push Mara’s hand away but after their third close call relented to being served her lunch. Her body ached, her nerves were frayed and yet she couldn’t help but giggle to herself between bites, rolling her shoulder to ask for another as the leather string tugged at Mara.
Solvi almost regretted the mage’s strange body as the medicine began to wear off an hour later. As they climbed out of the valley, Solvi heaved a lungful of fresh mountain air. The wotling had expended much of its energy and was now reduced to a plodding gait up the first switchback of the mountain pass. In the distance, they saw the first bandit checkpoint. There was smoke rising from it in lazy curls.
As the pair of them approached the hastily constructed fortifications, they noticed a black sunburst hanging from what was once a watchtower, since burned to a husk of its former self. The ravine in which these barricades were constructed had been carved by a dried-up stream with a shallow cave quarried into the steep incline of the mountain. Within this glorified indentation, seated on low stools, were Fred, Arthur and two unknown elves. One was of darker complexion with dull purple eyes, sharpening his sabre with slow deliberate strokes. The other was a woman with fair hair and skin, her face a picturesque ideal of beauty, akin to portraits Mara had seen in the library. Yet she held the bow in her hand with practiced care, eyeing Fred with suspicion. Mara couldn’t blame her; he’d laid his rifle across his lap with a finger on the trigger guard. Arthur seemed similarly ill at ease with his shield placed between himself and the two elves. He was making a great show of polishing it, yet Mara was sure she could see her reflection in it already.
“Renaud isn’t known for his taste, but I never knew he’d be hiring Mirans.” Solvi spat the final word as her wotling pulled up. With a deft motion, she pulled the knot holding Mara to the saddle and slid off. Feeling quite outnumbered, it seemed, the two elves angled themselves to keep all four of their guests in sight, backs against each other and the wall of the cave.
“We have no quarrel. Albrecht left us to inform his employers the path ahead will be cleared. Ankou’s Beggars posed very little challenge, save for our injuries.” The male elf said with some shame, gesturing to his leg. It sat in a rough-made splint that Mara imagined supported a fracture. The female elf sported a bandaged head wound of some kind, her eyes slightly out of focus. Solvi, it appeared, had very little sympathy as she gave a mouth twitch that was more grimace than smile. “Albrecht is also of the opinion that the fortress itself should be cleared and the cowards driven from the valley. Into the countryside or Annun, he leaves for Renata to decide.” The man added, Fred huffing in response before Arthur grasped his shoulder reassuringly.
“Tend to your wounds and begone. I won’t have your kind anywhere near this dig.” Solvi ordered, the cold wind nothing before the chill that had crept into her voice. If concern could be construed as a threat, that statement was certainly a contender. The elvish woman, seeming to return to lucidity briefly, looked up at the orsan woman with bleary eyes.
“Bite your tongue, savage. Albrecht is here at the behest of the leader. And he won’t leave without the leader’s permission.” The woman scornfully retorted, blinking stupidly into the sunlight. Solvi took one threatening step forward before Mara descended from the wotling, giving her companion a cheery clap on the back. A tug of her long braid was all that was required for Solvi to turn heel on the two elves, though not before spitting before them in disgust.
“I was under the impression that Albrecht was the leader of your organization.” Mara spoke with a diplomatic tone that struggled to find the correct word to describe her thoughts on their gang. Ruffians in the guise of freedom fighters, wearing history and culture as a protective cloak. She’d seen all she’d needed to see looking upon their victims, bound and gagged in some dingy backroom. Gods only knew what purpose was intended for them.
“Albrecht? Gods, no! He’s got the pedigree and the dashing face. But he’s not good with people. The right people with the deepest pockets, if you follow.” The woman smiled vacantly, only to be shushed by her male companion. Mara turned her gaze upon this man, tilting her head. She unhooked her staff, leaning on it as if tired from the journey. Though, from his suspicious gaze, Mara gathered he’d understood the implicit threat of a mage. He hissed to his companion to be silent, that her head injury had robbed her of what little wit she possessed.
“That seems awfully rude. She’s only trying to make conversation.” Mara said airily, grateful for her mask obscuring her eyes as she took a quick glance at Solvi. The huge woman had devoted her small break to seething on a bench made of fallen lumber. She showed no signs of imminent violence. The day’s events might tempt her to see every conflict as something to be solved with her fists and Mara didn’t feel like depleting her medical supplies further. Especially not on these people.
“If I wanted the opinion of a sentimental human, I would have invited your dullard priest to opine.” The man leered, standing quite suddenly. Arthur’s gaze hardened, visibly attempting to contain himself against the taunts. The man’s eyes ignited with glee, seeing those around him lose their composure. “What years have you had to build your wisdom, hm? By the sound of you, you’re barely out of your cradle. Do humans use cradles or do they simply swaddle you in straw like the other animals?” The man continued in a mocking drawl, accentuating his arrogance despite needing the cave wall to support his weight. Solvi stood abruptly, eyes ablaze as she reached for her dagger. The man flinched, sitting himself back down with wide eyes. Solvi’s expression cracked into a wicked grin. She pointed a finger knowingly at him. Mara, on the other hand, strode into the cave with an ominous presence. Her mask was once again issuing forth the black mist from its openings, prompting the man to crawl even further away. He knew not what manner of mage he was provoking, and his fear betrayed him on that front.
“My name is Ver Fatuil. I’m ninety-two years of age. Your senior by forty years, pup. I’d scold you in elvish but my experience with your group is that you’re only interested in our people so far as it gives an excuse to vent your impotent rage.” Mara invested her full authority into her voice as she spoke, climbing from teacher to at least Professor Renaud’s tenor. Yet she faltered, leaning away from the pair of them and turning her back to remount her wotling. Tired creature or no, she would rather tend to it where she need not involve herself with their prattle. “I’m done with you. Solvi, we’re leaving. You two would be wise to do the same. Their idiocy might be contagious.” Mara shot over her shoulder, climbing into the saddle. Solvi needed no convincing, practically vaulting into the saddle.
“You can call yourself an elf, but you still hide behind a mask! At least I show my ears with pride, coward!” The elf man shot back, feeling considerably more confident with Mara rapidly retreating up the road.
Arthur stood himself up, dusted his robes and smiled to the pair. Fred merely snuffed his pipe and shouldered his rifle. One quick remounting later, the pair were following their companions with the growling, grunting barks of allegs sounding in at the foot of the climb. Fred allowed himself a smirk as he imagined what Renata would do to them. They had uses, he thought. Where brute force was required, they cleared the way admirably. Now the road was clear to the secluded basin the dig was commencing within. Fred mused on whether the findings would agitate or placate these elvish youths. Too much fire, not enough direction.
