The past few days spent in their little caravan had been peaceful, Mara thought. Her duties involved pottering about the dig site with an arcanometer. If it registered high levels of dangerous magics, she would plant a little red flag and be done with it. Mara didn’t rightly understand Renata’s methods. Her domain had always been more magical than physical. And she certainly didn’t know what Renata was hoping to discern with her many trenches. Every day bore similar patterns- sink a trench, hit bare rock, retire with disappointment. The workers were beginning to mutter of the futility of the dig, given that they’d found not a single sign of habitation in almost four days of fruitless digging. Renata became visibly more unkempt as the days wore on, with dark bags under her eyes and an empty, tired expression. Mara pitied the woman for the kind of tiredness that came from managing almost a hundred people. Renaud, as the man who’d hired the Army, had taken to bossing it about. He ordered them to raid encampments and harass the fort with explosive sounds and bright lights during the evenings. The bandits hadn’t given up the hope of riches, often sending scouts to scour the peaks surrounding the plateau.
It was after Renaud and Fred had sent two of these scouts running for their lives that the two found time to take stock after their long separation. It began much the same as it had many years ago with Renaud, looking no different than he did now, offering a flaming finger to Fred’s pipe. Though he had grey in his muzzle and a missing chunk of ear, he still retained the mischievous light to his eye. He took the offered light, puffing pensively.
“After we parted ways in the Crucible, you said you supported our fight. Yet here you are, rubbing shoulders with the bosses. Even call yerself Renaud now.” Fred was speaking in a neutral tone as the words were freed from his lips, but they carried with them an undercurrent of inquisition. Renaud’s icy blue eyes slid over to Fred, puffing on a pipe of his own. He allowed himself a reassuring chuckle, chewing the stem briefly as if in thought.
“One finds strange bedfellows in the pursuit of personal freedom. The Idharans wanted my talents, paid handsomely for them and let me set up a life in Gard.” Renaud waved a hand, downplaying his involvement in the Wildfire War as if it were merely an inconvenience. Fred suppressed a frown of disgust before shaking his head. “And, in the interests of disclosure, I have always been called Gaius Renaud. I simply used a pseudonym for my work with the Unions.” Renaud added, formulating his story on the fly it seemed. Fred didn’t mind that aspect so much as it was simply common sense to use false names when dealing with less savoury characters.
“That’s all it was to you, was it? A job? You believe in anything Gaius or just yerself?” Fred asked pointedly, knowing full well that he could only catch the good professor in a pleasant mood for so long before he shut the conversation down. And it seemed that he’d crossed that line prematurely, as Renaud took a much darker look in his direction at Fred’s questioning. Taking a deep drag of his pipe, Renaud exhaled the smoke through his nose in great billowing clouds. It obscured his face for the moment, but Fred could swear he saw the old professor looking amused.
“You know I am so rarely asked the personal questions. It’s why I appreciate your company, Fred.” Renaud smiled down at the skitti, big grin affixed in place. But Fred’s gaze was unrelenting, and that mischief was turning to frustration. Renaud seemed to blink first, sighing in an exaggerated way. “If you would ask me what principles I have I would say none. But I have values, people I would die for in a heartbeat. Everything I have done in war, in duplicity, in magic itself, has been in aid of this. The secure life. A peaceful life. One that I can share with my sana and give to her as the last act of contrition I am capable of.” Renaud spoke earnestly, Fred thought. But Renaud had always been a very good liar. “I regret many things I have done in the past. But I do not regret her. She is my greatest achievement.” Renaud added, nodding over his shoulder at the caravans parked within the ravine next to the plateau.
“I ain’t got any doubts as to yer honesty. But you an’ yer sana are just like us skitti. Don’ know why you’d cuddle up to the bosses like that.” Fred grunted, kicking his muddy boots against the stump he sat on to loosen the mud that clung to them. Renaud, naturally, had chosen to hover above the mud rather than risk his robes. He looked at Fred with a pleading expression.
“My dear Mr. Seeker. You cannot compare what your people went through to myself and Mara. Even if it weren’t the case that she and I were of considerable means, we do not approve of your people’s methods.” Renaud spoke diplomatically yet Fred felt the condescension in them. He noted an odd word choice that brought a devious smile to his face, which bloomed into a bitter laugh up at the elf. His expression hardened at Fred’s display.
“Oh aye? Ask ‘er yourself did ya? Doubt your Mara ‘as any clue what goes on outside ‘er little Uni bubble.” Fred chuckled, hopping off the log with a splash of muddy water he hoped hit Renaud’s precious hem. He pointed with his thumb at the ravine below them. “Don’ speak much of anything but platitudes to ‘er do you?” Fred smirked, walking down the steep embankment that surrounded the raised platform much of the digging was happening on. Renaud floated petulantly beside him with arms crossed as if he were some supremely irate djinn.
“I think it best we part ways for the moment, Fred. I sense some scouts across the plateau.” Renaud hissed tightly, causing the skitti man to nod with a knowing smile. Renaud’s nostrils flared as he made his way across the plateau, pausing to stop at his caravan to retrieve another scarf. Fred, for his part, walked along the ravine placing alarm wires he’d had Mara make up for him that night Renaud had burst into her caravan.
Mara stepped out of her caravan at dawn on the fifth morning much the same as any other day, arcanometer in hand. She smiled, breathing deeply from the cold mountain air that surrounded them. It was a beautiful sunny day on the small plateau they found themselves on. When they had arrived onto this curiously flat expanse that easily fit the maze of tents upon it, it had been covered with a thick layer of snow and ice. Beneath that, frozen soils and gravel. The trenches had been dug with fiery torrents from the mages more than anything else. Now, underneath the deepest trenches, they found a curiously smooth bedrock of some kind. Many on the dig believed it to be water erosion. They’d found no pots, no tools, no detritus of any kind that suggested elves once lived and worshiped on the plateau.
But Renaud had a crazy theory. And as far as crazy theories went, Renaud’s were in stiff competition with each other. He’d burst into their caravan one night, eyes wild and formulations grasped in his hands. He insisted that the flags formed pattern and had been drawing it out. Mara now had that drawing in the pocket of her cloak, following the arcanometer with careful eyes. Far across the plateau, Renaud was doing the same. In a third location, Renata was assisting them in their insane endeavour. Ten steps, flag went into the ground. Twenty steps, flag went in. Thirty, flag in. Forty, flag.
The three of them met in the middle of the plateau with disbelieving faces, looking at the trail of flags behind them. Every single one had a uniform curving pattern of some kind. Renaud sent for Albrecht immediately. Mara sent for Arthur whilst Renata called up every magic user on the dig. The entire operation burst with excited chatter as the assembled teams began to fall into line before the trio of experts. Two experts and herself, Mara thought.
“Good morning, everyone! Due to your combined efforts I and my compatriots have discerned a pattern in the fluctuations of arcane energy surrounding us! I believe that each of these red flags is a conjunction of energies harnessed by the plateau itself. In order to prove that theory, I will require your cooperation!” Professor Renaud explained, making broad gestures in his most projecting of speaking voices. Mara simply stood there, attempting to look competent. Renata, meanwhile, made no attempt to appear anything less than the overworked director she was. She’d taken to seating herself on a folding wooden chair, complete with pillows. The older woman had even taken to giving orders from it, these past two days. “Over the centuries, the conduits have decayed. Fortunately, as our experiments this morning demonstrate, they are not beyond repair! They simply require a surge to remind them of their function.” Renaud continued, startling Mara out of her revere. She took her staff in hand, aware that she’d soon be called on to use it. “That surge, assembled crew, will be provided by you. At once. Directly into the conduit.” Renaud smiled broadly, not even bothering to contain his abject glee.
“Doesn’t that come with a chance of blowing up the whole relay?!” A voice shouted from the crowd. Renaud searched the faces before him before settling on a cambion man. Renaud took in his horns, his wine-red skin and eyes like black orbs. He pointed to the man before speaking, other hand imperiously curled around the lapel of his magister’s robe. Mara was thankful for her mask yet again as it allowed her to roll her eyes.
“My good fellow I have done the calculations! Rest assured, there is minimal chance of surges in Elysian technology!” Renaud spoke with such confidence that Mara herself almost believed him and it seemed, for the most part, the workers did too as they moved to their posts. Yet Mara still felt uneasy. It didn’t matter whether those ancient Elysian mages were crafting technology befitting of the gods themselves. Arcanomechanics remained just that; mechanical. Mara went to her assigned place with the formulations running through her head and her unease only became more of a gravitational well on her confidence in this plan. If there was even a modicum of resistance, even a mote of nullstun that had fallen through the cracks….
“Mara. Trust me.” Renaud smiled, across from her in the centre of the structure. Mara looked up like a startled kopran, seeming to find herself as she planted her staff in the ground. Renaud needed no such crutch and merely rubbed his hands together to generate a sparking, flaming arcane conflagration between his palms. Mara found herself sitting there with naught but feeble sparks. Renata looked upon her with a concerned gaze, her own impressive energies creating a halo around her hands. Once the gathered mages had summoned sufficient energy, Renaud looked about to see Fred leaning on his rifle. With an angry gesture, he bade Fred shoot his rifle directly upwards. The skitti grumbled about it not being a toy before the rifle cracked loudly, a fiery bolt of energy whizzing off into the sky before fizzling out.
At once, every mage great and small on their dig poured energy into the ground near their flag. A torrent of energy unseen outside lightning storms, many mages roaring or gritting their teeth from the effort. Renaud pushed them, shouting encouragement and threats at anyone who could listen. Mara found herself almost collapsing, legs giving way as her mask began to foam with the black mist again. She shook her head, pushing yet more energy through her body. She felt fire in her veins, her flesh screaming in rejection of this. She was going beyond her limits, she knew it. But she did not relent, feeling the stare of Renata even if it wasn’t truly there. She heard the shouting of Renaud as if he addressed her directly. And the voices of the many drowned out the few voices of reason in her mind until the mages around her began dropping. Several retched and lay curled up on the floor from exhaustion. But still Renaud did not allow pause, frustration etched onto every line of his face. It wasn’t until Albrecht began to struggle that Renaud realised his mistake. The call to cease had barely reached his lips before Mara’s calculated outcome came to pass. Arcanothermal Reversal.
The ground beneath them roiled and tossed as if it were the sea, flinging those few still standing to their knees as the entirety of the plateau vibrated violently. Cracks began to thunder their way into existence, the ice buckling upwards with such violence that even spectators were sent flying into the ravine off the platform. The conduits had backfired and soon Mara’s little red flags were torched. Gouts of fire had erupted from the positions mages were called to occupy moments before. Several robes caught fire and those with more sensible clothing attempted to pat them out with snow and mud. Yet the worst backfire came to the centre of the grid. Mara found herself flung high into the air, careening across the sky until she landed with an unceremonious rolling. She came to rest and feebly cradled her hand against her chest, wheezing from the impact. Her staff had exploded in her hand and thick black blood had begun to seep out of the lacerations in her glove. Through gritted teeth and pain, she shook her billowing mask.
“I know! For the sake of all that’s decent I know!” She shouted, frustration rocking her throat with the intensity of the yell. “I didn’t want to be the failure for once.” Mara sighed, sorrow colouring her voice. She wanted to cry but, as always, found she couldn’t. Instead, she was content to languish in pained gasps and laboured breathing as she checked if her hand still worked. With an almost hysterical laugh, she found her fingers in good working order. Her thumb seemed to bend still yet had an odd stiffness to it when she did.
“What do you know?” Arthur laughed as he approached Mara’s prone form, already removing her medicine bag from his shoulder as he continued that fixed smile. Mara sat upright with some pain, attempting to leave Arthur’s ministrations. He pulled her back down, smile slipping with a shaking head. “Why does everything have to be a trial when treating you?”
“There are others you are far better placed to heal.” Mara insisted, as Arthur grabbed her wrist to look at the injured hand. Mara hoped that her blood was sufficient to cover up the horrifying flesh that lay within the glove. Arthur seemed determined as he looked the hand over, bending the fingers one after the other before arriving at the thumb. He didn’t even try to bend it, which seemed odd to Mara. He opened his mouth and set his face with determination as if he were about to argue with her before she felt a small tug in her hand. She seemed baffled for a moment.
“Oh, is that so? Would you care to explain this?” Arthur smiled, holding up a slim sliver of wood covered in black blood. A sliver that, to Mara’s dumbfounded mind, must have come from her hand. She looked down and saw quite readily where it had been. Her thumb stiffness made sense as now there was a hole the size of a pencil through the lower part of the digit. “Although I think we’ll go the traditional route when treating this one.” Arthur continued, seeming unperturbed by the unusual colour of Mara’s blood. He spent a few minutes closing, cleaning and bandaging the wound before checking his work. He’d removed Mara’s damaged glove in the process and seemed to think on that fact for a moment before opening his bag and offering her one of his mittens.
“I don’t understand.” Mara spoke dumbly, still in shock from the injury she’d sustained. Seeing one’s own hand opened was a surreal experience. Arthur took the thick black liquid he’d seen Mara take earlier and pressed it into her uninjured hand with a reassuring smile, one that seemed more genuine than his bedside manner. Mara looked over his shoulder to see the medics of the various corps that made up this troupe flitting from one person to the next. Renaud lay sprawled on the other end of the platform, tended to by a grimacing Albrecht.
“It is not the place of the physician to judge their patient. My grandfather told me of your reaction when you first saw your face.” Arthur spoke morosely, standing up after making sure nothing in Mara was broken. She knew that she’d been lucky. Her fall should have broken a few ribs. He then nodded to her grimly and proceeded to his next patient. It was the cambion who had spoken out, now sporting a broken horn. “Take the medicine and get some sleep.” Arthur called over his shoulder, using the cambion’s magical ability to heat his implements. Mara dumbly staggered to her caravan, which sported a single broken wheel, and slid inside. Dimly, she heard Solvi shouting for more bandages.
Settling down, she pulled her pocketbook from her robes and closed the blinds of the carriage. Then, with some difficulty, unclipped the various buckles and loops that kept her mask affixed to her face. Placing it on the table, she sighed down at it and opened the pocketbook, pencil in hand.
“Before I go to sleep, we must work this out. So come along, old friend.” She looked down at the mask, which once more began to use its effusive black mist. Mara began scribbling, talking to herself it seemed. And while the carousel of injured were carted past the medics, Mara worked furiously. Without her hand she wasn’t much use for ministering care, but she could certainly still help. She wasn’t completely useless, after all.
Renaud found himself groggily returning to consciousness, staring up at the pursed disapproving face of Albrecht. His long ponytail hung over his shoulder, tickling Renaud’s nose. With a grunt of pain, Renaud found himself propped up on his elbows and his eyes bleary. He silently thanked whatever remained of the gods that his flying spell had cushioned the blow somewhat. Albrecht had busied himself checking for broken bones as Renaud rolled onto his side.
“I’m fine stop your fussing. Save it for someone who needs it.” Renaud groaned, gritting his teeth through the pain as he attempted to stand up. After a wave of dizziness hit him, he fell into Albrecht’s arms that were positioned as if waiting for him to fall.
“Stubborn old man. You have concussed yourself. Allow me to carry you to your bed.” Albrecht spoke with simple gravitas, hoisting the protesting Renaud over his shoulder and carrying him past an unconscious Renata. Gaius’ eyes widened and his face dropped as he saw several medics beginning to crowd around her. Renaud began shouting her name deliriously, causing Albrecht to reposition him into a bridal lift and clamp a hand over the old mage’s lips. “Quiet. Your old flame yet breathes. Although thanks to your easy solution, she shall need to rest while she recovers. It would not do to make such a scene in front of the vermin.” Albrecht looked with derision at the others around him that had perked up to see what the commotion was. Though several were elves of various ages, it was clear to whom Albrecht referred. He continued along his path towards Renaud’s caravan.
“If you’re so keen on not making a scene, care to explain that ostentatious display at the fort earlier?” Renaud hissed. He referred to the pre-dawn raid on the complex to put fear into the bandits. Albrecht’s expression darkened as he remembered his journey through that fetid human hive. Villainy and debauchery, degradation and degeneration on every conceivable front. Yet as he’d threaded his way through that den, he’d seen something. His indecisiveness must have shown for Renaud growled with impatience. “Speak boy! You of all people should know that demonology is a most forbidden art.” Renaud clearly thought that the flying devil had been Albrecht’s doing. The younger elf felt his stomach drop.
“Very well.” He said, attempting to keep his composure. “I had been hoping to keep this discreet. During my sally into the fort, the humans were consorting with several elves. Their leader was a dark-skinned woman with white hair and significant facial scarring. You wouldn’t happen to know this disfigured demonologist, would you?” Albrecht gave his report in an accusatory tone, prompting the elder elf’s hackles to rise and his teeth to bare themselves. He attempted a curt pointing of his finger but yelped in agony as his shoulder shot through with pain.
“One would think a Spardali such as yourself would think twice about accusing others of consorting with demonologists. Your people are known for such things! Regardless, I would advise hunting this one down. If she’s near this site, it cannot be a coincidence.” Renaud wheezed as Albrecht opened the caravan door and placed the professor upon the large, comfortable bed he’d ordered for himself. Idly, Albrecht looked about the room and spied a small cot built into one of the walls that he imagined was for his sana. With a neutral expression, Albrecht placed his hand upon the pommel of his sword. He twitched his nose as Renaud once again reached for his pipe.
“I think I shall act on this advice. She appeared to be well versed in the ways of violence.” Albrecht mused, drawing his dagger and holding it to the light speculatively. “I should like to learn from her.” He concluded, sheathing his dagger before performing a formal bow. “Good day, Elder Renaud.” Albrecht spoke with courtesy more than respect as he left the mage to his own devices. Yet as he left, Albrecht noticed a concerned grimace on Renaud’s face that he felt sure he’d miss if looking for such things hadn’t been beaten into him as a child. How very curious, he thought to himself with a smile. How very curious indeed.
Solvi entered her caravan with a weary trudging step, having spent the remainder of the afternoon making sure the injured had received what first aid she could offer. Several were veterans and so were used to the pain. Some had to be sedated, after unfortunate memories had surfaced. Though the reaction had been violent, it had been prolonged and weaker away from the central mages. To that end the injuries had been sprains, cuts and bruises. Solvi smirked to herself, thinking how poetic it was that the worst injuries had been sustained by Renaud. Concussed, cut and exhausted, he wouldn’t be able to hurt Mara with his scheming. As Solvi entered the caravan for some long-awaited rest, she found Mara seated at the table. She’d started once the door opened, flinging the mask onto her face and was now busy holding it in place. Solvi gave her a disapproving look before entering the bathroom to clean herself up. Mara went back to her work, her frustrated utterances following Solvi all the while. It was only once the orsan woman had cleaned herself up and exited the bathroom, swiftly shutting the pocketbook.
“I know you want to help. But straining yourself further won’t help anyone. Dig’s suspended until Renata’s awake and she decides to resume.” Solvi informed Mara with a concerned tone. The mage huffed, taking her calculations and slipping them into her robes once more. She appeared to be struggling to strap her mask back on with only one hand and Solvi reached out to help. Mara recoiled from her, mask slipping from her face somewhat. Solvi heaved in a breath with an almost malicious glare.
“I sometimes wonder whether what you told me the other day is true.” Solvi mused aloud, narrowed eyes locked onto Mara’s. The mage had resorted to holding a strap against the wall while using her free hand to connect the buckle. “I never knew you before this. How would my opinion change seeing your face?” Solvi added, leaning forward menacingly to place her hands on the small table between them. With a satisfying click, Mara succeeded in locking her mask into place and returned Solvi’s frosty glare with the mask’s empty gaze.
“Somewhat hypocritical, don’t you think, to criticize me for my privacy? After all, you hid the existence of Frigg. And why she would try to kill you.” Mara retorted, snapping her fingers over at the small stove. Immediately, flames leapt up under the kettle and began to boil some water. “I will be thinking of solutions to our problem, if you don’t mind. Elves don’t need all that much sleep.” Mara said coldly, grunting in pain shortly after as her hand jostled against her body. Solvi sat herself down opposite Mara, fingers knitted together.
“I quite fancy a cup of tea myself.” Solvi said with feigned courtesy. The mood of the caravan, already frosty, took a much more serious tone. “One day you will have to be honest with me about yourself. Otherwise, you may soon find yourself with nothing in life but Professor Renaud. I have tried to protect you from him, but you seem insistent on keeping him around.” Solvi was speaking in a very matter of fact voice, yet Mara felt an anger roiling inside her. This orsan thought she could dictate to her? On things she knew nothing about, no less?!
Yet as much as Mara wished to condemn Solvi for this attempted exertion of her grasp, she couldn’t. A voice within her warned of relying too heavily on Renaud. Gaius, her sora, who for all his strengths and virtues, was a liar.
“Showing another person what lies underneath all these contrivances colours how they see me. Whilst I wear this mask, I am Mara. Without it, I am a monster. A foolish girl. A vainglorious mage who reached beyond her ken. As much as I am loathe to admit it, there is nothing beneath this mask. Only the memories of who I was before my gravest mistake.” Mara said barely above a whisper, her voice halting as if searching for the right words. Solvi simply listened, not content to reply with what she truly wanted to say in that moment. Mara had most likely heard it from fickle friends before. “That Mara died many years ago. And I have buried her beneath this mask. I do not want people to dig for her only to find the skeleton.” Mara then stood, as the kettle began to whistle. As she brewed the tea, Solvi sat in silence. Her face was sullen and filled with shame. She had allowed her curiosity and frustration to overtake her. Now her friend had to confess to such dark thoughts. She was no wordsmith or poet. Nor was she a doctor to minister to these misgivings Mara had. She did not want to interject with her own experiences yet, as Mara placed a steaming cup before her, she could think of no other way to reach the mage.
“Frigg was a childhood friend of my mother’s. And a powerful shaman, as you saw. Both her and my mother are enamoured with the old ways. They believed in the Ronesh when she spoke of a glorious restoration. When the war was turning against them, Frigg remained to care for her squadron. It seems she survived while the others did not.” Solvi began, the story of Frigg bringing many more memories to the fore. She felt emotion choke her. She pushed down savagely on the impulse to weep, to decry her own life as cursed. She could not. “She, along with all members of the Benti tribe, are law-bound to do me harm. To kill me if they can.” Solvi continued, her voice seeming to come from low in her throat as if every word choked her. She took a sip of tea in a vain attempt to steady her voice yet as she spoke again, it was to no avail. “If you remember the few times I’ve mentioned her, that means the signatory of my death warrant is my own mother.” Solvi heaved a shaking breath that threatened to become a sob, her nails digging into her thighs. She struggled with her emotions a while longer before managing to regain her composure. Though it took several heaving breaths and a long draught of tea. “I understand, fully, the desire to not let others see you as what you are not.” Solvi spoke with a voice so laden with compassion that Mara, even in her dark mood, felt compelled to grip Solvi’s hand in solidarity.
A silence stretched out between them, the two simply enjoying each other’s company as they took tea together. It was unfortunate that their solace was broken by the sound of Renata hammering Renaud’s caravan with the butt of her staff, demanding he emerge and answer for his actions. The two shared a look before Solvi got to her feet, halberd in hand. Mara took her pocketbook from her robes and checked her work, only to gasp in surprise. Her mask puffed approvingly with black mist as she modified the formulation. There was a working paradigm! She knew the problem.
Mara joined Solvi before Renaud’s caravan, the mage hopping into it with a swipe of magical energy. The latch simply undid itself, causing Renata to widen her eyes in surprise. Inside the caravan, Renaud did not look his usual dapper self. His hair had loosed itself from its usual immaculate ties, lying in haywire strands about his face. His robes were stained with tea and pipe ash as he scrabbled about the room as if looking for something. Upon noticing he was not alone, he whirled around with a ball of lightning in his fist. His eyes were manic, wildly searching for an enemy. Instead, they found only Mara. With an elated sigh, he stood and made an exaggerated show of hugging his sana. Wordlessly, Mara opened her pocketbook and presented her formulation to the dishevelled wizard. He took it and read through the formulation, staggering out of the caravan and wincing at the light. He held up a hand to Renata the second she began protesting.
“According to these calculations, several conduits failed resulting in an explosive accumulation of energy. If we can bypass those conduits, we can open the door with a fraction of the energy!” Renaud whispered, almost as if to himself. He shuffled past the assembled personages that had come to investigate the commotion.
“Enough of your infernal scheming, cacophonous clod. Half my dig staff are injured, how am I to stay on schedule now?” Renata howled once she realised an apology was not forthcoming. Mara also placed a hand on her waist, an annoyed exhalation escaping her. Solvi gripped Mara’s uninjured shoulder, affixing Renaud’s back with a stare she clearly hoped would turn him to stone.
“But how to do that? We don’t even know the sequencing to change orientation…” Renaud continued mumbling to himself, continuing his trajectory towards the centre of the platform. Along his route, he passed Fred who’d busied himself with washing bandages near Renaud’s caravan.
“Dunno much ‘bout magic but if you want it to go from one place to another, use aulind wirin’. The lads swear by it. An’ the alarm wires are made of it.” Fred grunted over his shoulder, carrying fresh rolls towards the impromptu infirmary tents. As if struck by lightning, Renaud stood straight with his eyes almost round with shock. He looked at Fred, a grin spreading wide.
“Albrecht! You and your cadre shall stand watch in lieu of the wire. Tomorrow, we open this temple!”
The past few days spent in their little caravan had been peaceful, Mara thought. Her duties involved pottering about the dig site with an arcanometer. If it registered high levels of dangerous magics, she would plant a little red flag and be done with it. Mara didn’t rightly understand Renata’s methods. Her domain had always been more magical than physical. And she certainly didn’t know what Renata was hoping to discern with her many trenches. Every day bore similar patterns- sink a trench, hit bare rock, retire with disappointment. The workers were beginning to mutter of the futility of the dig, given that they’d found not a single sign of habitation in almost four days of fruitless digging. Renata became visibly more unkempt as the days wore on, with dark bags under her eyes and an empty, tired expression. Mara pitied the woman for the kind of tiredness that came from managing almost a hundred people. Renaud, as the man who’d hired the Army, had taken to bossing it about. He ordered them to raid encampments and harass the fort with explosive sounds and bright lights during the evenings. The bandits hadn’t given up the hope of riches, often sending scouts to scour the peaks surrounding the plateau.
It was after Renaud and Fred had sent two of these scouts running for their lives that the two found time to take stock after their long separation. It began much the same as it had many years ago with Renaud, looking no different than he did now, offering a flaming finger to Fred’s pipe. Though he had grey in his muzzle and a missing chunk of ear, he still retained the mischievous light to his eye. He took the offered light, puffing pensively.
“After we parted ways in the Crucible, you said you supported our fight. Yet here you are, rubbing shoulders with the bosses. Even call yerself Renaud now.” Fred was speaking in a neutral tone as the words were freed from his lips, but they carried with them an undercurrent of inquisition. Renaud’s icy blue eyes slid over to Fred, puffing on a pipe of his own. He allowed himself a reassuring chuckle, chewing the stem briefly as if in thought.
“One finds strange bedfellows in the pursuit of personal freedom. The Idharans wanted my talents, paid handsomely for them and let me set up a life in Gard.” Renaud waved a hand, downplaying his involvement in the Wildfire War as if it were merely an inconvenience. Fred suppressed a frown of disgust before shaking his head. “And, in the interests of disclosure, I have always been called Gaius Renaud. I simply used a pseudonym for my work with the Unions.” Renaud added, formulating his story on the fly it seemed. Fred didn’t mind that aspect so much as it was simply common sense to use false names when dealing with less savoury characters.
“That’s all it was to you, was it? A job? You believe in anything Gaius or just yerself?” Fred asked pointedly, knowing full well that he could only catch the good professor in a pleasant mood for so long before he shut the conversation down. And it seemed that he’d crossed that line prematurely, as Renaud took a much darker look in his direction at Fred’s questioning. Taking a deep drag of his pipe, Renaud exhaled the smoke through his nose in great billowing clouds. It obscured his face for the moment, but Fred could swear he saw the old professor looking amused.
“You know I am so rarely asked the personal questions. It’s why I appreciate your company, Fred.” Renaud smiled down at the skitti, big grin affixed in place. But Fred’s gaze was unrelenting, and that mischief was turning to frustration. Renaud seemed to blink first, sighing in an exaggerated way. “If you would ask me what principles I have I would say none. But I have values, people I would die for in a heartbeat. Everything I have done in war, in duplicity, in magic itself, has been in aid of this. The secure life. A peaceful life. One that I can share with my sana and give to her as the last act of contrition I am capable of.” Renaud spoke earnestly, Fred thought. But Renaud had always been a very good liar. “I regret many things I have done in the past. But I do not regret her. She is my greatest achievement.” Renaud added, nodding over his shoulder at the caravans parked within the ravine next to the plateau.
“I ain’t got any doubts as to yer honesty. But you an’ yer sana are just like us skitti. Don’ know why you’d cuddle up to the bosses like that.” Fred grunted, kicking his muddy boots against the stump he sat on to loosen the mud that clung to them. Renaud, naturally, had chosen to hover above the mud rather than risk his robes. He looked at Fred with a pleading expression.
“My dear Mr. Seeker. You cannot compare what your people went through to myself and Mara. Even if it weren’t the case that she and I were of considerable means, we do not approve of your people’s methods.” Renaud spoke diplomatically yet Fred felt the condescension in them. He noted an odd word choice that brought a devious smile to his face, which bloomed into a bitter laugh up at the elf. His expression hardened at Fred’s display.
“Oh aye? Ask ‘er yourself did ya? Doubt your Mara ‘as any clue what goes on outside ‘er little Uni bubble.” Fred chuckled, hopping off the log with a splash of muddy water he hoped hit Renaud’s precious hem. He pointed with his thumb at the ravine below them. “Don’ speak much of anything but platitudes to ‘er do you?” Fred smirked, walking down the steep embankment that surrounded the raised platform much of the digging was happening on. Renaud floated petulantly beside him with arms crossed as if he were some supremely irate djinn.
“I think it best we part ways for the moment, Fred. I sense some scouts across the plateau.” Renaud hissed tightly, causing the skitti man to nod with a knowing smile. Renaud’s nostrils flared as he made his way across the plateau, pausing to stop at his caravan to retrieve another scarf. Fred, for his part, walked along the ravine placing alarm wires he’d had Mara make up for him that night Renaud had burst into her caravan.
Mara stepped out of her caravan at dawn on the fifth morning much the same as any other day, arcanometer in hand. She smiled, breathing deeply from the cold mountain air that surrounded them. It was a beautiful sunny day on the small plateau they found themselves on. When they had arrived onto this curiously flat expanse that easily fit the maze of tents upon it, it had been covered with a thick layer of snow and ice. Beneath that, frozen soils and gravel. The trenches had been dug with fiery torrents from the mages more than anything else. Now, underneath the deepest trenches, they found a curiously smooth bedrock of some kind. Many on the dig believed it to be water erosion. They’d found no pots, no tools, no detritus of any kind that suggested elves once lived and worshiped on the plateau.
But Renaud had a crazy theory. And as far as crazy theories went, Renaud’s were in stiff competition with each other. He’d burst into their caravan one night, eyes wild and formulations grasped in his hands. He insisted that the flags formed pattern and had been drawing it out. Mara now had that drawing in the pocket of her cloak, following the arcanometer with careful eyes. Far across the plateau, Renaud was doing the same. In a third location, Renata was assisting them in their insane endeavour. Ten steps, flag went into the ground. Twenty steps, flag went in. Thirty, flag in. Forty, flag.
The three of them met in the middle of the plateau with disbelieving faces, looking at the trail of flags behind them. Every single one had a uniform curving pattern of some kind. Renaud sent for Albrecht immediately. Mara sent for Arthur whilst Renata called up every magic user on the dig. The entire operation burst with excited chatter as the assembled teams began to fall into line before the trio of experts. Two experts and herself, Mara thought.
“Good morning, everyone! Due to your combined efforts I and my compatriots have discerned a pattern in the fluctuations of arcane energy surrounding us! I believe that each of these red flags is a conjunction of energies harnessed by the plateau itself. In order to prove that theory, I will require your cooperation!” Professor Renaud explained, making broad gestures in his most projecting of speaking voices. Mara simply stood there, attempting to look competent. Renata, meanwhile, made no attempt to appear anything less than the overworked director she was. She’d taken to seating herself on a folding wooden chair, complete with pillows. The older woman had even taken to giving orders from it, these past two days. “Over the centuries, the conduits have decayed. Fortunately, as our experiments this morning demonstrate, they are not beyond repair! They simply require a surge to remind them of their function.” Renaud continued, startling Mara out of her revere. She took her staff in hand, aware that she’d soon be called on to use it. “That surge, assembled crew, will be provided by you. At once. Directly into the conduit.” Renaud smiled broadly, not even bothering to contain his abject glee.
“Doesn’t that come with a chance of blowing up the whole relay?!” A voice shouted from the crowd. Renaud searched the faces before him before settling on a cambion man. Renaud took in his horns, his wine-red skin and eyes like black orbs. He pointed to the man before speaking, other hand imperiously curled around the lapel of his magister’s robe. Mara was thankful for her mask yet again as it allowed her to roll her eyes.
“My good fellow I have done the calculations! Rest assured, there is minimal chance of surges in Elysian technology!” Renaud spoke with such confidence that Mara herself almost believed him and it seemed, for the most part, the workers did too as they moved to their posts. Yet Mara still felt uneasy. It didn’t matter whether those ancient Elysian mages were crafting technology befitting of the gods themselves. Arcanomechanics remained just that; mechanical. Mara went to her assigned place with the formulations running through her head and her unease only became more of a gravitational well on her confidence in this plan. If there was even a modicum of resistance, even a mote of nullstun that had fallen through the cracks….
“Mara. Trust me.” Renaud smiled, across from her in the centre of the structure. Mara looked up like a startled kopran, seeming to find herself as she planted her staff in the ground. Renaud needed no such crutch and merely rubbed his hands together to generate a sparking, flaming arcane conflagration between his palms. Mara found herself sitting there with naught but feeble sparks. Renata looked upon her with a concerned gaze, her own impressive energies creating a halo around her hands. Once the gathered mages had summoned sufficient energy, Renaud looked about to see Fred leaning on his rifle. With an angry gesture, he bade Fred shoot his rifle directly upwards. The skitti grumbled about it not being a toy before the rifle cracked loudly, a fiery bolt of energy whizzing off into the sky before fizzling out.
At once, every mage great and small on their dig poured energy into the ground near their flag. A torrent of energy unseen outside lightning storms, many mages roaring or gritting their teeth from the effort. Renaud pushed them, shouting encouragement and threats at anyone who could listen. Mara found herself almost collapsing, legs giving way as her mask began to foam with the black mist again. She shook her head, pushing yet more energy through her body. She felt fire in her veins, her flesh screaming in rejection of this. She was going beyond her limits, she knew it. But she did not relent, feeling the stare of Renata even if it wasn’t truly there. She heard the shouting of Renaud as if he addressed her directly. And the voices of the many drowned out the few voices of reason in her mind until the mages around her began dropping. Several retched and lay curled up on the floor from exhaustion. But still Renaud did not allow pause, frustration etched onto every line of his face. It wasn’t until Albrecht began to struggle that Renaud realised his mistake. The call to cease had barely reached his lips before Mara’s calculated outcome came to pass. Arcanothermal Reversal.
The ground beneath them roiled and tossed as if it were the sea, flinging those few still standing to their knees as the entirety of the plateau vibrated violently. Cracks began to thunder their way into existence, the ice buckling upwards with such violence that even spectators were sent flying into the ravine off the platform. The conduits had backfired and soon Mara’s little red flags were torched. Gouts of fire had erupted from the positions mages were called to occupy moments before. Several robes caught fire and those with more sensible clothing attempted to pat them out with snow and mud. Yet the worst backfire came to the centre of the grid. Mara found herself flung high into the air, careening across the sky until she landed with an unceremonious rolling. She came to rest and feebly cradled her hand against her chest, wheezing from the impact. Her staff had exploded in her hand and thick black blood had begun to seep out of the lacerations in her glove. Through gritted teeth and pain, she shook her billowing mask.
“I know! For the sake of all that’s decent I know!” She shouted, frustration rocking her throat with the intensity of the yell. “I didn’t want to be the failure for once.” Mara sighed, sorrow colouring her voice. She wanted to cry but, as always, found she couldn’t. Instead, she was content to languish in pained gasps and laboured breathing as she checked if her hand still worked. With an almost hysterical laugh, she found her fingers in good working order. Her thumb seemed to bend still yet had an odd stiffness to it when she did.
“What do you know?” Arthur laughed as he approached Mara’s prone form, already removing her medicine bag from his shoulder as he continued that fixed smile. Mara sat upright with some pain, attempting to leave Arthur’s ministrations. He pulled her back down, smile slipping with a shaking head. “Why does everything have to be a trial when treating you?”
“There are others you are far better placed to heal.” Mara insisted, as Arthur grabbed her wrist to look at the injured hand. Mara hoped that her blood was sufficient to cover up the horrifying flesh that lay within the glove. Arthur seemed determined as he looked the hand over, bending the fingers one after the other before arriving at the thumb. He didn’t even try to bend it, which seemed odd to Mara. He opened his mouth and set his face with determination as if he were about to argue with her before she felt a small tug in her hand. She seemed baffled for a moment.
“Oh, is that so? Would you care to explain this?” Arthur smiled, holding up a slim sliver of wood covered in black blood. A sliver that, to Mara’s dumbfounded mind, must have come from her hand. She looked down and saw quite readily where it had been. Her thumb stiffness made sense as now there was a hole the size of a pencil through the lower part of the digit. “Although I think we’ll go the traditional route when treating this one.” Arthur continued, seeming unperturbed by the unusual colour of Mara’s blood. He spent a few minutes closing, cleaning and bandaging the wound before checking his work. He’d removed Mara’s damaged glove in the process and seemed to think on that fact for a moment before opening his bag and offering her one of his mittens.
“I don’t understand.” Mara spoke dumbly, still in shock from the injury she’d sustained. Seeing one’s own hand opened was a surreal experience. Arthur took the thick black liquid he’d seen Mara take earlier and pressed it into her uninjured hand with a reassuring smile, one that seemed more genuine than his bedside manner. Mara looked over his shoulder to see the medics of the various corps that made up this troupe flitting from one person to the next. Renaud lay sprawled on the other end of the platform, tended to by a grimacing Albrecht.
“It is not the place of the physician to judge their patient. My grandfather told me of your reaction when you first saw your face.” Arthur spoke morosely, standing up after making sure nothing in Mara was broken. She knew that she’d been lucky. Her fall should have broken a few ribs. He then nodded to her grimly and proceeded to his next patient. It was the cambion who had spoken out, now sporting a broken horn. “Take the medicine and get some sleep.” Arthur called over his shoulder, using the cambion’s magical ability to heat his implements. Mara dumbly staggered to her caravan, which sported a single broken wheel, and slid inside. Dimly, she heard Solvi shouting for more bandages.
Settling down, she pulled her pocketbook from her robes and closed the blinds of the carriage. Then, with some difficulty, unclipped the various buckles and loops that kept her mask affixed to her face. Placing it on the table, she sighed down at it and opened the pocketbook, pencil in hand.
“Before I go to sleep, we must work this out. So come along, old friend.” She looked down at the mask, which once more began to use its effusive black mist. Mara began scribbling, talking to herself it seemed. And while the carousel of injured were carted past the medics, Mara worked furiously. Without her hand she wasn’t much use for ministering care, but she could certainly still help. She wasn’t completely useless, after all.
Renaud found himself groggily returning to consciousness, staring up at the pursed disapproving face of Albrecht. His long ponytail hung over his shoulder, tickling Renaud’s nose. With a grunt of pain, Renaud found himself propped up on his elbows and his eyes bleary. He silently thanked whatever remained of the gods that his flying spell had cushioned the blow somewhat. Albrecht had busied himself checking for broken bones as Renaud rolled onto his side.
“I’m fine stop your fussing. Save it for someone who needs it.” Renaud groaned, gritting his teeth through the pain as he attempted to stand up. After a wave of dizziness hit him, he fell into Albrecht’s arms that were positioned as if waiting for him to fall.
“Stubborn old man. You have concussed yourself. Allow me to carry you to your bed.” Albrecht spoke with simple gravitas, hoisting the protesting Renaud over his shoulder and carrying him past an unconscious Renata. Gaius’ eyes widened and his face dropped as he saw several medics beginning to crowd around her. Renaud began shouting her name deliriously, causing Albrecht to reposition him into a bridal lift and clamp a hand over the old mage’s lips. “Quiet. Your old flame yet breathes. Although thanks to your easy solution, she shall need to rest while she recovers. It would not do to make such a scene in front of the vermin.” Albrecht looked with derision at the others around him that had perked up to see what the commotion was. Though several were elves of various ages, it was clear to whom Albrecht referred. He continued along his path towards Renaud’s caravan.
“If you’re so keen on not making a scene, care to explain that ostentatious display at the fort earlier?” Renaud hissed. He referred to the pre-dawn raid on the complex to put fear into the bandits. Albrecht’s expression darkened as he remembered his journey through that fetid human hive. Villainy and debauchery, degradation and degeneration on every conceivable front. Yet as he’d threaded his way through that den, he’d seen something. His indecisiveness must have shown for Renaud growled with impatience. “Speak boy! You of all people should know that demonology is a most forbidden art.” Renaud clearly thought that the flying devil had been Albrecht’s doing. The younger elf felt his stomach drop.
“Very well.” He said, attempting to keep his composure. “I had been hoping to keep this discreet. During my sally into the fort, the humans were consorting with several elves. Their leader was a dark-skinned woman with white hair and significant facial scarring. You wouldn’t happen to know this disfigured demonologist, would you?” Albrecht gave his report in an accusatory tone, prompting the elder elf’s hackles to rise and his teeth to bare themselves. He attempted a curt pointing of his finger but yelped in agony as his shoulder shot through with pain.
“One would think a Spardali such as yourself would think twice about accusing others of consorting with demonologists. Your people are known for such things! Regardless, I would advise hunting this one down. If she’s near this site, it cannot be a coincidence.” Renaud wheezed as Albrecht opened the caravan door and placed the professor upon the large, comfortable bed he’d ordered for himself. Idly, Albrecht looked about the room and spied a small cot built into one of the walls that he imagined was for his sana. With a neutral expression, Albrecht placed his hand upon the pommel of his sword. He twitched his nose as Renaud once again reached for his pipe.
“I think I shall act on this advice. She appeared to be well versed in the ways of violence.” Albrecht mused, drawing his dagger and holding it to the light speculatively. “I should like to learn from her.” He concluded, sheathing his dagger before performing a formal bow. “Good day, Elder Renaud.” Albrecht spoke with courtesy more than respect as he left the mage to his own devices. Yet as he left, Albrecht noticed a concerned grimace on Renaud’s face that he felt sure he’d miss if looking for such things hadn’t been beaten into him as a child. How very curious, he thought to himself with a smile. How very curious indeed.
Solvi entered her caravan with a weary trudging step, having spent the remainder of the afternoon making sure the injured had received what first aid she could offer. Several were veterans and so were used to the pain. Some had to be sedated, after unfortunate memories had surfaced. Though the reaction had been violent, it had been prolonged and weaker away from the central mages. To that end the injuries had been sprains, cuts and bruises. Solvi smirked to herself, thinking how poetic it was that the worst injuries had been sustained by Renaud. Concussed, cut and exhausted, he wouldn’t be able to hurt Mara with his scheming. As Solvi entered the caravan for some long-awaited rest, she found Mara seated at the table. She’d started once the door opened, flinging the mask onto her face and was now busy holding it in place. Solvi gave her a disapproving look before entering the bathroom to clean herself up. Mara went back to her work, her frustrated utterances following Solvi all the while. It was only once the orsan woman had cleaned herself up and exited the bathroom, swiftly shutting the pocketbook.
“I know you want to help. But straining yourself further won’t help anyone. Dig’s suspended until Renata’s awake and she decides to resume.” Solvi informed Mara with a concerned tone. The mage huffed, taking her calculations and slipping them into her robes once more. She appeared to be struggling to strap her mask back on with only one hand and Solvi reached out to help. Mara recoiled from her, mask slipping from her face somewhat. Solvi heaved in a breath with an almost malicious glare.
“I sometimes wonder whether what you told me the other day is true.” Solvi mused aloud, narrowed eyes locked onto Mara’s. The mage had resorted to holding a strap against the wall while using her free hand to connect the buckle. “I never knew you before this. How would my opinion change seeing your face?” Solvi added, leaning forward menacingly to place her hands on the small table between them. With a satisfying click, Mara succeeded in locking her mask into place and returned Solvi’s frosty glare with the mask’s empty gaze.
“Somewhat hypocritical, don’t you think, to criticize me for my privacy? After all, you hid the existence of Frigg. And why she would try to kill you.” Mara retorted, snapping her fingers over at the small stove. Immediately, flames leapt up under the kettle and began to boil some water. “I will be thinking of solutions to our problem, if you don’t mind. Elves don’t need all that much sleep.” Mara said coldly, grunting in pain shortly after as her hand jostled against her body. Solvi sat herself down opposite Mara, fingers knitted together.
“I quite fancy a cup of tea myself.” Solvi said with feigned courtesy. The mood of the caravan, already frosty, took a much more serious tone. “One day you will have to be honest with me about yourself. Otherwise, you may soon find yourself with nothing in life but Professor Renaud. I have tried to protect you from him, but you seem insistent on keeping him around.” Solvi was speaking in a very matter of fact voice, yet Mara felt an anger roiling inside her. This orsan thought she could dictate to her? On things she knew nothing about, no less?!
Yet as much as Mara wished to condemn Solvi for this attempted exertion of her grasp, she couldn’t. A voice within her warned of relying too heavily on Renaud. Gaius, her sora, who for all his strengths and virtues, was a liar.
“Showing another person what lies underneath all these contrivances colours how they see me. Whilst I wear this mask, I am Mara. Without it, I am a monster. A foolish girl. A vainglorious mage who reached beyond her ken. As much as I am loathe to admit it, there is nothing beneath this mask. Only the memories of who I was before my gravest mistake.” Mara said barely above a whisper, her voice halting as if searching for the right words. Solvi simply listened, not content to reply with what she truly wanted to say in that moment. Mara had most likely heard it from fickle friends before. “That Mara died many years ago. And I have buried her beneath this mask. I do not want people to dig for her only to find the skeleton.” Mara then stood, as the kettle began to whistle. As she brewed the tea, Solvi sat in silence. Her face was sullen and filled with shame. She had allowed her curiosity and frustration to overtake her. Now her friend had to confess to such dark thoughts. She was no wordsmith or poet. Nor was she a doctor to minister to these misgivings Mara had. She did not want to interject with her own experiences yet, as Mara placed a steaming cup before her, she could think of no other way to reach the mage.
“Frigg was a childhood friend of my mother’s. And a powerful shaman, as you saw. Both her and my mother are enamoured with the old ways. They believed in the Ronesh when she spoke of a glorious restoration. When the war was turning against them, Frigg remained to care for her squadron. It seems she survived while the others did not.” Solvi began, the story of Frigg bringing many more memories to the fore. She felt emotion choke her. She pushed down savagely on the impulse to weep, to decry her own life as cursed. She could not. “She, along with all members of the Benti tribe, are law-bound to do me harm. To kill me if they can.” Solvi continued, her voice seeming to come from low in her throat as if every word choked her. She took a sip of tea in a vain attempt to steady her voice yet as she spoke again, it was to no avail. “If you remember the few times I’ve mentioned her, that means the signatory of my death warrant is my own mother.” Solvi heaved a shaking breath that threatened to become a sob, her nails digging into her thighs. She struggled with her emotions a while longer before managing to regain her composure. Though it took several heaving breaths and a long draught of tea. “I understand, fully, the desire to not let others see you as what you are not.” Solvi spoke with a voice so laden with compassion that Mara, even in her dark mood, felt compelled to grip Solvi’s hand in solidarity.
A silence stretched out between them, the two simply enjoying each other’s company as they took tea together. It was unfortunate that their solace was broken by the sound of Renata hammering Renaud’s caravan with the butt of her staff, demanding he emerge and answer for his actions. The two shared a look before Solvi got to her feet, halberd in hand. Mara took her pocketbook from her robes and checked her work, only to gasp in surprise. Her mask puffed approvingly with black mist as she modified the formulation. There was a working paradigm! She knew the problem.
Mara joined Solvi before Renaud’s caravan, the mage hopping into it with a swipe of magical energy. The latch simply undid itself, causing Renata to widen her eyes in surprise. Inside the caravan, Renaud did not look his usual dapper self. His hair had loosed itself from its usual immaculate ties, lying in haywire strands about his face. His robes were stained with tea and pipe ash as he scrabbled about the room as if looking for something. Upon noticing he was not alone, he whirled around with a ball of lightning in his fist. His eyes were manic, wildly searching for an enemy. Instead, they found only Mara. With an elated sigh, he stood and made an exaggerated show of hugging his sana. Wordlessly, Mara opened her pocketbook and presented her formulation to the dishevelled wizard. He took it and read through the formulation, staggering out of the caravan and wincing at the light. He held up a hand to Renata the second she began protesting.
“According to these calculations, several conduits failed resulting in an explosive accumulation of energy. If we can bypass those conduits, we can open the door with a fraction of the energy!” Renaud whispered, almost as if to himself. He shuffled past the assembled personages that had come to investigate the commotion.
“Enough of your infernal scheming, cacophonous clod. Half my dig staff are injured, how am I to stay on schedule now?” Renata howled once she realised an apology was not forthcoming. Mara also placed a hand on her waist, an annoyed exhalation escaping her. Solvi gripped Mara’s uninjured shoulder, affixing Renaud’s back with a stare she clearly hoped would turn him to stone.
“But how to do that? We don’t even know the sequencing to change orientation…” Renaud continued mumbling to himself, continuing his trajectory towards the centre of the platform. Along his route, he passed Fred who’d busied himself with washing bandages near Renaud’s caravan.
“Dunno much ‘bout magic but if you want it to go from one place to another, use aulind wirin’. The lads swear by it. An’ the alarm wires are made of it.” Fred grunted over his shoulder, carrying fresh rolls towards the impromptu infirmary tents. As if struck by lightning, Renaud stood straight with his eyes almost round with shock. He looked at Fred, a grin spreading wide.
“Albrecht! You and your cadre shall stand watch in lieu of the wire. Tomorrow, we open this temple!”
