Bronze and Retribution
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The tunnel was dark and cold and horribly cramped. It had also been hidden in the town's well, of all things. There'd been an iron grating that Jeima had yanked off with surprisingly little difficulty and they'd had to climb down the chain to find the entrance; something Guiche had certainly not enjoyed but had managed to stop himself from complaining about given the urgency of the situation.
"And why, pray, could I not have simply opened a way through the ground to this path?" It felt like a pertinent question to ask while they slogged through the mud and grime coating the walls; tiny man with dim torch leading the way. But his guide had simply shot him a glance and spoken with a tone as chilling as any of Saito's.
"It would have been unwise."
And Guiche got no further explanation on the matter. He had decided he no longer wanted it. Their path was sloping downwards, curving slightly as it did, and the young nobleman found himself increasingly concerned with how far they were going. If this mysterious place was to help them then they had to reach it sooner rather than later. His impatience built and built until, at last, he could tolerate no more.
"I'm sorry, Jeima, but we don't have time!" He grabbed the smaller man, lifted him into the air, albeit with a surprising amount of effort, and flicked out his wand. A Valkyrie's front chest plate formed in front of them and he stepped on to it. Then he pointed behind them. "Hold on, my good man! This… is probably going to hurt. A lot."
Guiche stacked Water; tearing it out of the mildew and slime on the walls and ceiling. It swept them up as he dropped to his knees and held the commoner tightly to his chest. The growing wave picked them up and launched them down the tunnel at a breakneck pace.
It didn't take them long to spill out into a larger chamber and skid into the centre while rank water flooded in behind them. Jeima squirmed out of Guiche's grasp and began to cough while the noble allowed himself to collapse on to his back. That had not been one of his better ideas. In retrospect, he probably should have applied his Bronze Flesh spell.
"This…" Jeima finished hacking out a bit of truly disgusting liquid and wiped his face. "This is it. I've only been here once. You need magic of some kind to open the doorway." Which was… ah… Guiche frowned, looking around. As far as he could see the only door in this bizarre chamber was the entrance they'd come on through.
It was a rounded chamber with a dull orange light permeating it. For a moment he'd forgotten that their torch had been doused. Then he actually looked at the crystalline objects shining in the braziers around the room and his heart froze in his chest. They were Firestones.
"My father said that if you failed to open the lock on the first try they would explode." Although the little man's tone was conversational there was a note of fear to his voice. Guiche looked around a bit more and frowned. He still couldn't even see the door, let alone the lock. "You're standing on it, by the way."
He blinked and then looked down. There it was. Guiche had to stare at it for several seconds before he realised what he was seeing. Really, he should have noticed that the water was draining. Under their feet was a stone grate and beneath that a series of horizontal, interlocking stone rods. They had sections cut out of them and fine engravings all across them.
"... a puzzle lock. By the Founder, could this be any more of a waste of time?" He looked at the braziers, then at the grating. Guiche drew his mother's sword and stacked a lone Earth as he tapped the ground; frowning as he felt the feedback from his magic. He couldn't see how it fit together, although he could see where to start. All he'd need to do was slide that one, then that one, and then that one. It was easy. But why? How did it work?
Jeima stood there and watched helplessly as Guiche paced. The man had no more of an idea than he did. Something about this felt wrong. Every time he moved to start he stopped and tapped the grating again; magic flowing through the rock as he examined it. It was easy. The only thing it would do is take up his time. Why?
A long path to reach it… a simple but time-consuming puzzle lock… it seemed to fit, but he couldn't say why he was hesitating. Until he suddenly slapped himself about the head and walked over to the nearest brazier.
"Hey, Derf? Can you do something about this?" His shield rolled its… cleared its… well, it animated itself in an exasperated way as he held it up to the Firestone on the wall. Guiche felt a little bad for a moment given his tendency to ignore the shield for significant periods as of late.
"... yes. I can. Nice of you to remember me, partner." He patted the shield as it pouted for a moment and then sighed. "Well, you know you can rely on me. Let's do this." Guiche smiled faintly and pressed his shield to the gem. It flickered for a few moments before sputtering out. He channelled Fire for a moment and a wisp of reddish white gathered on the tip of his sword as he drained the remaining Firestones.
Then he stacked dual Earths and swung down on the stone grate; shattering it and tearing a hole through the puzzle lock directly into the chamber below. Jeima stared with undisguised shock and, shortly, revulsion.
"I think that was cheating…" He looked almost pouty, but Guiche just walked over to the hole he'd made. There were stairs underneath it. When he dropped down and held his light up he found that, as he had suspected, there was no evidence of moving parts. Another trick.
"Something dangerous hidden by something innocuous… then danger clearly presented with a straightforward path to safety. Setting up the expectation and then tearing it down." Guiche chuckled and looked up at Jeima. "The puzzle was the trap; brute force was the solution. My precautions were pointless, it seems. But if I'd tried to force my way into this chamber I suspect I'd have been taught to expect the opposite. Reminds me of a friend of mine!" He chuckled faintly in spite of himself, then shook his head. "Come along, good sir. We must hurry."
The small man dropped down after him and together they began to walk the damp steps into the darkness. As they did so Guiche couldn't help but frown. This was already taking too long, but he couldn't act incautiously. Even so, the desire to rush was palpable.
He just hoped that Kenneth was okay.
Green fire danced across Kenneth's gloved hand and down his arm. The leather turned black as it half-burnt, half-rotted away. If it were possible for a transgression against all that was good and righteous to look smug then the Wight was certainly attempting it. Something, however, seemed wrong. The flames had stopped at the elbow and seemed to have run out of anything else to burn.
Then a silver spike punched its way through the creature's palm. Ethereal light shone forth and took shape; coming into being as blue glass that flickered and shifted as if it were fire. Spikes of it burst out of the creature's arm and wherever it took form the sickly green flames sputtered out and died. In a moment all of the unholy energies were overtaken and the glass-like substance replaced it. Then it faded.
The spike retracted and the now empty corpse collapsed. Kenneth shook off the remnants of his glove and examined his left hand for a moment. He flexed it as best he could, silvery metal shining in the sunlight as gears whirred and joints clicked. Then he turned it so his palm faced him and eyed the aperture in the base of the metal. A metallic spike extended again; tiny runes glowing faintly blue.
"Hmf. Two, three… maybe four." It retracted again as he sighed and hefted his axe; starting to jog towards the next set of Wights. There were two more Ether Spikes contained inside his prosthetic and each would work for maybe ten shots each if he aligned them well and hit closer to the core of the magic. He'd probably need to burn half of one for each dragon; assuming the metal could pierce the scales.
Well, come what may he'd hold until the end... and save as many as he could.
The Duke breathed a sigh of relief as the wound on Cattleya's chest finally closed. Her breathing was somewhat laboured but she would survive. If it hadn't been for the heroic leap of Louise's familiar… he shook his head to dispel the thought. As he did so a horrific memory suddenly dredged itself up and he leapt to his feet. Across the room Saito glanced up from where he appeared to be carefully melting the frost on the Zerbst's daughter's arm.
"He was bluffing." His voice cut across the room but barely managed to scratch the ice that had filled the Duke's vein. Saito didn't look up from his careful work as a pale blue light began to shine from his other hand. The water pouring off the ice spike was caught against his hand and began to gather into a sphere as he carefully melted and extracted it. "All of the men he brought are in this room."
Or what remained of them, at least. He couldn't help but glance over to where the last crossbowman was slumped on the floor. The contents of his skull had been spread across the wall above him; as soon as he'd got the answers he wanted Saito had crushed his skull in one hand like it was an overripe grape.
Karin had told him that the boy was a diligent and efficient servant with a reasonably useful skill set. Now it seemed he was a powerful and talented killer who, it so happened, had access to bizarre yet undeniably effective magic. It made his head swim. The young man had saved Cattleya, but at the cost of Louise being taken.
"I'm sorry, Duke. This was my fault." Golden light poured between the young man's fingertips and into the girl's wound. It sealed itself up again from the inside out; muscle and sinew reknitting into healthy flesh once more. "Sentiment. Foolishness. I've grown soft." As he said that he stood and strode through the bloody carnage that he'd left in his wake. The lone remaining soldier was still desperately trying to pry his dented breastplate off between laboured breaths.
"You… you knew?" Saito stood, walking over to the Duke and Cattelya. His eyes began to shine again as he looked at her with a frown. Then he crouched beside her. The Duke moved aside for a moment as the young man stretched forth his hand and poured out more golden light; it seemed to be flowing out from under his sleeve. What was he?
"In a manner of speaking. I knew that Wardes was part of a group plotting against the Crown of Tristain, but I had no interest in his plans." That… how long had he known this? Why hadn't he acted against them? "Since your family is descended from the royalty of this country I assumed he intended to use Louise to legitimise his movement. This was outside of my predictions." It took all the Duke had not to strike the young man; made easier by having to remind himself the boy was currently working on healing his daughter.
"That's treason you're talking about, boy. Why wouldn't you say something?" The outpour of golden light ended and Cattelya seemed to be breathing easier. As soon as Saito moved out of the way, remaining silent as he did, the Duke shifted back into place. He quickly made to check on the state of his daughter's injuries with diagnostic magic; only to find, to his shock, that the internal wounds were significantly reduced. It was to the point where she may as well have been jabbed with a knitting needle rather than shot with a crossbow bolt.
"I'll speak it plain, Duke, and only the once." He looked up into Saito's cold, determined expression as the young man placed a foot on the face of the final survivor. The situation made him want to speak out but that face sealed the words in his throat. "I do not care about this country." Beneath his foot the pitiful begging turned to cries of pain. "I do not care about its people." There was a faint cracking sound, and blood began to drip down the poor mercenary's face.
"And I do not care about your laws." There was a crunch as the pressure being exerted by the foot overcame the resistance of the skull beneath it. Both Duke and boy were silent as they regarded each other; one with disinterest, the other with growing concern. Then the young man's face softened. "However… I do care about Louise. And yet my sentiment spared Wardes because she cared for him. I allowed him to take her because I chose to save her sister. No more. I will get her back." Saito ground the remains of the soldier's skull beneath his boot. The Duke shuddered; less at that then at the young man's parting words.
"I have no mercy left for them."
There had been more traps. Guiche had sent his Valkyries ahead after the first near-miss and hadn't regretted it. Whoever had built this disturbingly extensive structure had a truly incredible understanding of the human psyche. Every time he allowed himself to suspect that they had triggered the last trap his Valkyries tripped another one.
Each and every one was precise and deadly. Mostly consisting of pointed stone pillars dropping from the ceiling in such a way that it would instantly kill whoever trod on the trapped step. Followed by a portion of the stairs around the trigger collapsing into a pit. How many years had this taken? It was clear there was an immense degree of paranoia and effort poured into this…
The only word he could use was 'Temple'. His wand-light illuminated painstakingly carved murals on the walls that made him feel uncomfortable. Jeima kept a respectable distance from them and Guiche alike; this entire place seemed to fill him with an awe that bordered on reverence.
At last, after what seemed like hours but had likely been mere minutes, they came out into another open space. Even with magic this must have taken years of painstaking work to complete. In contrast to what they'd had thus far the final chamber was rather simple. There was a carved bier in the middle of the room with what looked remarkably like a stone coffin laid atop it.
"Is this it?" Jeima nodded and stepped forward, clearing his throat. When he spoke it was with an exotic tone and a bizarre intonation as he formed words in no language that Guiche could recognise. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow as he spoke with increasing nervousness. Seeing as the little man seemed to know what he was doing Guiche allowed him to continue.
"That should be enou-" The darkness moved. It poured like ink into the circle of light as it formed blades and tendrils and mouths and Guiche very nearly soiled his britches as it flung itself across the room at him. Derf cried out and the shadow blades passed through his dwarven mail like it was no more than paper.
He barely managed to cut through the razor sharp limb before it reached something significant; the smoky substance immediately dissolving as the thing briefly recoiled. To Guiche's abject surprise it formed a vaguely humanoid shape just outside the circle of light that he was still casting and even without eyes he could feel the raw hate that it was directing at him.
"How easily our pact is broken, son of my son. How easily is family betrayed! It leapt at Jeima this time and Guiche had to exert himself to the full in order to interpose himself at time. To his immense relief Derf was able to block the spear of shadow that became the entity's arm as it reached out for what he could only imagine was the tiny, quivering man's throat. Jeima tried to babble something in his foreign tongue but the monster didn't seem to hear him. That, or it just wasn't interested in listening.
"What did they promise you, that you would cast aside all that I fought for? I did not bind my soul to the very bones of this haven so that you could cast aside your heritage for coin!" There wasn't much time for Guiche to muse on these revelations before the shadow-man struck out at him once more.
The way it attacked him was, apart from the constant transformation, eerily familiar. It pressed the assault constantly and utterly refused to give him a moment to breathe. Every motion was fluid and murderously efficient. Even when he managed to focus enough to stack two Earths and create a sudden explosion of spikes between him and it the entity seemed to effortlessly cross between the threats to pursue him.
His only real advantage was, ironically, the hate that it felt. It was predictable in its deadliness; every strike aiming for an instant kill and giving him a gradual advantage. Even that, however, felt strangely mundane to him. Which was why he wasn't surprised when an attack was suddenly launched at his leg instead.
Several things clicked together for Guiche at that moment. This wasn't an enemy he could afford defeat. Every second he delayed people died and if he kept this up long enough to figure out a strategy for actual victory he might well be one of those people. In this moment, he had to be decisive.
Guiche tossed his sword aside and stood his ground as the enraged monstrosity leapt for the kill.
The battlefield had become no less than a blighted wasteland. Normal soldiers served no purpose save to give the monsters more fodder to spread through, Even the mages were proving ineffective at actually killing the Wights. Kenneth was down to his last Ether Spike now; there were still two Dragonwights and dozens of Human Wights left.
All in all the situation was looking dire. He was confident in his ability to survive regardless; but not in his ability to do so without sacrificing most of the people left alive. Through all of it there was something gnawing at the back of his mind. Why hadn't the ships moved up yet?
This attack could have taken then all the way into Tristain. Ruined the country in one foul swoop. So why hadn't they? He ducked a tongue of green fire as it issued from a Dragonwight and punched it in the lower jaw; cutting off the stream. His axe ripped out a good portion of its throat and the unholy flames poured forth to liberally coat the point he'd been standing in a moment earlier.
No sign of his shield yet… he was too turned around. A detonation to the side claimed three more soldiers and created three more enemy combatants. Kenneth yanked on his connection to the earth, felt it shift and flow as he sank one down to the knees and, a moment later, bisected it. The Wights had started fleeing from him towards other soldiers; moving in different directions to delay him even further.
At this rate he'd win the battle and lose the entire camp. They were acting with increasing intelligence and tactical insight. Someone had to be overseeing them and passing on direct orders. For a moment he had a horrible thought; that perhaps the King of Banefire himself had been summoned to this world. But, no… with the strength of magic here such an entity would not have remained unknown for so long.
His relief was short-lived as a Dragonwight took to the sky and Kenneth stared with increasing horror into the sky. There was nothing he could do, no way to save the poor idiots who had come with the intent to save them. A flight of Dragon Knights was inbound, already gathering flaming projectiles and trumpeting their arrival. Kenneth saw them much as the Wights did; Enemy reinforcements in the making.
Then the wind changed.
The dead hesitated.
Something gnawed at the fire that raged where their souls used to be.
They felt the faint stirrings of a feeling that had been burned out of them.
Fear.
Atop the nearby hill stood a figure cloaked in white light.
It hung from their shoulders and spread out behind them; merging into the night sky and forming a shining aurora in hues of whites. Everyone had gone still; even the oncoming Dragon Knights and the many Wights littering the battlefield.
The radiance that bathed across them was bliss. It sank into them, to their very bones, and carried with it a biting chill that somehow still felt like a soft embrace. Every pulse of that icy light brought with it relief; from weariness and fatigue, from pain and fear, from all suffering. As the figure descended the hill the nearest Wights began to openly weep tears of green fire.
Immersed in that frigid glow the nearest Wight fell to its knees; reaching out with countless emotions literally burned into its features. Anger. Regret. Loss. Hope. And more besides. Its saviour drew a white blade and dragged it along the luminescent mantle that it bore. The weapon took on the frozen glow itself and then plunged directly through the heart of the Wight.
Green fire poured from its eyes as the pale energies suffused it. For a moment the monster almost seemed to smile as the shine in its eyes changed colour; its cracked and burnt lips mouthed words that none could hear before the light left it and returned into the shimmering mass at the back of its redeemer.
The corpse's own weight caused it to slide backwards off the blade and strike the ground with a deafeningly quiet 'thump'.
Guiche de Gramont gathered Moonlight to his blade once more and looked to the nearest Wight as its eyes suddenly surged; utter hatred for life overcoming the strange bliss that had, for a time, stilled its hands. He smiled with a faint tinge of regret as it began to charge him. Above, in the middle distance, the Dragonwight turned on its wing and started towards him.
A moment later a spike trailing blue light ripped through the air with the sound of burning glass shattering and struck the creature in the chest. Azure energy tore apart the animating Banefire and sent it crashing to the ground. Guiche spared a moment to glance over at his familiar and return the dwarf's proud salute.
Then he set to work.
"You're certain of this, Tif? Lotta people are going to die if we go through with this." A red-headed young woman shouldered a musket and stared down at the city of Londinium with evident distaste. The red banner of the Reconquista flew proudly above it and the fires on the plain before the city burned high with the wealth of the city's nobles. There were gallows and crosses erected too; well-occupied by the former ruling caste of Albion.
Those that hadn't been willing to join up, that is.
For all of the girl's apparent softness, in multiple meanings of the word, Agnes had learned something about the half-elven girl she'd been living with these past few weeks. She had learned that Tiffania had an almost boundless capacity for compassion, forgiveness and love. However, she had also learned that the word 'almost' was, as it turned out, very important.
"We're sure." Tiffania set herself as best she could in the unfamiliar outfit. Armour, even leather, didn't suit her at all but Agnes had insisted upon it. She looked to her side at the two cloaked figures for reassurance. "They're hurting innocent people, someone needs to stop it, and there's nobody else but us."
"That's right. This is our home, and we will defend it." Matilda pushed back her cloak and smiled down at her little sister; clearly proud and yet torn at the same time. Thus far, Agnes didn't particularly trust the woman but since Tif had vouched for she had to be alright. Besides… the help she'd brought along was certainly welcome.
Not that she thought poorly of their chances, mind. After all, they had… well… Agnes glanced back at the titanic white wolf sitting calmly at the treeline as it regarded their task with its usual, dispassionate gaze. Normally she'd think herself mad for ascribing any emotions to the thing at all but considering all she'd seen these past few weeks…
Stretched out behind it was their army. Such as it was. Quite possibly every dog in the whole of Albion and more besides. Birds by the hundred were perched in the trees; utterly still as they awaited the command of the sovereign of beasts that sat in their midst. Adding to that Matilda's golem spells and their fourth member… the Reconquista wouldn't know what hit them.
"Ah… it's been so long since I've been to a proper battle. Thank you for finding me Miss Longue-... ah, Matilda. I do appreciate it." Old Osmond stepped forward with a rather vicious grin on his face. There was an air of restrained power about him that made Agnes feel a tad self-conscious. "Particularly now that I know who is ultimately responsible for stealing from my Academy. Shall we?" A tremor passed through the assembled animals as their god finally stood.
The First Wolf howled.
"And why, pray, could I not have simply opened a way through the ground to this path?" It felt like a pertinent question to ask while they slogged through the mud and grime coating the walls; tiny man with dim torch leading the way. But his guide had simply shot him a glance and spoken with a tone as chilling as any of Saito's.
"It would have been unwise."
And Guiche got no further explanation on the matter. He had decided he no longer wanted it. Their path was sloping downwards, curving slightly as it did, and the young nobleman found himself increasingly concerned with how far they were going. If this mysterious place was to help them then they had to reach it sooner rather than later. His impatience built and built until, at last, he could tolerate no more.
"I'm sorry, Jeima, but we don't have time!" He grabbed the smaller man, lifted him into the air, albeit with a surprising amount of effort, and flicked out his wand. A Valkyrie's front chest plate formed in front of them and he stepped on to it. Then he pointed behind them. "Hold on, my good man! This… is probably going to hurt. A lot."
Guiche stacked Water; tearing it out of the mildew and slime on the walls and ceiling. It swept them up as he dropped to his knees and held the commoner tightly to his chest. The growing wave picked them up and launched them down the tunnel at a breakneck pace.
It didn't take them long to spill out into a larger chamber and skid into the centre while rank water flooded in behind them. Jeima squirmed out of Guiche's grasp and began to cough while the noble allowed himself to collapse on to his back. That had not been one of his better ideas. In retrospect, he probably should have applied his Bronze Flesh spell.
"This…" Jeima finished hacking out a bit of truly disgusting liquid and wiped his face. "This is it. I've only been here once. You need magic of some kind to open the doorway." Which was… ah… Guiche frowned, looking around. As far as he could see the only door in this bizarre chamber was the entrance they'd come on through.
It was a rounded chamber with a dull orange light permeating it. For a moment he'd forgotten that their torch had been doused. Then he actually looked at the crystalline objects shining in the braziers around the room and his heart froze in his chest. They were Firestones.
"My father said that if you failed to open the lock on the first try they would explode." Although the little man's tone was conversational there was a note of fear to his voice. Guiche looked around a bit more and frowned. He still couldn't even see the door, let alone the lock. "You're standing on it, by the way."
He blinked and then looked down. There it was. Guiche had to stare at it for several seconds before he realised what he was seeing. Really, he should have noticed that the water was draining. Under their feet was a stone grate and beneath that a series of horizontal, interlocking stone rods. They had sections cut out of them and fine engravings all across them.
"... a puzzle lock. By the Founder, could this be any more of a waste of time?" He looked at the braziers, then at the grating. Guiche drew his mother's sword and stacked a lone Earth as he tapped the ground; frowning as he felt the feedback from his magic. He couldn't see how it fit together, although he could see where to start. All he'd need to do was slide that one, then that one, and then that one. It was easy. But why? How did it work?
Jeima stood there and watched helplessly as Guiche paced. The man had no more of an idea than he did. Something about this felt wrong. Every time he moved to start he stopped and tapped the grating again; magic flowing through the rock as he examined it. It was easy. The only thing it would do is take up his time. Why?
A long path to reach it… a simple but time-consuming puzzle lock… it seemed to fit, but he couldn't say why he was hesitating. Until he suddenly slapped himself about the head and walked over to the nearest brazier.
"Hey, Derf? Can you do something about this?" His shield rolled its… cleared its… well, it animated itself in an exasperated way as he held it up to the Firestone on the wall. Guiche felt a little bad for a moment given his tendency to ignore the shield for significant periods as of late.
"... yes. I can. Nice of you to remember me, partner." He patted the shield as it pouted for a moment and then sighed. "Well, you know you can rely on me. Let's do this." Guiche smiled faintly and pressed his shield to the gem. It flickered for a few moments before sputtering out. He channelled Fire for a moment and a wisp of reddish white gathered on the tip of his sword as he drained the remaining Firestones.
Then he stacked dual Earths and swung down on the stone grate; shattering it and tearing a hole through the puzzle lock directly into the chamber below. Jeima stared with undisguised shock and, shortly, revulsion.
"I think that was cheating…" He looked almost pouty, but Guiche just walked over to the hole he'd made. There were stairs underneath it. When he dropped down and held his light up he found that, as he had suspected, there was no evidence of moving parts. Another trick.
"Something dangerous hidden by something innocuous… then danger clearly presented with a straightforward path to safety. Setting up the expectation and then tearing it down." Guiche chuckled and looked up at Jeima. "The puzzle was the trap; brute force was the solution. My precautions were pointless, it seems. But if I'd tried to force my way into this chamber I suspect I'd have been taught to expect the opposite. Reminds me of a friend of mine!" He chuckled faintly in spite of himself, then shook his head. "Come along, good sir. We must hurry."
The small man dropped down after him and together they began to walk the damp steps into the darkness. As they did so Guiche couldn't help but frown. This was already taking too long, but he couldn't act incautiously. Even so, the desire to rush was palpable.
He just hoped that Kenneth was okay.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Green fire danced across Kenneth's gloved hand and down his arm. The leather turned black as it half-burnt, half-rotted away. If it were possible for a transgression against all that was good and righteous to look smug then the Wight was certainly attempting it. Something, however, seemed wrong. The flames had stopped at the elbow and seemed to have run out of anything else to burn.
Then a silver spike punched its way through the creature's palm. Ethereal light shone forth and took shape; coming into being as blue glass that flickered and shifted as if it were fire. Spikes of it burst out of the creature's arm and wherever it took form the sickly green flames sputtered out and died. In a moment all of the unholy energies were overtaken and the glass-like substance replaced it. Then it faded.
The spike retracted and the now empty corpse collapsed. Kenneth shook off the remnants of his glove and examined his left hand for a moment. He flexed it as best he could, silvery metal shining in the sunlight as gears whirred and joints clicked. Then he turned it so his palm faced him and eyed the aperture in the base of the metal. A metallic spike extended again; tiny runes glowing faintly blue.
"Hmf. Two, three… maybe four." It retracted again as he sighed and hefted his axe; starting to jog towards the next set of Wights. There were two more Ether Spikes contained inside his prosthetic and each would work for maybe ten shots each if he aligned them well and hit closer to the core of the magic. He'd probably need to burn half of one for each dragon; assuming the metal could pierce the scales.
Well, come what may he'd hold until the end... and save as many as he could.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Duke breathed a sigh of relief as the wound on Cattleya's chest finally closed. Her breathing was somewhat laboured but she would survive. If it hadn't been for the heroic leap of Louise's familiar… he shook his head to dispel the thought. As he did so a horrific memory suddenly dredged itself up and he leapt to his feet. Across the room Saito glanced up from where he appeared to be carefully melting the frost on the Zerbst's daughter's arm.
"He was bluffing." His voice cut across the room but barely managed to scratch the ice that had filled the Duke's vein. Saito didn't look up from his careful work as a pale blue light began to shine from his other hand. The water pouring off the ice spike was caught against his hand and began to gather into a sphere as he carefully melted and extracted it. "All of the men he brought are in this room."
Or what remained of them, at least. He couldn't help but glance over to where the last crossbowman was slumped on the floor. The contents of his skull had been spread across the wall above him; as soon as he'd got the answers he wanted Saito had crushed his skull in one hand like it was an overripe grape.
Karin had told him that the boy was a diligent and efficient servant with a reasonably useful skill set. Now it seemed he was a powerful and talented killer who, it so happened, had access to bizarre yet undeniably effective magic. It made his head swim. The young man had saved Cattleya, but at the cost of Louise being taken.
"I'm sorry, Duke. This was my fault." Golden light poured between the young man's fingertips and into the girl's wound. It sealed itself up again from the inside out; muscle and sinew reknitting into healthy flesh once more. "Sentiment. Foolishness. I've grown soft." As he said that he stood and strode through the bloody carnage that he'd left in his wake. The lone remaining soldier was still desperately trying to pry his dented breastplate off between laboured breaths.
"You… you knew?" Saito stood, walking over to the Duke and Cattelya. His eyes began to shine again as he looked at her with a frown. Then he crouched beside her. The Duke moved aside for a moment as the young man stretched forth his hand and poured out more golden light; it seemed to be flowing out from under his sleeve. What was he?
"In a manner of speaking. I knew that Wardes was part of a group plotting against the Crown of Tristain, but I had no interest in his plans." That… how long had he known this? Why hadn't he acted against them? "Since your family is descended from the royalty of this country I assumed he intended to use Louise to legitimise his movement. This was outside of my predictions." It took all the Duke had not to strike the young man; made easier by having to remind himself the boy was currently working on healing his daughter.
"That's treason you're talking about, boy. Why wouldn't you say something?" The outpour of golden light ended and Cattelya seemed to be breathing easier. As soon as Saito moved out of the way, remaining silent as he did, the Duke shifted back into place. He quickly made to check on the state of his daughter's injuries with diagnostic magic; only to find, to his shock, that the internal wounds were significantly reduced. It was to the point where she may as well have been jabbed with a knitting needle rather than shot with a crossbow bolt.
"I'll speak it plain, Duke, and only the once." He looked up into Saito's cold, determined expression as the young man placed a foot on the face of the final survivor. The situation made him want to speak out but that face sealed the words in his throat. "I do not care about this country." Beneath his foot the pitiful begging turned to cries of pain. "I do not care about its people." There was a faint cracking sound, and blood began to drip down the poor mercenary's face.
"And I do not care about your laws." There was a crunch as the pressure being exerted by the foot overcame the resistance of the skull beneath it. Both Duke and boy were silent as they regarded each other; one with disinterest, the other with growing concern. Then the young man's face softened. "However… I do care about Louise. And yet my sentiment spared Wardes because she cared for him. I allowed him to take her because I chose to save her sister. No more. I will get her back." Saito ground the remains of the soldier's skull beneath his boot. The Duke shuddered; less at that then at the young man's parting words.
"I have no mercy left for them."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
There had been more traps. Guiche had sent his Valkyries ahead after the first near-miss and hadn't regretted it. Whoever had built this disturbingly extensive structure had a truly incredible understanding of the human psyche. Every time he allowed himself to suspect that they had triggered the last trap his Valkyries tripped another one.
Each and every one was precise and deadly. Mostly consisting of pointed stone pillars dropping from the ceiling in such a way that it would instantly kill whoever trod on the trapped step. Followed by a portion of the stairs around the trigger collapsing into a pit. How many years had this taken? It was clear there was an immense degree of paranoia and effort poured into this…
The only word he could use was 'Temple'. His wand-light illuminated painstakingly carved murals on the walls that made him feel uncomfortable. Jeima kept a respectable distance from them and Guiche alike; this entire place seemed to fill him with an awe that bordered on reverence.
At last, after what seemed like hours but had likely been mere minutes, they came out into another open space. Even with magic this must have taken years of painstaking work to complete. In contrast to what they'd had thus far the final chamber was rather simple. There was a carved bier in the middle of the room with what looked remarkably like a stone coffin laid atop it.
"Is this it?" Jeima nodded and stepped forward, clearing his throat. When he spoke it was with an exotic tone and a bizarre intonation as he formed words in no language that Guiche could recognise. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow as he spoke with increasing nervousness. Seeing as the little man seemed to know what he was doing Guiche allowed him to continue.
"That should be enou-" The darkness moved. It poured like ink into the circle of light as it formed blades and tendrils and mouths and Guiche very nearly soiled his britches as it flung itself across the room at him. Derf cried out and the shadow blades passed through his dwarven mail like it was no more than paper.
He barely managed to cut through the razor sharp limb before it reached something significant; the smoky substance immediately dissolving as the thing briefly recoiled. To Guiche's abject surprise it formed a vaguely humanoid shape just outside the circle of light that he was still casting and even without eyes he could feel the raw hate that it was directing at him.
"How easily our pact is broken, son of my son. How easily is family betrayed! It leapt at Jeima this time and Guiche had to exert himself to the full in order to interpose himself at time. To his immense relief Derf was able to block the spear of shadow that became the entity's arm as it reached out for what he could only imagine was the tiny, quivering man's throat. Jeima tried to babble something in his foreign tongue but the monster didn't seem to hear him. That, or it just wasn't interested in listening.
"What did they promise you, that you would cast aside all that I fought for? I did not bind my soul to the very bones of this haven so that you could cast aside your heritage for coin!" There wasn't much time for Guiche to muse on these revelations before the shadow-man struck out at him once more.
The way it attacked him was, apart from the constant transformation, eerily familiar. It pressed the assault constantly and utterly refused to give him a moment to breathe. Every motion was fluid and murderously efficient. Even when he managed to focus enough to stack two Earths and create a sudden explosion of spikes between him and it the entity seemed to effortlessly cross between the threats to pursue him.
His only real advantage was, ironically, the hate that it felt. It was predictable in its deadliness; every strike aiming for an instant kill and giving him a gradual advantage. Even that, however, felt strangely mundane to him. Which was why he wasn't surprised when an attack was suddenly launched at his leg instead.
Several things clicked together for Guiche at that moment. This wasn't an enemy he could afford defeat. Every second he delayed people died and if he kept this up long enough to figure out a strategy for actual victory he might well be one of those people. In this moment, he had to be decisive.
Guiche tossed his sword aside and stood his ground as the enraged monstrosity leapt for the kill.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The battlefield had become no less than a blighted wasteland. Normal soldiers served no purpose save to give the monsters more fodder to spread through, Even the mages were proving ineffective at actually killing the Wights. Kenneth was down to his last Ether Spike now; there were still two Dragonwights and dozens of Human Wights left.
All in all the situation was looking dire. He was confident in his ability to survive regardless; but not in his ability to do so without sacrificing most of the people left alive. Through all of it there was something gnawing at the back of his mind. Why hadn't the ships moved up yet?
This attack could have taken then all the way into Tristain. Ruined the country in one foul swoop. So why hadn't they? He ducked a tongue of green fire as it issued from a Dragonwight and punched it in the lower jaw; cutting off the stream. His axe ripped out a good portion of its throat and the unholy flames poured forth to liberally coat the point he'd been standing in a moment earlier.
No sign of his shield yet… he was too turned around. A detonation to the side claimed three more soldiers and created three more enemy combatants. Kenneth yanked on his connection to the earth, felt it shift and flow as he sank one down to the knees and, a moment later, bisected it. The Wights had started fleeing from him towards other soldiers; moving in different directions to delay him even further.
At this rate he'd win the battle and lose the entire camp. They were acting with increasing intelligence and tactical insight. Someone had to be overseeing them and passing on direct orders. For a moment he had a horrible thought; that perhaps the King of Banefire himself had been summoned to this world. But, no… with the strength of magic here such an entity would not have remained unknown for so long.
His relief was short-lived as a Dragonwight took to the sky and Kenneth stared with increasing horror into the sky. There was nothing he could do, no way to save the poor idiots who had come with the intent to save them. A flight of Dragon Knights was inbound, already gathering flaming projectiles and trumpeting their arrival. Kenneth saw them much as the Wights did; Enemy reinforcements in the making.
Then the wind changed.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The dead hesitated.
Something gnawed at the fire that raged where their souls used to be.
They felt the faint stirrings of a feeling that had been burned out of them.
Fear.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Atop the nearby hill stood a figure cloaked in white light.
It hung from their shoulders and spread out behind them; merging into the night sky and forming a shining aurora in hues of whites. Everyone had gone still; even the oncoming Dragon Knights and the many Wights littering the battlefield.
The radiance that bathed across them was bliss. It sank into them, to their very bones, and carried with it a biting chill that somehow still felt like a soft embrace. Every pulse of that icy light brought with it relief; from weariness and fatigue, from pain and fear, from all suffering. As the figure descended the hill the nearest Wights began to openly weep tears of green fire.
Immersed in that frigid glow the nearest Wight fell to its knees; reaching out with countless emotions literally burned into its features. Anger. Regret. Loss. Hope. And more besides. Its saviour drew a white blade and dragged it along the luminescent mantle that it bore. The weapon took on the frozen glow itself and then plunged directly through the heart of the Wight.
Green fire poured from its eyes as the pale energies suffused it. For a moment the monster almost seemed to smile as the shine in its eyes changed colour; its cracked and burnt lips mouthed words that none could hear before the light left it and returned into the shimmering mass at the back of its redeemer.
The corpse's own weight caused it to slide backwards off the blade and strike the ground with a deafeningly quiet 'thump'.
Guiche de Gramont gathered Moonlight to his blade once more and looked to the nearest Wight as its eyes suddenly surged; utter hatred for life overcoming the strange bliss that had, for a time, stilled its hands. He smiled with a faint tinge of regret as it began to charge him. Above, in the middle distance, the Dragonwight turned on its wing and started towards him.
A moment later a spike trailing blue light ripped through the air with the sound of burning glass shattering and struck the creature in the chest. Azure energy tore apart the animating Banefire and sent it crashing to the ground. Guiche spared a moment to glance over at his familiar and return the dwarf's proud salute.
Then he set to work.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"You're certain of this, Tif? Lotta people are going to die if we go through with this." A red-headed young woman shouldered a musket and stared down at the city of Londinium with evident distaste. The red banner of the Reconquista flew proudly above it and the fires on the plain before the city burned high with the wealth of the city's nobles. There were gallows and crosses erected too; well-occupied by the former ruling caste of Albion.
Those that hadn't been willing to join up, that is.
For all of the girl's apparent softness, in multiple meanings of the word, Agnes had learned something about the half-elven girl she'd been living with these past few weeks. She had learned that Tiffania had an almost boundless capacity for compassion, forgiveness and love. However, she had also learned that the word 'almost' was, as it turned out, very important.
"We're sure." Tiffania set herself as best she could in the unfamiliar outfit. Armour, even leather, didn't suit her at all but Agnes had insisted upon it. She looked to her side at the two cloaked figures for reassurance. "They're hurting innocent people, someone needs to stop it, and there's nobody else but us."
"That's right. This is our home, and we will defend it." Matilda pushed back her cloak and smiled down at her little sister; clearly proud and yet torn at the same time. Thus far, Agnes didn't particularly trust the woman but since Tif had vouched for she had to be alright. Besides… the help she'd brought along was certainly welcome.
Not that she thought poorly of their chances, mind. After all, they had… well… Agnes glanced back at the titanic white wolf sitting calmly at the treeline as it regarded their task with its usual, dispassionate gaze. Normally she'd think herself mad for ascribing any emotions to the thing at all but considering all she'd seen these past few weeks…
Stretched out behind it was their army. Such as it was. Quite possibly every dog in the whole of Albion and more besides. Birds by the hundred were perched in the trees; utterly still as they awaited the command of the sovereign of beasts that sat in their midst. Adding to that Matilda's golem spells and their fourth member… the Reconquista wouldn't know what hit them.
"Ah… it's been so long since I've been to a proper battle. Thank you for finding me Miss Longue-... ah, Matilda. I do appreciate it." Old Osmond stepped forward with a rather vicious grin on his face. There was an air of restrained power about him that made Agnes feel a tad self-conscious. "Particularly now that I know who is ultimately responsible for stealing from my Academy. Shall we?" A tremor passed through the assembled animals as their god finally stood.
The First Wolf howled.
