In the cloying dark of night, Grandmother Alta accompanied the Eyraillian princess and the unlikely hero to the courtyard, guided only by the yellow glow of lantern light. She understood why the two had awaited nightfall before approaching her: whatever crowd that had gathered to bear witness to the uncanny phenomenon had long since departed, and now the message, that had been covered carefully with a canvas tarp to preserve it, was undisturbed. Only a few lone snow flakes had drifted from the sky since the message had caught the attention of the king earlier, but it was still best to work with magic when it was undisturbed. Whoever had left this message had in turn left their own ethereal fingerprint: and that was how they could be contacted, by the right person with the right skills. The elderly librarian still had doubts as to the extent to which she could assist her old home (and, in turn, Eyraille), but she hadn't forgotten to feel of the seaside city's balmy air. If there was any distance that her meager magic could touch, then surely it was Stella D'Mare.
"It is an honest cry for help if ever I have seen one." The old woman agreed, peering at the letters word by word, and reading it over and over again. "I must say, whoever the sender of this message might be, then they must have a good deal of power at their fingertips. To transfer written words like this over such a grand distance is no small task--and to such an extent. The poor thing must have been exhausted to get these words out." She tsked, and her brows knit together in thought. "A Rigas, I am willing to bet. My bloodline has certainly produced some powerhouses of magic, in the past. Forces to be reckoned with. I would like to meet this gem someday. If Stella D'Mare does survive Mollengard's siege, it may be high time that I paid a visit to my former home and family... now, whether or not I might still be welcome is another matter. But that is a concern for another day, entirely."
Taking Haraldur's proffered arm, Grandmother Alta took a seat on the chilled ground, and took her bony fingers from her woolen gloves. "Here is what I can try to do. There is no way in whatever remains of my existence that I can replicate what this caster has done. But, this writing is unique to them; like a fingerprint. It has been some time since I exercised my own abilities, but I think I might be able to get in touch with the caster, themselves. If I can find a source, an identity in these letters... then I will attempt to convey my own message. Send an image of my own to their mind. But, first," the librarian turned her pale eyes to Vega, who crouched next to her, alert and intent. "You need to tell me what message it is that I am sending. Do not make it long; the less information I must convey, the more likely it is to reach the recipient, unbroken."
"Tell them..." The Skyknight paused, considering the words carefully. "Tell them to expect aid to arrive within a week. Expect us, but not to let on that they do. Keep Mollengard at arm's reach from this knowledge. For now, that is all Stella D'Mare needs to know. If they require details, further messages can be sent over the course of the week."
"Mmm... good enough. Let me see what I can do." Grandmother Alta nodded, and then, with her own, frail index finger, she began to trace the letters in the dirt. Over and over, one by one, she traced with her fingertip, and the process itself must have last for a quarter of an hour, at the very least. Neither Vega nor Haraldur asked any questions or made a single sound, for fear of interrupting or disturbing the matronly librarian's concentration. The Eyraillian princess even went as far as to hold her breath several times, in wonder and in hopes that the old woman could come through for them.
And then, all of a sudden, her index finger ceased its ministrations, and Grandmother Alta's mouth puckered into a frown. "...not a Rigas." She murmured, sounding perplexed--but it triggered a surge of hope in Vega's heart. Because, at the very least, the matronly librarian had identified the sender. Once again, her fingers resumed the tracing, and she murmured something unintelligible under her breath, over and over. At first, it sounded like a mantra, but as the Eyraillian princess began to pick up on the words, the message became clear: We hear you. Expect us in a week. Don't inform Mollengard. Simple and to the point, yet effective. Just like the message that Stella D'Mare had sent.
An hour later, the old woman ceased her tracing and murmuring, and went silent. She stretched out her hand, a silent request that she required help to stand. Of course, Haraldur was quick to oblige, but the tremor in grandmother Alta's knees, and her inability to keep herself upright, struck a chord of concern in Vega. "Grandmother... are you all right?" She asked, taking the librarian's other hand. "Should we escort you to the infirmary?"
"Nonsense, young lady. I might be old, but I am neither sickly, nor an invalid; just tired. Be dears and help me to my chambers." Grandmother Alta countered. Now that she had a means of comparison, Vega could very much see the Rigas in the old woman: the pride, and the way in which she carried herself without a flaw. Much though she itched to ask the question, the princess did not inquire as to whether or not the old woman had successfully delivered the message, because the air of satisfaction surrounding her suggested that failure had not been the result. To think, that the Rigases had been a true part of her life for longer than she could remember... The world and its destinies truly worked in the strangest ways.
Summoning the essence of Eyraillian soil--a place she had never visited--had been no small task for young Teselin. Yet to her surprise (and Chara's, for that matter), she had succeeded. At least, she felt she had, for a curious thing occurred as she traced the letters into the soil. Focusing all of her energy on the message's destination, the letters appeared to take on a mind of their own, and in the wake of her fingertip, they caught fire: an odd, icy-blue tinted flame burned in the shape of the letters, and when the summoner had at last scrawled the final letter, the flames rose to the height of a person--and then, extinguished in the blink of an eye, with smoke rising in their wake.
No sooner did Teselin finish, that she was hit by a wave a nausea paired with light-headedness. Afraid to stand, she continued to kneel, clutching one hand to her stomach and the other to her forehead, before Chara helped her (or, moreso, forced her) to her feet. The young woman found herself leaning heavily on the Rigas caster, as she escorted her back to her chambers, where she lay down and plummeted into a deep sleep just moments after hitting the mattress. It was only mid-afternoon, at the time, and she did not awaken even once throughout the day--not until very late that night, after most of the city had retired to bed for the evening. Sitting up with a start, a vivid image very fresh in her mind, Teselin catapulted out of her bed and slipped on her boots, before hurrying out of her bedroom, making for the Rigas estates. Moment later, she was knocking frantically on the door of Chara's suite. An overtired and unimpressed Elespeth answered the door, her frown deepening when she saw the likes of the small young woman. "Teselin, what in all--"
"I must speak with Chara immediately. I'm sorry, but it is urgent." Teselin did not wait to be invited inside. She rushed past Elespeth, and nearly collided head-on with the blonde Rigas caster whom she sought. Before Chara could reprimand her for overstepping her bounds and barging in, she seized the woman by the arms and frantically sought her gaze. "It worked. They've acknowledged." She did not bother to elaborate, knowing that the Rigas woman would understand what she meant. Closing her eyes, she summoned the image that had come to her in her dreams. "An old woman... she is tall, with white hair. Her ears are tapered at the tips, like yours. Understandably, I do not recognize her. She says..." Teselin furrowed her brows, concentrating on the message so as to parrot it word for word. "We hear you. Expect us in a week. Do not inform Mollengard." Expelling a breath that she did not realize she was holding, an accomplished smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. "I'll be honest, I did not think my abilities could reach that far... but I'm happy they did. The city will see aid in a week. Not all is lost."
"Based on what you have told me regarding Stella D'Mare... my guess is that Gaolithe is predicting a war that either involves Mollengard, or Galeyn. It is difficult to say, at this point, and I am certainly no prophet." Roen folded his hands in front of him. "I wish I had better news to share with you, friends. But this turn of events is not one that should be ignored, any more than your quest for Galeyn. Who knows: perhaps finding Galeyn is integral in seeing a positive resolution to this impending war. It might not have been a city that breeds warriors, but its magic is truly unparalleled. And the Night Garden... that is an invaluable resource."
At Alster's offer to speak with Sigrid, Lilica, who had remained silent this entire time (and throughout the week, as well, feeling the burden of survivor's guilt as she had been the only one to walk away from last week's tragedy unharmed), found the opportunity to contribute. "I can speak to her, as well." She added, glancing at Alster. "I know what it is like--exactly what it feels like to take on a burden that you would rather not endure. In fact, I ma traveling now, because of it. Even if we cannot convince her to wield Gaolithe or to accompany us to Galeyn... it might bring her a modicum of comfort to know that she is not alone in her misery and grief."
"Perhaps you are right." Roen agreed, a faint smile touching his lips. "I, of all people, would appreciate it. She will not speak to me, presumably because she has nothing to nice to say for the moment. But you... well, speaking with you might be a different story. Don't expect a warm welcome, but it may be worth a try."
The next day, when they sought out the Dawn warrior's barracks and knocked on the door, it came as no surprise when there was no answer. Even when Alster offered an olive branch in the form of understanding, no one stirred on the other side of the door. Lilica then took it upon herself to reach out in her own way. "Sigrid, I know what it feels like. When you are forced to take on a burden that you never wanted... after all, that is why I am here. I didn't know of Galeyn's existence until this past month. It--my father--came to me in a dream, and before I knew it, I was burdened with the task uncovering it. I left everyone... the only person I've ever loved behind, in Stella D'Mare, while it is endangered in Mollengard's shadow. Every night, when my mind has a moment to itself, all that I can think about is going home. But I cannot... and I know that despite how I feel, seeing this mission through will yield favorable results."
"You have quite the gall to seek me out and tell me that missing your loved ones back in your luxurious city can equate with the people that I lost a week ago." A familiar voice spoke up from behind them, and they turned to find Sigrid, her hair bound in a tight braid, with perspiration on her skin, as if she had recently come from training. As Roen predicted, it was not a warm welcome they received from the grieving warrior. "I bear no ill will against you travelers. I am not a fool, and I understand that what transpired was no fault or intent of yours. But my brothers and sisters died as a result of your being here. They misstepped, yes, but they died for it. And they were buried in silence, without memorial, because of their misdeeds." In her right hand, where she gripped her sword--a mundane blade, and not Gaolithe--her knuckles turned white. "So forgive me if I am not moved by your sympathy. Let me grieve in peace."
Lilica's face fell. She could see it, the reason behind the warrior's grief. The blonde woman had briefly mentioned that she was not native to Braightdath, but how she had found a family in the Dawn Legion. Some of the very people who had welcomed her and showed her love and kindness were now dead in the ground: and, to add insult to injury, an ancient and enchanted weapon now sought its place in her hand. She was not allowed to grieve, not the way that she would have liked, because something bigger than her now sought her attention. "You're right. Your pain and mine, and Alster's... it isn't the same. But I am doing what I am because, in the end, I believe it will benefit the people I love. I'm not doing it for my father: I am doing it for them. Just as I know you would do anything for the family you have found in the Dawn Legion. Wouldn't you?" Her voice softened, and she decided to take a risk, to hit home, and added, "Even if it means wielding Gaolithe?"
In the stillness that ensued, Haraldur stood, keeping close to Grandmother Alta in case the strain got the better of her. Under the lambent flickering of the lanterns, he saw shades transform across her age-lined face: concentration, determination, exertion, and pain. He didn't want to disturb her, but all the while he feared that the task they'd asked of her was too strenuous for her body to handle. Sitting in the dark and in the cold, dredging up an ability she'd scarcely used, magically transmitting a message to a city she hadn't seen in over two centuries...He cast a worried glance at Vega, and in that expression were his unspoken words: Did we do the right thing?
Moments later, the Rigas librarian muttered three words that put him on edge. If the message sender was not a Rigas, could it be a trap set by Mollengard? The conquering nation had a smattering of magic-users at their command, ones powerful enough to write a message hundreds of leagues away, using only a stick and some dirt. He clutched Vega's arm, his jaw tensing with the possibilities of their undoing. If Mollengard received the message instead of their intended recipient, they would not only have foreknowledge of Eyraille's arrival, but also know of their blatant opposition. Don't tell Mollengard was as glaring an admission as they could write. Might as well start the war now.
Apprehensive as he was, he dare not interrupt Grandmother Alta in her trance, unsure of the condition his loud warning would place her under. No. All he could do was watch, and hope that they wouldn't end up regretting their decisions.
The next hour was unmerciful in its pace, dragging by like a menacing slug. By then, he'd cradled Vega into a side embrace, rubbing his hand up and down her back as an additional source of warmth in the biting cold. He almost startled when Grandmother Alta's arm shot upward, toward him. Perplexed, he grabbed hold, and hoisted her up with care, allowing her to lean against him if needed.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, and helped accompany her out of the frigid evening and into the palace proper. Once they escorted her to her apartments and ensured she could make it safely to bed, they bade her good night and left. When they returned to Vega's quarters, Haraldur allowed himself to voice the concern that'd been eating at him for hours.
"Vega, what if we delivered the message to a Mollengardian spy?"
Although she'd retired early that night, Chara was unable to find any refreshment in sleep. She shifted and flailed at the covers with violent kicks. She pounded her face into the pillows. She rolled and tried every position without success. It was quite a common night-time ritual, nowadays. How could one sleep, when her city, if delivered into Mollengardian hands, may never awaken? Where would they find mercy, or salvation, when they possessed so few numbers, and so few allies?
It was with these troubled thoughts that she fell into an uneasy slumber, one that did not last long when she heard a commotion out in the hallway. With a groan, she thumped out of bed, slipped on a robe and slippers, and headed out into the common room. Elespeth was there, trying to wrangle a near frantic Teselin who, upon seeing Chara, about shook her with a high, frenzied energy. She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it closed when the young woman recounted a dream, which featured an elder with pointed ears--and a message.
"Pointed ears?" She rubbed at her own, reflexively. "In Eyraille? A country which has until only recently lifted their ban on magic? There are other beings with pointed ears. She could be one of the ancients, of elven-kind. But if you are supposing that she is a Rigas," she shook her head, focusing instead on more vital bits of information. "So they've received it. And found a way to contact us. If that message came from Eyraille, that is." She placed her hands on Teselin, and firmly pushed her away. "If you can withstand it, I'd like you to send another message, in the morning. Acknowledge that we received their instructions, and sign with my name. If that woman has reached you in dreams, she'll know she hasn't spoken with a Rigas. This will ensure your affiliation with us. And if that woman is a Rigas, she might respond to a name."
Her tired gaze drifted from Teselin to Elespeth. "Elespeth, try to contact Alster. Inform him of the happenings at Stella D'Mare. For all I know, it will not matter, but if he is informed, he too might be able to contact Eyraille. He has forged a connection with that Sorde princess in the past. A longshot, but at least we shall be able to confirm that it is Eyraille with whom we speak." In her words were the unspoken suggestion that Teselin's efforts were not altogether adequate. It was the uncertainty that bothered her. And the young girl's overeagerness to please did not instill in her any feelings of confidence. Only doubt, and desperation.
While Lilica and Alster spoke emphatically to a closed door, Sigrid had been standing behind them the entire time. Spinning around to face her, he flushed and flustered out an apology, feeling rather ludicrous for shouting through a door into an empty room. As the Dawn Warrior concentrated her ire on Lilica's well-meaning comment, he observed her with a receptive glance, keeping a respectable distance from her, but with an open stance: arms at sides, and feet apart. He focused on the mechanics of his position, not as a formula he felt would placate her most, but because if he did not, his mind would wander to the smell of her, sweaty from training, or the purposeful way she gripped her blade, or the fierce set of her blue eyes...all of which reminded him, painfully, of Elespeth. He wanted to look away, but to do so was to let this woman go, and who knew where her grief would lead her? It was with a slow intake of breath that he maintained his eye contact and took one imperceptible step forward.
"Lilica is right. All pain isn't the same, but the feeling is universal. We're of different circumstances, but we understand the core of what you're experiencing. We're merely here to say that you're not alone. But," he eased into a smile, "I'm also aware that we're strangers and confiding in us would be a trite awkward. The offer still stands, though. Sometimes, a trusted stranger is just what you need, when you feel you can't reach out to your brothers and sisters, for whatever reason. Not trying to assume you trust us," he rubbed at the side of his nose sheepishly, "but I am a good listener. And a babbler, too."
It was difficult for him not to feel nervous around her. She commanded the kind of poise that would sooner see him impaled with her sword than at her side offering empty comforts. He fiddled with the casings of his steel arm, which was nestled secure into a sling. The tap tap tap of the metal gave him some modicum of courage by which to continue--although now, he'd be treading into some dangerous territory.
"I tried to stop him," he said, recalling that night at the temple. "I had my restraints on him, but I needed to let him go. I wasn't strong enough, or my magic...I'm sorry for that, Sigrid. Gaolithe took him mere moments before it ended up in your hands. After witnessing something like that, I wouldn't want it, either." He continued rubbing his fingers over the cold steel. "As we speak of burdens, I've had one for much of my life. The same one. Great and relentless and so catastrophic and taxing that I constantly wonder how I'm still alive." And why, he thought, morosely. "And it hasn't gotten easier. Even now, the aftereffects haunt me. It calls and makes demands and I can't escape." He almost shuddered in thinking of making a pact with the entity of his nightmares. To become yet another willing abettor in that miserable creature's coils.
"So on that cheery note," he forced a laugh, "I can't say what Gaolithe has in store for you. I can't say if you'll succeed in escaping the fate of that sword. You could try. It looks like you are, right now, and that's fine. It's fine to take time for yourself. It's fine if you don't want this responsibility. But I can say that its energies to you are not sinister. It wants to work alongside you, to partner with you, and to see your best potential. It's a bolstering sword; one that takes your latent abilities and amplifies them. And if you're ever feeling up for it, I'll go with you to the temple, and we'll figure out what to do with Gaolithe. I'll even bring some cloth with me if you want to wrap it up and store it somewhere hidden. After all, it's your sword now. You are the master, not the other way around."
"But," he brushed a few locks of sandy hair from his forehead, "here I've gone and babbled. We'll leave you alone now, Sigrid. But before we go, I will impart with you something that I've learned, in dealing with my own burden. It's not meant to be faced alone. You know this well, by the family that you keep here at the Dawn Legion." He waved over to Lilica. "And we're here, with Lilica, because she will not stand before the sleeping kingdom of Galeyn without our support. Reach out if you need us. We're not far."
Nodding his farewell, he turned from the distraught warrior and made his way out of the barracks. All the while, a voice inside of his head, one that did not belong to the Serpent for once, thought, why in all hells do you not follow your own advice, Alster?
Because even my burdens have reached a limit past help...
The very same thought had crossed Vega's mind, the moment that the old woman confirmed it that the sender was not, in fact, a Rigas. Of course it had occurred to her that Rigases were not the only inhabitants of Stella D'Mare; they were simply the most prominent family, and the ones who held power. But in that power was also unparalleled magic, and who else would be reaching for help in the wake of Mollengard's occupation?
Unless... this was not a cry for help at all, but rather, a very clever ploy, as Haraldur feared. The Skyknight's knowledge of Mollengard's reach into the realm of magic was rather sparse, and most of what she knew of the conquering nation and what it was capable of was through Haraldur. And if this rang suspicious to him... then it was worth considering. And fearing.
"I know. This occurred to me as well," the Eyraillian princess agreed, after they saw Grandmother Alta safely back to her quarters. Neither of them had ventured to voice their concerns to the ancient woman, who was evidently far more ancient than either of them had originally thought. To have witnessed generations of Sordes systematically poison this kingdom, to endure the bigotry and resistance to magical aptitude, only to at last bear witness to the fall of a broken empire and the beginning of something fresh and new... It must have been exhausting. And rewarding. Perhaps too much for anyone to properly process in any length of a lifetime. And after the ordeal that they had put her through, using magic that had lain dormant in her veins for so many years until just now... She could not lay the burden of doubt on the matronly librarian after all she had done for her. For them. "And it is possible. I'm sure you of all people can feel the potential for threat."
They meandered slowly back to her chambers, dragging their feat as they contemplated the ramifications of their actions. "Although... while it might be a clever move, to try and bait us by drawing us to Stella D'Mare under the pretense that our allies are in need of aid, it doesn't seem as though it would be particularly smart. Not even for Mollengard with its manpower." Vega mentioned, after some time had passed, and she'd turned over possibilities in her mind. "I have no doubt that it will wage war on Eyraille; I know that it is going to happen, it is only a matter of when. But it makes no sense that they would lure us to Stella D'Mare to attack. Think about it."
She paused and turned to Haraldur, who did not look yet convinced. "Think about it. Strategically, it just doesn't make sense. What advantage would they have? They would know we wouldn't be sending any of our most crucial personnel, and there is the possibility that our allies would rise up with us if they retaliated, unprovoked. And we are already preparing for what they might bring. The worst that they might try to do is intimidate us, if that really is their intent. I know it seems suspicious... but even if that is the case, we can't ignore a cry for help. Not when there is a chance that it could be legit."
Taking his hand, Vega wove her fingers in-between the mercenary's. "We can't make our decisions based on what might be. We can only act on what we know. And I knew that it was only a matter of time before Stella D'Mare would need our help... so I have to believe that we are communicating with an ally. Rigases are not the only blood native to Stella D'Mare; they aren't the only ones with magic, or the means to reach us across borders."
"I don't know what--or who it was that reached out to me. I've never even been to Eyraille," Teselin added, scratching the back of her neck. "But I know the message is from Eyraille. It made too much sense: it responded directly to our plea. They're going to send help in a week."
It wasn't Elespeth's place to critique the young woman's prediction, particularly not when Chara had evidently put her up to the task of contacting Eyraille. How the waif of a girl had managed to do that, given the unique nature of her powers, was beyond her, but her optimism was grating, at the very least. And, sleep-deprived as she was, stuck in a situation without the support of her fiance who she wasn't sure she could truly reach, her tolerance for rose-colored outlooks had diminished considerably in the days that passed. "You exhausted yourself performing an endeavor that should have been beyond your skill set," she pointed out in a flat monotone. "What leads you to believe the power of suggestion and your desperate will for it to have worked did not plant a dream in your mind?"
The sudden roadblock of doubt took Teselin almost by surprise, and the young woman began to wilt, stepping back from the Rigas caster and her equally cranky companion. "You're right. I don't know for sure. All I can say is it was too vivid to be a dream... at least, in my experience with my dreams. It was too straight-forward, made too much sense. I..." No, now was not a time for doubt. Stella D'Mare couldn't afford it. Pressing her lips into a line, she decided to stop justifying herself to someone who was reluctant to believe her in the first place, and nodded at Chara. "I can. Come morning, I'll send the message by the exact same means. I'll sign your names, so they're reassured that it is in fact a plea for help, and not a ploy of the enemy to lure them into a trap. I am sure that must have been a thought that crossed their minds, especially if Eyraille is a nation that isn't used to seeing magic."
Nodding politely, she stepped away from the two women, and moved toward the door. "I'm sorry for disturbing you so late at night; I'll report back in the morning."
Elespeth watched the waif of a girl leave, letting Chara's question resound and reverberate in her mind like a heavy gong. Why now, of all times? Why couldn't the Rigas woman have asked her to do something of this nature when she was still potentially capable? "I don't know if I can." Was the only response that she was able to provide, when at last she spoke up. "Alster... he's fighting some of his own demons, right now. You know him as well as I do; he is impossible to get through to when you're standing right next him, when he falls victim to that mood, let alone across distance." It was not her business to inform Chara of what she saw, what she knew: that the Serpent still haunted Alster, in ways that were more literal than figurative. If he wanted her to know, then he could tell her. Otherwise, it felt like a betrayal... yet, she had to give some reason as to her lack of connection to her fiance.
"I actually spoke with your father about this not long ago. How to reach out to Alster, that is," she went on, hesitant to leave it on a dark note. "He told me the ring that Alster gave me is enchanted... like a talisman, of sorts. Between that and our bond, he said that he believes it is possible for us to connect. But what that means, I'm not sure... I don't know how to convey a clear message to him." Staring at the door, she added, rather flatly, "You might have more luck having our summoner contact him. At the very least, these tasks will keep her busy, and out of our hair."
Fierce though she might have looked, her skin glistening in the sun form her rigorous training, and the sword clutched tightly in her capable hand, Sigrid did not make a move to harm either of the travelers standing before her. She was not an aggressor, not right now; just another wounded soul, shirking responsibilities she'd never asked for in an attempt to find some modicum of solace in the aftermath of tragedy. These people, before her, were not her enemies; in fact, they had not asked for any of this. Not the imprisonment or he questioning or even the involvement of the Dawn Legion. But they bore that burden, they rolled with the punches and did what was expected of them. Perhaps it was childish of her not to follow suit. But they had one another to fall back on, and regardless of what Alster said, in many ways, she faced this alone.
"There is no possible way that that sword can bear positive energies toward anyone." Sigrid disagreed, her frown deepening. "If it chooses a bearer, then that in and of itself is a guarantee that we are to enter a time of war, and soon. So now, not only is there the expectation that I wield it, but that I partake in a war that I never asked for."
"We seldom ask for war. It's true." Lilica agreed, understanding the warrior's angle, the source of her pain, and why the enchanted blade that had chosen her was making it impossible for her to heal and to move on. "But war still manages to find us... and if we're not prepared, it sweeps us away. Alster and I have just emerged from the dredges of war. Against Andalari... and now, potentially, we may be forced to face off with Mollengard. We're not the same people we were before, and we haven't recovered from what we've endured. I'd like to think, that if an enchanted weapon had shown itself to us before all of this... we might have been better off. Maybe lost fewer people, or resulted in less injury. It is hard to say, and we can never know." The dark mage shook her head. "If you can't bring yourself to pick up Gaolithe, then I hope you manage to find the reprieve that you need, Sigrid. And don't turn away from your Legion, forever. I know they want to be there for you, too."
Glancing at Alster, the two moved away from the door of Sigrid's barracks and prepared to take their leave. They only made it a few steps before she stopped them. "...wait." The warrior's voice was soft, defeated, but it was enough to make them pause. "I can't go back there alone. Not to the temple. I haven't set foot in it since that night." Shoulders slumping, she reached behind her to sheath her sword. "I don't know if I will ever be able to set foot in there, again. Too much blood was spilled. But... Gaolithe cannot be left there, where it is. And only I can move it."
Looking at Alster, she nodded her head in defeat. "Come with me to go retrieve it... please. I don't know what to do with it, or if I even want to keep it. But at the very least, it should be kept safe. I don't want any more lives lost to it."
"I see it more as a ploy," Haraldur explained, though Vega had succeeded in second-guessing his worries. "Not so much luring Eyraille's best people to Stella D'Mare, but more as a way to prove that we're aiding and abetting the city. Yes, they plan to wage war here, but they're also trying to gauge our readiness to oppose them. But," he sighed, "you're probably right. It's too easy for me to think the worst when it comes to Mollengard. I'll have faith that the message is true." He leaned forward, and without much warning, scooped her up into his arms. "But in the meantime," his voice took on a light tone, "I have to do well by you and my duties as your own personal heat-source." And then he pressed a tender, needful kiss against her lips.
As Teselin hurried out of the villa with the same hurricane fury as when she entered, Chara slumped against the couch, knowing that her window for catching any sleep that evening had gone and passed, swept up in the storm of the girl and her problematic energy. "When is he not fighting with some demon or another?" She rolled her eyes heavenward. "I swear, that man revels in his own tragedy. Still, I need you to make an effort to reach him. If conditions worsen here at Stella D'Mare, he needs to know. They need to know." She gripped the seat cushion, her mind wandering to the shadow of her hair, the craters of her eyes. She was the glow of the moon on a miserable night. The longing had moved and rocked her, but she determined to stay firm on the seat cushions--in indignant protest to that horrible, horrible woman who had crushed her heart to pieces.
"It's possible," she hesitated, "that we need to conceive of evacuation plans. They must be made aware, in case they return, and their only greeting is in the form of Mollengardian steel. So," the hard line of authority wrinkled at her brow, "yes, use all of your resources, Elespeth. You've cut through his moods, before. You will do it again. His safety, their safety, depends on it."
The following morning, Chara fetched Teselin from her rooms, to ensure she made good on her promise to send the message to Eyraille. She engaged the girl little, preferring the walk to the same fallow soil patch in silence. Not one for idle chit-chat, even amongst the most tolerable of people, she was not about to start with this mangy, ingratiating puppy.
Speaking of puppies...
A wild dog bounded into the field, heading straight for them. It stopped when it reached its destination, darting glances between the two and twisting its russet-furred body in the direction from which it took. The sight was quite bizarre! She knew that the packs of wild dogs in town were friendly and not shy when soliciting for food, but this coyote of a mongrel looked like it wanted them to...follow. That, or it was rabid.
It barked. It whined. It took a piece of Teselin's sleeve in its jaws and gently urged her into step. Chara shooed it away, but it persisted, nudging at her hand with its cold, wet nose. The nerve of this animal! Of course, the young summoner had taken a liking to this pest, and suggested they let it lead them to...to where!? It had no greater intelligence, or provoking insights. And if it was the same dog that urinated on Lysander's boot, then she trusted its judgement even less. A dumb brute, that was all.
But curiosity had won out over sound logic, and soon enough, she was following Teselin and the erratic creature, across the fields, past Main House, and en route to...
Cyprian's villa?
That was where the dog had stopped. Had pointed its muzzle to the portico and the oak-carved front doors of his residence. Had settled on its haunches, a sure indication of their destination. Was this a trap? Did Cyprian even own any dogs?
Before she moved forward to investigate, the doors flew open, and the man himself stomped into view, bristling with a derangement beyond what she had witnessed at the council meetings thus far. Two arms looped around his waist, trying, without success, to restrain him.
"Where is he? Where is he!? He can't have gotten far!" He wrenched the arms from him, securing his grip on a dainty wrist. Twisting it in an arc, he forced his restrainer through the threshold of the doors. Airlea stumbled outside with a pained cry, but Cyprian tightened his hold on her, shoving his leering face into her frightened one.
"I know you've been harboring him, Airlea! Allowed him an escape! You've never loved me. Neither you or Tivia. No loyalty, no respect. You've desecrated this household one time too many." He threw her against the wall. "And once I am done razing this place in my search for him, I'll see to your punishment myself."
"That is quite enough!" Chara fired a blast of etherea into the air. The two looked across the lawn at her, Teselin, and the dog, startled at the audience. Then, the man's leer twisted into an ugly grin as he erupted into uproarious laughter.
"Just the woman I wanted to see!" He discarded Airlea on the floor and stalked down the portico steps, his limbs moving at unnatural angles, like a puppet jerked around by tangled strings, possessed of itself. It was...unsettling.
"I thought you were looking for the mad-man." Chara crossed her arms across her chest to appear unfazed.
"Oh, but then you showed up." He ratcheted his head and his eyes honed in on Teselin. "With a little girl. And her dog. How charitable of you, Chara, to show an invested interest in the less fortunate."
"You've overstepped, Cyprian." She took a bold step forward. The dog barked in warning. "I can no longer abide by your utter nonsense. You've come undone. If you agree to come with me now, I will not need to use force."
His laughter tottered and belched and kicked. He doubled over to the point of near collapse. "You!? You are alone, Chara. And weak," he spat.
"And you are too unhinged to prove a threat." Seeing Teselin in her periphery, she mouthed, Get help. The dog was no longer with them; it had run off, tail presumably between its legs.
"Unhinged or not, a bad year like you is no match for someone of my boundless accomplishments."
In moments, Cyprian was upon her, throwing volley after volley of etherea discs, dancing ever nearer, into a dangerous range. Chara deflected the attacks in time, but the momentum of his magic had propelled him forward, and the numeration of blasts blinded him from view. Powered by etherea, he pinned her to the ground, hands glowing with the anticipation of searing her to death while she screamed, and begged for mercy, and melted into a puddle of nothing. An appropriate end for Lysander's magically-inept daughter who thought herself lofty enough to rule.
Footsteps faltering, Alster looked over his shoulder at the warrior who had reconsidered his offer. He stopped, and faced her anew, his head waggling into a loose nod. "Of course, Sigrid. We'll remove it from the temple and take it somewhere safe. Nothing else needs to be done today. No hasty decision-making. There's no need to run headlong into danger, or expect the worst right-away. The sword is but a harbinger. It does not create war wherever you stand. Lilica is right; many of us don't go out seeking it. I so desperately tried to prevent it, myself, to minimize violence and the indiscriminate slaughter of my enemies." He lowered his eyes to his feet. "It did not go so well. We, unfortunately, are at a time of much unrest. However you look at it, war is inevitable."
They took the short trek to the temple with a quiet reserved for a funeral procession. For the Dawn Warrior, it might as well be. They were revisiting the scene where her brothers and sisters had died in a preventable skirmish. No matter how much the interior had changed, the memory would not.
Inside, the temple had been cleaned and gutted. No more bodies lingered in restless repose, though it hardly mattered; the evidence was everywhere he looked. All floor cushions removed, all shattered glass swept up, and the floors all mopped of the blood, though the stains had warped into rusty brown splotches, mottling the wood finish. And sitting where it had been discarded a week ago, was Gaolithe, its dull gleam winking as though in greeting. It hummed with patience, but also with...expectation. It had awaited Sigrid, certain that she'd return. Its unique energies seemed to activate in her presence, to come alive and sing. When they neared the weapon, Alster brought a hand to his temple.
"It has a very...boisterous signature. Gives me quite the headache. But keep in mind, Sigrid," he gauged her expression, "it's only a weapon. An enchanted weapon, yes, but a weapon nonetheless. It won't hurt you."
As she still looked upon the weapon with dread, frozen in place with hesitation, Alster stared at the gleam of steel emanating from his own arm, distorted by the light, enriched by shadow. It was through that arm that chthonic magic flowed more prominently, like an amplifier...for the Serpent's own machinations.
"I'm being pulled, too, Sigrid," he said, shy at first. "Like you. A burden that I don't want, that I've never wanted. Right now, it plies at my mind, calling to me, insisting I answer, claiming that I need it as much as it needs me. That I'll die if I don't agree to its demands. So maybe," a tiny smile lifted one corner of his mouth, "we could...help each other out. Share in this together, for as long as we're working together. Different as we are in life, we do have one thing in common. Serpents and swords both have fangs."
"I know. It is... rather rare to find him in a positive head space." Elespeth agreed. Alster, for as long as she had known him, had a tendency towards the pessimistic outlooks on life, and on himself, in general; and even during his rarer, more positive or optimistic periods, that optimism never so much comprised a positive outlook as it did a hope that the worst would not come to pass. "But, this is... different. I don't think he wants to connect with me, right now. He is likely busy, and cannot bear with the burden of us missing one another. I can understand that. It is far easier to not be preoccupied with thinking of him."
It was not enough, however, to convey the extent to which Alster wanted to prevent their psychic connection. Not without explaining that the Serpent, somehow even through the fabric of the dimension that Alster had returned it to, still lurked and tortured him in the depths of his mind. And that was clearly not something he'd have wished to willingly divulge to her, let alone anyone else. While it worried her... saying to much--even to Chara, who deserved to know by virtue of being his family--felt like a betrayal that she could not swallow. "Understood." At last the warrior conceded with a solemn nod, knowing that arguing over the matter would bring neither of them any closer to where they needed to be. "I'm not like that summoner; I have no magic, and I cannot guarantee results. But I will do my best to try."
Without another word, she returned to her chamber and the comfortable bed within it, knowing full well that another night would pass without restful slumber.
Teselin also tossed and turned in a restless sleep for the remainder of the night, too energized and mentally nudged by the response from her outreach to Eyraille. That woman, whomever she was... her face and voice stood out in her mind. She wondered who she was, whether she was a Rigas, and if so, what she was doing in another kingdom entirely. Wondered why she spoke on behalf of the comrades with whom Chara was familiar. Moreover, she wondered if she would be able to reach her again, or if her success had merely been a fluke.
Or... if Elespeth was right. And that she had not succeeded at all, but merely imagined, dreamed the woman and the message. Supposedly, she would find out in the morning; because if her call was heeded a second time, then there was no doubt that she had managed to summon the soil all the way from Eyraille to move at her will.
Chara certainly did not let her forget about her promise the next morning. As the sun just barely rose above the horizon, a quick, impatient knock resounded on her door. "Just a moment!" The young woman called, in a groggy voice, but Chara was beyond waiting, and walked in of her own accord. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten." She assured the Rigas woman, hurrying to pull stockings and boots onto her feet. "I won't be a moment."
Sure enough, she readied herself quickly enough, and followed Chara outside into the cool morning. Unfortunately, it was not the peace of a new day that greeted them, however. Before either of them could blink, the likes of a mangy, coyote-like creature bounded up to them, taking Teselin by the sleeve almost immediately. "Hey, now!" She exclaimed, careful not to out the animal's identity. There was only one canine that she knew who would approach her in such a manner. Glancing desperately at Chara, she mentioned, "Something is wrong. I think we need to investigate."
Before Chara could get a word in either way, however, Teselin was running after the mutt, towards the sound of what was unmistakably a domestic commotion. Hadwin came to stop outside what appeared to be a Rigas villa. Furrowing her brows in perplexity at the sound of raised voices and shattering objects on the other wise of the door. Suddenly, that door swung open, and Teselin stumbled backward as a frantic woman tried to hurry across the threshold. Another man, presumably her husband, would not let her get far, and restrained her with threatening hands. Understandably startled and wide-eyed, Teselin let Chara take charge and separate the two with a jolt of her bright magic. She struggled with the desperate urge to help the woman, who had fallen to the ground, feeling hindered only for fear of how that man might lash out at her if she interfered. "Chara..." She heard herself speak, her voice small. A sickening feeling twisted her gut. "Be careful..."
Chara was no fool, and she knew this. Glancing at her, sidelong, Teselin could make out the quiet plea, get help, on her lips. She knew she had to; she wanted to. But... she was paralyzed. Her legs were frozen, not from a spell or some form of magic, but for fear of leaving Chara alone, and what might happen. She looked around for Hadwin, thinking to send him for help, but the wolf was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he was already seeking help, elsewhere. Or... maybe he was just running away. He did not seem the type to want to become involved in a skirmish with a man of power, even if he was the cause of the skirmish. She hadn't forgotten what he had said in the tent that night, with Atli and Elespeth present; he'd known he was playing with fire by being so reckless. It was only a matter of time...
And now, Teselin found herself entirely out of time when Cyprian went on the assault, directly for Chara. The young woman watched in horror as the blonde woman lost her footing, and the assailant was on top of her, seemingly with the intent to take her life. Teselin's heart raced in her throat, and her limbs began to shake. She had to do something... She had to do something, or Chara could die!
The knots in her stomach grew warm. They grew warm, and they grew, and they blossomed, and they became something else. Her limbs began to tremble, and just when she thought she was going to fall apart, something else took charge. She looked at the woman on the ground, who must have been Cyprian's wife. How he had hurt her. And she looked at Chara, who could be killed... and she was angry. "Stop." She hissed, taken a bold step forward, but her small voice and small frame gained her no attention--so she made her present known. The light breeze that glided past her bare ankles suddenly pick up. It gathered and it grew, not into a gale, or even a gust, but a force. One strong enough to push Cyprian off of Chara's prone form, and throw him up against the outer wall of his own villa. There, it pinned him, and stole the breath from his lungs, and Teselin looked on, for once, not with guilt, but satisfaction. "I said," she repeated, her tone low. Suddenly, the small, meek girl who only wanted to help everyone looked like a force to be reckoned with. "Stop."
Exhaling a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, the wind dissipated almost in an instant, dropping Cyprian to the ground and leaving him to struggle for the breath that had been stolen from him. Trembling in the aftermath, Teselin hurried to Chara, who still lay, baffled, on the ground, and helped her up. "Are you all right?" She asked, her voice trembling, as if just moments ago, she hadn't completely dominated a very dangerous situation. "Should I send for a medic?"
A guilty sense of relief descended on Sigrid's overburdened shoulders when Alster agreed to accompany her back to the temple. He had no real reason to, not after she had so ouvertly shunned him and his companion, who meant no ill will; she wouldn't have blamed them, had they continued to walk away. If she continued to push people away, then that was very likely to happen--and then she would really be alone. That was the last place she wanted to be.
Once a place of peace and solitude, ideal for meditation and withdrawing from the world for a while, the Dawn Legion's temple no longer represented anything positive to the blonde warrior. Since that night a week ago, the blood had been cleaned, and it did not look much different from before--save for Gaolithe, sitting where she had dropped it. Since the moment of Gynthar's death. This was not a place of peace, anymore, but rather a place of darkness. It was a mausoleum; a reminder of everything that she had lost, of the moment when life had taken a dark turn, when that sword had chosen her to wield it. Regardless of what Alster said, it was difficult for her to feel anything but anger and resentment towards it. This was neither a blessing nor a gift; it was a curse and a burden, and harbinger of terrible things to come.
"It's nothing but an omen of terrible fate." Sigrid murmured, more to herself than to Alster or Lilica. She stood over the sword for a moment, her jaw set and her brows furrowed. "If it wanted me, why did it not draw me to it? Why drive Gynthar mad and take his life, just to end up in my hands?"
"Well," Lilica, who gave a wide berth to the sword, knowing well what it could do, "would you have ever accepted, Sigrid? Even if Gynthar had lived?" By the look on Sigrid's face, the way she twisted her mouth, eyes clouded with uncertainty, she knew the answer without the warrior saying a thing. "Talismans like this... they know. They know the nature of the chosen. And if it was never your desire to possess it, then it took measures onto itself. In fact, I am willing to bet that it is because you never had the inclination take it into your hands that it chose you."
"I don't believe that. It's made a mistake; I shouldn't have it at all." Almost out of defiance to herself, Sigrid knelt and gripped the sword's hilt. She paused, then, wondering it with her words it would have changed it mind, and rendered her as dead as Gynthar... but nothing happened. It felt cold and heavy in her hand, like any other sword she had wielded. "I'm not even born of Dawn Legion. Not native to Braightdath... I only became part of them because they accepted me. I should not be the one wielding a blade meant for a bloodline that is not mine." A sigh of sorrow escaped from her lungs. She clutched the weapon in the angry grip of someone who was not yet through grieving. "It shouldn't be me. Roen--it should be Roen. That is the only sound conclusion." And yet, that was not at all the outcome. She did not understand it, and she likely wouldn't ever.
Alster's empathetic anecdote did little to assuage Sigrid's pain and her reservations for taking the sword, but it did offer better insight into why he had been so reluctant to walk away, even in light of her unconsciously seeking to alienate him. She did not know exactly what the man from Stella D'Mare was suffering, but whatever it was, he seemed to be as tied to it as she was to Gaolithe. The sword might not have threatened her life, but it threatened the lives of everyone she cared about. And it had already taken one life that mattered to her. "You're suggesting that our relationship will be a prolonged one," she pointed out, unsheathing her ordinary sword to place Gaolithe in its sheathe. "So, should I assume you're expecting me to accompany you to Galeyn?"
Lilica pressed her lips together. Frankly, the thought of a distraught warrior accompanying them did not inspire much confidence. And yet, everything had happened in tandem with their arrival... "We cannot and will not make you do anything against your will," she pointed out, letting out a small sigh of relief when Sigrid sheathed the deadly, enchanted weapon. "So I think that is entirely up to you. It seems to be Roen's expectation, but you are the bearer of Gaolithe. If you think it better serves you to stay here and defend against potential war, then you should do that."
Sigrid was silent a moment, contemplating the pros and the cons of such a weighty decision. Lilica was about to add that there was no need for her to make the decision then and there, but before she could speak up, the warrior turned to them with determination in her blue eyes. "I don't want to stay here." She said at last. "Not because I don't wish to be near the Dawn Legion. But I don't want this," she indicated Gaolithe, "anywhere near my family. Not after what it has done. I'll leave with you; if that isn't the sword's will, then surely it will strike me down."
Even though she was combat-trained, had seen the front, had fought, had killed, and had commanded a small task force of Rigases, Chara was out of practice, off guard...and she was facing Cyprian. If there was any Rigas that was the closest fit to a warrior or a swordsman, it was this man. So dedicated was his craft, that he passed his techniques on to Tivia, and forced her to participate in the war for his own vicarious pleasure. His duties were vast, he'd insisted. As head of the Rigas council, he considered himself the right hand of Adalfieri, himself.
Until she had come along, and attracted the Rigas Head's attention.
The animosity was thick and coursed through with his madness. Cyprian was uninhibited in his movements, freed by the promise of destroying her. He ambushed her with etherea, tripped her with the bulk of his unexpected weight, and pressed burning hands onto her own pinned hands. She bit down a scream when the sizzling of her flesh filled her nostrils, determined to give him no satisfaction in her defeat. For, it was not yet defeat. She thrashed and squirmed, desperate in landing a kick where it mattered, or slipping through his grip, but his hold was iron-strong, and his reserves of adrenaline crushed her like a landslide of power. He glowed with it, radiant in his inheritance, while she would die as she was born: a bad year, managing on scraps of magic and rage. She summoned the latter with her, now. If she were to die, it would be with curses on her lips. Curses to him. To Alster. To Lilica. To the damn help she was supposed to receive! Where was--
Suddenly, some invisible energy swooped over her head. When she blinked, Cyprian was gone, taken away by...she wasn't sure what. A loud bang sounded from behind her. She scrambled up from the ground in time to see the mad Rigas, flattened against the wall of his villa, with...Teselin holding him at bay, hands shaking from the effort. Her entire demeanor had changed. Gone was the bubbly little pipsqueak, and in her place, a capable caster, fierce in intent, unwavering in her conviction to subdue the crazed attacker. When she lowered her hands, Cyprian slid from the wall and slumped forward, head lolling to the side and unresponsive.
Before she could say a word, or react beyond the slight gaping of her mouth, the illusion had shattered. When Teselin turned to face her, all had returned to normalcy...and she didn't mind, not after what had happened. Did she imagine that entire exchange? It was all too...surreal.
"I..." She looked at her hands, which were bulging with blisters, red and engorged and throbbing with acute stings of pain. "I'll go to the infirmary, but..."
She could hardly arrange her thoughts into words, let alone sentences. Her vision was fuzzy, her fluttering heart still pumping in her head. But she didn't have long to gather her wits, before she heard a familiar bark. Over her shoulder, she saw the dog return, followed by Elespeth and two Rigas guards. What manner of influence did this creature have on others, to convince people to follow it around!?
When the guards neared Chara and Teselin, she pointed a red-bloated finger at the prone Cyprian, leaning against the wall. "...Take him straight to the dungeons. He did this to me. Airlea can attest to to this." She nodded to the frightened woman who had watched, frozen, from the steps of the portico. "As can Teselin. She...she saved my life." With the clearing of her throat, she continued; no use in exhibiting any maudlin sentiments! "Cyprian will be stripped of his status...and may he rot inside his cell for all I care."
The guards, with a compliant nod, hauled Cyprian to his feet, and ushered him away from the scene. By then, more Rigases appeared, curious about the commotion at the villa. Among them were the members of the council. Chara marched up to them, and with every step, she regained a little more of her poise. "When I return from the painstaking process of having my blistered, burned hands healed, we are going to have a meeting, and ooh will it be one hell of a meeting. Do look forward to it. I know I am." They all seemed to pale, in unison, and it took her some amount of restraint not to smile with sadistic pleasure.
As for that dog, that strangely perceptive, uncanny dog...
It was gone. Again.
"Teselin," she waved the young girl forward. "You have earned your right to stay here, for as long as you wish it. For your efforts, take some rest...after you send the message, of course. And," she paused, "find that dog. There is something...off, about it."
Standing aside, as Lilica had, Alster lent an ear to Sigrid's impassioned denial, all while hoping that her passion did not translate to swinging Gaolithe at them with wild abandon. But he shouldn't have worried; she was a well-trained warrior, and cautious enough of the sinister-seeming weapon. Under her watch, she would keep it safe from her allies, and even went on to say as much.
"Coming from a family of bloodlines, I can tell you that it has little to do with whose blood runs thickest," he said, trying not to think of Elespeth. Her noble blood, though not of Rigas stock, was compatible with his, even through their differences in age, upbringing, country...everything. "It's the stars that connect us. Tivia can tell you about that, if you're ever curious. Though, she can get," he elected for a nervous smile, "intense."
"You don't have to understand why it chose you," he continued, as if reading her mind. "Heavens know if I understand the concept of destiny, or of events happening for a reason, without our input or desires. But, regardless of where you stand, with Gaolithe or without, I'll lend you aid, for however long you wish to bear our presence. Whether that's for a day...or if it's for the duration of our journey into Galeyn."
But it sounded like she had already come to a decision. He eyed the weapon, which, tucked safely in its sheath, appeared painfully nondescript, with its utilitarian crossguard and leather wrappings crisscrossed around the handle. It was so easy for any unsuspecting person to touch it, likely assuming it to be a standard-issue sword and nothing more. Even the simple act of huddling close to her, or sharing the same space when that weapon danced out of its sheath, posed a danger too strong to deny. It didn't matter if Gaolithe chose her as its wielder; it snubbed everyone else, and did not discriminate between friend or foe. It was little wonder that she regarded it as nothing but a kin-slayer. An ally in her hands, but not towards those who mattered. But, if Gaolithe could stand to be tweaked, repurposed, reconfigured...
"We'll study the weapon, Sigrid," he suggested, perking up with ideas for a solution. "Between all of us, we may be able to understand the why of its special properties. There might even be a way to forge an empathetic connection with it, so it will comply better with your wishes. In your capable hands, it could change intent. Or as a last resort, I could conceive of a...a shield, of sorts. An antithesis to its power. An enchantment of protection that your people could wear. Or a spell form..." His words trailed into mutters, furiously calculating the improbability of such a feat. Improbable...but not impossible. Like sending the Serpent through a portal. Like Elespeth storing his magic through their bond. Like most everything the two of them had survived, together. Nothing was out of reach. ...Nothing.
"It could be done," he finished, with a determined nod.
Only if you have power, he heard the Serpent hiss.
Chara was not alone in her bewilderment, following the events that had just occurred. Focusing her energy on helping the Rigas caster to her feet was a favorable distraction from the man, slumped over in front of his house, coughing and gasping for breath. She did this; she did this, without so much as thinking about it. As if she had not commanded her power, but the summoning magnetism had commanded her. And yet, during those times when she slaved away focusing on rain and sunlight for the crops, or willing a message to reach another kingdom thousands of miles away, it felt as though she were running through mud; progress and success was not a give, but often felt like a matter of luck.
So then... what did this mean? Teselin's wide eyes fixed on Cyprian, and a stone settled in the pit of her stomach. Why am I only reliable when I am trying to be dangerous...?
She almost didn't realize that Chara was speaking to her until the blonde woman was on her feet, saying her name. Somewhere, in the time between Cyprian hitting the side of the villa and Chara finding her footing, Rigas guards had arrived to arrest the deranged councilman, followed by the warrior, Elespeth--and Hadwin. "What in all creation happened here?" The former knight demanded, her sword drawn in response to the hostile atmosphere. "Chara, did he... did that asinine man threaten your life? Has he truly gone mad? Teselin," she turned to the wide-eyed young girl. "What happened here?"
And that was when Chara declared Teselin's freedom to remain within Stella D'Mare--because the waif of a girl had saved her life. Elespeth paused a beat, absorbing the information slowly. It was not beyond her disbelief; not after everything Teselin had told her. The scarring on her wrists from the treatment she'd received in the last place she had attempted to call 'home', as a result of the pain she had brought upon the unsuspecting village. Her claims that she had made in Atli's tent, that she could make real what was impossible. From the sounds of it, and based on what she had witnessed, there seemed to be little that this not-yet-woman couldn't do. She had not witnessed this event unfold first hand, but whatever Teselin had managed to achieve that had saved Chara's life... It left the Rigas caster shaken and hardly able to believe what she had seen. Unease stirred at the pit of Elespeth's stomach. Exactly who was this girl? And was it really safe to be keeping her here, when her abilities remained such a mystery?
She didn't have time to question the young woman. Teselin was off, either in search of Hadwin or to perform that duty that she had promised Chara, leaving them alone with the guards, who had apprehended Cyprian and were leading him away. "We need to get you to the infirmary." Elespeth reiterated, sticking close to Chara's side in case she needed support. "What happened here? What did she do to Cyprian? Chara, that girl... her magic is unpredictable, even for her. Is it really our best interests to keep her here? Just because she has the potential to be useful... do you truly believe it is worth the risk?"
"Hadwin?" Teselin hadn't seen where the wolf had escaped to, but she knew where to look. A man such as himself, up to naught but secrets and mischief, was only ever in one of two places: either Atli's tent, or the woodland. And when she did not find him in the former, she made tracks for the woods, where he had met with Elespeth the night they had infiltrated Mollengard's gambling den. Sure enough, the sight of a familiar tail disappear behind a tree. Leaning against a tree, she took a moment to catch her breath, resting her hands on her knees. "Hadwin, I know it's you. Come out--I want to talk."
Frowning, waited patiently, listening to the rustling of trees and brush that was unmistakably sounds of the wolf-man stalling. "I want you to tell me what happened, Hadwin. What occurred back there... that was serious! Chara could have died--and then what? What would become of our plan to dismantle the Forbanne, when this city's leader has both feet in the grave?" She was not angry: Teselin wasn't in the right head space for anger. "What did you do? I mean... beyond what you did with Cyprian's wife. You don't need to go on about that again." She cringed at the thought of his nonchalant declarations of intimacy with a married woman. It was not her place to judge the actions of others... but it was still beyond her whether he had done what he'd done out of impulse, or sentiment, or merely to get to the councilman's head.
"Just... you shouldn't pick fights like that. We can't afford that kind of turmoil when there is something bigger brewing in this city." Teselin folded her arms, and worry lines creased her youthful face. She turned her eyes to the ground. "I could have killed him, you know. I didn't even realize what was happening to Cyprian until it was almost too late... I know he is flawed, but I can't make that call. That someone deserves death. But I didn't have a choice; there was no time to run and find help for Chara. She could have died. So I suppose what I'm trying to say is..." Inhaling deeply, the young woman deflated on her exhale. "Don't put me in situations like that. If it's Mollengard, then that is one thing, because they actively seek to destroy and take pleasure in doing it. But I won't use my skills in that way unless it is toward them. I don't think I could live with myself, otherwise."
"You want to... study Gaolithe?" Sigrid furrowed her eyebrows, in confusion and in concern. She looked over her shoulder at the seemingly ordinary sword, safely sheathed and out of reach of hands that it would reject. "That sounds too dangerous. You could not get close enough to it, Alster; I couldn't let you. Not after I witnessed what it did to Gynthar. Besides... I do not think that it is fit for academic pursuits. It does not explain itself, because something so powerful does not warrant explanation... but I appreciate your offer."
"All the same, we might be able to observe its patterns and tendencies." Lilica pointed out. "Obviously, it is governed by a set of rules. We know one rule: that only a chosen may wield it, and that you are that chosen. The rest has yet to be discovered. If you can help us, Sigrid, then know that we will do everything in our power to help you and yours. After all, isn't that the nature of camaraderie?" The dark mage hazarded a small smile that contrasted the exhaustion that made a permanent place in her expression. "As a member of the Dawn Legion, I'm sure you can understand the sentiment."
The blonde warrior nodded. "I do. And do not think that I don't appreciate what you are offering. Just understand... I do not want to see any more blood shed in such an unnecessary way."
"Then let's work together and see that no more blood must be shed." Lilica suggested. "Because I don't want that, either. And I hope and pray that finding Galeyn will not involve that sort of sacrifice."
"We will not know until we are at that point, unfortunately." Sigrid cautioned, with an apologetic look. "It is rumored that Gaolithe has, in the past, been used in defense of Galeyn... I only hope that history is not looking to repeat itself."
Back at the inn, Vitali and Tivia, along with Alster, had taken the time to physically recover from that awful night at the temple, as no one had left unscathed. Vitali was not a fighter, and when cornered in such a way as he had been, it was inevitable that he'd taken a few blows in an uncharacteristic attempt to protect his sister. To his surprise, Tivia had stepped in for him; she'd defended him with her offensive magical tactics, and in so doing, had taken her own share of injuries. And despite that their relationship was not exactly adversarial, it still struck him as odd. That she chose to stand for him.
And ever one plagued with curiosity, he could not let his mind rest until he had the answers he sought. So while Alster and Lilica were out and about, dealing with the grieving Dawn warrior who sought to shirk her responsibilities, he took the opportunity to knock on her door. "Tivia? Feel free to shun me if I am interrupting your rest." When confirmation came that she wasn't asleep, the necromancer stepped in. After taking a serious laceration to his left arm, it was left healing in a sling while, slowly but surely, nature took its course to mend it. Due to the severity of the injury, nerve damage had rendered half of his hand lacking the sensation of feeling and touch, and physicians could not confirm that feeling would ever return to it. It was a small price to pay, he figured, considering the alternative could have resulted in his death.
"I'm not going to beat around the bush. I'd like to know something: I want to know why you stepped in to mitigate my injuries, the night of that massacre in the temple. Why would you intentionally endanger yourself for someone who is not your kin? And," his face darkened, ever so slightly, as he closed the door behind him. It was not anger; in fact, it looked akin to disappointment. "What in all creation would make you put a life such as mine before your own? Because that is ludicrous. And I want you to promise me you won't do that again."
After the guards had left with their prisoner in tow, followed by Teselin with her own pursuits, Chara waved her damaged hand at the thickening crowd, whose suffocating curiosity made it difficult to pass. "Disperse. Now." Not wanting to antagonize a woman who had suffered such an attack, especially not one who intended to lead them as Rigas Head, they did as she bid, and returned to their affairs--but not without looking over their shoulders and whispering to their neighbors.
Chara rolled her eyes heavenward, but ignored the gossip as she traveled with Elespeth to the infirmary. "The asinine fool thought it worthy to attack me, in broad daylight, surrounded by capable casters," she snorted, a mask to hide what her trembling shoulders could not. "The disheveled girl happened to be with me at the time, and she made herself useful. It appears that she used the wind like a battering ram and slammed him into the wall. He survived, but he will have wished he were dead once I am through with him." When they reached the doors of the infirmary, Chara stopped in stride and turned toward the concerned warrior. If not for her injured hands, she would have crossed her arms over her chest, in a firm and unyielding position of authority. As they were, flattened at her sides, her inflamed fingers twitched in an anticipation that did not, for once, stem from anger.
"We housed both Lilica and Alster in Stella D'Mare, Elespeth--dangerous, powerful, unpredictable casters. Your point? Look at it this way: we traded two of ours for one other. With her cooperation, which she will give, of course, because she is so desperate to be of service," she lowered her voice, "we could stand something of a chance against Mollengard. Do you not see? This is the largest ray of hope we have seen in a while, and I am not one for believing in something so petty, as you know. If she can create a rainstorm...it is no question of if she could wipe out their entire fleet with a rogue wave. It is when." She rocked her heels back and forth, unable to keep still from the possibilities thrumming at her fingertips.
"We've run out of options, Elespeth. And the time for caution has passed. Abhorrent though his tactics, Adalfieri was not wrong in his attempts to harness the power of the Serpent as a weapon. And now that we have a weapon," her well-manicured eyebrows folded into a glare, "I intend to use it."
"Oh, if only it were that easy, kid," tutted a voice from behind the brush. Hadwin stepped into the path, clothed only in a pair of trousers which were stippled with forest detritus. He patted away the clinging bramble and greenery as he ambled towards the distraught girl. His lope was unsteady, crooked, but with every step he forced the human back into himself.
"I admit, I took it too far. Power-trip over there already had a tendency towards madness. Didn't take much give to see him snap." He laid his hands out to Teselin, beseechingly. "But you can't predict the route madness will take you. And I told Solveig that, but she wanted dissent among the Rigas elite. So it was dissent that I caused. Airlea," he clicked his tongue, and something akin to tenderness crossed his eyes, "was an unplanned detour. When events wouldn't unwind the way he expected, the bastard took his frustrations out on her--and often. So yeah, it got personal."
He placed his hands on his hips and arched his back until a few satisfying pops and cracks resounded from him. In seconds, his posture had improved. "I terrorized him almost daily with visions. With words. Little whispers, which at first were only enough to rile him, sent him foaming at the mouth in a rage. But keep it mind," his finger pointed skyward, "I did it for our rag-tag team of lunatics. With Cyprian indisposed, your gracious Rigas hostess has it so easy, doesn't she? How quick was her ascent to her coveted place as queen of the heap? And without opposition, she can now plan and scheme against Mollengard until all the thinking floats to her head and clots her brain."
"Now, if Cyprian did end up killing her..." He gave an exaggerated roll of his shoulders, hearing them give way to a barrage of cracks, "well, I can't say I didn't find the possibility tempting. I would have done Solveig a service by eliminating so many Rigases of import, with none the wiser. Just in-fighting, the witnesses would say. No sinister underpinnings afoot. Even I couldn't walk away from such a deed without some recognition, maybe even a pardon," he paused, "her pardon, from the people who hold our chains. But," he spun his popping arms around in a circle, "contrary to what you might believe, I didn't plan this turn of events. The man was beating Airlea, and was about to go on a rampage, endangering everyone with magic in his pursuit of me."
"So yeah, I ran. And I found you two. Couldn't ask for a more perfect combination. And you performed wonderfully, Tes. Didn't want to put you in that situation, mind, but you had a handle on it. Hate me all you'd like, but it worked out, didn't it? You're a hero. You couldn't have used your power on a more deserving person, really. And would it have made a difference if that same man was of Mollengard, if he was crooked just the same?" A crooked smile of his own reached his lips. "His frenzied logic was compatible with their best interests. Either way, we're one step closer to fighting the oppressors we so despise. But as you've learned today, kid," he leaned against a tree, "sometimes you gotta go backwards before you can go forwards."
"As close to the sword as I am, now?" Alster tilted his head, observing the sheathed weapon with one passive eye. "Because that's all the proximity I need in order to study it. An observational study, if you will--just as Lilica said. That's all I mean. I wouldn't dream of running my fingers so close to the pommel. Though...from what I can glean so far, the sword's wrath only seems to activate by touch. If that were not the case, the two of us would be dead right now." He motioned to himself and Lilica. To prove a point, he buried his feet in a defiant stationary position, though every instinct niggled at him to move away from Sigrid and her dangerous weapon.
"As for touch alone, it's yet to be observed if it's only gripping the handle that will cause instant death, or if you're able to kill just by resting the flat of the blade against another's shoulder. If the latter is the case," he straightened his stance, still combating his unease, "then that is one powerful blade. And too dangerous not to observe and study. Allowing a weapon like this free range, unexamined, without knowing its full capabilities...I daresay that's worse than taking rigid precaution and allowing no avenues to be explored. Without understanding the weapon that you hold, you'll always fear its power. It will become a burden, in the truest sense of the word. But," he bowed his head, apologetic, "I also understand that this may be too overwhelming for you, so I won't belabor the point, or cause you any more undue stress for today. But before we take our leave...do you need accompaniment back to the barracks? ...We wouldn't want to leave you standing here in the temple, alone."
Following the skirmish at the temple, Tivia was not without her own injuries. She'd taken a rather nasty gash to the shoulder, which had rendered one arm almost unusable in battle, and another to her lower back, which narrowly missed her spine. It was a messy fight, one that no amount of forewarning could prepare her for, even with her intensive training as a magic weapons fighter who had seen her share of war. Considering the trials that besieged her mind and body since joining the front at her father's command, she was surprised she was still able to defend and kill at all, but she chalked it up to necessity. If she didn't protect her companions...who would?
When Vitali stepped through her door on the day that Alster and Lilica set out to comfort the moody Dawn Warrior, she bobbed a nod in greeting, but did not move to stand from her comfortable spot on the bed. With her arm and lower back bandaged, once she found a favorable position, any small shifting of muscle would agitate the still-healing wounds. She made a note to pester Alster later for his healing hands, whether his failing stamina could handle the strain or not.
The second the necromancer opened his mouth to speak, she knew what was forthcoming. They had not spoken since that night, and she imagined he had much to dispense. But her mouth had soured into a frown when his words took form. Why did he seem upset that she had stepped forward to keep them safe from attack!?
"As you may have noticed, Vitali, I made my rounds that night, to ensure that all three of you were standing. Lilica was unable to fight, and Alster was too busy concentrating on her shield to defend himself, let alone attack. And you're not combat-ready--so where did that leave me, the only fighter in our group? The one tirelessly trained to manipulate my etherea into weapons and projectiles, so I could be sent off to the lines to prove myself? Should I have just let us all die?" She leaned forward in the bed, trying to keep her voice at a reasonable level, though it threatened to waver in pitch.
"So, what good would it do you, and do me, not to come to your aid? Are you suggesting I allow you to die, because you'd rather that than have the likes of me deign to save your life!?" She gripped the ruined half of her face, though a literal handhold did not cease the escalation of her tone. "I am no failure, Vitali. Much as my parents think so. Much as this face suggests. Much as the stars yammer in my ears and threaten to unseat me. I will not promise you anything of the sort. You won't take this victory away from me. The first day that I, in a while...felt alive, bound, at last, by a purpose not laid out to me by the stars. It was my decision," she lifted her chin at him, "and I regret nothing."
"So he finally lost his mind..." Elespeth murmured, watching as the guards marched a bewildered Cyprian away. It was almost a pitiful sight; like he hadn't any idea what had transpired, or how he had ended up in the misfortune of his current position. Of course, she knew exactly why the man had fallen off the wagon... and despite everything he'd done, from threatening Chara's leadership to exiling her fiance from the very city he had saved, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. So this is the result of letting Hadwin get to your mind, she thought, her mood growing darker by the minute. She'd never trusted the wolf-man, not from the moment she'd met him. But this... Although it worked in Chara's favor, at the end, this was crossing a line.
And, frankly, it did not seem as though Chara was of her right mind, either, then and there. Understandable, given the great deal of pain she must have been suffering with burnt and blistered hands, but nonetheless, what she proposed made the warrior feel uneasy. Because her ideas really did hearken to those similar to what Adalfieri had yearned to see to fruition. Making a weapon our of an untamed force... it was far too risky. Even given the compromised state in which the city found itself. "Chara... I realize this is not my city, nor my place to speak. But I'm going to point out the obvious: are you really, truly, going to use the example of Teselin to try and shine a positive light on the man who nearly destroyed Stella D'Mare with his ministrations? The same man who'd have orchestrated Lilica's death, because he thought the end justified the means?"
It was a low blow, perhaps, but Elespeth needed her point to hit home. Chara was the only reason that this city was still standing, and it was imperative that its leader remain of sound mind. And she recognized the extent to which Chara missed Lilica; how torn up she had been when she'd learned that Lilica tried to take her life. It could have all gone terribly, terribly wrong... and all for the devious plotting of Stella D'Mare's former Rigas head. Perhaps this was why he had been so determined that Chara lead, in his stead. Despite it all, they'd had an understanding... and it many ways, they still did.
"The Serpent would have destroyed the city, Chara. Alster and I only barely got to it in time--and then, we barely made it out alive. What Adalfieri had planned might have been tactical, but I think you know it was not worth the danger and the cost... and the same goes for that over-eager young woman, who is trying to hard to please you." When they were in proximity of the infirmary, and therefore, the healers, she lowered her voice to keep the conversation strictly between the two of them. "We didn't understand the Serpent; we only knew it was a force to be reckoned with. The same goes for Teselin. Only, what's worse, she does not understand the extent of her own abilities. Whatever horrors she caused to occur at the last village she tried to call home landed her incarcerated and likely on death row. The only thing worse than a dangerous person is a dangerous person who does not realize just how dangerous they can be."
Deflating on an exhale, the Atvanian warrior took a step back. "I know you well enough to know I can't change your mind. But please, just be cautious with that girl. After all... who knows what this use of her magic could do to her? Remember whose sister she is." Her mouth drew into a sour pucker. "The last thing we need is for Vitali to do any more damage to this city because he's discovered we've used his sister. Assuming, of course, he cares a lick for her, but the faith that she has in him does make me wonder."
With a final nod and her word of warning (which likely fell upon deaf ears), the former knight took her leave so that the Rigas head could receive treatment for her injuries. It had been her hope that Teselin would stay out of the dangerous plotting against Mollengard by performing menial tasks for Chara; but now, she had other plans for the city's unlikely young guest. And it gave her a sickening feeling that this turn of events, should Chara choose to act on it, could turn their luck for the worst.
Teselin's stern expression softened when the wolf man made mention of Airlea, Cyprian's unfortunate wife. She had seen the terror and desperation in her eyes as she had struggled to flee the house, and the man who had harmed her. And that Hadwin had sought help at all, for a domestic dispute that needn't have concerned him... it was rather touching. Revealed a side that he might otherwise not have cared to show. But it showed that he cared about her, that the distraught woman she'd seen today was not just another adventurous pursuit. And for that, it was difficult to stay angry at him.
"I understand why you're playing both sides. It's the only way to feel safe, isn't it? To stay in the good graces of the people who are actually threatening to cause you harm, while working against them with their very own opposition. But even if this turn of events was not directly related to either side... do be careful, Hadwin." Her voice grew soft, and she rubbed the back of her neck. "It's strange... in a lot of ways, you remind me of my brother. The only side that he plays is his own: and that could easily be in favor or against anyone, at any moment in time, and change at the drop of a hat, depending of his motivations. But that has also gotten him killed, many a time. He has yet to succumb to karma, I suppose, but that is something that catches up with us all. Don't lose sight of what you want--if what you want is to save your sister, like you've said. But be careful of diverging from paths too often. It can get you lost."
A small, humorless smile played on her lips, as she added, "I'd be lying to say it wasn't... somewhat satisfying to see Cyprian put in his place. Especially after what he was doing to his wife--and what he nearly did to Chara. For once, I'm not angry with myself for what my magic accomplished." Especially after it had almost instantly earned her a place in Chara's good graces. No more striving to prove herself; the Rigas head had faith in her, and she would continue to help for as long as she could, and to the best of her abilities. Even if she'd earned her place, she did not want to stop being of use, or else what point was there for her to be here at all? Merely to lie in wait of her brother's arrival? It wasn't fair for a broken city to harbor a squatter; she was determined to continue to earn her keep. "And I'll do it again--to Mollengard. If only to save this city. I've already promised to help, and I will be as savage as need be. But not if or when I don't have to be. In the past, I've been nothing but a wildfire; never really knowing or understanding what energies I will attract or how they will accumulate. And, I still don't know. It's all a huge mystery to me... so what I'm trying to say is, I'd prefer to lay low in the sidelines until I must step up and cause chaos. Does that make sense?"
Teselin lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "I don't hate you, Hadwin. I understand what you did; it was frankly your best option. I'd just have preferred not to have dealt with that today... Chara had me manage to use my abilities to reach across distance and contact Eyraille, to send for aid. She wants me to follow up, today, the same way. It's tiresome and takes a lot out of me... admittedly, I'm already exhausted and cranky. And..." Glancing over her shoulder, she pressed a sigh from her chest. "I suppose I'd better get to making good on my promise. You might want to take a page out of my book, and consider laying low for now, as well. Goodbye, Hadwin."
With a nod, the young summoner bade the wolf man farewell, and made for the same patch of soil that she had worked with the day before. If she had managed to reach Eyraille by those means last time, then it only stood to reason that they would expect a message coming from the same place again. And, with any luck, having a second go at something completely new to her would hopefully facilitate the process... and not leave her so winded and vulnerable.
Vitali had expected Tivia to go on the defensive; after all, her actions had been calculated, and following what she had endured at the hands of war first, and then the treatment she received from her parents, he had no doubt that the Rigas woman was embarking on some personal journey of self-worth and validation. There was no arguing that she was a formidable fighter; in fact, she was far more combat ready than he was, and the necromancer would be the first to admit it. And she had every right to use the skills that were at her disposal. Her involvement in combat, that night, was not what struck a chord of frustration in his core. Not specifically, anyway.
"You're a formidable fighter, Tivia. No one can argue that; and you're right. Perhaps you were the best suited to defend everyone, that night. Alster was preoccupied with protecting my sister, who was too spent to be of any help to herself and anyone else. And, as you said, I am far from combat ready. Guilty as charged." He shrugged his bad arm, which was bandaged heavily from elbow to wrist. "I've never been very adept, as a fighter. In the past, I've either used the dead to do the fighting for me, or I've averted physical and magical combat all together by finding clever ways around it. I haven't survived for this long by becoming directly involved in brawls, you know."
The necromancer chuckled, and leaned his back against the wall. He made to fold his arms, but immediately regretted the pain incited by the gesture, and let his bad arm rest at his side. "I've never looked at you and thought you were a failure, Tivia. That's not why I'm a little on the angry side, for what you did." Vitali shook his head, locks of dark hair falling into his eyes. "I just want to make sure you have your priorities straight. Alster and Lilica are the ones you want to back: keep an eye on them. Galeyn's awakening is contingent on my sister surviving long enough to find it, and Alster is an integral part of your city--as are you, as a formidable Star Seer. My presence, here, is only of my own volition. Not because I am wanted or needed; I merely wanted to come along for the ride."
The corner of his mouth curled into a grin, but it faded quickly. "You remind me of my sister, you know. It's been a while since I've seen her, but like you, she was always so eager to prove herself. I'm telling you this because I would tell her exactly the same thing if she were putting herself at risk for me: don't." He shook his head slowly. "I value my life, but I will see to it, myself. Not at the expense of your safety. So, for this time only, I will say thank you. For saving my undeserving hide and allowing me to see another day. That is something I do not take lightly. But from this point on: look out for yourself, and for your family. Do you understand?"
It was a strange request, coming from someone who was so used to taking each and every opportunity that came his way to survive. Someone who otherwise wouldn't bat an eyelash at the kind sacrifice someone else would make on his behalf. But with Tivia... it was different. He found no joy or satisfaction in using her, to the point where even act of consideration that came of her own accord seemed to bother him at a fundamental level. Perhaps, for the first time in his life, the necromancer was coming to realize he didn't deserve unsolicited kindness.
Pulling away from the wall, he reached for the door with his good hand. "Rest well," he bade her with a nod and a smile. "I will see you around, I'm sure."
Pursing her lips, Chara tried redirecting her anger through her fingertips. The pain at flexing them in and out helped to mitigate the desire to raise her voice, or resort to name-calling. But Elespeth was her closest ally, and the most reliable person in her resource-depleted arsenal. There was nothing to be gained in alienating her at this stage.
"I know what Adalfieri has done," she said, with an exasperated sigh. "Do not think I forgive him, even in death. I am not here to repeat his mistakes. When he weakened the Serpent's seals and facilitated Its emergence from the earth," when he baited Lilica to kill him, she had meant, but did not voice, "he was a man of desperation, fighting a battle that needn't be so radical, or finalizing. There was more to lose, then. We had a city. We had a populace to protect, who relied on us to keep them from Andalarian hands. But no," she flinched when her bulging fingers had reflexively clenched into a fist. In between teeth clenched from the pain, she cried, "He took that away from us! Now we have practically nothing. So tell me, Elespeth, what will we lose if we destroy this city again?!"
When they reached the doors of the infirmary, she had mustered enough calm and rationality to continue their conversation in a whisper. "Do not hold so little a view of me, either. When I do employ Teselin's power, it will not be within the gates of this estate. The Rigas seal, which protected us against the Serpent attack, will hold against Mollengardian fire and anything our little summoner can conjure. All the seal needs is a little recharging from our resident casters. Once we close the gates, everything on this side of the barrier is safe. And," she added, "I have requested the aid of some earth mages to retunnel the passageway from here through the Serpent's Den, which experienced a cave-in from Its dramatic escape through the city. The passage, as you know, leads from Stella D'Mare to the fields on the lee side of this mountain, outside the city. It will serve as our evacuation route, as needed."
"To where we'll evacuate...I do not yet know. Mollengardian forces are likely to await us on the other side. But with Eyraille's cooperation...we shall think of the best course of action. Have I allayed any of your concerns?" She tilted her head, the strands of her mussed up hair falling into her face. "We shall reconvene once my hands are properly cared for." Without another word, she withdrew from Elespeth and walked through the opened doors of the infirmary, which were held aloft by the healers. They were expecting her, and she was expecting them to do a damn good job. Hands were no trifle to heal, and she was in no mood for sub-par care.
"Your magic was working on instinct," Hadwin said, massaging his naked shoulders against the bark of the tree. "It was responding to danger. In many circumstances, that's when your magic will be at its most pliable. Also at its most volatile. But you knew yourself, in that moment. You had a strong intention, and the will to see it through. If you had neither, Chara would be a scorch-mark in the grass right now." He tapped a finger at his temple. "That's the key, right here. Be in the moment, and your fear will slip away. Of course," he chuckled, "that's not a feeling so easily replicated, but you did good work out there, kid. And I'll be sure to take your advice into consideration," he winked. "Following it, on the other hand...now that's a different story. I never learn. But I always find my way out. Like your brother, karma hasn't caught me, either. Though I don't think I've died," he frowned, rubbing at a spot beneath his chin. "Unless this is the afterlife, and the ghosts are actually among the living. Which would mean I'm the ghost." A delighted little snort vibrated through his nostrils. "Would you believe I haven't had anything to smoke today, and I'm already spouting this drivel? Well, I know just the solution for that."
He bounced off the tree with an energetic flourish, but the expression that replaced his joviality was of a more solemn bent. His bushy eyebrows furrowed over his eyes, which shone with sudden portent. "Not to leave you on a downer, but I'll need you to keep vigilant, too. We can't always decide when we need to fight. Or even why. Trouble finds you. And me? I seek it out. That's how I know the pull of your magnetism. It's not just storms you attract. There are monsters here. Not necessarily out of your nightmares, but," he reached out to ruffle her hair, "sometimes, they can be worse. Steel yourself for the unexpected, Teselin. And take care."
As she turned and wandered off from the wood-path, the perk in Hadwin's shoulders lessened into a sag. Something caught his eye, caught his ears, and he looked over to the source, to some fixed point beyond the trees. "Here you go again. Yammering on about things I already know," he said to nobody. Nothing. "Do you really have nothing better to do?" With a sour shake of his head, he exited the wooded area, in search for the thing he coveted most in that moment.
The following day, Haraldur was traipsing through the courtyard in full armor. As promised, he was to meet the young king for another sparring session, which he felt considerably more comfortable teaching. Though, he could not cease thinking about the message from Stella D'Mare, the implications it presented, war with Mollengard, facing Mollengard, or Mollengard in general. It had consumed both his waking hours and his sleeping hours, though the latter had become sparse as a consequence of his unerring obsession.
In keeping with that obsession, he took the roundabout way in the courtyard. Since that morning, he'd been checking periodically on the patch of soil on which the message first appeared. The canvas tarp had since been removed, and guards were posted around the perimeter, in case another message scratched its way through the dirt. Upon observing the area for about the forth time that day, he saw an unexpected face loom from nearby, watching the ground with a passive interest.
"Grandmother Alta?" He sidled beside the Rigas matron, who looked more slumped and exhausted than when she had first performed her spell the previous night. "Should you be on your feet so soon?"
But his question faded away into the crowd when he heard a sharp gasp and a few whoops of surprise. The guards pointed excited fingers pointed to the ground, which had erupted into small, sinuous flames. They were mere wisps, barely a few inches high, but they whirled and scrawled until right there, in the dirt, burned a new message. The flames dispersed, but the message remained. He asked Grandmother Alta to read him the words, which were thus:
Message received. Will await aid. Arrive at the estate. -Chara Rigas.
"Chara Rigas." He remembered the haughty blonde caster, who held a position of authority among her vaunted family. "I wonder if she's taken Adalfieri's place, or if this message was sent at his behest. But at least, Stella D'Mare has answered my question. The message may not be transmitted by a Rigas, but it was relayed by a Rigas." His head snapped up at the thickening crowd. "Someone alert the king. And Sir Vega Sorde."
Playing with the near-white ends of her short, brittle hair, Tivia listened, but her air of defiance did not waver. Despite the distracted air that her idle fingers took, her eye remained focused on him, probing for the truth in his statement. The man wore insincerity and false charm like one of his well-tailored overcoats, but she saw nothing in him but genuine concern. Why? Because she reminded him of his sister? A furious blush stained the unmarred half of her face. What was that supposed to imply? And what did she expect from him? Something more? A distraction? A pair of lips different from that of the mercenary, who'd clung to her in need for her body and her body alone? Was she so willing to give herself to the next man who showed her kindness, despite the atrocities he'd inflicted on others? Why was she so impressionable? So fickle? So...stupid?
The stars can't help me in this endeavor. Not for me. Not for my childish wants. ...He already thinks me a child!
"I see," she said, her words forming a barbed, pointed tip. It was not openly hostile, but only enough to hide the hurt that threatened to spill out of her overbright eye. "So I should ignore you, then. Because I can do that--with pleasure. You do not want my aid? My camaraderie? Then yes. I shall heed your advice, and keep to Lilica and Alster's side. After all," she bit down on her lip, "you can hold your own, as you've so eloquently told me. Formidable fighter or not, you want nothing to do with me."
She pointed to the door as he made to leave. "Yes. Do go. It's easier that way. And if you are going to be useful as anything but dead weight, you best beg Alster to heal your arm. Though he hates you, as he should, he'll take pity. At least someone will," she muttered, tasting the tears in the back of her throat. And when he closed the door gently behind him, she bunched a pillow into her arms and sank her face into it, suffocating her sobs.
A few days had passed, but she kept to her room, only allowing Alster inside when he agreed to heal her injuries. Since his long recovery, he'd been faring better, having little trouble in tending to her ravaged flesh and bruising. They all disappeared at his touch, leaving behind nothing but faint, white scars. If only... If only...
"Is it possible," she clutched feebly at her blanket, "to...heal my face? Even if it turned me into a different person, I wouldn't care. I just...want to look normal."
"I know," he said, giving a brief glance at his prosthetic arm. "If only I could, Tivia. But healing has its limits, and the flames that destroyed Stella D'Mare's camp...nothing can mend what that fire has touched."
"So you're saying my face is dead," she almost spat.
"No, I--"
"--Necromancy, then? Could necromancy heal it?"
"Tivia--"
"Or if I scratched it all off, could you paint it over with one of your fancy spells you're always learning?"
His eyes widened. "N-nothing so drastic, Tivia. I told you, I could do a glamour--"
"It's just another mask!" she roared. "If it were for Elespeth, you'd find a way."
He flinched, and hunched over on the chair he'd positioned in front of her bed. "I...I would," he admitted, in defeat. "You're right. I...I will, Tivia. I'll find a way for you. But right now," he looked over his shoulder, at the door, "we're going to leave for Galeyn in the morning. Will you be--"
"--Yes," she said, all the energy from before bleeding out of her. "I'll be fine."
"No." He placed his left hand over her own. "Let me stay. I'm not fine at all," he said, with a pitiable smile. "Keep me company?"
She let out a huff, half between laughter and a scoff. "Reverse tactics. Nice try."
"But did it work?"
She hesitated. "...Yes." She returned his hand squeeze. "I'll keep you company."
Entirely oblivious to the argument that had been had between Chara and Elespeth with the regard of the extent to which she provided services to this city, Teselin was happy and eager to return to the plot of land and send a message following her brief discussion with Hadwin. In a strange way, speaking with the wolf man had offered her a modicum of hope when it came to the volatile and somewhat erratic nature of her abilities. He had said that they responded to instinct; well, if that were the case, and it was both her instinct and her intention to send this to Eyraille, as she had before... shouldn't it occur rather quickly, and this time, with less effort? Similar to the way she had summoned and commanded a gust of wind to pin Cyprian Rigas to the side of his home, removing him as a threat to both Chara and his wife?
Well, perhaps... but that did not seem to be the case. Maybe it was due to the fact that the situation, while important, was not an urgent one. And sadly, the result was not as immediate as the feat she'd performed earlier that day. Following her surprising act of valiance which had saved Chara's life, the young summoner had been left oddly winded (no pun intended), and her hopes of making this next feat a quick one was soon crushed. The message itself was shorter and more manageable than the last; what took the time was reaching for that faraway feeling of foreign soil, that assurance that the letters were appearing elsewhere, as she knew they had done before. It took hours and hours of concentration, tracing the letters in the dirt over and over to the point where the skin on her index finger began to run raw...
From time to time, Teselin almost felt herself nodding off. Focus and intent became all the more difficult the manage, and with that came the feeling of frustration: why, when she needed her magic to work at will, did it take its time to take effect? Why was it that tasks that did not yield potentially lethal results required a millennia of patience and concentration? I won't be a failure. Determination alone guided her hand, and she hardly realized that her hand had stopped moving altogether, until a voice drew her attention back to the waking world. "Teselin--wake up. You can't fall asleep in front of that."
It was the voice of the warrior, Elespeth. Startled, the summoner lifted her head which had drifted to her chest, and her eyes widened with surprise as she took note of the flames that danced high from each letter in their exact formation. This was what had happened before; and last time, it had worked. A warm feeling of triumph and relief washed over her. "Finally." She sighed. "I was beginning to think this wouldn't work a second time... Elespeth, what time of day is it?"
"Almost evening. Have you been here all day, working at that?" Brows furrowed, she took the young woman by the arm and pulled her to her feet. "Teselin, listen. There is something you must bear in mind. I know you want to help Chara, and I think you should. But if the demands that she places on you become too daunting, or if she requests something that you truly do not wish to do..."
"Chara!" Speak of the devil, Teselin saw the woman's shock of blonde hair from a distance, and waved her down in excitement. "It's done. The result looks the same as last time--now all we need is to wait for confirmation. I'm sorry it took so long... I have yet to understand why tasks such as this don't yield such immediate results."
Helpless that her attempt to warn the young summoner not to take her magic too far had gone stale, the Atvanian warrior pressed her lips together as Chara approached. "I found her here, practically unconscious," she pointed out, matter-of-factly. "In front of live fire. It might be wise to consider having her accompanied on these tasks, after all. Even if she is no longer a prisoner. For her own safety."
With a nod, she left the Rigas head and the exhausted young woman to whatever their discussion would ensue. If Teselin wanted to work herself to her own death, then that was her decision. She had enough to worry about, in Alster's absence, let alone some reckless girl looking for validation.
Little to Haraldur's knowledge, Grandmother Alta had been crouched near that very patch of soil since the early hours of the morning. After relaying her own message to the messenger, she had felt drawn to this patch of soil, now recognizing it as a conduit for communication, as the messenger did not appear to have the skills to reach the mind; only to use the letters they had learned as a child, and to transmit them across distance. A decidedly unique manner of communication, but one that suggested the sender was both gifted and adaptable, using what they had to the best of their abilities to achieve the means that they desired. When the tall warrior approached, she lifted a hand to shush him, anticipating that something was about to come to pass. "Quiet," she advised, her cloudy eyes fixed on the soil. "Just watch."
Sure enough, a message began to burn, just like the day before. Spontaneous fire licked inches from the ground, building and building until it died down to embers, leaving behind distinct, glowing letters in the very same handwriting as before. A small smile curled at the corners of the Rigas matron's mouth. "Just as I thought." She nodded, slowly easing to her feet, as the guards and onlookers rushed to retrieve Caris and Vega. "I am not familiar with this Chara, but still, she is not the sender. The energy I feel is not that of a Rigas. But, to be signed by a noteworthy name, I am convinced that this Rigas commissioned an ally to send the message on their behalf."
At the mention of Adalfieri, Grandmother Alta's features softened, and a wistful look befell her aged face. "I, too, wonder of Adalfieri's reign." When she spoke, it was soft, almost as if to herself and not to solicit response. "It was an endeavor that he always took so seriously... no doubt, he has done the best he could for that irredeemable city."
Within minutes, both Caris and Vega were at the site of the new message, both out of breath from having rushed. Caris, too, was clad in armor, anticipating his sparring match with Haraldur. Both siblings exhibited both surprise and relief that Eyraille had seemingly received their message. "I suppose we have you to thank for this, Grandmother Alta." The young king noted, addressing the matronly woman with the utmost respect. "Thank you. Your help and cooperation have not gone unnoticed."
"I did it for Stella D'Mare just as much as for Eyraille benefit of their alliance, Your Majesty." The librarian clarified, not unkindly, but in a way that suggested she would not be used for her abilities. "I suggest you follow through on your plan and organize the appropriate aid to be sent to the Rigas estate in a week's time."
"I will do just that." Vega offered quickly, with a curt nod. "I've already been in discussion with some of my Skyknights. I'll debrief them today on possible courses of action, and what provisions to bring. You needn't strain yourself to communicate further with the city, Grandmother Alta. I believe we can work with what we have and come up with something."
"Young lady." Grandmother Alta suddenly turned, her eyebrows furrowed with concern. "You are not yourself planning to fly to Stella D'Mare, are you?"
Taken aback by the question, Vega paused, unsure what the librarian was getting at. "No, Grandmother. It did not cross my mind as a wise idea. Not with Mollengard present." The princess assured the Rigas woman. "But I will be sending my most competent knights to take up the task. You needn't worry."
Grandmother Alta watched as the Skyknight retreated, looking on with both an air of curiosity and concern. At last, she turned away and shook her head. "You'd do well to see that she does not fly--nor fight." She said rather cryptically to Haraldur. "It isn't safe for the three of them. I'll be fine, soldier; you do not need to see me to my library." The Rigas matron straightened her posture and moved toward the palace again, leaving the young king and Haraldur to one another's company.
"Well. With that small diversion out of the way," Caris rolled his shoulders and folded his arms, "Are you willing to actually spar with me today, Haraldur? I am practically giving you permission to take out your frustrations on me, you know. And don't play me a fool--I know I aggravate you." Arching an eyebrow, he headed towards the training grounds and looked over his shoulder. "So why don't you do something about it?"
"What did you say to her?"
On the morning that the small party was finally set to depart for Galeyn, accompanied by the Dawn warrior, Sigrid, Lilica confronted Vitali in his room at the inn as he changed the bandages on his arm. He hadn't sought out Alster to help heal what recovery remained from the nasty wound; the stitches could come out, soon, and infection had not set in, so he was not overly concerned. Although, feeling had yet to return to half of his hand. "Ah, Lilica. A good morning to you, too." The necromancer greeted her, looking up from his task and arching an eyebrow. "Not to sound ignorant, but would you care to clarify your question?"
"Tivia has been an absolute terror to deal with for days. She won't speak with anyone but Alster, and I overheard her begging him to find a way to heal your face. This all took place the afternoon that we left to seek out Sigrid; the same afternoon that we happened to leave the two of you alone. So I ask you again, Vitali," Lilica glared and folded her arms. "What did you say to her that has set her in such a foul mood? Did you comment on her face? Offer a new means to hide it? I doubt she has been this insecure since she suffered the fire that could have killed her."
The necromancer's brows knit together, and he pulled his sleeve over his healing arm--which was not a dead weight, thank you very much. Another few days, when he could remove the sutures, and he would be able to lift with it again. "I am a lot of terrible things, Lilica. And yet, a callous bastard is not one of them." Standing up, he rolled the cuff of his sleeve to match the other. "I simply expressed to her that I will not see her risk her life for the likes of me, again. She suffered grave injuries at the temple, and I know it was because she endured hits that were meant for me. And I don't want that on my conscience."
Lilica paused, a look of disbelief crossing her face as she tumbled through different thoughts, when at last clarification illuminated her eyes--at which point, she took a single step forward, and slapped Vitali across the face.
"Really, Lilica," Vitali hissed through clenched teeth, rubbing his stinging cheek. "I am not arguing that I somehow deserved that, but would you care to tell me why?"
"I've seen the way she gravitates to you, Vitali. For whatever fiendish reason, you've been showing her kindness for quite some time now, haven't you? I'd thought you sought to manipulate her; but now, I have reason to believe you truly are a genuine idiot." The dark mage shook her head and pressed her fingers to her temples. "She is young, for a Rigas, and vulnerable for so many reasons. For what happened to her face; for the fact she has become a Star Seer, against her will. For what she suffered from her parents. Of course she would cling to those who make her feel secure and give her hope. And if you indeed told her you do not want her help--then for all intents and purposes, you've rejected her. And now she is reminded of what it feels like to not be wanted."
Turning on her heel, the dark mage made for the door, and let out a sigh before exiting. "For once, I'm confident you didn't intend to cause anyone harm. But we can't afford dissent among us. I'm leaving it up to you to fix this. Preferably sooner than later."
She left him, then, feeling as bewildered as he had when she had entered on her rampage. It was often easy enough to brush off Lilica's concerns, but there had, in fact, been some clarity and merit to her words. And while he had unwittingly observed and treated Tivia much in the same way he'd have treated his own younger sister, it hadn't occurred to him that such would not resonate well with the young Rigas woman. While it was clear she wanted to be wanted, and valued... he perhaps did not want or value her in the way that she'd have liked. And if that were the case, her reaction--and Lilica's, for that matter--were justified.
He finished packing, and within the hour, joined the others at the stables, where Sigrid and their horses were waiting. Tivia was there, of course, but she did not acknowledge his presence as she mounted her horse. "Do you mind some company?" Before she could answer, the necromancer mounted behind her. "It occurs to me that I've upset you. I'd like to explain myself, if you'll let me."
When Chara returned later that day to check on Teselin's progress, her hands had been thickly bandaged, with so little flexibility in the bindings that they resembled claws more than anything approaching function. She sat through the first round of healing, which popped the painful blisters and sloughed away the top layers of damaged skin, but she required two more sessions to see a full recovery, which the healers assured would happen. Whether they promised a favorable result out of confidence of their abilities, or out of fear of her wrath should they err, she didn't know, or care--as long as she could move her fingers by the following day.
She found Teselin in the fallow field, where they had begun the day's awful trials, pleased that the waifish girl set forth on her task to deliver the message to Eyraille, unaided or supervised. Elespeth was present, but hadn't looked anchored there for long, as evidenced by her restless movements and sweat-dampened tunic. She'd been training. But for what reason? Mollengard's Forbanne would crush her before she even drew a sword to defend. However, she couldn't fault the warrior for working with what she knew, however useless her skills.
"Good work," she told Teselin. The attention-starved girl ate up encouragements like she guzzled wine, so it didn't hurt to play to her audience. Make her feel needed. Accustom her to the idea of acceptance--but only if she followed every task, and delivered results. Fail and the girl would receive nothing. Only a "try again," and, "do not disappoint me." Was it manipulative? She didn't care. Stella D'Mare could no longer afford the luxury of time-wasting nonsense. No preservation of feelings, or prevention of upsets. Coddling was for the bandages on her hands...and they were doing a poor job in comforting her. "That will be our last message for now. Get some rest, for I would not like to see you caught afire by your own magic."
She itched to cross her arms, but contended with the impatient wave of a claw-dressed hand, when Elespeth brought to light the precarious practices of her summoner. "Yes, yes, I understand. The guards have their hands full with damage control. The entire estate is in an uproar, if you have not yet noticed. Feel free to take up the mantle of guarding, yourself, if you've nothing better to do. Now, if you'll excuse me," she lightly grazed the warrior's shoulder as she passed, "I shall take Teselin back to her chambers. Come along."
When the figures of the Rigas head and her charge disappeared over the crest of a hill, a familiar voice piped up from behind Elespeth. "Harsh. You sure you want her in charge?"
Hadwin stepped into the field, fully clothed (a rarity nowadays), and with a lit pipe dangling from the corner of his mouth.
"Now that the 'mad-man' is behind bars, I'm once again free to roam as I please, in whatever form I please. Unless, of course, you inform on me. Or use your blade to corral me into that vile woman's services. Can't say I'm not giving you the opportunity." He pulled the pipe from his mouth and blew a steady stream of smoke towards her. "But to be fair, I upheld my end of our arrangement so far. I facilitated Chara Rigas's rise to the heavens, where she shall sit upon her star-studded throne and preside upon...well," he looked around at the crumbling scenery, "I'm sure it was a lovely city, before you and your martyr-happy fiance dispatched the overgrown garden snake. And my, you've been real concerned about him, lately. Not like I didn't tell you the Serpent was chewing around inside his head, but," he threw up his hands in surrender, "everybody thinks I'm nothing but lies and jokes. And yet, nobody laughs at the punchline."
Haraldur did not miss the shift in Grandmother Alta's features at mention of Adalfieri. The Rigas Head (whether still reigning, abdicated, overthrown, or deceased), though exhibiting a genteel, charismatic air, did not appear to be operating within any known realm of reality. The first and only time he met the man, who'd sat perched on an uncomfortable and spindly driftwood chair, it was so he could be delivered to Andalarian authorities as their prisoner. The elderly man had thanked him for going along quietly, with a glassy gaze that penetrated like shards. He said little else, and dismissed him from the chambers. Still, he wondered if there was any point to his audience with the Rigas Head, if all he felt worthy to share was gratitude and well-wishes...along his journey to a prison cell and certain torture.
And yet, his curiosity was piqued. "Did you know him well?" he asked the librarian, while there was still a lull in the courtyard before the inevitable descent of chaos. "He had me arrested, so I could be a scapegoat for his city." Though he hadn't wanted to ruin the woman's seemingly fond recollections of the man, he wasn't about to hide his actions, either. Were he still in charge of Rigas affairs, Eyraille needed to know the conditions of the leader they were choosing to aid.
"I also overheard that Adalfieri was planning to unleash the Serpent on the city. Considering what happened there...he succeeded." By then, Vega and Caris arrived in the courtyard, and any further discussion on the merits of the Rigas leader had ended. Instead, they planned the logistics of the upcoming flight: the preparations, the projected route, the size of the relief team, and the choice of supplies and provisions. Haraldur nodded along in agreement, keeping silent...until Grandmother Alta's comment stiffened him to alert.
"It's definitely not wise," he agreed, downplaying his surprise, despite the tendrils of terror that threatened to creep up and down his arms of gooseflesh. "Not for so small of a task. You're needed, here." And I wouldn't let you go it alone. Or go at all, was the threat that erupted in the green blaze of his eyes.
But she spoke her reassurances and departed before he could inquire about the details of the expedition into Stella D'Mare...and who she planned to have lead it. He was about to join with Caris before the king grew too impatient with the slow progress of his training, but Grandmother Alta had, yet again, stiffened him into stillness. "The three of them? Who--"
He was cut off when the king about barreled into him in demand for his attention, and it was, unfortunately, an interruption he could not ignore. Already, Grandmother Alta was ambling off, looking no more ready to elaborate on her words than request an arm to guide her to bedrest. What had she meant by 'three'? She's probably tired. That's all, he thought.
Haraldur turned to Caris, giving the king a customary bow, though it immediately followed the crossing of his arms over his chest--a mirror to the petulant boy in front of him."Very well, your Majesty," he said, cooly, striding behind him, to the training grounds. "We'll do Forbanne training today."
The morning of departure had arrived, and Tivia was nothing but eager to leave her long days of stagnancy behind at the inn. It had become a place of misery for her, a small den of never-changing scenery, of maddening idleness, of thoughts playing on repeat without a buffer or a distraction. Once awake, she had thrown on her clothes, washed up, and was ready in minutes. She would have skipped breakfast, too, if that would have expedited their departure, but at Alster's behest, she swallowed a few gulps of porridge and popped a hard-boiled egg into her mouth.
As they were ushered from the restaurant to the stables, they said their goodbyes to the innkeep and her husband. Rather, she gave a halfhearted grunt and a nod, while Alster waxed poetic on the inn's accommodations and exemplary service, so eager was he to please the woman he had slighted--though he did seem to forget that she was the reason they ended up in a prison cell. Still, he used his time at the inn to make amends, offering his assistance and cleaning up after himself to save them additional work.
"Sometimes I can't stand how insufferable you are," she grumbled from behind him, after the innkeep and her husband left them to their saddling of the horses in peace.
"You seem to manage just fine," he quipped, checking the tack of the mare he was about to mount.
"I have no choice. I can't strangle you because people like you."
"Definitely debatable, but I'll take the endorsement," he said, with a one-sided smirk. With another grumble, she stalked over to her horse, and ran her hands through the motions. Saddle secured, supplies stored and counterbalanced in the saddlebags, horse not spooked by her hideous, uncovered left side...
She was aware of eyes on her, of someone closing near, but she chose to ignore the prickling sensation at the back of her neck, and the who of its source. Instead, she blathered on to Alster, loud and raucous, but the who would not be frightened away by clamorous noise and the scarecrow that she embodied. And before she knew what happened, an extra weight clambered up on the horse she'd mounted. She froze, an aching pressure forming behind her eye, as if it, too, wanted to melt shut. Alster seemed to recognize the tension, for he trotted up beside them on his horse, and the indifferent glance he usually reserved for Vitali expanded into a clear, steely warning.
"Vitali, there's an extra horse in the stables that the innkeep will let us borrow," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "We don't have to double up anymore."
"It's all right," she managed, though how, with her shoulders so eager to fuse with her neck and her knuckle-white hands twisting the reins, she didn't know. "Let him say what he wants to say." Still, she refused to acknowledge the man who occupied space behind her. So close, she could feel his body heat. And as Alster and his horse fell in step behind them, to watch for any foul-play, Tivia nodded her head, a little wiggle of assent. She'd allow his words. She'd allow them because deep down, she hoped he had changed his mind. That he saw her as something of beauty, as something worth wanting, and needing. He'd apologize, and then they'd...and then they'd what!?
But a pang in her chest informed her otherwise. He doesn't want you it mocked. Not like that. Never like that.
Elespeth didn't have to turn around to know that it was Hadwin, who had come to "brighten" her evening, after that already oh-so-positive exchange with Chara and her new pet. Ordinarily, the former knight might have suggested he take his company elsewhere (and none so kindly), but as it stood, she already felt spent, that day. Between what had occurred that morning, and how she had found Teselin just now, she felt as though she was fighting a battle that had already been lost. There were wounds for the wolf man to rub salt into; just layers and layers of scar tissue, to the point where she feared she was losing feeling.
"She's extreme, in many ways... and not all good." She commented, neither denying nor affirming his observations of Chara's 'harshness'. "But she is as she has always been. And like it or not, she is the best chance that this city has... provided she does not become too enamored of her former mentor's tactics and ideals. That was what sent this city on its path of destruction, in the first place."
Of course, Hadwin always found a way to hit a nerve, and his mention of Alster made the muscles in her jaw jump and tighten. The man was both the greatest test for her anger, and the worst influence on her sanity... and on anyone's sanity, really, if Cyprian's condition meant anything. "Of course I'm concerned for Alster. I cannot reach him anymore; he severed our connection when I saw for myself that the Serpent continues to occupy his mind." She snapped, at once not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an emotional response, but too spent to paste on a facade of nonchalance. "And it isn't the Serpent that worries me. Alster had dealt with the burden of the beast in one way or another, all his life. That I can't reach him, and I don't know if he is all right... that is what concerns me. Though I am sure you know all of this, already, and it frankly should not be the crux of your concern."
Stepping right into his shadow--and almost standing over him--the Atvanian warrior pointed in the direction where Chara and Teselin had left, just moments before. "It might have been a mistake to tell Teselin to kowtow to Chara's whims. Because now she sees her as a potential weapon, and you can bet that she will use her as such. You may want to reconvene with the healer about this master plan, because it looks as though things have the potential to become very muddy, if intentions are crossed."
Leaving him with that thought, Elespeth turned and left without a parting word. For the first time in a while, Haraldur crossed her thoughts, and it occurred to her how much she missed his stable presence. And besides, he was the only safe person she could think to share a drink with... and how desperately she needed a drink, right about now.
To say that Caris did not know what he was getting into was an understatement--but, the young king could not argue that he wasn't getting exactly what he asked for, because Haraldur did not hold back. It was, at once, the most excruciating, humiliating, and yet exhilarating match he had ever subjected himself to. One that consisted of him falling, again and again, racking up one minor or moderate pain after another, and getting back on his feet, determined to so much as bruise the man who could inflict so much damage without so much as lifting his arm over his head.
But the young king was nothing if not stubborn, and he persisted, despite that he spat blood from time to time, and had already accrued minor injuries that had begun to swell and required ice, he did not stop. He took whatever Haraldur dealt, all the while desperately trying to find a weakness in the man's movements, but while he was quick to react, the soldier was simply too skilled. He went at it until his body simply refused to respond, and picking himself up off of the ground was too much of a chore, let alone brandishing his blade, which had grown so heavy in his hand.
"All right... you've made your point." At last Caris conceded, each one of his limbs trembling as he barely managed to pull himself to his feet. There wasn't a part of his body that didn't hurt or ache in some way, and he refused to show even half of it on his face, for all his pride. But it was clear enough that the young man was spent when he struggled to take a seat, and his hand trembled too much to brush the sweat-soaked blonde bangs from his eyes. "It's abundantly clear I can't take on the Forbanne as it stands... so I need you to teach me how. What am I doing wrong? How do I get an edge on someone who fights like they don't need to adhere to basic human needs?"
Rubbing the side of his jaw, which was already beginning to swell with bruising, he squinted against the bright morning light which only seemed to cause him more pain. "This is what I need to know. To protect myself, even if I am not fighting on behalf of my kingdom... which I still intend to do, if the situation permits. You have free reign to be hard on me, Haraldur; I already told you as much. But I would also like to learn, in the interim, if I'm to allow myself to be your punching bag." Using his sword to help him to his feet again, the young king leaned heavily on the blade until he got his footing. "You're dismissed... and we'll resume tomorrow." A bold statement, coming from someone who looked only a few blows away from losing consciousness... But it was not uncommon for the Sordes to prop themselves up on pride alone, time and again.
"Good--let's use that horse to lighten the load of our other horses, for now. Since we've restocked provisions." The necromancer suggested lightly, completely ignoring the warning tone in Alster's voice. Unfortunately, the Rigas caster did not scare him, not even with his connection to an otherworldly beast such as the Serpent. And besides--though no one would ever believe it, he did not meant Tivia harm. One would think that knowledge of his blood oath to her and to Lilica would have put minds at ease.
When the horses were prepped and their provisions were loaded, Roen himself saw them out the gates of Braighdath. Sigrid was the last to leave. "I'm only letting you go because I know you are strong enough to return to us," he said to the distraught Dawn warrior, who seemed all too reluctant to leave the only place she had ever been able to call her home. "With or without Gaolithe. Help these people do what they must do; but then, come back to your clan."
"If it were up to me, I wouldn't leave you at all." Sigrid said softly. She sat straight on her horse, looking fierce and prepared, but behind the resolute posture, she was fighting not to fall apart. "I will return as soon as I can. Wait for me."
The small party departed, then, with Lilica in the lead, and accompanied by the bright sun of early morning. Vitali waited until there was adequate distance between himself and the others, before he ventured to offer his explanation--and apology. "The other day, when I so rudely interrupted your rest to berate you for saving my life... I did not say as much because I did not want to live, or for some strange matter of pride. Nor did I mean to imply that your help holds no value. I suppose I'm a rather strange being, in that the harsher I am toward certain people--and I cannot believe I am divulging this, but... the more they tend to mean to me."
The necromancer pressed a heavy sigh from his chest. It felt as though he had just disposed of a burden he'd have happily held onto for a millennia. "What I meant, at the time, is that I cannot have it sit on my conscience that you put yourself in harm's way for me, because it bothers me to see you hurt. And you endured a lot of damage, for someone I'd hoped I could help spare from any further pain." After a brief pause, he added, "I thought I was making my point when I mentioned you remind me of my sister--not Lilica. My much younger, far less aggravating sister. Her name is Teselin; she would be around your maturity, now, I think. But... I did not realize that in mentioning it to you, you would be disappointed."
It was only after some careful contemplation that Vitali was able to put the pieces together. Why she had been upset with him, and why she had felt so shunned over the nature of their conversation. He had been right about one thing; she wanted him to care. But what had eluded him was the way in which she wanted him to care... "I must clarify something for you. I am a master manipulator, Tivia; I will be the first to admit it, because it has singlehandedly kept me alive for longer than I should be. When I first met you, like everyone else who crossed my path, you were as adequate a pawn as any. I saw fit to endear myself to you, after you successfully managed to convince the Eyraillian princess to pay her lover's debt. But... to be honest, I lost interest in using you, very quickly. You are someone who has defeated a good number of odds, and turned fate in your favor. I came to respect that, and you. And believe me when I say, there are few people who I deem deserve respect. So if it appears I am no longer going out of my way to win your favor, then know it is out of the decision to show you honesty, instead. Yet, nonetheless..."
Was it guilt that seeped into his voice, now? The remorseless necromancer, Vitali Kristeva, guilty for perhaps the first time in his life? "I owe you an apology, if my past actions or demeanors have given you a wrong impression. I realize, after what you've endured, you seek attention... of the sort that I cannot offer. And not because of anything to do with you, Tivia; I simply don't believe myself able to feel attraction of that sort. I've been alive for a very long time, and the sentiment has never struck me. But I would like you to know that the closest I have ever come to caring for someone was toward my sister, Teselin. And because I cared for her, I did my damndest to alienate her. So that she wouldn't become corrupt by virtue of my presence. And that... I believe that is why I felt drawn to you. Because you remind me of a stronger version of her; less naive, not so impressionable. And, for that, I don't need to alienate you. I've already confided in you a secret that no one else among the living knows, because, oddly... you make me feel safe. I'm sorry if none of this is enough to assuage your wounded pride... but I believed I owed you the truth. And now, you have it."
Despite his open invitation to use brutal force in his sparring session with the king, Haraldur held back his attacks, for true Forbanne training would likely kill him. But just because he was not showing the extent of his ruthlessness under Mollengard's teachings did not mean he was averse to inflicting pain. He followed every protocol of a Forbanne exercise, true, but had halved the amount of repetitions, and focused not on drawing blood and breaking bones, but on bruising. And as Caris persisted, with hopeless abandon, Haraldur started to wonder if he should increase the difficulty level. Anything to discourage the Sorde sibling before he dropped in exhaustion. But he banished the thought, afraid that too much might cause irreparable damage. They still needed the king alive, after all.
At last, Caris had surrendered for the evening, and Haraldur took an internal sigh of relief. Although he was less concerned about losing control and killing the boy, he didn't want to explore the limits of his mercy, either. They'd been sparring for about an hour; that was plenty of time for them both. Caris continued to live, and Haraldur hadn't once thought about snapping his neck. It was the most satisfying result he could hope for, in that moment.
Following the king to a bench in the corner of the barracks, Haraldur plucked a clean rag from a stand of linens and offered it to him, knowing that the young man's pride would not allow any additional help. He was sweating, as well, but had no trouble wiping the clinging drops away with the back of his hand, contrary to Caris. He leaned against the wall beside the bench, but did not sit.
"If there's anything you've learned from our spars other than how to take a beating, it's that you don't fight the Forbanne like this. They," he hesitated, "we, begin training at a very young age. I was eight--some might consider 'too old.' Maybe that's why my mind broke free of their indoctrination methods; I still retained some of my humanity." He pointed to the king's chest. "It's too late for you, your Majesty. You have that; a heart. It will get in your way. You'll never be on par with a Forbanne if you carry that with you. But," he pushed off from the wall, "I will tell you how to defeat them." He took a step towards the bench. "You stay away." He took another step. "As far away as you can manage." He leaned forward, looming over the boy-king. "Distance is your friend. Even better; fly up on a roc...and shoot them down. Forbanne excel at hand-to-hand combat and offense. But range, and tactical evasion...you stand a chance. Never fight toe to toe with one. You won't win; you're too impulsive. Be smart, think ahead, use your opponent's weight against them...but do not match one as an equal. Continue to rush headlong like you have been...and you'll end up dead."
"Don't think you haven't been learning lessons, your Majesty," he continued. "You learned what it feels like to fail. The frustration of losing. The futility of fighting with nothing improved, and nothing gained but bruise after bruise. Tomorrow...if you can still stand," he said doubtfully, "we'll adapt your technique. But I will say," his lips pulled into a smirk, "I admire your tenacity. You're like your sister, all right." And with a final bow, he dismissed himself from the training grounds.
Speaking of his sister...
He'd recognized the look in Vega's eyes earlier, in the courtyard. When Grandmother Alta inquired about her participation in the mission to Stella D'Mare, she had...hesitated in reply. Something, too, had glinted in her clear blue eyes. It was fleeting, like a shooting star in the night, but it was there. Grandmother Alta had, unintentionally, planted the seed of a very bad idea in the Skyknight, who, like her brother, shared in tenacity, yes...
And also in impulsiveness.
Later that evening, when Vega entered their now shared chambers, Haraldur did not wait long into their conversation over wine before he brought up the subject.
"You're going to Stella D'Mare, aren't you?" He set his goblet against the table and pushed off from his chair to meet her on the other side.
"Don't deny it. I won't believe you. You fooled me already when you promised you wouldn't seek out the necromancer. The next day you were gone, without a word." His mouth had firmed into a thin, unyielding line. Though he wasn't keen on referencing a mistake that she had severely come to regret, he felt it needed repeating, if the harsh reminder of her loss would slap her into reality. "Should I even waste my time listing all the reasons why your presence in Stella D'Mare is a horrible mistake? Hells, can you give me any reasons why it's so imperative for you to be there?" His feet rocked, yearning to break free, to pace and physically put distance between him and the problem, but he kept rooted, and he kept his unwavering gaze on her.
"I won't see you die again, Vega. Not if I can't be there to ensure you remain alive. So," he took a long, mollifying intake of air, "if I can't convince you not to go, then I'm going with you. It's an even stupider decision than the one you're making, but I already swore to you that I would protect you. I'm done with being just out of reach when you fall...and I can't catch you." He narrowed his eyes and gripped his hands against the edge of the table. "Never again. I won't be put through that again."
"Yes," Alster said, with a drawl. "I'll go see to that." With one last look at Tivia, who had her head lowered and her eye inordinately interested in the reins she held, he trotted away with his horse, to take a guard-like position in the rear. While he didn't believe Vitali would hurt her, he was certainly capable of riling her, of triggering more upset, and distress. And considering that she was steering the horse, that, coupled with the Rigas propensity for dramatics, gave him reasonable cause for concern. But he kept out of earshot, and with only trained one eye to their backs, he went to retrieve the spare horse.
Now as alone as they'd ever be, Tivia had no choice but to listen to Vitali's explanation, one he seemed so determined and yet, so reluctant to share. She heard it in the falter of his voice, in the uneasy shift on the horse. The clearing of his throat. The uncertainty in the words he shared. Gone was his glib, polished oratory. It was muddy, now, and it squelched when tread upon. He was so raw. Vulnerable. Her heart thumped in response, but she berated it, called it a fool, simple-minded and so consumptive, that it could not see past common sense. The man was not interested. Would never be interested. But that was not the point. Maybe it never really was, she admitted.
It was the thrill of being wanted and needed in the way the mercenary had once wanted and needed her. But once their tryst was over, the hollowness returned. She was desperate to fill the void, to find someone who could. It was Vitali that she ultimately sought...out of spite, she realized. Because he'd hurt Haraldur. Nearly ruined his life by ruining Vega's life. And she...she had made it possible, as Vitali was quick to point out in his recollections. She welcomed the necromancer, because she wanted to hurt the mercenary, as he had hurt her. Because she felt herself no better than the self-proclaimed master of manipulation, and so cast her lots with those of his ilk. In him, she felt...understanding, somehow. And understanding, combined with loneliness...it could make one feel many fanciful things. Infatuation. Desire. ...Love. The kind that Alster and Elespeth shared. Improbable. Unlikely on all counts. But a miracle so vast that even the stars had approved, and tied them taut with threads that could never fray or sever.
And that was her problem. Theirs was a miracle. And what she sought for herself...was just sad.
I wanted a love anointed by the stars, like them. What I got...were the stars, themselves. Cold. Unfeeling. Alien. Screaming abuses. Flashing visions of pure light. Burning me, like the fire. Always like the fire...that should have killed me.
Tears accumulated in her eye, clouding the view before her. But she could still see the contours of light and shadow, the movement of the horses ahead of her, and knew, at least, that she was still there. She hadn't become spirited away to that void with the eyes that never closed and the voices that never ceased. She felt him there, still. Vitali. The man who...cared. Even if it was a surrogate for his sister, it was...something. She did not imagine his kindness, or his concerns for her well-being. His bolstering arm. The life that he, too, had saved. His defense of her in front of her domineering father. Real. It had been...real.
It didn't need to be love. It just needed to be...enough.
Bowing over her horse, she wept, silent tears that shook her shoulders. "I'm not strong," she said, between her tears. "If I were, I wouldn't have needed...to play this game with myself. I wouldn't care so much about my appearance, and I wouldn't need to ruin lives so that I could live mine. I'm drifting...so far...into space. Leaving behind everything that's familiar to me. I just want what's familiar. I don't want to go." A sob hitched in her throat. "I don't want to go...where no one can reach me. But I'm already...so corrupted, and I'm afraid no one will care...if I disappear. Alster says he would, but he has Elespeth. He wouldn't care for long. Neither would she, because they have each other. Haraldur and Vega wouldn't care. She hates me, and he...I don't know. My parents," she gulped, "already mourn me. They care nothing for what I've become. I just need to know...if anyone cares. You say you alienate people you care about, so...what is this, then, Vitali? I make you feel safe, but what does that mean? You're still here, so you don't care, but right now..." she chuckled pitifully; it sounded more like a gargle, "I wouldn't care if you manipulated me into thinking that you do. How is that for strong?"
She refused to turn around and look at him, but not out of anger. Even now, especially now, she wanted no one to see her face, with its marred half melted by fire, and the smooth half melted by water. It was a sorry sight. Dropping the reins of her horse, she covered her hideousness with both hands.
"You should take the lead," she muttered, her voice muffled, and almost incomprehensible. "I don't think I can ride...right now. I'll just," she swerved in her seat, "I'll just go join...Alster. He's probably glaring over at you anyway."
Caris drew a long breath that he expelled in a sigh, closing his eyes against the bright light. "Tactical evasion, huh? Then it does sound as though the rocs and our Skyknights are our best bet, along with our archers--though I belong to neither subgroup, really. And here I used to poke fun at Vega for her clumsiness when handling a sword..." He shook his head, mopping the sweat from his eyes before it stung. "The Skyknights are currently training in archery, themselves. They have been for some time. Quite a feat for someone perched yards so high in the air upon a bird, to stabilize themselves with enough tact and grace to hit a target. Remarkable, really... the Skynights are a remarkable thing."
Hesitating in his departure, his blade bit into the ground as he leaned on it for support, much like an old man with a cane. Something had changed in his disposition. An hour ago, the young king had held himself high with pride and assurance. And now... beyond looking spent and defeated, which was to be expected, Caris had the air of someone who was suddenly uncertain of their own identity. As if he didn't know himself anymore. "I know why Vega did it, now. Why she shirked the throne. It wasn't because she was afraid of the responsibility; or because she wanted to fly free of this place. I know that, though I did not know, before. She forsook Eyraille's throne because she recognized that she would be reduced to nothing but a title, if she sat as the Queen. She'd never have become the most actualized version of herself. Her motives were not for the good of this kingdom; they were selfish. And yet... I cannot even fault her, for that. Not when she has done so much for the kingdom that I once believed she'd shunned, inherently."
Caris smiled, though it held no humor. Only regret. "I wonder where the kingdom would be if I had refused. If I'd had half a mind to tell her no; after all, she was only able to abdicate on the condition of my agreement to be her successor. I've no one to blame but myself, really." His chuckle was morose. "I can't say for sure that I'd have had the inclination to take to the skies on a roc; I didn't have much time to think about it, beforehand. But all of that is a moot point, I suppose. There is no uprooting from what I have already established."
Drawing his blade from the ground, he painstakingly reached over his shoulder to sheath it. "I'll cease with my privileged ramblings, though. I'm sure that someone like who, who wasn't presented with favorable choices, couldn't care less--nor should you." That mask of a smile fractured and faded when he turned to the solider again. "...I've changed my mind. I won't be requiring your services anymore, Haraldur. You set out to make a point, and you've made it. Perhaps instead, starting tomorrow, you should spend your time informing the Skyknights, so that they might best prepare to fight the Forbanne. We're only wasting time focusing on my improvement when I cannot stand against the greatest threat this kingdom might ever see. And, frankly... we haven't any time to waste."
Conscious of every step his exhausted body took, the young king carried himself inside to ice his bruises in private, where he didn't have to wear his failure on his sleeve.
Later that evening, when the events of the day had drawn to a close, and Haraldur and Vega retired to their shared chambers to unwind over a glass of wine, the mercenary seemed anything but relaxed. Of course, the princess figured it had something to do with the the recent news from Stella D'Mare--and she wasn't wrong. Though she did not expect the accusation that spilled from his lips... or just how accurate it was.
She'd poured the glass of wine for herself some time ago, but had yet to take a sip from the goblet. Perhaps it was that she'd grown an aversion (and it was about time) to drinking when her stress levels were high, but as soon as the mercenary laid his cards on the table, she completely lost interest in the beverage. "You're very quick to make assumptions, you know," she said at first, but knew full well that he was right. Travelling to Stella D'Mare wasn't something she had considered... at least, not consciously. It had been something of an urge she'd managed to repress, up until Grandmother Alta, in her suspicion, called her on it. Even at the time, she hadn't been lying; not entirely. It wasn't until later that day, when she had allowed herself to toy with the thought, that she'd let it get the best of her... and had quietly made the decision to be part of the party send for aid.
"You realize that this trip is to be brief, don't you? Hardly a chance for me to die, when we're only staying long enough to drop off provisions and to leave." Of course, that was not enough to convince Haraldur, and only served to further agitate him. Letting out a sigh, Vega pushed her goblet away and stood, facing up. "Yes, Haraldur. I'm going. To see for myself what is transpiring in Stella D'Mare. Because I have friends there... some to whom I owe my life. Or the recovery of it, at least. But I plan to travel incognito. I recognize the danger, and I also plan to limit my stay. Frankly, I don't know what my Skyknights will be flying into... and as their commander, I cannot send them off alone, even if the fates of my friends were not at stake."
There was no point in hiding her intentions from him. He knew her too well; knew her impulsiveness and her headstrong demeanor when she made a decision. Knew her mind was near impossible to change... so, he wasn't trying to change it. But he was stating his own stipulations. "You're right. I can't give you any good reasons as to why I should go. But even less, can I provide good reasons for you to go, as well. You know you cannot be anywhere near Mollengard, Haraldur. What would they do if they got their hands on you?" Panic sparked in her eyes, and she took him by the arms. "This is why I got you out of there. This is why I brought you here." Heaving an aggravated sigh, her hands on his arms tightened. "You're right; I've made poor decisions before. And they ended as poorly as they began. But haven't I defied death enough to give you some hope in me?"
Vega knew before she'd even spoken that this was a losing battle. Knew that he made the ultimatum to try and convince her not to go. But... she'd made up her mind. She couldn't turn her back on her friends. Not on Stella D'Mare, or Alster, who had helped her find herself again when she'd been resurrected. "It isn't like I don't have power here. I could see to it that you don't go." The Skyknight pointed out, her voice growing dark. "Caris would back me if I made the order. Because I'd rather have you furious and hating me than risk your life in that place. But..." As a myriad of emotions crossed her face, she dipped her head, just as defeated as her brother had been, earlier that day. "But I won't. Because that isn't who I am. I cannot force you to stay; I cannot tell you not to go, even though it sickens me to think of the danger you'll be putting yourself in. This is something I need to do. For all I know, everyone who helped me in Stella D'Mare could be dead. I need see the damage, first hand."
Her fingers loosened on his arms, and when she dared to look up, it was with profound sadness. "I'm not a woman who asks permission, Haraldur; just one that asks forgiveness for letting down the people she loves, again and again. This is why I would make a wholly unsatisfactory queen. We each have two options: for myself, either I heed your whims and stay, and resent you for forcing me to make that decision, or I go. And you... either you stay back and resent me for my decision, or... be more foolish than myself, and come with me. But, we cannot decide both." She pressed her lips into a thin line. "Anger or compromise, those are our choices. I'm willing to compromise so that you do not fall asleep next to me, angry, tonight. Damnit, Haraldur... you turned this evening upside down."
Dropping her hands from his arms all together, she took a step back and raked her fingers through her hair. "This isn't how tonight should have unfolded. By now, we should be tipsy on wine, on that bed, with our clothes strewn on the floor." Vega bore no shame in admitting her expectations, which had been dashed by the abrupt change in atmosphere. "Things have been tense since that first message from Stella D'Mare. Can't we just momentarily forget what is going on, and appreciate the fact that we are still alive, and with each other? Regardless of who goes or does not go to lend aid... we do not know what the future holds."
He hadn't thought his words to be all that moving; in fact, Vitali, who usually had a way with words, felt as though he was stumbling over them like someone who wasn't used to communicating. Merely, he had felt he owed Tivia an explanation, which was frankly the most effective way that he knew to ask for forgiveness, short of groveling. And yet, all of a sudden, the girl in front of him had gone tense with the strain not to weep. At first, it took him aback, and for a moment he felt paralyzed, unsure how to react. No one came to him for sympathy of support, because he was not plentiful in offering either of them... and here was this (relatively young) woman, practically falling apart in front of him.
Well, he had been the catalyst for this impending earthquake. It only served that he stand in for damage control. "Tivia. If the need for acceptance and belonging--even love--made us weak, then wouldn't it stand that not a single one of us is strong? Well, save for those broken few, like myself. But believe me, that is certainly nothing to brag about." Reaching out, the necromancer rested a hand on her shoulder. "I've alienated people because I felt it was my only option. But only people for whom I've cared, which have been very few and far between. This... is new to me, too. I don't want to alienate you, Tivia, and--I cannot believe I am saying this--but it does not indicate my lack of caring. After all, you've saved my life a few times over, haven't you?" Though she could not see, he hazarded a smile. "I might be a despicable individual, but I have some class. And I'm not saying that to be manipulative, for once."
He halted the horse with a tap of his heels when she expressed her inability to ride, but did not dismount to help her off just yet. "If you'd prefer to ride with Alster, then by all means. But for whatever it is worth, Miss Rigas, I don't mind your company. In fact... I find I enjoy it. When you're not calling me useless because my arm is a 'dead weight'. Although... I suppose I did deserve that." He chuckled. "Though if my injury makes it a dead weight, then I do wonder what exactly that makes the hunk of steel attached to Alster's shoulder."
Just before evening fell, the party of now 5 set up a few tents to make camp for the evening to make camp. Even the necromancer lent a hand, despite the limitations of his arm, expediting the task so that they were finished with some daylight to spare. After partaking in a light supper, thanks to the hefty provisions Braighdath had provided them, Sigrid, who had spoken little to none since they had departed, approached Alster. Gaolithe was still strapped to her back, and wrapped in fabric as an extra precaution. The Dawn Warrior seemed so reluctant to put it down that it wouldn't have come as a surprise if she fell asleep with it secured to her body. "How is your pain?" She asked the Rigas caster, letting a satchel drop from her free shoulder. Her breath misted on the air before her, though the temperature was decidedly less harsh that evening than it had been during their prior travels.
"Sheiv debriefed me on the technique he'd been using to help you," she clarified, and withdrew a small, glass jar of familiar needles. "I cannot pretend to be as skilled as he is; I'm not a healer or physician by any means. But if I can give you some relief from that arm, then I feel I owe you, that much. Especially in light of how understanding you were, though I treated you and your friends... unfavorably, when you reached out to help me."
Sigrid eyed the metallic arm in its sling. So heavy and burdensome, to the point where it caused him real pain... she couldn't help but wonder if it was worth it, against the difficulties posed by a missing appendage. "What is the story behind your arm... if you don't mind me asking?" It was the elephant in the room that everyone had been thinking about, back in Braighdath, but no one had dared to ask. But they were no longer in Braighdath, and Sigrid was nothing if not bold. "From my vantage point, it looks to be more a burden than a boon. Is it magically imbued, or just a surrogate for what used to be there?" Pausing, her face softened apologetically. "I'm not asking to be rude. I'm just having a difficult time understanding why someone would choose to endure what you choose to shoulder every day, if only to have a right and left hand."
"A moment is all that it takes, Vega," Haraldur countered, his voice rising emphatically. "A moment on the battlefield. One minute, you were perched on your roc, and another, you were falling to your death. So yes, I realize the brevity of this trip, but that does not negate the dangers you and your team could face." He crossed his arms over his chest, in his own form of protest, while she danced around him to argue her point. But he did not budge. If she wanted to exercise her impulsive tendencies, then he would embrace his own bad habit: that of unyielding, uncompromising obstinacy.
"And you think I don't care about our comrades, either? What's become of them? Elespeth, who was my companion as far back as when we fought for the Mad Prince? Alster, who helped not only you, but me, as well? And--" He bit on his tongue, preventing the third name from vibrating past his lips. Tivia. There was no question that he still felt guilty over his ill-informed decision, which had placed the young Rigas caster in a uncomfortable situation. Yes, she had agreed to it, but out of misplaced infatuation, and he took full advantage of her naivete--because he wanted something to fill the hollow cavity in his chest. But it was not enough. The pain...it would not cease. And yet, Vega had forgiven him, with ease. If she could look past his egregious mistakes, then he owed it to her to offer the same amount of clemency. With a nod of compliance and a small sigh, he lowered his arms, and dropped his voice to a level timbre.
"I want to assist Stella D'Mare, too," he said, calmly. "There might not be much I can do for them, but if I fly with you there, I can assess Mollengard's formations around the city, determine their numbers and estimate who among them are Forbanne. I can inform the Rigases on how to prepare for Mollengardian warfare, on how they operate, and what to expect if they retaliate. I know it's incredibly risky for me to be there. It is for you, too, but I realize," he ran a hand over his neck, where the chain of his necklace used to be, "they could find me. Capture me. Re-indoctrinate me, or kill me. And yes, I want to stay as far away from Mollengard as possible. It's no secret that I'm terrified, Vega. I always have been, when it comes to them. But," he stared at the roaring hearth-fire behind her, to summon in him its ferocity, its convictions, and its courage, "it's time that I break their hold over me. If we're to proceed, in war, in aid, and in opposition to Mollengard, I can't continue to allow them power over my mind. Whether I'm in proximity, or remotely, they'll reach me. It doesn't matter the distance I place between them."
"So," his narrowed green eyes illuminated yellow from the crackle of flame, " I'll face them, Vega. Not only because you leave me no choice, or because I won't let you go this alone. But because I have to do this, too. And if you decide to enforce your power, here," he stepped forward, as he did to Caris, fully bathed in the light and shadow of the hearth, "I already escaped one tyrannical nation with my wits alone. You can't stop me. Neither of you can stop me." The Forbanne in him, an aspect that would never fade, had emerged, in full display, a behemoth that could not be toppled, a statue with a pulse but no heart, a force akin to a landslide, ready to move and to bury all victims. "Because if you're going to excuse your actions, calling it your own nature, then I don't need to hide the thing that they built. It's who I am--isn't it?"
Though the heaviness of his stance did not yet lift, even after she conceded to their compromise, the intensity had started to wane, but in gradations, like the bleaching of shadow beneath the noon sun. "I'm compromising. We go together. And," he heaved himself back to his chair, at last sinking into a more placid state, "the night...it's not ruined yet. I think...we have a lot of pent up frustrations." He lifted his goblet and took a generous sip. "And we need to release them in a mutually healthy way. I had agreed to a compromise, but we can have both. Let's have anger tonight, so we won't have it when we fly." And that was when he launched from the table and seized Vega in an aggressive, sensual kiss.
The following days went by in a blur of activity: preparations for the upcoming trip, the assemblage of the perfect Skyknights for the job, meetings, mapping out the best fly route, anticipating Mollengard's reaction to their unannounced arrival...and passionate sex. After he and Vega agreed to their compromise, it was a matter of convincing the king, which had taken some strategy, especially where he was concerned. But all had been arranged, and only a day remained until their departure to Stella D'Mare.
That evening, Haraldur had sought out Caris, who was holed up in the war room consulting maps. The rest of his councilmen and advisors had retired for the night, but the young king was still poring over parchments and details and plans. By the bloodshot that stained his blue eyes, it looked as though he hadn't slept in some time.
"Your Majesty." Haraldur bowed from outside the door, after a guard had allowed him entrance. "I hope I'm not disturbing you. This will be brief." He strode over to the expansive table where the maps had been unfurled and bookended by gilded bronze paperweights.
"I've thought on what you said a few days ago, after our last sparring session. I'll admit this to you--and I expect you already know. I didn't want you to succeed...because I believed you chose to spar with me for all the wrong reasons. Your concentration was so consumed by your desire to defeat the Forbanne, not as the leader of your people, but as a soldier fighting on the front lines. As you know, I was in staunch disagreement with your decision, from day one. You may not like it, but you're most useful in the role that you play now, your Majesty. But you had the wisdom to come to that conclusion, yourself."
He drew a finger along the route that had been drawn from Eyraille to Stella D'Mare, a circuitous path that circumvented Atvany, Mollengard's ally, and more or less kept to the coast, where they'd suffer some turbulent winds blowing in from the ocean. "It's easy to speculate on how our paths would divert from what we know, if we'd done one thing differently. Maybe I wouldn't have been Forbanne if I fled my broken country when I had the chance. Maybe I'd be a farmer, somewhere, living a peaceful life...or maybe I'd end up in the same position. As Forbanne. Though I hate to admit it, becoming Forbanne may have been my path all along. And if that's true, it's possible...that you were always meant to be king, your Majesty. But that's not necessarily something to scorn, or to curse. For all that you've been saddled with at your young age, your efforts do not go unrecognized."
He slid his hand from the table and clasped his arms behind his back. "When I return, if you'd like, we can commence our sparring sessions. But not with the express purpose of defeating Forbanne. I see no harm in sharpening your discipline, but for your own betterment. I'll teach you what I know. But as Haraldur, and not as one of the unnamed." At that, he gave a respectful bow. "I'll see you when I return. Try not to stay up too late." And, turning on his heels, he walked out of the war chambers to leave Caris to deliberate over his maps.
She almost laughed a second time, a weak rasp that barely moved her shoulders at all. "Enjoy my company? Now I know that's not true. But I did give you permission to manipulate me with your words, so I'll remain convinced. Though," she slid her hands from her face, "I believe you...about everything else. Only because it seems so hard for you to say. I...thank you for your honesty."
As their horse slowed to a stop, Tivia hurriedly wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve and looked over her shoulder at last. With his reassuring smile, and comforting presence, the calm that he exuded, and the persistence to remain in her miserly presence...it was hard to believe that he lived his very long life engaging in vile, criminal acts. Still, she could not help but return the smile. It was meek, half-formed on her half-formed face, but presenting it was enough to cease the flow of tears--for now. It brought to her a placidity that often came from a good cry.
"Since you enjoy my company so much...I'll stay. But now that you mention it," she looked at how his arm hung limp from his side, and concern lined between her brow. "I...I'll keep steering the horse."
"Having trouble with your arm, Vitali?" A voice popped up from beside them. Alster was there, on his horse, and holding the reins of the spare that was carrying their extra provisions. His aforementioned steel arm was in activation, keeping to the task of holding the other horse at bay. "What a pity," he said, dryly. But he didn't focus for long on his vendetta against the necromancer before leaning towards Tivia. "How are you doing? Do you want to ride with me?"
"No," she said, and took the reins back into her hands. "I'm fine now. I'll keep up, I promise."
True to her word, Tivia did keep up on her horse, while Vitali provided his company from the rear. When they stopped for camp, she aided in setting up the tents and other provisional needs that she'd gotten used to doing, having lived a great chunk of her last months in war camps. But the emotional outpouring from before had her utterly spent, and she retired to her tent shortly after they supped.
Alster, who finished cleaning the campsite of its meal, (as much as his own mobility could afford), was about to follow Tivia's lead and head inside to rest, when he found himself standing before the Dawn Warrior. They hadn't spoken since the day they fetched Gaolithe at the temple, but he bowed her head to her in greeting, not too sure what she wanted to say. But when he saw the bag clutched in her hands and heard her inquire about his arm, he gave a small smile of appreciation and led her over to a log by the fire, where they could sit and where she could work.
"The pain's been manageable," he said, looking at the arm in question, which rested on its sling. "It's a little inflamed right now, but riding a horse has never been easy for me, even when I had two fully functioning arms." As Sigrid fished out the jar of small needles, Alster began to unbutton his tunic, a feat he learned to accomplish one-handed, and with relative speed. Though the temperatures were dipping to a frigid point, they were seated by the fire, which staved off some of the chill that clung to his bare flesh. Carefully, he removed his steel arm from the sling, but paused in the process when her curiosity had momentarily taken him aback. It was inevitable that someone would ask him about the arm and its acquisition. And seeing as Sigrid had joined up with their cause, there was no need to keep past events a secret. He lowered his gaze to his arm, eyes glazing over in wistful recollection.
"I was supposed to die that day. In Stella D'Mare. The day when the Serpent emerged from Its cocoon beneath Its mountain prison and laid waste to our city. I was determined to stop It. Me, and," he opened his segmented digits, to stare upon the white scratch on the burnished palm, "my fiancee. Somehow, we succeeded. I opened a portal with my magic and sent the beast back to its own world. But the strain was too much on my body, and it began to eat away at me, nibbling at my fingers, my knuckles, my wrist, and down my arm. I thought it was the end. That I would disintegrate. But...she saved me. Took the discharge into her own. She almost died. For me." An ache bloomed through him, and it was not coming from his arm. His flesh and bone hand lingered over his chest, but he refused to touch it, refused to coddle the pain.
"Some healers offered me the opportunity to undergo an experimental surgery for a new arm." To demonstrate, he activated the prosthesis, which lifted by itself, out of its sling. Its movements were sluggish and deliberate, but it operated with a fair amount of dexterity. "I'm still getting used to it. I can move it about with my magic, but not all the time. It's too exhausting to use consistently, and the constant back and forth of it agitates the attachments." He pointed to where the steel ports met the twisted, cauterized flesh, and the inflammation that began to spread along the area.
"I agreed to the arm because I'm an idiot," he said, with a humorless laugh. "I couldn't bear to lose any of my usefulness to my family, and to those who depend on my magic. With only one hand, I'm severely compromised. A liability. A thing to be pitied. The once capable, prodigious Alster Rigas...if you could ever call me capable. Or prodigious." He rested the arm upon his lap, in a position advantageous for Sigrid to insert her needles. "Also, I didn't want my loved ones to care for me. They've already done so much. I've asked too much, taken too much, and they've suffered so much on my account. My burdens are many. I seem to collect them--as I've done with this arm. As I've done with...well, what I touched on with you, a few days ago. And maybe," he stared up at the sky, though every star was hidden beneath a blanket of clouds, "I just wanted to suffer. Suffer it alone. Because I deserve it. Because...I don't know how else to feel, how else to live...when I shouldn't even be alive at all."
"I'm sorry," he looked askance at Sigrid, a sheepish smile spreading on his face. "You didn't want the unnecessary details. But if anything can be gained by listening to my long and depressing discourse...you can always talk to me about your concerns with Gaolithe, or whatever else that ails you. I can't guarantee I'll make you feel better, as evidenced, by, well...everything I just said," he ran a self-conscious hand through his hair. "But I'm a great study in what not to become."
In the days following their last sparring session, Caris had kept a relatively low profile, insomuch that he did not bother either Haraldur or Vega during the following weak. Even during meals, he left them the regal dining room, while he preferred to take his meals in private. There were a few times when Vega had attempted to check in with her brother, but she was always shooed away, as he declared he needed time and quietude to make preparations for the aid they were sending to Stella D'Mare... especially since the mission now involved both Haraldur and Vega. The young king was not happy about that establishment, and he did not hold back his displeasure, but either their arguments finally swayed him, or had had given up arguing, because in the end, they were granted permission to be part of the mission.
At first, Vega had thought that their involvement was what had set her brother in such a foul mood, but as the days progressed with no word from him, she began to worry it was about something more than this small relief mission. Perhaps that was what spurred Haraldur to take a moment to interrupt the king, late one night, as he poured over a map almost the size of the table in the war room. Though tall in stature, in comparison, standing alone in the massive room made him look smaller than he was. "Haraldur." Caris greeted the mercenary without looking up. "What can I do for you at this late hour? Your departure is quickly approaching; frankly, you should be resting." An argument that could likely have been made against the young king, but he knew that no one would dare.
But Haraldur was not here to tell him to rest. Instead, he brought up the humiliation he'd suffered a week ago, in his defeat, when at last he conceded to stop his endeavor to fight the Forbanne. Of course, Caris's first reaction--unsurprisingly--was that of anger. Was it not enough to leave him practically unable to stand, with a bruised body and face that still bore discolorations? He heard the man out, though, and his discourse was... sincere. No less infuriating, but he recognized the man's attempt to empathize--which was, of course, impossible. They had been borne of different circumstances, and could not relate to one another's ails. Nonetheless, Haraldur appeared to be attempting to extend an olive branch. The gesture was appreciated; but, it changed nothing.
"Really? You are forsaking sleep to come here and congratulate me on finally 'falling in line'? Or 'learning my place'?" Caris smiled ironically, but he did not laugh. He didn't have the energy. "You didn't strike me as the condescending sort, Haraldur. Listen, I understand what you are trying to do... but I don't need a pep talk. I thought there was potential to make what I wanted of the position that was thrown into my lap; I was wrong. There really isn't any more to it than that."
Running a hand through his hair, the young king moved away from the table, pacing a few steps to stretch his legs, as he'd been standing in the same position for hours. "I've trained in the sword since I was a child, because I thought something might come of it, someday. Even my father, as terrible as he was, stood with his soldiers on the front lines. But... the difference is, he was feared. And I'm laughable. At this point, swordsmanship is no more than a hobby on which I've spent far too much time..."
Caris stared on the single window in the massive room. The sun had sank over the horizon hours ago; not even moonlight or starlight penetrated. "It is no secret that I wish things had turned out differently, for me. But, for a while, I had it in my head that I could be the king that I wanted to be. One who was more than a figurehead. But, as it turns out, I am useless in light of the biggest threat Eyraille has ever faced. The best that I can do is stay out of the way. Of course, it took allowing myself to be pulverized by you to come to that realization... honestly, I'm not sure whether I should thank you, or punch you. Probably the former, because I know first hand what you can do to me if I try to punch you."
His smile fell flat when he turned back to the table, as the view from the window was only as dark as his future. "You don't have to coddle my interests anymore, Haraldur. I trained in the sword because I thought it would mean something, someday. But Eyraille doesn't need a king with a sword; it needs knights upon rocs." Rubbing the back of his neck, he rolled his shoulders and stretched the kinks from his neck. "Despite what I might have led you to believe, I knew you were a good man from the start, Haraldur. I didn't want you to be; I wanted to prove Vega wrong. But I knew, at your core, that you were good... and I accept your olive branch. If I saw a point in sharpening my discipline any further, then I would most definitely accept your offer. For now... I think you should focus on coaching the Skyknights. They'll be our arsenal against Mollengard's Forbanne... Goodnight, Haraldur. I look forward to your report when you return."
When Haraldur retired, that night, Vega had already dressed and prepared for bed. She didn't have to ask where he had been, because she knew, as soon as he'd mentioned he briefly needed to stop by the war room. "I know what you're doing for Caris. What you've done for him, already." She informed him, throwing her legs over the end of the bed and and standing. The sheer white of her nightgown billowed around her heels as she approached, and placed one hand on either shoulder.
"This is a push in the right direction that he has needed. You've been able to do more for my brother and Eyraille's king in a month than I have been able to do in my entire lifetime, here. I don't even have any more pent up frustration... but, I don't know how else to thank you." Dropping her hands from his shoulders, she took a single step back, and loosened the blouse of her night shift. It fell from her shoulders and neck, resting teasingly where it gathered at her elbows. "You can accept my gratitude, or... We are leaving, soon. So it might be wise to make sure neither of us is harboring any latent anger. I'll let you decide how it plays out."
Either way, she'd get what she wanted.
Sigrid did not rush Alster in his ministrations to systematically remove his tunic, and then, his prosthetic arm. Unintentionally, she shuddered, watching the delicate process with which he removed the piece of metal, where angry, cauterized and inflamed red flesh and conjoining pieces of metal sat were embedded, likely as deep as bone. Though she was no stranger to blood and wounds, the very sigh of it admittedly made her stomach churn. What this man must have endured in not only losing his arm, but in making it possible to secure a prosthetic appendage... It was no wonder he had inquired about pain relief, and no wonder he carried a myriad of remedies with him, as part of essential provisions. As someone who had never had to live with chronic pain, she could only imagine what he went through, day to day, to wear a smile and come across as light-hearted. It wasn't pity that settled in her heart, for him, but rather, sympathy.
"You are a hero of your city, then. You and your fiance." It was not a question, but a confirmation. Sigrid sat behind the caster and prepped the needles with a sterile cloth. "I don't know the details of what happened in Stella D'Mare, but I know from your accounts that the city is in a state of crisis--and yet, it is still standing, for your efforts. And heros wear many forms of scars... yours, specifically, is not only unique, but a message that you refuse to give up and be crippled by your handicap. I can tell you right now, it is neither pathetic, nor idiotic. It is admirable."
Dipping the needles in the medicinal solution from another vial, the blonde warrior took care to avoid the inflamed skin around the site of his arms connection as she deftly punctured flesh and muscle tissue. Her technique was slower than Sheiv's, who practiced it daily, but it was no less gentle. "If at any point in time, you feel pain, let me know. This shouldn't hurt you in any way," she added, not entirely secure with her skills as a healer with a technique so unique to her city. But it had proven effective in offering him relief before, and if she could even moderately replicate what their healer had done for him, then it was the least she could do.
"Something that I learned, very early on--in the days before I became accepted into the Dawn Legion, but aspired to it... is that there is no burden a family." Sigrid went on, as she took care to target the pressure points without causing any muscle spasms. "Part of the ritual in becoming a Dawn Warrior is that the initiate, along with every member of the Legion, superiors included, cuts their finger. Just a prick, but we let our blood drip collectively into the fire. The symbolism in it is that when one bleeds, we all bleed. When one hurts, we all hurt, because we are strong for our unity, not our individual differences. Our burdens and our successes are shared collectively. So for that, if someone is injured, they are not a burden--they are a priority, and should be treated with care and empathy. But, this is not exclusive to the Dawn Legion--aside from the collective bleeding, perhaps." The corners of her mouth turned upward in a smile. "That is the nature of family and camaraderie. Has your fiance ever told you that you are a burden, since you lost your arm? Have your friends, your family?"
Of course, Alster said nothing in response, proving her point. When the last needle was inserted, she stepped back to observe the quality of her work. "I don't know you well, Alster Rigas. Nor you, me. But I know, merely from observing your party, here, that you are not alone in your suffering. Nor are you merely a burden. I know I cannot change your mind or the way that you feel, but as someone who has walked objectively into this situation, it is my take on it. For whatever it might be worth to you."
The two of them sat peacefully, for fifteen minutes while the serum at the tips of the needles took effect to soothe Alster's pain. When at last, the Dawn Warrior began to remove them, as delicately as she placed them, she confided, in a quiet tone, "I don't know you. I don't know any of you. But if I am to help and accompany you... then at least, temporarily, I must consider you an extension of my clan--of my family. I cannot help those who I do not care about; so... it is imperative that I do." Helping him back into his tunic, she stayed his hand when he reached for his arm. "Leave it off while you sleep, to get some relief. We are in no danger of being ambushed; and if we were, you have my word that I'll protect you. There has to be a reason Gaolithe chose my hand, after all."
They retired late that night, but were up early in the morning, packing up the tents and provisions and feeding the horses prior to departure. When it appeared that Tivia, Alster and Lilica were preoccupied, the necromancer approached Sigrid, who was prepping the horses for departure. "So you are currently our resident healer, I take it." He made no means of introduction, but when he had her attention, Vitali did not bother beating around the bush. Shrugging off the arm of his coat, he presented her with his own arm, and the ugly scar that ran from his wrist to his elbow. A result of the tragedy in the temple. "I know; looks bad, doesn't it? Only half of it has lost feeling, but it feels like it weighs four times what it should. My hand and three of my fingers are having difficulty with mobility. I don't suppose there is anything you and your needles can do to fix this situation?"
Sigrid frowned. She had been warned to proceed with caution around this man, in particular--a necromancer, evidently. But he did not immediately pose as a threat... and to refuse him help would not benefit the party as whole. "It has been said that pain is a gift. It serves as a reminder that we are still alive and functioning, even if it is agonizing. But to feel nothing..." She took his arm, feeling around the tendons and fingers. The location of the deep gash indicated that something important might have been severed. "I'm afraid that what I am doing for Alster Rigas will not benefit you, necromancer. The needles and serum relieve pain; but you've none to relieve. And they do not restore feeling... It is possible that, with time, you may recover from the numbness, but to improve mobility, all I can recommend is that you use the arm as much as possible. Retrain the muscles that have been severed. Even so, it could take years for it to be fully functional, again."
"Ah, but there is still a chance for recovery, then? That's still something to look forward to." Taking his arm back, he pulled the sleeve back over it and nodded his thanks. "It will have to do." Making his way to his horse, he waved, overly friendly, to Alster, who had already taken a seat upon his horse. "You can say what you want about my arm, Alster; at the end of the day, you're the one in pain because of that hunk of metal. Me? Mercifully, I am not feeling much of anything. At least it isn't my dominant arm."
"That's enough from you." Lilica frowned, forcing her steed between the two of them. "If you can't keep your thoughts to yourself, Vitali, then I have half a mind to leave you here and inform Sigrid to cut you down if you follow."
"Easy, sister of mine. I'm merely looking on the bright side of a rather dark situation. Besides--he started it." He arched a brow at Alster, and took the reins of his horse in his functional arm, while the injured one rested in his lap. "Where to, oh conduit of our ghostly father? Let us not burn daylight. The sooner we find Galeyn, and the Night Garden with all of its healing properties, then we can all benefit."
Haraldur returned to Vega's chambers, shedding off his boots and pulling off his outerwear in preparation for the evening. She awaited him there, on the bed, and at first, he was uncertain of the response he would receive from her. They'd been riding each other hard, in a physical sense, since their altercation a few nights ago, but now, she looked sedate, even tranquil, as her movements from the bed over to him took on a fluid, hypnotic sway. He met her halfway, circling his hands around her waist. By her words and actions, this was not a rage-filled proposition--though even that had been wearing thin as their respective frustrations had begun to return to a functioning state.
"I've done nothing but beat him silly since I've arrived here," he said, with a chuckle. "If that's the push that he needed, he should have been trained by a Forbanne, sooner. Then again," he retracted, "He'd be dead. ...But if you think I've helped, if that's the way you see it...then I'll accept your gratitude willingly."
He let her lead him to the bed. And that night, she got what she wanted.
The morning of their departure had arrived, and while Vega and Haraldur, in their preoccupations, slept little the previous evening, they were awake and eager to set forth to Stella D'Mare. To prepare, the mercenary had trained with Skyknights and native Eyraillians both, to emulate their walking patterns, their speech patterns, the way they enunciated their vowels and rode upon their rocs. He chose the garb of a Skyknight, with a helmet that covered his distinctly Northern features and furs that concealed his wide shoulders--atypical in the builds of the smaller, more lithesome roc-riders. As such, he still looked like a stone ready to kill the bird, and so out of place that he worried the more astute Mollengardians would recognize him before the rocs, themselves.
But he'd made his decision, and was well-aware of its risks, as was Vega. He didn't need to look like a Skyknight, besides. Just a castle guard, or a foot soldier. Nevermind his questionable position among the skies; he was with them. Though he did not ride, and had secured his spot with Vega on her roc, (as were his stipulations), he allowed himself to be Eyraillian.
One by one, the rocs and their riders took off into the late, wintry air of a dawn that did not yet shed its light upon the world.
Down south, in the warmer climes of Stella D'Mare, Chara, too, prepared for the upcoming delegation from Eyraille. During her arduous meetings with the council, she'd revealed her underhanded requests for aid, which she had done without their permission. Surprisingly, without Cyprian there to antagonize and rile up the taciturn councilmen, they were easy to influence. They muttered their agreements, commenting that it was the best course of action in light of recent events, and they all vocalized their distaste in what had occurred between her and Cyprian. They denounced him with such haste that even she worried about the limit of their loyalties. Could some other upstart wander into the council room and buy them up from under her nose? Could Mollengard plant a spy, and sweep them into their service with a mere flick of power from the wrist?
No wonder why Adalfieri liked them all. Even Cyprian, who he'd won into subjugation, seldom questioned his directives. With a well-behaved council, the former Rigas Head had done whatever he liked. No opposition, no dissension. For now, this worked in Chara's favor. But for down the line? She'd rather be surrounded by trustworthy faces, even if they naysayed her decisions, than command puppets--because even she was willing to admit that she was desperate for advisement. Young as she was...she had plenty to learn on effective leadership.
Therefore, when the day of Eyraille's arrival had come, Chara, in addition to the coucil, collected her own trusted representatives...which only amounted to four people: Glaucus, the metallurgist who outfitted Alster's arm, Lysander, who was now sporting Glaucus's latest creation, a combination of leg braces and crutches, Elespeth, a permanent fixture, and Teselin. While the latter was a last-minute inclusion, it made little sense to deny her the opportunity to meet with Eyraille's delegation, considering she was responsible for sending the messages that made their communication possible.
It wasn't until mid-afternoon when she saw distant figures cresting over the horizon. Chara looked nervously to Lysander, who, with a wobble, freed his hands from the crutches. If Mollengard attempted to shoot down any of the rocs, he was to enshroud their formation from view, and shield them from attack. However, as the flying figures neared, shining gold in the waning sun, nothing happened. Each roc pumped their massive wings downward as they landed with precision upon the expansive lawn. When all had landed and the powerful swirl of winds had abated, Chara made her approach.
"Who among this delegation is in charge?" Two helmeted figures slipped off a roc. One approached, while the other, much larger person, trailed the rear. When the one who approached slipped off their helmet, revealing a shock of red hair, Chara's eyebrow shot upward.
"Sir Vega Sorde? Well, I did not expect Eyraille to send their own princess to our aid. I shall consider it an honor." And a most foolish move indeed, she wanted to add. "As we have met before, I will not bore you with introductions. But you may now know me as the Rigas Head of this household. Do tread carefully, Sir Sorde; Mollengardian representatives are likely to arrive here shortly to inquire as to your presence in Stella D'Mare."
"Well," she beckoned for the Skyknight commander and her unit to follow, "come with us. We shall reconvene inside."
Whilst she led the way, with the councilmen and her own representatives in step behind her, the helmeted figure sidled beside Elespeth and whispered, beneath the muffle of their head coverings, "Good to see you again."
Instead of watching the intricate healing process, as he had with such rapt attention when administered to him the first time, Alster relaxed his shoulders and sank into the sensation. He was still curious about the nature of the tiny needles, and the components that comprised the tingle-inducing solution, but he didn't need to learn everything, right away. It was fine to enjoy without understanding, he told himself. To drift into a pain-diminished existence, and to allow that oft-unbearable vise of pressure and throbbing agony to melt into welcoming serenity. He closed his eyes, and slowed his breathing.
"I'm not a hero." He opened one eye to look her askance. "And yes, it may sound like I'm being modest, but I'm ultimately responsible for what happened. Not in full, but I was the catalyst, all those years ago. But I don't want to paint an unrealistic picture of myself, or give you the wrong idea about my efforts. If the loss of my arm is the price to pay for what I've done, then agreeing to this apparatus is the ultimate hubris. Instead of accepting my loss, I sought a solution, and suffer all the more for my choices. As I tend to. It's apt. Suffering begets suffering. But do I regret it?" He opened his other eye, and looked at the streak of black steel, shifting in shades of brilliance beneath the firelight. "No. Because I couldn't wait to recover, just to learn how to function with half my capacity. Yes, I'm still struggling to make this arm work, but it serves its purpose. I can use it, sometimes. I can channel magic from it, and perform very basic motor functions. The pain," he pressed into a smile, "is a quirk."
Though he downplayed the severity, pretending that the pain was of little consequence did not trick his brain into complying. Every day, he gave longing glances at his medicines bag. Since reuniting with it, he had used some of the highly addictive substance, but only a little under the prescribed amount, still fearing and fighting the allure to inject in high dosages. To float on through the stretch of days, numb and free from his self-imposed prison...Sometimes, it was all he could think about. It was easier that way, lest his thoughts drift to Elespeth. To how much he'd made her worry...again. If I were more self-actualized...if I were a better person...maybe she wouldn't suffer so much on my account.
At mention of the Dawn Legion and their blood ritual, he leaned an ear into her explanation, nodding along to the details of her initiation while also nodding over to the white scratch in the palm of his metal arm, which seemed to glow unnaturally from the fire. "She and I...we're bound by blood. Palm to palm. While the palm that grasped her own is gone, now, the promise is still there, and the symbolism remains. As with your legion, I'm a huge proponent of the power of blood ties. Blood shed by choice, not blood shared by birthright." He snorted in an amused laugh. "What a Rigas I grew up to be. But--that is what is strongest, in my opinion, and your Dawn Legion exemplifies its importance. I do hope you'll reunite with your brothers and sisters, soon. It is a rare covenant, what you have--and much as you'd like to, for your own sanity, I suppose, see us as comrades-in-arms, we're hardly surrogates for what you've left behind. But I won't take your willingness for camaraderie in vain. Consider me at your service." He hid a flinch when she hit a nerve on his arm, but she corrected it before he needed to say a word. "And I may not look like much, but I do have your back. I work well with warriors." At that, he blushed. Wasn't that the truth?
He thought on what she said about burdens, about his loved ones, and if they considered him nothing but trouble. And though he said nothing in response, it was because his answer would not favor her in agreement. He saw the stress he put Elespeth under; while she had not said as much, his actions, no doubt, were burdensome to her. On Chara, too, who never withheld her frustration whenever he erred, or did something to which she did not agree. On his entire family, who constantly reminded him of the dishonor and danger he'd placed on the Rigas name, and on the city itself. He should be grateful that Adalfieri allowed him to live at all, they argued. And then...there was Debine. Though long dead, he heard her voice, as clear as if she occupied space beside him: What a disappointment you are. What have I done to deserve you as a child?
I'm sorry, he'd told them all. More than you know, I'm sorry. But sorry was not enough. It was never enough. He was not enough. If he could not die for their acceptance, he had to keep fighting, to keep proving himself. Even if he suffered. Especially if he suffered. What will it take? Because I'll go beyond expectations if I have to.
And that is why you need me, the Serpent hissed. Useless, as you are. Useless...
When the needle-healing session was complete, Alster thanked Sigrid, and gave his shoulder an experimental roll. The pain was significantly lessened. In fact, the muscles were more relaxed, like he'd just taken a steaming hot bath. Even the inflammation had retreated a bit. "I'd still love to learn your technique, if you ever feel up to teaching me. Among other things, I aspire to be a healer. Feel free to come to me, as well, if you've sustained an injury. I'm able to mend flesh wounds and broken bones." And with his metal arm in tow, he rose from the log. "Good night, Sigrid. And don't worry." He smiled. "With you on watch, I know I'm in good hands."
The following morning, after they shared a light breakfast and dismantled the camp, Tivia led her horse to where the others had gathered, preparing to take their leave. While still exhausted from yesterday's tear-stained confessions, she felt marginally better, and even greeted Vitali--but as he was preoccupied with speaking to Sigrid, she didn't press him for more than a reciprocal nod. From her vantage point, the conversation was in relation to his arm, which appeared more serious than he'd let on to her, before. Even so, he mounted his horse, looking relieved about the prognosis. However, she didn't think the news was all too comforting.
Alster, who was mounted on his steed and using both arms to keep his balance, was in better spirits that morning, owing in part to the partial liberation of his pain, which made rote tasks easier to accomplish. Seeing the necromancer wave across to him with an infuriating grin on his face, he was about to turn so that the horse's rear end pointed at him...but then came his biting words, which brought him to attention.
"My dominant arm can slice bars off a prison cell, Vitali," he said, a thinly-veiled threat. "The pain is incidental if it's able to serve a purpose. Maybe your arm is trying to reveal some faults about yourself, namely a lack of feeling everywhere else."
Along with Lilica, Tivia also moved her horse to block the two of them. "I never took you for a bully, Alster."
With a sigh, Alster looked between Tivia, then the necromancer, who continued to bear an expression of smugness on his fox-like face. "I'll look at it later, Vitali," he conceded. "Not that I can do much, but if it prevents you from losing that arm, all the better." And without another word to the man, he cantered off, to join up front with Lilica.
Though there was little that they could do with regard to Haraldur's broad and sturdy stature, Vega made her best efforts to provide the mercenary with everything he needed to look the part of a Skyknight. And, in many ways, he did, to the point where it made her proud. Not all of her airborne knights were light, aerodynamic women; many were men, in fact, and brought their size and strength to the air just as frequently. Ultimately, they decided that a small party of 10 (the two of them, including eight Skyknights to bring provisions) would suffice, with herself and Haraldur both dressed as the soldiers she commanded. Tying her hair back securely and donning a helmet, among the 8 others, no one would have been able to discern Princess Vega Sorde of Eyraille from any other Skyknight. So long as she kept her helmet on where it mattered (which was everywhere), and only took it off in the secure company of her friends, she reasoned that she would be safe.
They arrived at Stella D'Mare toward early evening, that day, and though a full day of flight left them and their rocks feeling spent (they'd stopped only once in clear territory, for the rocs to eat, drink and rest for an hour), there was no time to stall. As quietly as the giant wings were able, the rocs landed safely on the well-groomed lawn of the Rigas estate before the sun set over the horizon. Their arrival had been awaited, it seemed, but only by a small, trusted party of five. As Vega and Haraldur dismounted, the Eyraillian princess took note of the people that she recognized: the tall woman with fierce eyes and pale blonde hair was Chara Rigas, one of Alster's kin, who now had apparently assumed authority over the city. And the second was Elespeth Tameris; the object of Alster's heart, and someone who had proven to be her friend. The other two, a man with pale, blonde hair, whose weight seemed to be supported by a curious contraption of leg braces fused with crutches, an older man who had a distinctly Rigas air about him, and a young girl who did not strike her as at all familiar. Only when she was sure the area was secure--and that the only eyes on the scene were their own--did Vega remove her helmet, in response to Chara's request.
"It is good to see you, Chara Rigas. Though I beseech you keep my name and identity to yourselves; it was my own decision to be part of this relief mission, but I have risked a lot to come here and see to the condition of your city, and I am not unaware of the danger that I have, as such, placed myself in." Nodding, she turned to task half of her Skyknights to tend to the rocs and see that they were safe and guarded (she wouldn't put it past Mollengard to make an attempt to slay the giant avians and prevent their safe passage of the city), she accompanied Chara and her small party along with Haraldur and the remainder of their Skyknights.
In the privacy of the Rigas council chambers, which Chara assured them was protected and shielded by magic from prying eyes and ears, the Rigas head debriefed them on the happenings within the city, following the 'defeat' of the Serpent. The ruins that the beast had left behind, the infiltration of Mollengard under the thin and flimsy guise of meaning to help rebuild the city, and the madness of the Rigas council, which had forced Chara's hand in allowing them to pass the notion to exile not only Vitali, but Lilica and Alster, of all people. It was a lot to digest in such a small amount of time, and of course, details were left to the wayside in favor of highlighting the important parts that Eyraille needed to know. By the end, Vega was left with a sympathetic feeling of exhaustion, as if she had been the one to endure the events that had come to pass in the tale. So much of it was unbelievable... and yet, here it was, already happening. That so much could have occurred in such a small amount of time... It hadn't been more than a month and a half since she had fled Stella D'Mare with Haraldur, at the sight of Mollengard's ships. And yet, the city had seemed to come more undone as opposed to improving...
"I know that Mollengard has plans to invade Eyraille, eventually, as well. I'm not certain as to how overtly we can help, at this time," Vega confessed, raking a hand through the rogue curls that had come loose of her bun, "but if we can establish a more direct, clandestine way to to communicate between our homes, then we can figure this out as we go along. Already, I have my Skyknights and our military preparing for war. And, speaking of communication... how were you able to send your messages? It just so happens that someone who used to reside in Stella D'Mare long ago is employed at our palace, and was able to confirm the message was received. But... she said that it was not sent by a Rigas, although the follow up message did bear your name, Chara."
"Your contact would be right. Chara didn't send the messages." Elespeth confirmed, and indicated Teselin with a nod of her head, who had kept quiet and respectful during the meeting thus far. "She tasked Teselin to do it on her behalf."
The Eyraillian princess turned to the young girl, a look of surprise on her face. She hadn't understood what significance this young, strange face held to Chara, or why she was at all present; now, it all made sense. "Teselin, is it? I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." She spoke earnestly to the young girl, addressing her personally. "I'm sure Chara and this city are grateful for your help. I am glad that we were able to receive your message."
Titillated by the warm words--and from the princess of Eyraille, at that--Teselin's mouth tugged into a smile, and she bowed out of respect. "I hadn't anywhere to go, and Chara was kind enough to let me stay in the city. Being of assistance was the least I could do. I've heard a lot about you, Your Highness... it is wonderful to finally meet you."
By then, it had grown late, and everyone's weariness was beginning to show. Vega and her Skyknights were offered rooms in the Rigas estates, for their protection and concealment, although the Skyknights themselves agreed to go on rotations of eight hours each to look out for the rocs, for they were not comfortable leaving them alone with the looming threat of Mollengard. Agreeing to discuss provisions and future plans on the morrow (though Vega had already established with Chara that for their own safety, they could not stay long in the city), the Rigas caster and her associates left to retire for the evening, as did the allotted group of Skyknights, who were off to be shown their quarters. But Elespeth stayed, if only to have a moment with two friends whom she feared she wouldn't see again.
"Vega... Haraldur." The Atvanian warrior's heart warmed when the "Skyknight" removed his helmet, only to reveal the familiar face of the mercenary, and her once brother in arms. "It's a blessing to see you, here. I'm at a loss for words."
Dropping her ever-too-formal poise, Vega, followed by Haraldur, closed the distance between themselves and their old companion to clasp hands. Now that Chara had left, the expectation to maintain an unshakable, professional air had lifted, and with the change in atmosphere, exhaustion was just as heavy in the way Elespeth carried herself as was her relief. It was not something that slipped past Vega's awareness; not when she had remembered the warrior from Atvany as someone with such unrelenting energy and passion. Instead, she had the look of someone fighting defeat. "You and Alster are the reasons I had to come, myself. I can never fully repay you for your kindness." She clasped the warrior's arms affectionately, but her smile faltered. "What of Alster? Surely he is to return, isn't he? Especially if the man who sought to exile him is no longer part of the Rigas council."
And, like a flower deprived of the sun, Elespeth wilted even more. "That man isn't even fully to blame. Alster left willingly, to join Lilica, the dark mage, on some fool's mission that there might be a farfetched chance for restoring some lost or sleeping kingdom. Tivia and Vitali accompanied them, as well. I frankly don't know the details... and I don't know when, or if, he'll return."
"If I am to assume that is his ring on your finger, then I am one to think he made a promise he means to keep." The Skyknight spoke softly, smiling at the modest, glittering piece of jewelry on her friend's finger. And yet, Elespeth didn't look at all hopeful. Vega's smile faded. "Tell me the truth, Elespeth: are you all right? You look as though you haven't slept... it isn't how I remember you."
Of course, her first impulse was to lie. To brush off her woes as she had been doing in the face of everyone else, for her own safety and protection; because it was so much worse to let on. But, for the first time in a long time... it was safe to be vulnerable. "I... don't know." She confessed after a beat, her shoulders sinking. "There has been a lot to process, here, without reprieve. Chara is playing nice because we are more valuable to one another as comrades than enemies, but working with her is no easy process. On top of what is already transpiring with Mollengard, and the dissent within the Rigas council, along with Teselin coming along and Chara forming schemes to use her abilities to our advantage... everything, it is as if the world has gone mad. And without Alster, I..." She rubbed her temples. "I haven't been able to sleep. Too many nightmares... and I cannot foresee when any of this will be over. But... this is what war brings, isn't it?"
The Skyknight nodded solemnly, and took a step back, contemplating before she proposed, "There is always a place for you in Eyraille, you know. I cannot guarantee how long it will be a safe place... but if you want to be among friends, you are welcome to return with us."
Elespeth paused, the gears in her head turning a mile a minute. She knew the answer before he spoke a word, of course; the logistics of such a decision were impossible. The Rigases would never forgive her, if she turned and left them to deal with Stella D'Mare, alone. But am I actually being any of help, as it is? A voice at the back of her mind forced its way to the front. Was she really any different than Teselin, whom Chara kept busy largely to get out of her hair. The opportunity to be among friends, in a place hat wasn't so broken... with no shape-shifters that could see into the dark corners of her mind. Maybe it would help her; maybe a new place, a different place, would give her the room she needed to sleep.
Maybe...
"Alster... expected me to stay. To help where I can; and I am already in to deep." Elespeth looked down, knowing she would regret every word of what she was about to say. "I have to stay. Stella D'Mare needs as many active allies present as it can get. But... thank you. I appreciate your offer."
Rolling her shoulders back, the former knight fought to find her smile again. "I can show you to your sleeping quarters. It is within the Rigas estate; the both of you should keep a low profile, so don't be alarmed if you frequently run into guards. Your safety is imperative."
"It's all right, Tivia. Alster harbors latent frustrations towards me, for plunging him into a cursed sleep. I am rather enjoying this side of you, Rigas; you've become more for what you've suffered. I won't bother you for your help, though. Frankly, I am not worried about my condition." Vitali smiled placidly, before he turned to Tivia, who had shot him worrying glances as he'd parted from Sigrid at the close of their hushed discussion. "And you should not be concerned, either, my dear. Our friend Sigrid assured me that there is hope this semi-paralyzed appendage might yet regain its strength and mobility. A little exercise, and I'm sure I'll be right as rain in no time."
Truth be told, the necromancer hadn't even entirely convinced himself of his optimism. It was frankly easier to lean towards hope than contemplate the implications of a future that was not so bright. As Lilica and Alster took their place ahead of the small party, he settled for wading in the middle, with Tivia and Sigrid bringing up the rear.
"I know it isn't my place to apologize for his behaviour... and yet, somehow, sharing a fraction of his blood makes me feel somehow responsible." Lilica mentioned as Alster sidled up next to her on his mount. "To be honest, I don't know what to make of him, lately. But... I know that the two of us had bad blood in a lethal way, once. That changed... I changed. As ludicrous as it sounds--and I cannot believe I am saying this--maybe it isn't impossible for my half-brother to turn over a new leaf. Even if it meant holding him accountable for his actions through a sworn blood oath."
Sighing, she glanced sidelong at the Rigas caster, and the capable way he used his prosthetic arm. And a question, that had been sitting in her mind, undisturbed, finally made itself known. "I don't know any more about Galeyn, or the promises of the Night Garden, than you. In fact, I am willing to bet Sigrid is even more informed than I am. But, if it were possible to... to heal your arm, to restore it to what it was..." Her voice grew soft, afraid he would think she was asking out of malice, or simply being inconsiderate. "Would you seize that opportunity? If the Night Garden could... heal you?"
When they entered the council chambers, Chara did not wait until they were all comfortably settled before delving into her hurried explanation on the events that had plagued their city. And although she summarized the last month and a half of activity, the wrongs that befell their once rich and vibrant territory were too many to count. The Sorde woman wore her reactions appropriately, seldom hiding her horror or surprise. If only she could trade positions with the Princess of Eyraille in that moment, and be but a mere listener of their plight--and not the recipient. To twist only her face, instead of her entire being, as she had done throughout the last arduous weeks of her contested leadership. But that was not to be.
"I have the solution to our communication troubles," Chara said, rummaging for something in a gild-threaded bag she had rested on the table. "Though Teselin's efforts have been adequate in reaching you--as have those of your resident D'Marian--it is no question, at least on our end, that this method is not sufficient in the long-run, especially for more detailed and immediate correspondence. But if I may ask," she tilted her head, in curiosity, "Teselin has mentioned that the woman who contacted her bore ears with pointed tips, similar to our own. Is she a Rigas?"
Some mutters of objection passed along the mouths of the councilmen.
"Because to my knowledge, there is only one Rigas--barring Alster and his parents, of course--who left Stella D'Mare and this family in the last three hundred years. We do not have many defectors, or those driven to exile for that matter, so when it happens, we keep a record. Are you harboring Alta in Eyraille?"
The mutters of councilmen rose to a noticeable din. Chara raised her hand for silence. "It is of no import to me however she chooses to spend her time. But she, I assume, would like to know what has become of her fair city and the people with which she briefly shared a home. Her husband, Adalfieri is dead, and he is not to be exalted within our walls, for his crimes. Her children, too, have died. They fought bravely in the war against Andalari, protecting their own. We thank her for her aid, despite our differences in the past. Now," she brought out two small stone tablets, both a crackling green in color. Bathed in the light from the chandelier above, they seemed almost luminescent, and appeared to vibrate and hum at a low frequency that, with utmost silence, the well-trained ear could detect. But it was not an unpleasant sound.
"These are resonance stones. I made the acquaintance of an earth mage who was willing to part with these two tablets. No matter the distance, if you speak into this stone, whosoever possesses the partner stone will first see it light up, and then hear the message as clearly as if it were spoken directly into their ear." She slid one resonant stone to Vega. "Do not lose this. It is the best method by which I can contact you, and you, me."
At the adjourning of their meeting, Chara rose from her chair, rounding the table to stand across from the Skyknight Princess. "You may stay the evening, but as both you and I know, you will need to make haste in your departure."
In that moment, a Rigas envoy rushed into the room and whispered something into Chara's ear. She frowned, but nodded her understanding, and dismissed her with a nod. The skittish envoy raced out the doors as quickly as she'd arrived.
"Change of plans. You cannot yet depart tomorrow until Captain Solveig has spoken to the commander of your party--which I assume will not be you in this particular scenario. Choose a proxy, but do not blow-off this request. It is most unwise to arouse more suspicion among Mollengard's ranks." She showed her guests to the door. "You are free to go. Our guards will see to your accommodations."
When all had departed the room with the exception of Elespeth, Vega, and himself, Haraldur pulled off his helmet and took a few rehabilitating breaths of air. "It was getting a little hot under there," he said with a slight smile. He wiped at his brow; sure enough, it was filmed in a thin sheen of sweat, which had dampened his hair to his forehead. "But I couldn't take any chances, even during the meeting. I shouldn't even be here. But I needed to know that you and Alster were safe." And Tivia, he thought, but did not voice. "I'm beyond relieved that he's still alive. I thought the worst of you and him, when I left the city with Vega. Though I'm sorry to hear that he's not with you, and off on an errand with that foul necromancer as company." His mouth twitched with the mere thought of Vitali running amok. "For our sake, let's hope the dark mage and Alster team up and do him in. But Vega's right," he nodded towards the band of diamonds beset on the ex-knight's finger. "Alster will be back. He wouldn't leave you behind. He didn't, for either of us."
In hearing of Elespeth's troubles thus far, he lent a sympathetic ear, and mirrored Vega's invitation to stay with them in Eyraille. "I'm sure Alster would understand if you wanted to come with us, Elespeth. It might even give him peace of mind to know that you're safe. This place..." he lowered his voice and leaned into a fierce whisper, "I saw the fleet in the harbor as we flew over the city. I did the calculations in my head. Of those ships, about one-third are Forbanne class. I can tell by the distinguishing markings on the hull; a subtle splash of red. By my rough estimation, you have an army of about seven thousand strong outside these gatess, two thousand of them Forbanne. They're only fly-by estimations and that doesn't even factor in the ships I saw on the northern coast, but evenso...this city is doomed. You all need to evacuate. To where, I don't know, but...it's not safe here. Relay this information to Chara tomorrow. It's too risky for me to show my face and speak at the next meeting, even among allies. Like I said, I'm not supposed to be here."
Before Elespeth could escort them to their quarters, Haraldur took a gentle hold of her arm, to stay her in place. "Wait. I've never told you before...and we never got around to having this conversation. And maybe others have said something, but I still wanted you to hear it from me, while we're all alone here. But," his hand slid from her, where it dangled uselessly at his side. "I was Forbanne, Elespeth. I still am, to an extent. I've done...unspeakable things. I've killed pregnant mothers and children, and burned villages to the ground." He lowered his eyes to that dangling hand, the killing hand with the raised scar, visible and glaring in the chandelier light. "Whether or not this changes your opinion of me, I'm going to help you however I can. I'll tell you all that I know about the Forbanne. Anything that's imperative for you to learn, so you can have an edge on them. And if you have a safer place for us to speak..." with a sad smile, he brought out a flask of whiskey, that he'd tucked for later use beneath his uniform, "I'll bring the tonic, to better help us swallow this information."
Though he didn't speak directly to Vitali, Alster muttered something inaudible about him beneath his breath, before nicking his horse to take the vanguard up front. Once out of sight of the necromancer, his mutterings transitioned into understandable words, which he shared with Lilica.
"That dream curse was almost my family's undoing. Was almost Elespeth's, in several ways." He gripped the reins tightly in his good hand. "The risks everyone took to secure me, the deaths that are on my conscience, the memories I've lost, the madness I'd incurred, all of it...is because of that man. But," he glanced ahead, at the narrowing pathway on which their horses tread, "he's right, in a sense. Those months following my awakening were probably the lowest I've felt in my life, barring my parents' deaths and my tampering with the Serpent's seal as a child. I didn't make matters better by driving Elespeth away, when I needed her most. I thought I'd never climb out of the morass in which I'd sank. And for that, I can never forgive him for causing that chain of events. But--" he regarded Lilica with a gentle smile, "at my lowest point, you came to me, that night, so haunted by the Serpent who infiltrated your mind, and so desperate for help. And somehow, you found a way to reach me. I heard those cries as strongly as I heard my own...and I knew that, in order to find myself again, I needed to find you." He paused, an embarrassed flush appearing faintly on his cheeks.
"And from there, the path just...opened to me. Next came Vega Sorde--another victim of your brother. My need to help her was so intense, it consumed my waking--and dreaming--hours. It was insatiable, my desire to fix, to heal, to lessen the damage...and it was in these pursuits that I found a higher calling. Through all that suffering, I've been made better, and found a path that I'm more than eager to walk. Of course, it was not his intent to 'teach me a lesson'," he said with a huff of a sigh, "but I'll admit that I emerged from my trials wiser, and a mite more capable than before. For that, I can't entirely hate him. And there's another reason, too."
He dared a look over his shoulder, where Vitali and Tivia were exchanging pleasantries to each other, side by side, upon their steeds. "He really does seem to care about her. I haven't seen him take advantage of her at all during this trip, though he's had plenty of opportunities to use and manipulate her. You could say that he's doing so now, but it looks genuine. It's true what they say; even the most despicable of man have their weaknesses. And yes," he elected a small chuckle, "a blood oath for obedience doesn't hurt, either."
But the mirth lines on his face had withered, and in their place spread lines of thoughtfulness, which furrowed at his mouth and his brow. His metal arm whirred with activity, as if aware that the subject had shifted to it. He lowered the overactive appendage to his lap, and grabbed for both reins in his one, more reliable hand.
"To be honest, Lilica...that's one of the reasons I'm on this trip. I know I'm riding on baseless assumptions, but if the Night Garden has such healing properties, maybe it's possible to restore what's lost. If not," he shrugged, and his prosthesis kicked up from the sudden movement, "I can learn to deal with this, as I have with everything else I've suffered. I'd rather have my arm back, to be whole again, to not feel any pain whenever I move but...I shouldn't give myself over to such senseless hope, either." He smiled, though it did not show in his careworn eyes. "I'll be happy if I can learn how to become a more knowledgeable healer, in the end." Whatever it takes to numb the pain, he thought, bleakly.
