Dwarf of Bronze (ZnT/AU)

The biggest part of the issue was that love potions were seriously illegal… within certain degrees. Not only were the final products theoretically against the law to so much as possess, but the main ingredients for the more dangerous varieties were tightly controlled. Banning them wouldn’t help as, according to Montmorency, there were almost no potion ingredients that were used in just one potion.

She’d selected one that used as many mundane ingredients as possible. Even then, there was still one controlled substance she’d had to use. Fortunately, she hadn’t gone for the most powerful recipe she’d had access to; there had been a small warning in her inherited brewing journal that said it could, at times, cause the ‘love’ of dosed subject to overwhelm even their most basic honour and nobility.

That meant that they didn’t need to seek out an apparently temperamental Water Spirit and beg it for a tear in order to undo the grave injustice that had been wrought. Rather, all they needed now was some more of the specific catalyst that she’d used. The antidote was easy to administer and as soon as Kirche had been cured they would inform her as to what happened; doing so beforehand would make fixing what had happened far more difficult.

All he had to do was get the substance in question. Which was going to prove difficult, considering the, ah, ‘supplier’ she’d got it from had not responded to any further missives she’d sent him. Well, that was his burden to bear. She’d sent him on his way with a fresh bottle of perfume, and her assurance it was not doctored. He’d regretted asking, with her expression, but also felt it got across the damage she had done to his trust… for, as much as he understood her reasonings, it still hurt.

Guiche rode back to the chapter house alone, to face the Grandmaster and share his choices for the mission. He’d made the final choice relatively easily, once Kenneth had shared a few words of wisdom that had, honestly, only really confirmed what he’d already intended to do.

By the time he got back it was late afternoon. As he walked through the courtyard he paid attention to the various initiates in the middle of their sword drills. Here and there he paused to give a few words of advice. Keep this foot back a bit. Don’t lean in so far. Little things. Those who’d heard of his duel with Mott, which was pretty much everyone, still regarded him with more than a little awe.

Wardes was instructing across at the far end. His lessons were doled out via the tip of his sword-wand, with a sharp tap here or there to push a wayward limb back into position. Nevertheless, he matched it with calm words and didn’t actually strike unless someone had made an error so grievous as to be dangerous. That did happen from time to time.

The Grandmaster tipped his head as Guiche approached, acknowledging his contributions and approving of them as well. Saito was nowhere to be seen but if he were around he’d likely be helping as well. Some of the young Nobles had resented the ‘peasant’ attempting to assist in their training until they’d seen him and Guiche have a little practice spar. After Guiche had his ass handed back to him several times over they’d instead started plotting to get him pitted up against the Viscount to see what happened.

Funnily enough, Guiche had asked Saito, and Wardes, how that would work out. They’d had essentially identical answers; without magic, the servant could fight at least evenly with the Nobleman. But as soon as magic entered the picture, he lost. Given Guiche himself felt that Saito remained an unassailable obstacle even if he pulled out his Valkyries it was an interesting thing to hear.

“Grandmaster! A word, sir?” He called out as he stepped closer and Wardes disengaged from teaching with a last few words of advice for the pair of third-years trading off parries and thrusts. As their paths converged he took the lead and they both moved toward his office. Once inside he unshouldered his coat, hanging it from a hook as he circled around his desk, and sat down.

“So, young Gramont, I assume you’ve chosen your team? I look forward to hearing you justify your choices.” Guiche nodded. Yes, that was to be expected; the actual content of the choices didn’t matter at all. Far more important was why he chose them. Best to lead strong.

“Very well. Firstly, Saito of Vallière. He has superb stealth capabilities, good close combat skill and able to blend well with commoners. In an urban setting he will be invaluable for gathering information and tracking targets.” Wardes made notes as he spoke and Guiche had to fight the urge to try and read it from the angle he stood at.

“Secondly, Tabitha. Her magic is very safe in a city, and she’s a precise and fast caster. She is also highly observant and possesses unparalleled mobility in the form of her draconic familiar.” More notes. Was he nodding with approval there, or was that just his imagination?

“Thirdly, Malicorne de Grandpré.” This time, Wardes’ quill stopped. He looked up, giving Guiche his full attention. As if saying that he best be able to justify such an unorthodox choice. The young man swallowed hard, and continued. “His familiar is a Strix; it’s an utterly silent flier that also has superb night-vision and an incredible sense of smell. I’m told it can smell blood beneath the skin at fifty paces, sir.”

Wardes made a noncommittal sound, as if to ask why he’d pick the person when he just wanted his familiar. Guiche wet his lips, and forged ahead. “In addition, Malicorne has mastered the familiar sight spell. He can guide his partner at range, and can even cast ‘Far Sight’ through the eyes of his pet. It’s a rather unique talent, Grandmaster, and one I intend to exploit for this mission.”

Fingers rapped on the desk as the older man seemed to consider this logic for a time. Then he made a few more notes on his parchment and blew on it a few times to finish drying it. Finally, he opened his cabinet and pulled out the large envelope with Guiche’s name on it and slid the paper in.

“Almost full marks, Gramont. Be a little more confident in your choices, next time. You can have those three, and any others you might be able to justify to me once I explain the full mission.” Another letter on his desk was pulled forth and opened up. Wardes began the explanation.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Bennet liked to think that he wasn’t a bad person. This was a trait rather common to extremely bad people but, fortunately for him, he wasn’t particularly given to that sort of introspection either. What he was given to, generally speaking, was breaking the legs of people who owed money to his boss.

He was a fair bit brighter than he seemed. For example, he frequently considered the inanity of the leg-breaking. Doing it didn’t generally make the person pay his boss back any faster. In fact, if he was to consider his past experiences he’d actually say it often made them even slower on the next repayment. But he wasn’t paid to think. No, Bennet was paid to break legs. So he broke the legs.

On that evening, he’d just returned from an afternoon of leg-breaking, with a small side-stop at a back-alley brothel for some personal business with one of the cheaper, yet less cross-eyed, girls, when he realized something was amiss. The warehouse’s side door was open and that wasn’t normal. He unlimbered his stout wooden club with the metal studs and gently pushed on it.

There was no sound as it swung open; the boy kept it well-oiled. Equally, there were no sounds from inside the warehouse either. Bennet crouched and slipped off his heavy work boots so he could pad silently into the building. Nobody was loading or unloading at this time of night but there were guards, certainly. Come to think of it, the dogs in the yard ought to have barked. They were practically wild, but they hadn’t made so much as a whimper.

He crept up the stairs towards the main office. That door was ajar as well. His nostrils flared slightly as he picked up the scent of fresh blood. A rival gang? He lightly pressed on the door with his free hand, club hefted for a quick strike. Nothing leapt out at him. He poked his head in, no less tightly strung and his heart stopped.

There was… not the boss, but someone just under them. He didn’t know the guy’s name. He was pinned to the chair with an expression of… not pain, but surprise, across his face. There was a long spear of what looked like ice through his chest and going out through the wood behind him. Founder… it was him.

No hesitation. He yanked open the drawers of the desk one after another, frantically scrabbling through them and seizing the first purse of coins he found. Not much of a retirement plan but it would do. He took the stairs three at a time and, just as he reached the door, froze. There was nobody else here, right? So where…

His eyes flicked to the door. It was unblemished. Clean, even. Cleaner than it had ever been. Almost like someone had scrubbed it down. He saw, clearly in his head, an image of a man running for the door just like him. It swinging open. Then, outlined in the darkness for just a moment, the perfect target.

Sod that. He turned around and moved through the crates towards the back corner of the warehouse. Shifted one aside and found the trap door beneath. The tunnel ran straight into the city’s main sewer line. He could come out a few blocks away. Cool air shifted out as he opened it up and paused. Then he went over to the wall, lifted one of the lanterns off its hook, went back to the hole and dropped down; it was only a short drop, and there was no ladder. Didn’t want no curious muckraker finding it.

No point closing it behind him. More important to just put as much distance between this whole business and them. He made tracks just as quick as he could and it wasn’t until he was perhaps halfway down the tunnel that he finally realized he wasn’t the only one that had. The mud, and it was best to think of it as mud, was cold and gross between his toes. A trail quickly went away when a fresh flush of water came through the system.

Bennet slowed to a halt, staring at the ground. Stretching out ahead of him was what he’d seen but not truly thought about until just that moment. Dozens of sets of tracks just as sloppy as his. The lantern dropped from his hand as he felt a sharp prickling on the back of his neck. Slowly, oh so slowly, he turned around.

The glass had cracked, and ooze was seeping into the lantern. In what flickering light remained he could see the figure standing not far ahead of him. For as much as his mind rebelled against the details he still took things in. All he could make out of the clothes was a blood-coloured cloak, and all there was to see of the face were the glowing, shining, bright golden eyes.

Other things caught his attention. Like the circle of dry earth that it stood upon. The fog pouring from under the cloak as, before his eyes, it shifted back to reveal a slowly growing icy spear. Bennet’s mouth opened for a moment as he clutched at his club. The monster didn’t move. His eyes were watering. He couldn’t help himself.

Bennet blinked.

There was a sudden deep confusion in him. He’d dropped his lantern and turned around… but there was nothing there. His muscles were all tense, and he could remember… he’d been facing something. There’d been… danger?

His confusion quickly ended when two feet of frozen water emerged from his chest, having passed right through his heart.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

“When the City Watch found the body in the warehouse they followed the passageway and found the decomposing corpse with a hole through its chest. Some twenty metres down the passage were another dozen men; each one had been killed with a single, precise strike to the head or chest.” Wardes summed up the latest murder in the Capitol with a detached, almost clinical air. It had been a long explanation; this had been going on for some time.

“Every single one of them was fit, and armed. Every single weapon was clean of blood. The Watch say they have reason to believe some, if not all of the killings were performed with magic. You’ll be helping with the investigation.” Guiche couldn’t help but start at that. Really? They were only trainees, and this sounded like a… a skilled and ruthless killer!

“I can see your trepidation, Guiche, and I understand it. However, you’ve chosen well. I don’t expect you to apprehend the suspect. You are, however, a team of relative unknowns who may be able to find a lead quietly. If you can identify or track the culprit you can leave the rest up to the Griffon Knights at the Castle.” The young man took a few deep breaths to steady himself.

“As you say, Viscount. Very well. I shall inform my choices as to their assignment, and we will set out upon the morrow.” Wardes nodded but, as Guiche stood to leave, added an extra remark that gave him some pause.

“No need to rush, Guiche. Of course, we must resolve the incident as soon as possible but… these aren’t especially righteous folks who are passing. I don’t condone this kind of ‘justice’, obviously, but I see no reason to mourn these dead.” Guice bit his lower lip and nodded faintly before slipping out.

He felt much like he had when confronting Mott. Not quite the same, the depth of feeling was certainly not there, but even so. ‘Emotionally adrift’ would be the poetic way to put it. Although he could understand Wardes’ thoughts on the matter and knew many, such as his familiar, who would likely agree… well, from the descriptions not every victim had died so painlessly.

One man had been found dead with his entire forearm flayed down to the bone. Another had been… unmanned in a purportedly gruesome fashion. Surely nobody, not even a common criminal, deserved to die like that? That was the sensation he felt, now. His own sense of justice wasn’t matching up with the situation.

However… it hadn’t been an order. So he could tackle this as he liked. With Saito on hand, with Tabitha’s professionalism and Malicorne’s utility… he could certainly find the culprit quickly. Fast enough to prevent any more victims. Yes, that would do it. Guiche would resolve the case, but he would do so according to his ‘justice’. His, and his alone. That was heroism.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

When he first saw the odd woman looking at his paintings Francisque de Gramont had considered just how he might capture her on his canvas. Her clothing was just bizarre; she wore a dark blue shawl with matching scarf curled around her head and a lighter blue dress underneath it. There were a lot of bangles hanging from her forearms, made easily visible by the loose-styled sleeves.

Curiously, however, she wore a tighter, long-sleeved garment of white cotton beneath the dress. It was an outfit eminently suitable for the chill, as was the woman herself. He found himself looking at his palette and frowning at the white colour that was far more dun than he’d have liked. Proper white paint was very expensive. He desperately wanted some now.

His brush drooped as she walked towards him with a winsome smile on her face. Such curious features… impossibly pale skin to match with eyes so blue he thought for a moment she might be blind. A single lock of pale blonde hair creeped out from under her scarf and curled along the sharp angle of her jaw. Be still his heart.

“Pardon me, my lady…” He stood, moving into her path before she could keep going to see the other painters in the wide square. There were five of them at this festival, one of the largest in the region and frequented by the local Germanian Nobility as much as the commonfolk. He’d only come on the invitation of his elder brother. By the Founder, he’d have to thank the man.

“A lady, perhaps I am. But not quite yours yet, young man.” He chuckled at her little joke as she smiled with a warmth that belied the harsh tone of her rebuke. Perhaps it really was the curse of the Gramont family to find women so willing to speak their minds… but he didn’t mind.

“Of course, dear lady, of course; but, at the very least, I wish to immortalise you upon my canvas. Yours is a beauty one seldom sees, let alone has such a perfect opportunity to paint.” She pursed her lips, but didn’t seem dissatisfied with his compliment. The expression accentuated her most striking feature; the dark marking on her face, underneath her right eye.

It started with a line that followed the curve of her eye just slightly; then more curls coming from beneath to surge across her cheek and around towards her neck. He knew of tattoos, in the vaguest sense, but he’d never seen one that so enhanced the appearance of its own, let alone one on so fine a woman.

“Your work is good. Very well. I shall allow you to paint me; we shall call it an audition, as I am here in search of an artist of quality for a rather prestigious work.” His smile lit up his face as she agreed and he immediately guided her to the perfect position on the seat laid out for his work. The other painter nearest him gave him a foul look as he did so; likely due to what he’d just overheard.

Francisque didn’t care. He lost himself in the work. Without a brighter white he instead dulled the entire image. Her painted face was caught in a complex interplay of light that shrouded the unmarked half that he thought made the product look rather striking. All the tones were slightly darker than reality except for the eyes. Even with half her face beshadowed both eyes were kept fully visible in a rather daring stylistic choice. The darkness of the rest of the piece accentuated the pale blue of her cold stare.

It was, in his opinion, one of his finest works. The small crowd of other nobles that had gathered to silently watch him work certainly seemed to imply they felt similarly to him. Finally, he leaned back and declared the work complete. She stood, walked around to look at it, nodded, and then left without another word.

It was rather crushing. He ended up retiring for the day as soon as the paint was dry, packing up his unsold pieces and starting the slow trudge toward the inn he was staying in for the remaining few days of the festival. As he rounded a corner a familiar, icy voice broke pierced the background noise of the town-wide party.

“You’re very good.” He turned to see her, just standing nonchalantly around the corner. Had she been waiting for him? She stepped forward with comfortable ease and hooked his arm through his to join him for the rest of the walk. “My dear master sent me to this quaint little festival to find some talented young painter to do his portrait, you see.” Oh. With her bearing, he’d just assumed she was… well, Noble.

“I’d be happy to take your one of myself, of course, even if you don’t accept. However, trust me when I say that the contract would be very lucrative; although, it is in Gallia.” Francisque frowned. For a single painting, that was quite a way to go. She seemed to read his mind for how quickly she answered his exact concern. “Travel will be arranged, both there and to your home; I detect by your accent you are not Germanian?” He nodded.

“Indeed, I hail from Tristain originally. My brother lives here, and he invited me up for the festival.” After a moment’s further thought he held his hand out to her. “Francisque de Gramont. At your service.” She took the hand and allowed him to kiss hers.

“Charmed. Will you take the job then, Francisque?” The way she said his name was just about enough to make him forget that she hadn’t offered hers. However… sight unseen, this was an odd proposition.

“Perhaps… I think I should, at the very least, like to know whom I would be painting first?” The exotic woman smiled her mysterious, deep smile once more and pulled a little closer so that she might whisper in his ear. When he heard the name his eyes widened. “Yes! I mean… of course. Absolutely. Ah, well, assuming you have proof, that is?”

“I have the letter of appointment he gave me, to show to whomever I chose. My things are at the cottage I’ve rented for the duration. Shall we?” A slight pressure on his arm redirected him away from the honestly rather low-quality in he’d been moving toward and aimed him toward a far nicer part of town. Francisque wasn’t about to object to any of these developments.

After all, when one received a personal request for service, even by proxy, from a King it generally did one a world of good to accept.

 

The three Nobles in the party set out mid-morning the next day. Under advisement from Saito, Guiche had agreed to send the familiar ahead at first light to prepare lodgings and also acquire some less conspicuous clothing. He would meet them again a short ways out of the city and they could walk the remainder of the distance.

Malicorne didn’t seem too enthused by the plan but it was overshadowed by his clear glee to be taking part in a prestigious undertaking such as this. Guiche certainly felt sympathy for the young mage he ruefully recalled referring to on a number of previous occasions as ‘Malicorne the Blow-hard’. The very studiousness for which he’d derided his now-companion was the very reason he had such value to their mission.

Tabitha had been characteristically silent during his request of her assistance but had agreed to join with little more than an incline of her head. She was rarely very active during training but showed quick and accurate casting of Ice spells that gave him confidence in his choice. Also, in spite of her surprisingly striking features, she had a bizarre talent to fade into the background. Almost uncanny, really.

They stopped the carriage in a small copse just out of sight of town and, as expected, Saito shortly appeared out of the treeline with several travelling packs full of rough, peasant garments. He also helped Guiche conceal his travelling cloak using a hidden pocket he’d sewn along the back. It was definitely not comfortable, or quick to reach, but a commoner wouldn’t have a weapon like that.

Malicorne and Tabitha were both shown how to conceal the wands they brought with them, a main and a spare at Wardes’ suggestion, and then Saito attached a bell to the latter’s stave as well that made it suddenly take on a far more mundane life as a shepherd’s crook. Derflinger proved far more troublesome and was eventually secreted in Guiche’s bag only under great protest and promises of the finest waxing that money could purchase.

For as much as Guiche sincerely appreciated the shield, and having an anti-magic bulwark like that was truly a thing to be thankful for, his personality was somewhat grating. By the Founder, was that what it had been like dealing with him before he met Kenneth? Perhaps he owed Montmorency a few more expensive bouquets. Perhaps some of those imported sweets from Rub’ Al-Khali that she liked.

Rubbing dirt on their faces felt like it was a bit much to Guiche, even if Saito did insist that it was very important that they not look quite so clean as they did. Still, by lunchtime they were strolling in through the gates of the Capitol with nary a second glance levelled at them by the guards. The familiar had even discarded his obviously much-beloved cloak in favour of something in a rather dull brown. Once they reached their lodgings he quickly changed back to the red garment, of course, muttering something about strange foreign fashions. It was a rare moment of actual humanity from the perfect servant.

“Now, we’ve been asked to investigate quietly. Malicorne, you will remain in our rooms and send your familiar with us. If something goes horribly wrong you must send for the Griffon Knights immediately. I have no illusions as to our ability to handle this ne’er-do-well.” Malicorne nodded, looking a bit green at the thought of violence, and took a comfortable position on one of the beds of their shared room to begin guiding his Strix into the city from range.

They’d taken two rooms with two beds, with Tabitha masquerading as just another young man. She’d voiced no objection to that idea regardless of how nervous Guiche had felt raising it. He still hadn’t quite worked out the sleeping arrangements but suspected she’d likely end up sharing with Saito. The slightly strange young fellow didn’t seem to really notice that gender was even a thing, at times; or, at least, Guiche had never caught him looking.

“Then Saito and Tabi-... ah, Sebas and Timthy shall accompany myself, Geoff, as we go check up on a lead.” Pseudonyms had also taken a bit of work but, in the end, he’d chosen ‘common’ names with a bit of help from Saito. Apparently it was fairly reasonable for a peasant to have a name with grand origins that was simply pronounced oddly due to generations of illiteracy distorting it. He wasn’t entirely sure if the familiar wasn’t having him on a little, but the logic had seemed sound enough.

The lead in this case was a source he didn’t want to disclose. Namely, the black market dealer from whom Montmorency had acquired her, ahem, ingredients. Guiche figured it was a good way to kill two birds with one stone. They extracted his sword from the hidden pocket and bundled it up in cloth, figuring that would work now they were inside the city itself, and Saito took the bell off Tabitha’s staff. It was ill-conducive to a stealth mission for obvious reasons.

Once the black, four-legged owl-creature that served as Malicorne’s familiar had arrived they set out with it following from above. Guiche was very impressed with their fourth member’s handling of the beast. Giving commands through the familiar bond was a tricky art that not every mage could even manage, let alone so quickly as he had. There were bound to be missteps, of course, but in the interim it worked handily for them.

Guiche’s faith in his choice was quickly justified when the owl landed in front of them quite suddenly and began scratching in the dirt. It seemed to take a few false starts to get the creature to perform one of the signals they’d worked out beforehand, as it wasn’t something the duo had time to train, but it didn’t take long to get the idea across. The Strix could smell blood. Fresh blood.

Their destination was a small, back-alley apothecary that, by all evidence, only seemed to be selling the mildest of ingredients. Nobody was behind the counter. Guiche unlimbered his sword as they poked around, feeling increasingly ill at ease even before Saito located the hidden doorway behind one of the curtains. Not very well hidden, but enough to confound a cursory inspection.

Before Guiche could take the path, however, Saito stopped him and smeared something across the countertop using a convenient dried root and a small clay pot of something black and sticky. It was the suggestion that he go scout ahead, and Tabitha circled around to the far side. While he was loath to split them up it did make some degree of sense… however, his only modification to the plan was that Saito would scout, yes, but Guiche and Tabitha would remain together.

Since this seemed to sit well enough with Saito, possibly as they didn’t know if there was an alternative route at all, he carefully opened the door just enough to squeeze through and then vanished. Guiche counted to a hundred in his head and then followed after, sword at the ready. After much deliberation and agonizing he’d spent the fifty to a hundred count smearing the awful black gunk over his previously shining blade, silently apologizing to his mother’s memory the entire time.

He’d felt glad for the caution shortly after they entered, however. There was what seemed to be what was very likely a highly illegal bar concealed behind the building. This was a more run-down part of the Capitol, it was true, where very many of the murders had actually taken place but, even so, he was startled to see something like this. Mostly as he hadn’t thought these things were… well, real.

The sensation of having fallen into a novel was somewhat dampened by all the corpses. It was almost a work of art, in a horrific sense. Saito was nowhere to be seen and so Guiche was left to marvel at the thoroughness of the massacre as Tabitha poked a few of the bodies with her stave. She didn’t bother checking for pulses. There was quite clearly no point.

In his opinion the most striking part of the grisly tableau, apart from the fact that he still had yet to throw up, was how clearly you could see what had happened. Someone had walked into the room through the very door they’d entered and simply began to methodically slaughter everyone.

Those seated at tables nearest the door had stood no chance at all; many were still seated even now, with foot long blades of ice penetrating their heads or chests. The most grievously wounded, bodies torn open elbow to hip or lengthwise up their body or widthwise across the stomach with surprisingly clean strokes that had, in some cases, torn into the surrounding furniture, were those found in the middle distance. They’d had enough time to hear the noises, or perhaps even see the first deaths, and had begun to rise to their feet.

The sheer level of violence arrayed against the corpses in the second third of the room stood in stark contrast to the third. While the room itself was in more of a shambles, with tables upturned and chairs knocked over, the deaths were clean again. Many slit throats, a few short spikes of ice through eyes or foreheads where someone had obviously tried to peek out at the carnage. It was as bizarre as it was utterly horrible.

He could feel the bile finally rising as the shock of so much death in one place wore off. Guiche couldn’t help but retch, doubling over and vomiting on to the already soiled floor. It was an especially unpleasant sensation when the thick, cloying scent of dried blood mixed with the acrid tang of bile.

Finally, feeling quite unwell, he straightened up; just in time to see Saito of Vallière go flying through the upstairs railing.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Tabitha of Gallia, also known as Charlotte Hélène d’Orléans, had been scanning the rest of the room as Guiche took a moment to loose his breakfast all over the floor. As such, she was privy to the extended version of what he caught as he finally finished evacuating his stomach. There were stairs on the far side of the larger room leading up to a small balcony above with a number of doors on them; typical bar slash inn design in spite of the obviously shady patrons this place catered to.

Saito of Vallière came flying backwards through the wall between two of these doors, smashed through the balcony’s railing, went through three-quarters of a rotation on the way down and then landed knees-first on a table that immediately collapsed; thus depositing him face-first amongst the rubble. Her staff was already pointing at the hole before he hit the ground and her tongue completing the first self-enhancement spell. The very instant that she saw the splinter-covered figure stir, confirming he was still alive, she pushed off and floated gracefully up and over the railing to land beside the broken hole.

When she rounded the corner she’d already cast Wind Enhancement on herself to compliment the initial Levitation and fired a spray of ice shards into the room somewhat indiscriminately. Unfortunately, she didn’t hit anything; one of the far windows had been torn right out of its frame with some force and, now that she looked, was actually lying on the roof… of the building on the opposite street. No sign of the assailant.

Guiche landed on the balcony behind her and she glanced at him for a moment. He appeared to have recovered with the adrenaline of the moment. Unlike her, he looked quite upset with this development. Tabitha wasn’t particularly bothered by it. All indications seemed to imply that Saito had survived worse than a little blunt force trauma.

“His leg appears broken. We must give chase as best we can.” She nodded, and lead the charge across the street and on to the far roof. Between the two of them they scanned the area, looking for anything suspicious. Yet there was nothing. Nobody fleeing at a great speed, conveniently leaping from rooftop to rooftop as they attempted to escape the scene of the crime. No mysterious figure flying away while cackling loudly.

Well, if it had been her, she’d have just calmly dropped to the street below and strolled away. Which was worrying. That seemed to imply a certain skill that hadn’t been implicit in the violent fanaticism thus far displayed by their killer. Especially as, aside from the bodies found after the warehouse massacre, this was their greatest body count yet. She couldn’t imagine there were many criminals left in the city at this point.

Guiche cursed somewhat under his breath, shoulders tense. He was angry. She could feel it just as surely as she could feel the coldness that sat beneath Saito’s skin. This outcome infuriated the young man so much that he could barely stand it. He practically vibrated with rage. Tabitha didn’t see the point. Odds were good that they’d been bad men through and through; even if they weren’t, they were still dead. Getting mad about it wouldn’t help now. It never helped.

“Saito.” She provided him a gentle reminder of his injured acquaintance that snapped him back to reality. With no sign of the assailant they’d best go check on their third. Guiche seemed to agree, calming down somewhat and floating back across the gap to the broken window they’d exited from in the first place. Nobody in the street below looked up. She’d always been amused by how nobody ever looked up; even people who could fly.

As she thought that, Tabitha made it a point to glance at the ceiling of the room as they entered it again. It was clear, though, as was the bar itself. Saito was already sitting up and biting down on a piece of wood as he held his leg. Ah, of course. Tabitha pulled at Guiche’s arm lightly and brought him down to her fellow assassin, directing the poor, unsuspecting Noble to hold just below the break. He was thoroughly unprepared for the reality of someone setting their own bone.

She didn’t blame him all that much; with the high of excitement wearing off his keen awareness of the situation must be returning. Although she was rather inured to pointless deaths at this point she was also aware that Guiche was significantly more empathetic than her. That combined with his belief in, or perhaps desire for, a truly just world would make today a bitter pill to swallow and a burning drive going forward.

Saito used her staff for the hobble back to the inn, and once they arrived Guiche said he would go inform the Watch of what had happened. Better him than her, she thought. He was still quite pale and all, so the walk and the talking might well do him some good. After he left she sat down with Saito and began to examine his leg. Not much she could do for the break right now. Her skill with healing mostly laid in battlefield patch jobs.

“How?” She poked him in the leg, right where it hurt, and gave the young murderer a look of great reproach. He rubbed the back of his head and sighed, leaning back against the wall and putting his leg up on a pillow. Malicorne was still in the other room; he’d also had a bit of a moment when his familiar had entered the site of the massacre and was still getting over it himself.

“Didn’t look up. Sloppy. I’ve picked up bad habits in the Academy.” Tabitha nodded, understanding his plight. It was far too easy to fall out of the usual routines after staying in such a safe, soft environment for so long. He’d paid the price for his lack of caution and wouldn’t do it again. Unfortunately, that made him useless for the remainder of the mission. Maybe she should’ve made Guiche go first. Losing him wouldn’t be quite so much of a blow… oh, and he apparently had some sort of toughness-enhancing spell he’d worked out that probably would have protected him anyway.

Even so, that wasn’t much of an explanation. So she poked Saito again and he both winced and sighed in rapid succession. “They swung down from the rafters and kicked me in the leg. Pretty sure it fractured. Then they got a straight one to the chest.” He poked himself this time, in the chest area, and winced each time. “That’s three… four… five cracked ribs. My leg broke fully when I landed on the table.” Tabitha’s eyes widened with appreciation. Only two hits to incapacitate him?

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. Bastard was strong. What’s worse is that he’s a thief as well.” She raised an eyebrow at that particular assertion. Was it a joke of some sort? But no, Saito seemed legitimately offended. “Couldn’t make much out about him, except that he was wearing a cloak kinda like mine.” The assassin smoothed the folds of his own garment with a frown. “Well, I think mine is a nicer colour. Even so!”

Tabitha honestly and truly could not help herself. There was a very small, almost imperceptible, snicker. In fact, one might go so far as to refer to it as a giggle. Neither one of them outwardly acknowledged the moment in the slightest even as the tension in the room increased tenfold as both considered, for the slightest moment, killing the other in cold blood to forever keep quiet what had just transpired.

The moment passed. Tabitha spent the rest of the time until Guiche returned entertaining herself by poking Saito’s broken ribs as she ascertained just how many were actually broken. It turned out that the final answer was one broken outright, three cracked, and one that, after much hard poking, was determined to probably be fractured. So his rough estimate was about on the money.

The number of times she had to poke him to be sure of the last one was totally unrelated to the Thing That Did Not Happen mere minutes earlier.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Explaining the deaths, as well as the circumstances of him being in the Capitol, was not a particularly pleasant experience for Guiche. The Watch Commander was a minor nobleman, likely given the post due to a stunningly average performance in the past, and seemed to think that made it okay to viciously condescend to Guiche during their brief discussion.

Really, the man had been an utter buffoon about the whole thing. He’d gone so far as to imply that those people were, somehow, only dead because of Guiche choosing to ‘stick his nose in’, as it were. That implication had been thoroughly rescinded with only a little prodding, but he stuck to his muskets with the claim that his men would have been able to catch the killer had whatever ‘lead’ brought them to that location been given to the Watch instead.

Considering the murderer had temporarily crippled Saito, someone who Guiche was reasonably certain could take the entirety of the City Watch on with one hand tied behind his back, that was a rather doubtful claim. Still, he was a scion of the House de Gramont and he refused to be bullied by some two-bit petty official when he was on official orders from the Grandmaster of the Undine Knights himself.

Pulling rank also didn’t work out so well, but in the end the unpleasant little man had been forced to agree that Guiche had the right to act as he wished. The Watch would, as their Captain had put it, ‘clean up the messes’. Honestly, how gauche. Being treated like an invalid, or a child, was especially galling in light of how helpless he felt already. A sensation that wasn’t helped upon his return to the inn.

“Siesta informed me that her cousin works another inn in town; I shall transition there until such a time as my Master comes to collect me. It is for the best if I am not seen with you any further, especially as I am in no fit state to continue assisting you.” Saito’s pained expression hurt Guiche the most. He knew that the familiar was blaming himself for this turn of events, that he thought he had somehow failed in his duties.

“Do not fret, my friend.” Guiche patted Saito gingerly on the shoulder. “Tabitha and I shall take this as a warning not to underestimate our foe. I swear I shan’t rush into any confrontations with them. Please, just rest and recover; I’m sure you’ve well earned the time off in any case.” The expression on the familiar’s face told him that was probably the wrong thing to say. Not that he knew what the right thing would be.

At Saito’s suggestion they sent a message to said inn, and within an hour a pleasant young lady came to assist him in hobbling away. Guiche could certainly see the family resemblance; there was a certain exotic cast to their features that was shared by Saito himself, to some degree. It was a shame to see the young man away but it wouldn’t do them any good to simply have him sitting around with them as his leg healed.

Well, Guiche would still likely seek him out at this other inn for advice before the mission was over but he suspected the separation was more for reasons of Saito’s pride than anything else. With a broken leg he’d be more or less invalid in a large number of ways and appearing weak in front of those he regarded as his superiors was a severe violation of his code as a servant. That sort of resolve was something rather admirable, Guiche felt.

Even so, he felt somewhat adrift. He really hadn’t expected their very first stop to lead them straight to the killer. Out of all the eventualities that was the one he simply hadn’t planned for. They’d been caught off guard, he was down a team member and even their injured party had been unable to positively identify the person beyond a dark red cloak. Considering the signature of Reconquista, that had issues all of its own.

Their progress had been immediate, and destructive. It had really left him wondering why Grandmaster Wardes had chosen to give this mission to him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

It was funny… but, out of all of the kids, Jean-Jacques Francis de Wardes found himself genuinely hoping that he wouldn’t have to kill Guiche. Most of the others he could take or leave; he didn’t particularly care about them but nor did he think they posed any real threat. Out of the legitimately dangerous ones he was actually most concerned about Louise’s familiar. Guiche wasn’t actually a threat, Charlotte wouldn’t be a problem for obvious reasons, but he couldn’t tell if this ‘Saito’ knew about the power of the Gandalfr runes or not.

That, however, was a legitimate concern that stood in stark contrast to his feelings toward the young de Gramont. The lad was earnest and steadfast. Wardes felt reasonably confident that, with a bit more time, he might well be able to turn him to the cause. His familiar, as well. In fact, the latter might even help with the case of the former. There’d been a few drinking sessions with Kenneth already that had left him feeling the dwarf was definitely sympathetic to Wardes’ own ideals.

So with him in tow, Guiche was almost a guaranteed convert. It was a heartening thought as, although he was quite certain that he could kill the boy if he actually had to, he found himself rather dispassionate about the idea. Considering the stories he’d heard from Louise in her admittedly rather rare and, he suspected, rather obligatory letters Wardes had often suspected that the youngest son of the House de Gramont was the kind of Noble he’d ordinarily somewhat enjoy splitting from nose to navel.

Which is why he’d been so surprised at Mott’s manor to see him acting in a way that actually felt… well, noble. He’d even given the boy his hat. Wardes wasn’t quite sure why he’d done that. It had just felt rather appropriate to the scenario he’d seen unfold. There was no way that somebody willing to go to such lengths for a ‘mere’ servant would be unsympathetic to his cause, after all.

Still, he was rather glad that Guiche had chosen Charlotte to go with him on this mission. For as much faith as the young man put in Louise’s familiar Wardes still felt a lot better knowing someone actually competent was around to keep him out of trouble. Inasmuch as such a thing was possible with a brazen young hothead with visions of heroism dancing in his eyes.

Peace of mind was something that Wardes sorely needed, ever since word had come back that the soldiers searching for Agnès, or her frozen carcass, hadn’t returned. He’d really be glad when they could just do away with the Reconquista entirely. They were barely passably competent at the best of times, and now they couldn’t even track down one injured girl trapped on a floating island?

Some days being a triple agent was rather exhausting.

 

After another fruitless day of searching the team regrouped once more at the run-down inn. Well, that was a little rude; it looked bad from the outside but was nicely clean and serviceable. That wasn’t the point, though. Guiche held the door for Tabitha and they both went in to sit beside the waiting Malicorne. All of them looked equally glum; although it was hard to tell the difference with the young lady.

“I think we need to change our strategy.” He held his hands together and glanced at the other two, then opened his satchel. They’d been trying to find a trace of the cloaked murderer for three days now with no further leads, nor clues. It was infuriating. Guiche frowned as he began taking the parchment out of the bag and laying them across the floor.

Brutal individual kills and barbaric mass murders alike. He’d asked the Watch Captain to have a copy made and offered to pay the scribing costs to make up for it; something like this was too valuable to trust to a printing press. Although, given the somewhat lower quality of the copies, he did suspect that someone along the chain had decided to pocket the money and do it themselves.

“There isn’t any real pattern to it. Sometimes he’s methodical and cruel; tailoring the method of demise to the person. The rest of the time he’s indiscriminate.” Malicorne spoke up as he reached for one of the pieces of paper. Guiche nodded; he’d noticed as much himself. The meaning of it, however, eluded him. However, it seemed that Tabitha was far less confused than either of them now she was presented with the full extent of the facts.

“Personal.” The boys looked up at her and she met their gaze with her usual even calmness. “These…” She shifted the parchments into two rough piles with a few moments of effort. “Doesn’t know what they did. Doesn’t care. Just kills them, because they’re there. But these…” The other pile was indicated then. “He knows.” Guiche glanced over at Malicorne, who was looking somewhat uneasy, and then back to Tabitha.

“So he kills those based on their crimes, then. Which means he must be watching out for them, in between massacres?” Guiche looked to Malicorne as he pictured the scene the other boy had just voiced. A dark figure wandering the city’s darker areas, keeping an eye out for transgressors. That… actually, that gave Guiche an idea. It was quite likely a terrible idea, but even so.

“... very well, then. I have a plan.” Which was true. They’d need to put it into action immediately. He’d finally sent a message to Grandmaster Wardes informing him of what had happened just that morning. There was no doubt in his mind that they’d be ordered to return home. If he wanted to make a difference then his idea would have to work the first time, more or less.

As plans went, it probably wasn’t one of Guiche’s best. It was good in the sense that it enabled him to kill two birds with one stone; while these murderers were obviously the main concern he desperately needed to cure Kirche as well. Unfortunately, given how pressing the matter of the killer was he had just been unable to justify spending the time to track down the ingredients he needed… until now.

Guiche and Malicorne had gone the very next morning to see the Griffon Knights up at the palace in order to explain the plan and recruit them. The latter was currently sitting in the barracks they were billeted in. Tabitha had gone with them just to collect her familiar from the dragon stables. She’d sent the young dragon there before they’d arrived in the Capital. Right now those two were flying above the city, with a Vision Enhancement spell cast on Tabitha and some sort of Water-magic based illusion making them hard to see.

The Strix was trailing Guiche as he wandered the shady side-streets of the less than savoury part of town. In concept, the plan was simple. If Malicorne saw anything go wrong through the eyes of the Strix then he would immediately alert the Knights with him. The three on duty ought to be able to reach him within two minutes. With Tabitha ready to provide backup even faster than that they ought to be able to lure out the killer and keep track of him long enough for the experts to take him down.

Getting them to agree to the plan had been hard, however. Guiche had needed to strongly imply that the Viscount supported his idea. Which was… technically true, in a certain sense of the word. They’d already somewhat failed their mission, in a way, but he’d been told to hand over to the Griffon Knights once he had tracked down or identified the culprit; so that’s what he was going to do.

He’d spent the morning asking around and had finally managed to find a shady dealer who, after a fair bit of cash changed hands, was willing to point him in the direction of an even shadier dealer. Guiche himself had done his best to be as shady as he could. The whole idea was that he was ‘pretending’ to be looking for some relatively sinister ingredients while insinuating they were to ‘help an indecisive young woman make up her mind’. Something like that ought to gain the notice of the killer.

The fact that he actually did need the ingredients, and could use this as an excuse to stealthily acquire them, rather justified the deception. He couldn’t leave a relatively pleasant young lady under the thrall of a magical compulsion for any longer than he absolutely had to. With any luck he could draw out the murderer and acquire what he needed to cure Kirche in a single stroke.

It was quite fortunate, then, that after a long morning of running from person to person he’d finally reached the end of the chain.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
​

Malicorne had a sense of growing unease that he just couldn’t shake. He’d been very glad when Guiche had asked him to join the mission and that feeling still hadn’t faded in spite of their setbacks. It was hard not to be aware of the difference in status between House de Gramont and the House de Grandpré so he’d more or less leapt at the chance; especially as, well, he’d been reasonably sure that Guiche didn’t actually like him due to his excessive studiousness.

In order to make up for being from a relatively insignificant family Malicorne had chosen to put his all into his schoolwork. Very few could match him on the theory, even if he didn’t do quite so well with a lot of the practical applications, and he knew that he wasn’t well-liked in spite of his best efforts to fit in.

So, of course, he’d been elated when Guiche de Gramont had not only asked for his help but also made it clear that he was being valued for his own skills as well as his unique familiar. Yet now, as he looked through the eyes of his Strix as it quietly followed the young Gramont around town, he couldn’t help but feel… off.

It wasn’t just him. Actually, it wasn’t him at all. The Familiar Sight spell wasn’t very well named, actually, because with proper care and focus you could share the majority of your bonded partner’s senses. That included feeling, on some level or another, what the animal itself was feeling. His Pluu was uneasy and he didn’t blame the creature at all.

He’d tried to give it a reasonably interesting name at first; based on the name of an old pagan death god he’d read about in a Romalian novel. However, it had proved to be startlingly good natured for a vampiric predator and much preferred answering to the far-cuter diminutive of its given name. It also quite enjoyed cuddling up with him at nights, and playing catch-and-release with the mice and rats of the Academy than actually eating them.

In short, his familiar simply had a very sweet nature and an even temperament. Which was precisely why it’s nervous demeanour now was so unsettling. It keep looking away from Guiche and scanning the crowd. Whenever it had to sit still it couldn’t help but shift in place. The feeling was only getting worse as time passed, and he had no idea why.

Perhaps it was simply the city itself. This was the first time that Pluu had been around so many people. All of the sounds and smells must be strange and unpleasant for it. That made sense. After all, he hadn’t seen anything strange yet so it’s not like it could logically be anything else.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
​

The very moment that Tabitha felt a rising unease she knew something had gone wrong. Having a feeling of growing dread for no obvious reason clearly meant that her subconscious was trying to alert her to a threat she hadn’t noticed. There was no other reasonable explanation. It had to be something sufficiently obvious that she’d overlooked it.

An instant later she slapped the side of her dragon and began dropping out of the sky. Just as soon as she’d put it that way in her own head the obvious had suddenly leapt out of her. Something that had, until that instant, occupied a cognitive blind spot had immediately taken on incredible, and sinister, importance. Sylphid tucked her wings in response to her master’s obvious concern and they plummeted like a stone. Tabitha was barely able to force out the incantation needed to cast Levitation on herself, and was forced to squint due to having cancelled Vision Enhancement as soon as they’d began the dive.

At some point, someone in a familiar-seeming red cloak had started trailing along in Guiche’s blind spot. Tabitha had no idea how long they’d been there; her brain had absorbed the distinctive detail and automatically filed it away in the box marked ‘Saito’ without actually grasping the implications of it. Just like that they’d faded right out of her conscious mind.

She rolled off the side of her familiar as the young dragon pulled up at the last second; innate magic enabling Sylphid to more or less ignore whatever laws of nature would otherwise demand she become a large red smear on the cobblestones. Her master, on the other hand, chose to arrest her fall and save Guiche’s life in a single stroke.

When she was scarcely ten metres from the ground she released the Triangle-class Wind Spell she’d been holding on to for the last third of her fall. Guiche was flung forward and skidded across the cobblestones as the powerful blast of wind struck between him and his would-be assailant. The latter individual was blown off their feet, still-forming icy blade flying away and embedding itself in the nearest building, but they tucked in mid-air, performed two full backflips and managed a deft three-point landing.

She’d knocked their hood back. For the first time she got a clear view of the killer. It wasn’t especially helpful; although it certainly was reasonably intimidating. They were wearing a properly blacked leather hauberk under the cloak with no distinguishing markings whatsoever so that was no help. In fact, they were startlingly sparse in general. Cloak, then leather armour, boots and gauntlets. No belt or bandolier, no excess equipment whatsoever.

Their face, though… they were wearing a thick-beaked plague mask. The garment meant that literally the only identifying feature she could make out were the yellow-gold eyes. How, by the Founder, had this person just been walking around town like this without being spotted yet? It boggled the mind.

There was a fair bit of screaming around them, and for good reason. She’d rather disturbed the street when she’d touched down; at least three vendors’ stalls had been overturned by the blast and a lot of merchandise scattered around. The commoners seemed torn between looting the dispersed items and fleeing from the monstrous visage that had appeared in their midst.

It was just quietly watching her. A groaning from behind her seemed to indicate Guiche was still alive, although his chance of contributing to this fight was probably rather low. The enemy ought to know this was a trap by now. So what would he d-

Tabitha pushed off, hard, and flew backwards as a whisper-thin blade of ice cut through the air where her neck had been the instant before. It had formed silently mid-leap as the killer launched himself out of his landing position. When had they found time to augment their movement speed?

It was a good idea, though. One she’d have to put into practice just as soon as she could. Tabitha willed herself backwards just as fast as she could as the killer gave chase. Getting him, her, it, whatever it was away from Guiche was the first priority. They certainly made that easy enough.

She drew up an Ice Shard as she retreated and carefully released the Line spell when there were no more civilians in her line of fire. Picking her shots was incredibly difficult due to how damn fast, and agile, her opponent was. They seemed relatively ground bound for some reason but had an irritating habit of pushing off walls and vaulting over stalls that made it difficult to get a clean angle on them.

They were also keeping pace with her far too easily. She could only move so fast while flying under her own power and the acrobatics of the enemy kept bringing them within melee reach of her. It was only through quick, last-second turns that she could get out of their path.

Tabitha changed her incantation mid-stack and unleashed a blast of Frigid Wind instead of the spray of knife-like crystals the attacker had obviously been expecting. They hit the nearest wall an instant later, having leapt from one cart to the roof of a stall with intent to push off, and fudged the launch as a result of the sudden layer of ice. Rather than pressing the attack she immediately ascended above the level of the rooftop and stuck two fingers in her mouth to perform a sharp whistle.

Her caution immediately paid off as when the masked figure realised she wasn’t closing in it immediately turned the uncontrolled tumble it had been in the middle of into a perfect roll that let them rise a second later. They were already moving to intercept her again when Sylphid flicked past and shed speed in order to grasp her master at a reasonable speed.

The dragon curled upwards and came to a halt above the street so that Tabitha could move around to her back. As soon as her master was secure the dragon dived right back down toward the waiting murderer. They seemed to be expecting her to come back.

However, when she did return, she wasn’t alone.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
​

Three Griffon Knights, fully armoured and armed with shields and wand-lances, matched pace with the dragon-riding girl. One of them pulled in beside her and shouted out for her to fall back before they dropped below her line of flight in order to form a rough triangle formation with the broad end forward. Those on the left and right prepped Fire spells as the rearmost built up a wide-area Wind spell.

The combo strike was one they’d practised, and was very effective, but the only reason they were willing to use it was because the fight had moved to the rooftops. Unlike rural villages the Capital had slate roofing tiles which would prevent any fires from spreading. Considering the circumstances, it was worth the risk.

Each of the flanking Knights released their spells, working in unison, as one dipped low and curved sharply left while the pulled high and right. They crossed over each other without passing through the streams of fire they were spraying ahead of themselves and then quickly reversed direction so the Inferno Wall, a reasonably tricky Triangle Flame spell, encircled the charging murderer on the rooftop.

Bringing up the rear with a Triangle Wind spell was the group’s leader. Trapped as they were by the roaring wall of flames the killer would be stymied just long enough for him to slam the Rising Tornado into it. The resulting combo attack, nicknamed Inferno Hurricane by the three friends, would undoubtedly cripple or even kill the masked man. As eager as they were to capture him it was best not to leave anything to chance.

His Griffon banked to the side as he brought his lance-tip up to fire the spell and met a leather-booted foot coming the other way.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
​

Tabitha was moving back in as soon as she saw the rearmost Knight blindsided by the flying kick to the face. She hadn’t been able to see the launch through the fire even from her higher altitude and so there was no way the poor man could have caught it in time. He spun head over heels through the air as his Griffon panicked at the loss of its master. She wondered if the poor creature was the man’s familiar; if so, it would already know that his neck must have snapped immediately on impact.

Trailing flames behind him the red-cloaked monster hit the rooftop and rolled to shed momentum. It was very clear that they couldn’t fly, and yet they’d gotten far enough off the ground to launch the surprise attack that had claimed the life of a veteran Knight. His fellows were already making the return pass themselves; they must have realized something went wrong due to the lack of an explosion.

She pressed Sylphid with a foot to curve her steed away from a direct path and stacked up a Triangle Ice Spell. Rather than a single Heavy Ice Spear she went for Razor Hail instead. With an enemy this agile an area spray seemed most effect. They ducked low, pressed both hands to the ground and pushed off with all fours into an impossible sideways twist that carried them right through the largest gap in the random spray of hand-sized ice blades.

By the Founder… maybe she should have stayed on the ground with Guiche after all. His Earth spells could well have provided the unstable footing she’d need to get a clean hit. Of course, that would have made him a clear target from the start and she had no doubts as to the ability of this foe to end the young man’s life in a heartbeat.

She curved around again as the Griffon Knights caught up for their own shot. Her intent was to try a different element altogether in order to throw it off. A wide-area Water Burst and then some more Frigid Winds might slow them down a fair bit. However, it seemed she wouldn’t get the chance as it chose to surprise all three of its attackers first.

One of the Griffon Knights banked and went wide, just as she had, but swept along the rooftop with a line of fire instead; forcing them to jump over it as the other one came in for the attack. She knew which spell they would be gathering; the loss of their friend undoubtedly chasing off any hope of mercy for the killer.

The purpose of wand-lances was to assist in anti-air attacks and thus their shape made it easier to form spells such as this. They released a tightly-bound, rotating spear of wind that shot right for the chest of the killer. Due to the nature of aerial combat the speed of the mount would be added to the speed of the spell and, thus, a Knight could reasonably expect to pierce a dragon’s scales with such an attack.

Something unexpected happened instead. As the spell was released the enemy gathered up their legs and then extended, as if jumping. For the briefest instant Tabitha observed that the air seemed to shimmer faintly about their feet, like a haze of heat in the middle of summer, and then their trajectory had changed. The deadly spell flew straight and true and right under the newly-altered path of the murderer.

The Griffon Knight shot right past their target at full speed, the destructive force of their spell causing it to have already torn itself apart only a few metres past the point it was aimed at, and then for the briefest instant it seemed as if two of the combatants were wearing red cloaks. Then the killer hit the tiles again, once more landing perfectly to disperse the force of their impact, and reality took hold.

The spray of blood fell, coating the roof in a wide arc, and the headless body of the Griffon Knight slipped from the reins of its steed. Its head landed only a few moments later; bouncing off the sloped surface and falling to the street below, amidst further screaming. The two Nobles still on their mounts stilled any attempt to go in for another attack and could only stare in horror as their enemy calmly straightened up and watched them impassively.

Tabitha looked to the other Griffon Knight. He looked to be the youngest of the three, though one could argue now that he was the eldest, and seemed terrified. Then she looked back to the one who had killed his comrades. They weren’t moving to attack any more. Just standing there. Watching. Waiting. His icy blade hung loosely at his side. The cut had been sufficiently clean that it wasn’t even bloody. She pressed Sylphid’s side and dipped close enough to the other flier for him to hear her speak.

“Withdraw. This is not a fight we can win any more.” The Knight looked torn at her words but, after a moment, seemed to agree with her. As if he’d heard them, and maybe he very well had, the killer turned and calmly walked along the rooftop until he reached the gap between two houses. She considered flinging one last shot at his back, a parting Ice Spear in hopes of pinning him through the spine, but thought better of it. Making him come back would just get someone else killed as well.

Then the crimson-caped monster stepped off the roof. Tabitha idled for a few moments before rising. The path of their battle stretched out behind them, marked by the the one confused Griffon still circling in search of its lost master, the other nudging the headless body with its beak, and a trail of small fires and frost leading back to where she’d left Guiche.

She wasn’t quite sure how she was going to break this to him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
​

“That was a very interesting presentation, Professor Vallière.” Éléonore Albertine Le Blanc de La Blois de La Vallière looked up from her notes as the various post-graduates filed out of the room. One in particular, whom she did not recognise, had instead come up to the front of the hall to speak to her. She frowned slightly, delicately adjusting her glasses with the tip of a finger.

“I am an academic and a researcher; not a professor. Though it seems you have the advantage of me, Miss…?” Her choice of address was not accidental. Although the clothing was good quality it was of a simple design and the style, what with the hair covered and all of those gaudy bangles, was very much not what the young ladies were wearing these days. She did look quite young, in fact, and Éléonore would have hesitated to say she was more than a few years older than Louise.

“Zharaqui de Gallia.” The name raised an eyebrow for a multitude of reasons. Setting aside the strangeness of her given name the suffix was certainly an ambitious one. It left the teacher wondering if she’d meant to imply she was in some way Royal, or if perhaps Tristanian wasn’t her first language. “I am an aide to His Majesty, King Joseph de Gallia.” Oh! Well, that also made sense. A little presumptive for a mere servant but not technically incorrect depending on the nature of her relationship to the family.

“I see. You have a curious name for one of your descent. How did you come by it?” Éléonore was, of course, referring to the pale skin and icy blue eyes of the odd woman. She also wanted to ask about the facial marking, but didn’t wish to offend in case it was some sort of hideous birthmark. Well, if that was the case then surely she would attempt to conceal it?

“Oh, such a tale would surely be a bore for an academic such as yourself; particularly when I am here on business.” Well, that was fine. The artful deflection said plenty enough on its own. Perhaps her mother had been unwisely taught how to read and picked it up from one of her master’s books, or somesuch, in an attempt to make her daughter seem more exotic.

Business, however, certainly was a more interesting thing to focus on. There were very few kinds of dealings that could be had with an academic and, generally speaking, all of them involved giving said academic large amounts of money. So, of course, she immediately adjusted her gears from ‘discerning professor’ to ‘charming young lady’. It would not do to deter a potential patronage, even if it was a foreign Royal.

“You are very considerate, Miss Zharaqui. Might we continue this discussion in my office, then?” The young lady graciously inclined her head in a manner indicative of quite reasonable training. Éléonore found that she rather approved of the girl’s demeanour; appropriately respectful without that awful fawning servility that some Nobles seemed to like.

She couldn’t stand it, herself, after growing up with proper servants. Mother always made sure that they knew respect was a thing you had to command rather than demand and so she always found that commoners acting like that left her feeling just a little ill. The rule she’d established was that the more obsequious the servant was the more unpleasant the master would be and it had warded her away her from more than one undoubtedly dreadful would-be fiancé.

Once they’d reached her office, which was always immaculate and ready to receive visitors, Éléonore retrieved a fresh pot from her cabinet and filled it with a mere flick of her wand; subsequently tapping the side and beginning the boiling. She’d acquired her own set after a mere month of residence here. To think that even at Academia, the prestigious Royal Magic Research Institute, she could not find a single employee capable of brewing an acceptable pot of tea.

“Now then…” She poured for both of them as soon as she was able and found she was impressed with the girl’s patience. It seemed she understood the importance of tea during negotiations; particularly when dealing with ones which, or so Éléonore hoped, might well be dealing with such grandiose themes as Royal Patronage. “What might the King of Gallia wish of a simple researcher like myself?” Zharaqui laughed as her false-modesty opener scored a direct hit.

“You are too modest, Lady Vallière. Even our own Royal Academy knows of your talents. It must be the hand of God at work, for my master asked that I seek you out due to the very topic on which you spoke today.” She swore by God instead of the Founder? Romalian, then. Though her choice of topic was deeply confusing to Éléonore.

“Pardon? Your master has an interest in Elemental Geology?” The topic had been the various Elemental Stones, their formation and properties as well as the implications of the existence of a nation such as Albion. It was a topic that she was well aware was extremely dull to many even though she felt a particular passion for it. To her mind it was one of the few truly unique phenomena left to investigate.

“Indeed! For a very specific reason, admittedly. A coal mine on Crown land had a fire, you see; only, that was just the start of it. There was a remarkable explosion that caused a severe cave-in.” Fires in deep mines was nothing new, but a large blast was somewhat unusual. Given the context she could only assume they had reason to expect the fire had met a buried Firestone or some such thing. Zharaqui nodded and smiled, perhaps guessing her thoughts, and then raised a finger.

“However, the situation becomes interesting from here. After the area was dug out again it was found that a large network of natural caverns had been broken into. Within were found unusual concentrations of various Elemental Stones.” Now that caught her attention quite suddenly. This could be dangerous. “We had expected Firestones, given the blast, but instead it seemed that there were an unusual number of Wndstones instead.”

Éléonore frowned. Forgetting about the number, their mere presence deep underground was unusual. They were normally found inside of mountains; still buried, certainly, but forming rather close to the sky. “So, given His Majesty feels our own scholars have been unable to adequately explain the phenomenon he wishes for you to inspect the site and give your informed opinion.”

Not quite a Patronage, then. Pity. More of a research expedition? “All expenses will be paid, of course, and a generous donation shall be made to this institution out of gratitude for your contribution. It is His Majesty’s hope that this may also foster improved relations between our two nations.” Ah, yes. Of course he could not fund her directly for obvious reasons but donating to the Academia itself, an institution of Tristain’s Crown, would certainly be a valid diplomatic tactic.

They spent the next hour or so hammering out the details. Number of aides, an initial stipend for equipment and so on. At some point, Zharaqui suggested that His Majesty would be honoured to host her in the Royal Palace when the subject of lodgings came up. That had given Éléonore thoughtful pause as she had to wonder what sort of man the King might be.

He certainly seemed to be a reasonable man, from what she was hearing from his servant, and quite appreciative of academic pursuits. In fact, that he trusted a female servant with such an important task was certainly a very good sign. She hadn’t heard any rumours of potential suitresses. Interesting.

“It seems everything is settled, then!” Zharaqui signed off on the contract they’d agreed to, acting as an agent of the King, and Éléonore appended her signature to the bottom. The contract was sealed with the girl’s letter of appointment, to confirm its validity, and that was that. “Perhaps you might like to make the arrangements this afternoon, so that you and I might leave tomorrow? I’m sure there’s someone you can trust to get these things together and I can leave one of my entourage behind to handle the payment.” Now that was curious.

“It seems a little fast,” She hazarded, resisting the most unladylike urge to bite her lip as she did, “Might I ask why the need for urgency?” Thankfully, the young lady didn’t seem to be offended by the question at all.

“Certainly you might; I am simply considering that it shall take some time for your assistants and such to get everything ready regardless and His Majesty expressed to me his wish to meet you sooner rather than later should I secure your assistance.” Then something truly outstanding happened. The girl screwed up her face in a look of concentration and, somewhat haltingly, recited a statement she’d obviously gone to quite some pains to memorise.

“He also asked that I express his appreciation for the elegance of your rebuttal to Lord Bragelonne’s Depth-Density Equivalence Hypothesis.” Well. That settled it, then. That particular published work was a very small run, much earlier in her career, and was not especially easy to place one’s hands upon. Éléonore smiled in spite of herself.

“Very well. I will make my arrangements tonight and gladly leave with you upon the morrow.” They stood and curtsied to one another before she showed her delightful guest out so that she might, after perhaps a minute’s wait to make sure she was well out of earshot, giggle like a schoolgirl. Well, well, well. The King had gone to the trouble of tracking down one of her more obscure papers and conveyed clear evidence that he had actually read it.

That certainly spoke well for the potential of this particular... Aheh… ‘engagement’.

 

“You’ll need to attend the funerals, of course.”

Guiche nodded, still facing straight ahead. He was standing rigidly in the middle of the room and refused to look down. Facing Wardes was more than he could bear to do right now. Being in the room was hard enough. He hadn’t raised his voice at all. In some ways, that was the worst part of it.

“I’ve spoken with your father.” They’d gotten home mid-afternoon, and Guiche had been left alone until the next morning when the Grandmaster had finally summoned him. Stewing alone in his guilt. Malicorne had been allowed to go straight home; a few weeks of leave. He’d been following Tabitha and had been in possession of his familiar’s senses when… well.

“Normally the Crown would make arrangements for Knights, but he and I have agreed that it would be best if your family covered the burial costs. It may be appropriate for you to bear the coffins, depending on how their families feel. You’ll need to apologise to them in person as well.” For a few moments the older man drummed his fingers on the desk. Guiche continued to stare blankly at the far wall. What could he say? He had no excuse.

“Goddamnit, Guiche, stop looking like such a damnable milksop.” The sudden change in tone, the rising of voice in anger, brought the young man up short. Wardes stood, a sudden anger in his eyes, and moved around his desk to properly loom over Guiche. “Are you going to mope forever? Did you think you could get through your whole life and never lose a man? Don’t be so naive.” A thick finger jabbed him in the chest and he was forced to stumble backwards.

“You should count yourself lucky it was only two. By all accounts you were up against an enemy who might well have chosen to slaughter you down to a man. You can’t blame yourself for this!” He looked up then, eyes burning from the shame, and looked into the expression of his mentor. There was anger there, yes, but not the disappointment that he’d been expecting. None of the shame he so richly deserved to be heaped upon him.

“But… Grandmaster, I… those men died because I-” He was cut off by a crisp backhand from Wardes that left his cheek stinging. It seemed the man hadn’t hit him dead-on; merely clapped him about the jaw with his empty glove to bring him to his senses. That was what he assumed the purpose was, at least.

“Those men died because they chose to become Knights. You could just as well blame me for not training them well enough, or the recruiter who called them to the order, as you could blame yourself.” Wardes drew himself up and gave Guiche a good and proper glare. There was the disapproval; but, in some ethereal sense, he felt like it wasn’t being directed at him. “I won’t have you dishonouring their memory with pointless hand-wringing, understand?”

No. He didn’t understand. If only he hadn’t waited so long to… “Yes, you probably should have contacted me as soon as something went awry. However, I had given you oversight to complete your mission as you saw fit. Their deaths are on you, and you shall take responsibility for them but I’ll be damned before I see a fine young officer be broken because of his first loss.” Finally, Guiche allowed himself a moment of proper introspection. He stopped beating down on himself and considered what Wardes had said.

“... I took responsibility of command unto myself and so their deaths are my responsibility. However, I could not have predicted the strength the enemy wielded nor their inhuman skill. It is… unfair for me to take the blame upon myself.” He looked up at Wardes and tried to smile. It wasn’t easy. “Nor is it fair for me to mope when I ought to be working to prevent such a tragedy from happening again.” The Viscount smiled and patted him serenely upon the shoulder.

“Good lad. I recommend you go have a word with your familiar on the matter as well; like as not he’s been where you have himself.” Guiche considered that for a time. There were half-remembered words from the dwarf that came to mind, in tense moments, that made him suspect that may well be the case. Not to mention one particular epithet he proudly bore…

“Thank you, sir. I shall do so at once. If you could prepare the details for contacting the family as soon as possible I would greatly appreciate it.” Wardes nodded and waved him away in considerably lighter spirits than when he’d entered. There remained a sombre overtone, of course, but he felt a lot more optimistic.

In the end, all he could do was move forward.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

As soon as the room was clear Matilda emerged from the corner she’d secreted herself in and lounged upon one of the chairs in front of Wardes’ desk. The Viscount gave her a look of undisguised disgust that she met with a charming smile. Their relationship was a simple one. He found her to be a contemptible but useful agent and she found him to be a dangerous fanatic.

“You’re rather sweet on the lad, Viscount. Sure all your loyalties are in line?” Wardes seemed to snarl at her as he moved to lock the door and began flicking his wand in the traditional gestures that preceded their meetings; an area shield against sound to muffle any potential listeners in. She took the time to poke the bear a bit more with a sort of grim curiosity as to how far she might go this time.

“If I didn’t know better I’d suspect you might be having second thoughts. Perhaps I ought to put a word in with our mysterious employer? It’d be a shame if the boy had a little acci-” Her musings were cut short by the clear and present indication that she had gone just a little too far. Namely, the tingling tip of Wardes’ wand-sword was pressed against her neck. If he decided to release the Lightning Bolt he’d charged in it there would be nothing she could do at this range.

“Hold your tongue, wench.” He didn’t follow through. Nor would he ever. Even though they were nominally servants of the Albion Rebellion, ‘Reconquista’, she could see the puppet strings behind Cromwell and knew full well that Wardes was in direct communication with them. If he killed her then he’d have to explain why... and it would have to be a very, very good answer.

Yes, she thought as she quite deliberately avoided touching the thick mass of scar tissue running up her left side, if you dared to disobey then you had best have a very good answer indeed. The one who spoke for their mysterious master didn’t take kindly to failures, nor rejections. Some of them had learned that the hard way.

If Wardes saw her flinch he didn’t acknowledge it. For all of their adversarialism they were also bound together. She hadn’t asked about his scars, nor he about hers, but they knew of them all the same. So they pushed and prodded and bickered but in the end it would all come to nothing. She wouldn’t say anything about his growing affection for the boy. Any time she even considered doing so a smiling blonde face flashed in her memory and all she was left with was shame.

“You’re going to the Capitol. I’ll send a Wind Clone with you.” Now that caught her interest right off the bat. She’d assumed he’d been dour because his pet trainee had been disgraced in public. Now she was suddenly less sure of that particular theory.

“Why? I thought that was one of ours. The methods certainly fit.” Wardes shook his head and she couldn’t help but frown. A rogue mage clad in red, publicly murdering criminals in an incredibly flashy fashion? That had ‘Cromwell’ written all over it. The idiot was all for that ‘hearts and minds’ bullshit, winning over the peasantry to prop up his little movement.

“No. Definitely not.” The Viscount tapped the report that had been written up by the girl Tabitha. Neat as ever, that one, if a bit odd. Guiche had probably been too broken-up to do it. She flicked through for a few moments but eventually had to stare at him until he explained himself. “The two Knights were mine. I trained them myself, and they were… sympathetic to our plight. They would have followed me when the time came. Now they’re dead, and we’ve lost half a dozen waverers to boot.”

Matilda frowned. Unlike the enemy their side was usually rather good at not working to cross-purposes. Germania and Tristain were practically at each other’s throats after the marriage contract had broken down, but she’d never heard of any of Reconquista’s network of agents fighting themselves. The one who organised them was far too precise for that.

“Obviously they’re not Tristainian, then.” She was finally interested in the case. When she’d thought it was one of theirs she hadn’t especially cared. The idea of some self-righteous Noble wandering the streets of a major city and idly picking out who got to live or die, however, was infuriating. “When did this start?”

“Technically, it began several months ago. A lone man attacked in an alleyway by someone in a red cloak, as described by several witnesses. He was castrated.” For as angry as this person made her she couldn’t help but appreciate that a little. Given the nature of the targets that one’s crime seemed a little obvious. “Killings continued intermittently and, for a time, the Watch thought they might be zeroing in on the culprit due to the locations. See?”

Right. Infrequent but quite clearly clustered around a rough centre point. At least for the first dozen or so. “Then, just a few weeks ago now, things changed.” He unrolled a second map with a far greater density of markings in a much wider spread. “Three things. Firstly, the range; as you can well see. Secondly, the frequency; they killed more often and in greater numbers. Finally…” He looked up at her, daring her to complete the puzzle.

“... they started using magic.” Realisation had blindsided her like a bolt of lightning The first kill had indicated a serrated blade had been used due to the roughness of the cuts. None of the indication of cold damage that identified the more recent murders, nor the clean kills that came with them. So what had changed, then? It seemed nobody could answer that.

“Indeed. Thus far the extent of the deaths has been obfuscated simply due to them all being criminals. Many of them entered the city, or even the country, illegally. However, it’s long since entered into the triple digits.” Thus, sooner or later, a proper panic would start. Riots… maybe even revolution, if properly stoked. It seemed so clear that this had to be one of theirs.

“Any word from… her?” Wardes shook his head at her tentative query. That would be just too easy, wouldn’t it? Without word from above they were forced to assume it was either a rogue asset or a third party. Triggering things too early wouldn’t help them at all.

“From what Guiche described I suspect they’re a bastard. Spell variety seems to imply barely Line at best, with a decent enough affinity for Air and Water to sustain Ice magic. I’d hesitate to call them Triangle.” That fit. While the fight had seemed impressive from a commoner’s standpoint the murderer hadn’t made use of a great many spells. All of two, maybe three; so it seemed, at any rate. “However, I also think they’ve likely been a Line mage for a very long time. Two decades, perhaps three. They leveraged their abilities perfectly, and have also trained their body to match.”

Now that was especially rare amongst ranking Nobles. One of the reasons she appreciated Wardes so much in spite of his personality was because he was a Knight and thus made the effort to keep in good condition. Either a bastard or a disgraced Knight seemed about right there; and she had a sneaking suspicion that the vast majority of the latter had been scouted by their master already.

“So you think we can handle him, then? Or her, I suppose…” His only answer to that was to complete the spell to build his clone. Once it was done it shrouded itself in darkness to conceal its appearance as best it could. She couldn’t help but sigh at the melodrama. “Very well. I’ll just go catch your little crimson rat for you, shall I?” The clone followed her out, in a manner of speaking, by taking advantage of its natural state to fade into the environment. She went directly for her quarters to pack her things and prepare to leave.

Did they stand a chance? It had been good at dodging, certainly, but she’d like to see it dodge a lightning blast from the Wind Clone. Besides, the ice blade it had been described using might be sharp but she doubted it would stand up to a decent golem. If all else failed she could simply destroy his footholds at every opportunity. They didn’t refer to Fouquet as the Crumbling Earth for nothing, after all.

Then again, it had taken out Vallière’s little familiar. She’d delivered the letter from the healer that the girl had hired just that morning; apparently the break might well take two weeks to recover to the point he could walk upon it again. Because of course she’d wanted to know what it had said, as well as check the price. Poor little Louise was being ripped off.

She finished stuffing a satchel and went for the stables to grab a horse. They were all accounted for as of yet; Gramont mustn’t have left yet himself. Matilda was just glad she hadn’t run into him and needed to make small talk. Far easier to slink away on horseback without having to explain herself to any of the students.

And, if this turned out to be a mistake, she’d let Wardes be the one to do the explaining to the boss.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Truth be told, Guiche hadn’t spent the whole day moping about. For as much as things had gone awry he still had other responsibilities. One of which he intended to discharge now. Montmorency had sent him the nearly-completed antidote and, now, all it needed was the final ingredient to be added.

He’d done so, according to her precise instructions, and had carefully observed the changes in colour. If the final mixture had, after an hour of slow stirring, turned anything other than grass-green it meant he had gotten the wrong thing.

Even though the trap had sprung early he’d still gone back, under cover of darkness, to find the last merchant he’d been pointed to. The man had, quite predictably, been face-down in a pool of his own bodily fluids; likely something to do with the mass of unsafe ingredients shoved down his throat. A fitting end, or so some might say. Guiche was not one of those people.

Recognising the ingredient he needed had been difficult from merely a description but he’d been reasonably confident about it. Even so, it had been a nerve-wracking sixty minutes before the sky-blue potion had begun to shift colour and ended up sitting at what he could only call a success. Now he only had to administer it to Zerbst.

… in the end, there was only one thing for it. She’d figure out what had happened after he cured her anyway and, frankly speaking, owning up to what had occurred could hardly make things much worse for him at the moment. Hopefully she’d be merciful to his dear, sweet Montmorency if he begged on his knees.

So it was that Guiche de Gramont found himself alone with Kirche von Anhalt-Zerbst in the middle of nowhere. He’d managed to lure her away from the chapter house, and didn’t he feel weird thinking of it like that, by saying that he needed to speak to her in private about a matter of grave importance.

“So, Ser Guiche the Bronzed! What could possibly have possessed you to call me out to such a lovely, secluded location on as fine an afternoon as this?” He winced at the distortion of his runic name, likely chosen in reference to the unfortunate tone his skin had taken on in light of his increasing exercise outdoors, but soldiered on anyway. In the face of Zerbst choosing to lay herself out rather seductively on a nearby fallen tree it was, however, rather difficult to focus.

“Ah… Zerbst… that is to say… Kirche…” It was probably a very good thing that she’d seen fit to leave her salamander behind, or else he’d feel a lot more nervous right now. “I need to give you… this.” He thrust out the bottle in front of him, still quite unsure as to how he might get her to drink it. Perhaps if he claimed it was some rare beverage he was giving as a gift? No, that wouldn’t work… not for the first time Guiche felt like, perhaps, his strategic skills might be a little lacking.

“... eh?” The Germanian girl moved out of her teasing pose and took the vial from him. Then she popped the cork and sniffed it a couple of times. Finally, she corked it up again and gave him a rather incredulous stare. “Guiche de Gramont… what on Halkegenia is this?” Oddly enough, as she waved it at him he felt like she might already know the answer.

“It’s…” He swallowed hard, willing himself to carry on, “An antidote. To a love potion. Montmorency dosed you with it by mistake while trying to… well, to dose me.” For the longest time Kirche merely stared at him. Then she began to laugh. The vial slipped between her fingers and landed harmlessly on the grass as she doubled over, sides heaving between howls of amusement. Guiche didn’t quite see the humour in it, himself.

“Oh… oh, that’s just… that’s too… oh, Guiche, you are too much. Ah… oh… oho… ahaha… did… do you seriously think that I’m still ensnared a love potion?” Well… he had thought as much, yes. Right up until that very moment. The tears of laughter were starting to cause him some doubt. “Ah, Guiche, that’s adorable!”

Kirche reached out and patted him gently on the cheek with a faint smile. “But do you have any idea how many times I’ve been dosed? Seriously. I’ve lost count by this point. I know how to recognize the effects and how to get a proper antidote for myself in a timely fashion. If you’re talking about the one I think you are I noticed it after only a week, and cured myself.”

He stared blankly at her as he tried to parse that information. But then… that made no sense. Because she’d… but then… so if she wasn’t… then what… with Louise? His utterly bamboozled expression only served to send her into another laughing fit and it was nearly a full minute before she’d calmed down enough to explain to her again.

“Alright… I don’t feel… that way about Louise. I mean… I don’t think I do, as such. It’s just there were all these feelings that came with the potion and even when it went away I realised that all of the things that brought them on were still just sort of… there. Even after I was ‘cured’ I was still… noticing them.” He really didn’t see the appeal himself but he felt like he could vaguely see what she was trying to say. “Then when Kenneth was talking about his homeland… there’s this culture where the women outnumber the men something like four to one, so they sort of… share, and then there’s stuff they do with each other and…”

Kirche blushed. Which was a rare enough sign, and one that usually meant Kenneth had made some horribly explicit joke in Germanian again. Either that or she was remembering one. “The point is… I remembered why I’d liked Louise in the first place, before I… I got swept up in treating her just like everyone else. Even if I told myself it was for her own good that doesn’t make my behaviour any less cruel. But no, Guiche, I’m not under any spell. Although, if you’re not sure…”

She bent down and picked up the vial again. Then, brushing off the grass and popping the cork, she downed it all in a single go and handed the container back to him. “Mm, and I don’t feel any different. So we’ll both hold our tongues about this whole little thing, alright? I see no reason for you to mention my little secret if I don’t speak of your girlfriend’s one, do you?” Ah. Right. Yes. That.

For as much as Montmorency’s actions, and probably his now, could get them into trouble with the Crown the things that Kirche had just said might very well place her in hot water with the Church. So, even though he had no intention of turning his friend over to the tender mercies of the faith, he still felt touched by her trust in him.

“Yes, of course. No reason to speak of such trivial matters, of course.” Kirche patted him on the head and then gave him a face-crushing hug to boot that left him very red and feeling rather guilty. “Ah… yes, well… let’s… let’s just head back, shall we?” She laughed at his embarrassment, but didn’t contradict him any. He remained pensive on the wander home.

It was rather strange to think of what had come out of Montmorency’s apparent error. How what had seemed a gross failure in judgement had lead to personal growth in an unexpected way. Rather poetic, in a fashion, and a lesson that seemed appropriate to his own tribulations as of late. Even if some aspects of the situation still rather baffled him.

He was fond of Louise, in a brotherly sort of way, but had no idea what anyone might see in her in that respect.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

That evening, as she ended a long day of training and returned to the second year girl’s billet, Kirche Augusta Frederica von Anhalt-Zerbst paused beside one of the small beds. The rooms had been assigned prudently and, given there were all of three second-year girls still in the training course, they came very close to have separate rooms altogether. A candle had burned down to a stub on the bedside table and a little pink-haired girl had passed out face-down in a thick book.

She was a frightful mess. Kirche conjured up a small floating light, no more than a will-o’-wisp, to see by and delicately removed the other girl’s cloak. Sliding the book out from under her face required even more care but eventually she worked it free. The place was carefully marked, the book left on Louise’s bedside table and the covers pulled up over her sleeping form.

The days were harsh here. Far more so than their relatively leisurely schedule back at the Academy; which made sense, considering they were more or less training for war. Undine Knights had originally been a Naval order or somesuch, or at least Kirche vaguely recalled that being one of the endless facts that the Vallière had spat at her, so the fitness requirements were significantly more gruelling than the mounted orders.

Kirche sat on the bed adjacent to Louise and just watched the girl sleeping peacefully for a short time. It was strange to see her looking so peaceful, with how hard she worked. She kept up with them all, day in and day out, while also putting in the extra mile on her own time. The book she was reading wasn’t even in Tristanian; there was a Romalian dictionary resting to one side of her pillow as well.

“Did you always work this hard? Trying to belong? Did I just not see it until then? Or did I not want to see, because I wanted to imagine I was better than you?” Louise didn’t respond. She was asleep, after all. Nor had the Germanian expected her to. Her feelings towards the smaller girl could only be called… complicated.

In the end, she supposed it was the kind of love that could only be borne of a deep and abiding respect for another person. She’d caught a glimpse of it during the brief period when she’d felt compelled to follow Louise around all day, every day, in an effort to simply be in the pink-haired girl’s presence. Then, even after it had worn off, she’d found herself still hanging around. It seemed like there wasn’t a waking moment when the girl wasn’t doing something in an attempt to improve upon herself; be it academically or aesthetically.

Then this had happened. She’d never intended to join the Knights, not in truth; she was, after all, a foreign national. In fact, she still couldn’t fathom why Grandmaster Wardes tolerated her presence. She was grateful for it, however. Kirche had never seen someone give it their all quite like Louise did. It hurt to think of how dismissive she’d been of the girl’s efforts in the past; even more so with how she didn’t seem to care all that much about it now.

“... I’m sorry, Louise. It seems I’m still not strong enough to face up to you properly.” Kirche turned away, pulling her own covers over herself and facing away from the sleeping girl. It wouldn’t do to be weird about it, after all. There were still standards to be kept.

Thus, she didn’t see the figure in the bed beside her turn its head to face her for just a moment before looking away once more.

 

It seemed that Kenneth and Colbert had made some fast progress in the past few days. When Guiche approached them mid-afternoon they were standing beside some metallic contraption that had steam pouring out of the top. It was attached to some large tube thing that was causing a long arm to move up and down and that was making a wheel spin. They seemed rather pleased with themselves.

“It’s like a larger version of that little toy of yours isn’t it, Professor? An amusing diversion, I suppose.” Their projects were rather unique but he didn’t see the practical applications. Was it meant to be some sort of miller’s wheel? Most of those used wind or water power, so he couldn’t imagine steam replacing them any time soon when the former options could be run at less expense.

“How little ye know, lad. How little ye know.” Kenneth hauled himself out of the safety pit and offered a hand to Colbert. The Professor was grinning like a fresh-faced schoolboy as they watched the wheel turning. “Ah kin start makin’ th’ parts for th’ main engine tomorrow, then. ‘S gonna be a bit’ve a bugger, jus’ th’ two of us, though. Ain’t sure who else ah’d trust to make the stuff t’code, though. Hm… well, ah’ll see what ah kin do.” He clapped the Professor on the back, and the bald man placed his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder in turn.

“A fine bit of work, Kenneth. I daresay your manufacturing skills have saved me decades of work! If I can just acquire proper funding I daresay we might be able to start laying tracks within the month. Even if we use a wide-hitch and oxen to haul a basic rail cart the potential is enormous!” Guiche could have sworn that Kenneth got a bit of a nasty gleam in his eyes, complete with a grin that seemed just a little sharp.

“Bah; Ah couldn’t have made this thing without ya working out th’ plans. But ah’m thinkin’ tha’ ah might be able t’secure a proper Royal Comission fer this one. Just gotta pen a little letter.” Oh dear. Quite suddenly Guiche decided that he didn’t want to know anything more about whatever it was his familiar was planning. “But yer quite right there, Jean. Still gotta make sure th’ rails’re laid proper to code, o’ course, but ah reckon ye kin handle tha’ much, no?” The two of them were gleefully grinning at each other, looking like they may well break into giggles at any moment.

“Ahem. I hate to interrupt, but I had hoped to speak with my familiar today?” Kenneth acquired a guilty look and stepped back to give their creation a final once-over before waving a crisp farewell to the Professor. Then he finally moved to give Guiche his full attention. “Ah, finally my loyal partner has deigned to pay attention to me.” The young man sighed theatrically, but didn’t really mean it. His act earned him a sharp rap on his side as the both of them chuckled.

“Aye, ye’ve got a point. Ah’ve nae been th’ best mentor these past couple o’ weeks, ah’ll admit that. T’tell ye th’ truth, ah didn’t expect these kinds o’ results when ah suggested to th’ Professor he might like to tinker with a few mechanisms wi’ me.” They began to stroll away from the site of the experiments. Behind them the Professor doused the boiler; there was a high-pitched whistle as he began to let off the pent-up steam. Guiche did wonder a little as to why they were still allowed to perform their experiments on the Academy’s grounds with Old Osmond still absent… then again, when he tried to imagine someone telling Kenneth that he had to go elsewhere it just didn’t seem to work. At best it seemed they’d managed to get him to move outside the walls.

“Ah mean, ah’ve been told how steam engines work inna past an’ ah could barely remember enough t’explain it coherently. Man just listens t’me describe wha’ ah remember an’ then he’s already drawin’ up plans for th’ Grand Snake there.” It was interesting to see him like this. Kenneth had always felt like this vast, unassailably wise figure to Guiche; yet now he was rather gushing over his tinkering partner.

“Well, I’m sure that it shall turn out to be a fine endeavour in the end; forgive my earlier incredulity.” They were passing through the gates and the guards gave the Dwarf a wary look as he broke into sudden laughter before waving off the apology. Guiche tried not to look at them too closely; there were more than there had been before he left and they seemed a somewhat more… serious sort than the old sentries.

“My mission went poorly. Have you heard yet?” Kenneth had not. Thus, Guiche got to elaborate the entire operation from the beginning. They stopped around the back, by the servants’ outbuildings, and about halfway through the dwarf asked him to pause for a moment; he then unslung his slab and leaned it against the wall beside his perch so he could step into the kitchens for a moment. When he returned he had a cask of ale for himself, and some assorted sweetmeats with which he consoled his young charge.

Throughout the entire explanation he was uncharacteristically quiet, however. After he cracked the cask open he drank it slowly and quietly as he gave Guiche his full focus. It was a little unnerving. By the time he was done relaying the explanation of the parts of the fight he hadn’t been able to see, as told by Tabitha, Kenneth looked practically dour. Then, at the very end, he finally asked a question.

“Ye saw them clearly, aye? An’ ye remember how they looked for yerself?” Guiche nodded, brow furrowing with confusion at the odd question. His answer made the dwarf frown for some reason. “An’ ye didnae pick up anythin’, did ya? Say, ah dunno, a scrap o’ cloth from their cloak or somesuch?” This time he shook his head, still feeling rather perplexed. Kenneth took a deep draught on his ale and leaned heavily against the wall behind him with a deeply contemplative expression.

“Hrm. Sorry ‘bout that, lad. Ah must be gettin’ paranoid in me middle age. Y’wanted t’talk about them as died, aye?” This time he didn’t nod. Instead, he gave the dwarf a close look. At some point he’d rested his hand on the stone slab beside him and seemed to be idly stroking it. If Guiche didn’t know better he’d swear that his familiar was… well… afraid. Maybe he was, come to think of it; he’d never seen Kenneth in the grips of that particular emotion before.

“... perhaps that can wait. Ser Kenneth, do you… I mean… do you know who they are?” After a moment, and thoughts towards some of the stories he’d heard from the squat man, he amended his statement. “... what they are?” Kenneth took a moment to finish off the dregs of his ale and wipe the foam from his beard. Then he began to unwrap his slab.

“Ah thought ah might, lad. The look ye described, ‘specially th’ mask, made me think ‘twere somethin’ in particular.” He finished his unravelling, revealing… a blank stone. Guiche couldn’t help but chuckle a little as Kenneth snorted and grasped the sides to turn it around. “Not gonna say it; name alone’s enough of an ill omen, t’my mind.” He paused mid-turn and glanced over his shoulder at the young man for just a moment. Between beard and hair there was just enough face to make out a haunted expression.

Then he seemed to recover, and finished the motion. “Yer still alive, though, so ah reckon ‘s just me jumpin’ at shadows.” For some reason, the way he said that didn’t remotely put Guiche at ease. He tried to focus on what he was being shown instead of told. It was more or less what he’d expected, from the one comment he recalled Kenneth making during the Mott debacle. The thick, heavy stone had what seemed at first to be some sort of aesthetic pattern or engraving upon it; right up until you realised it was writing.

There were quite a lot of it, actually, in a precise and delicate runic script. Guiche had to crouch and lean in to get a better look. Then he began to count. Twenty-five rows by seven and a half columns… eighth column had precisely seven rows, now. The runes weren’t quite ones he was familiar with but he pressed his finger to the first entry and made his best attempt.

“Askero… the…” He frowned, comparing the symbols to the ones he knew and making an educated guess. “Scholar?” Kenneth leaned in and reached out, laying his palm across the surface. The engravings felt fragile and yet Guiche couldn’t help but feel they were anything but.

“Decent attempt. Ah find it interestin’ tha’ languages’re so similar. ‘Sage’ would be a better definition, ah reckon. As’kherro… the Laughing Sage, they called him. Gave his life t’save mine. Ah still haven’t quite forgiven ‘im fer that.” He pointed at another line suddenly and Guiche began trying to sound it out.

“Laeren. Just a lad, nay much older than ye are now. Lot less bright than ye are, though. Kind kid.” Kenneth smiled and it struck Guiche in that moment just how much the dwarf looked like his father did, at times; when he was writing his memoirs of past campaigns. “Part’ve a local militia. Ah helped ‘em repel a Zunali raiding party, right close to th’ border, an’ he took a stray bolt right through th’ eye. Only lethal casualty we took th’ whole battle. Ah still wonder what ah could’ve done differently, sometimes.”

He sighed heavily and sat himself down beside the slab; letting his eyes roam over it and drinking in the memories of all of the names. His beads clacked together quietly in the rising evening wind. “Ah dinnae need th’ slab. Not really. Every name here’s etched into m’memory. Ah’ve had ten afore this’n, an’ like as not ah’ll have ten more after it.” Kenneth faced Guiche, looking deep into his sombre face and frowning as he did so. “But ah can tell ye right now, lad, yer gonna have a lot more o’ these than ah do.”

Guiche had not been expecting him to say something quite like that. It snapped him out of his daze as he listened to the dwarf continue with slowly growing horror. “Ye’ll be a right proper leader o’ men some day. There’ll come a time when you’ll make a choice, an’ there ain’t not other choice to be made. Ye’ll spend lives to save lives an’ it’ll weigh on ya fer th’ rest o’ yer days.” He’d really thought that Kenneth might say something to make him feel better, as opposed to even worse than he’d felt before his chat with Wardes.

Then the dwarf stood up and affixed him with a firm glare. The young man could feel his knees weaken a little under the intensity of the expression. “Men shall knowingly go to their deaths for ye, boy. An’ the simple fact that y’feel this guilt now means that ye will be the kind o’ commander as deserves that loyalty. Ye will treat their lives with respect, an’ ye will make sure their sacrifices aren’t fer nothing. Guiche…”

Kenneth had used his name. He couldn’t recall the last time the dwarf had done that. Had he ever? It felt like his breath had caught in his throat. His eyes felt tight and hot for some reason. As his familiar reached out he gently extended his hand so that the dwarf could clasp it companionably. His knees were still quivering.

“Ah’m right proud of ye, ah am. Maybe ye fucked up, right enough, but yer reaction t’this ain’t somethin’ ah’d ever shame ye for. Quite the opposite. Ah’d be proud to follow someone like ya into battle.” Guiche had to fight the urge to wipe his face. He most definitely wasn’t crying; that would be thoroughly unheroic. It just so happened that his eyes were watering due to Kenneh’s unique porcine aroma, and had nothing to do with anything else that might be going on in that moment.

“... y’know, once we’ve got ya a bit more tactical training.” The blatant disrespect of the last statement completely shattered any further hope of sentimentality, and the two of them burst into laughter. It was either laugh or cry at that point; although, it seemed that perhaps at least one of them had neglected the ‘or’ part of that particular equation. Guiche wiped his face, and then punched Kenneth right in the shoulder.

“Good Ser Dwarf, you are just the worst at cheering people up. Please, leave it to the rest of us from now on, hm?” For some reason that just made the little man laugh even harder; right to the point where he lost his breath and began to cough just as heavily.

“Ahh… aheh… aye, ah reckon ye’ve got a point there, lad. C’mon, let’s grab some grub. Y’can take some to yer lady, earn a few more boyfriend points. Goddess knows tha’s how me wife caught me. Food ‘s th’ secret to all good courtships, lad, an’ never ye mind anyone who says different!” Kenneth began to wrap up his slab again as he appeared to further consider the rather broad statement he’d just made. “Well, food an’ killin’ giant monsters so y’can give her their corpses. Ah heard there’s some sentimental tat o’ a holiday comin’ up from one of th’ lasses; maybe you and I could go giant hunting or somesuch, eh?”

They headed for the kitchens as Kenneth continued to elucidate his plan for Guiche to eternally secure Montmorency’s affections by way of fighting horribly dangerous beasts. It was a fairly blatant attempt to lighten the mood but he nevertheless appreciate it after their heavy earlier talk. Besides which, it was just rather pleasant to be able to interact with his familiar like a friend again.

Ah, he ought to let Marteau know how Siesta and Saito were doing; the Cook would surely want to know. Well, perhaps he’d fudge a few details on the last one. Then he could take dinner up to Mon-Mon and let her know things had worked out with Kirche.

By the time they were inside, Guiche had more or less put his failure out of mind; at least for the time being.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
​

At the time the young Gramont had explained the technique he’d used to win the fight with Count Mott most everyone hadn’t thought much of it; Matilda included, when Wardes relayed the details to her at a later date. She hadn’t cared all that much, of course. Rather, she’d simply been curious as to how a Dot Earth Mage, even one that had achieved Line mid-battle, could possibly have beaten a Triangle Water Mage during a reasonably heavy rainstorm.

She had been vaguely aware of the theory behind reinforcing one’s flesh with Earth Magic. It just wasn’t very common for some reason. Perhaps because it wasn’t so visually impressive as the super speed that could be achieved by the far more widely-used Wind Enhancement? Flashy spellcasting seemed to be a favourite amongst more juvenile Nobles; even she had almost fallen into it herself with her initial plan to steal the Staff of Destruction.

Whatever the case may have been there she was, at that very moment, unbelievably glad she’d decided to practise it a few times in anticipation of the inevitable day where Wardes decided to finally try and off her for good. Mostly because, judging by the number of lightly oozing scratches across her forearms, she’d have have been dead approximately… seventeen times over by now if she hadn’t learned it.

They’d used a similar scheme to the boy in order to draw the murderer out of town. That had worked surprisingly well, in fact. Things hadn’t gone quite so smoothly from there. She’d managed to catch his feet briefly but he’d quite literally torn himself free before she could get him any deeper than his ankles.

The initial engagement had been fast and painful. He, or maybe it, had used the trees to draw any lightning away while launching blisteringly fast assaults on her anytime she attempted to block his movements with sudden bursts of rock; whatever it might be it didn’t seem to have much if any metal on it and so as long as it kept branches between them the bolts earthed early. Something about that had felt odd to her, but she supposed that any lack in combat ability was due to the clone itself.

Speaking of which, Wardes’ duplicate could keep up with the man in red and roughly corral him while she prepared the first backup plan. While it wasn’t nearly as good as the original, possessing only a fraction of his Willpower reserves and essentially none of his initiative or cunning, it could act relatively autonomously in support of her.

As she carved a path through the forest, carefully focusing her Willpower through the dirt, she had to wonder if this was the very situation that she’d prepared for. Maybe the reason he’d sent her here more or less alone, with only a sub-par copy for backup, was that he didn’t intend for her to return. If she killed the problem as well all the better, right? Assuming he’d even been telling the truth about that.

She finally stopped and made sure she was out of the area she’d worked on. This plan relied on making sure the enemy didn’t touch the ground at all within the prepared space; if he was even remotely talented he might be able to recognise the spell in waiting. That was why, in the early clashes, she’d focused on destabilising his footing and dragging him under more than anything.

There was no realistic way for her to signal the clone while she was holding the strike and, so, all she could do was wait and listen to the sounds of thunder crashing in the distance. Still using lightning? The real Wardes would’ve switched to something else by now. The copy might be equivalent in speed and reflexes but its strategy was definitely sub-par. Still, she could tell they were coming back around now.

A flash of light heralded the arrival of the duelling pair. She could see the trail of freshly started fires behind them; Knights might very well be on their way from the Capital that very moment. Even so, she waited. If this didn’t trap the target then she didn’t think they’d get another shot.

When it all came together it did so incredibly quickly. Right as the man in red hit the rough epicentre of her spell the copy shredded what little remained of its Willpower reserve in order to split itself even further. The two that formed immediately divided again into four and, for just a few moments, the interplay of lightning and fire and ice between them stopped the ridiculous aerobatics dead in their tracks as the killer was forced to dodge unexpected strikes from four directions.

Matilda flung her arms skyward and voiced the last line of her incantation. It barely felt like she was using Triangle magic at this point; she’d poured almost every last ounce of her own Willpower into this. Within a good fifty-metre radius of the two, or five now, rough triangles of earth a good half a metre thick themselves began to haul themselves out of the ground. It was too slow, and she gritted her teeth as she pushed all that she had into it. Trees snapped or buckled or were entirely upended, some were even drawn along with the rising wedges, as she forced them to shoot upright and curve over.

The four clones ascended; they had precious little energy left to expend on any spells but they could block the path of their enemy with their bodies and wandblades alone. It only had to be for a few moments. One went down to a flung spike of ice, breaking apart into nothingness, and the other three immediately closed in before their foe could take advantage; it seemed that, for all of their agility, they just couldn’t force their way free in time.

Eight massive wedges slammed together, forming a conical dome around the remaining fighters. Stopping there, though, wouldn’t have been nearly enough. Matilda didn’t let go yet; instead, she pushed it even further. Down and in at the same time until the entire mass had been crushed down into stone.

As soon as she released the spell Matilda hit the ground. She felt like she might well throw up from the effort that had taken. There was a strange burning sensation in her… well, her everything really that she vaguely recognised as probably being Willpower exhaustion. It had been quite some time since she’d felt that given her usual work barely required much exertion from her at all.

“That was quite impressive.” The really sad part was that she didn’t even feel surprised. She merely rolled on to her side so she could look up at the figure in red crouching beside her. Their position was so bizarre as to almost be comical; a low squat with their beaked face resting on their steepled hands as if they were sitting behind a desk. Given she wasn’t dead yet, Matilda figured it was probably safe to laugh. That was something she quickly regretted given it rather hurt to laugh right then.

“Before… you kill me… ask you… favour…” The figure in red, and she was quite sure it was a man now, tilted their head. It was strange how the golden eyes shone in the darkness. If it weren’t for the light behind them they might well just look yellow and monstrous, as opposed to ethereal and monstrous.

“I am not opposed to it. Although, before you say anything embarrassing, perhaps I ought to say that I was not planning on finishing you off?” Their voice was strange as well. Muffled, due to the mask, and spoken with an accent that sounded like it was deliberately mimicking hers. If it weren’t for the mask, in fact, it might well have put her at ease.

The way it leaned to one side so it was looking at her straight on didn’t help, either. “Really, Matilda de Saxe-Gotha, I had thought that I might like to save you instead.” A flicker of white light about its fingertips became a short, transparent blade. “Although, if it is your wish to die then I shall most certainly grant you that.”

Her head hurt far too much for this kind of thing. It was undeniably effective, but she just couldn’t handle. So she went with the simplest solution; merely closing her eyes. Without the nightmarish visage right in front of her she could properly organise her thoughts and catch her breath at the same time. When doing so didn’t lead to her throat immediately being slit she felt it was safe enough to take her time to respond.

“What do you want from me?” Asking how they knew her name had felt a little pointless. When there was no initial response Matilda opened her eyes to reveal an empty clearing. Still nothing. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, turned her head and immediately came face-to-beak with the killer once more. There was no stopping the shameful little squeal that came out, or the immediate flinch that came from finding herself in such close proximity again.

“We shall see. For now, it is a simple choice.” They’d shifted back a good metre in the brief moment in which she’d reflexively covered her face. It was quite clear that they were doing this on purpose; the woman that she and Wardes reported to used similarly opaque intimidation tactics. The problem was that when you knew the person doing it could quite probably kill you at a moment’s notice they were rather effective.

“You prepared a strategy for me; therefore, you were forewarned. However, your support was inadequate. Taking these factors along with your attire suggests that you are not an agent of this country.” She’d have thought that was quite clear. Was this really a member of the Reconquista after all? “Furthermore, your masters have tossed you aside. They intended for you to die here. Do you disagree?”

Matilda nervously wet her lips and slowly shook her head. This person’s assessment more or less matched with what she’d been thinking herself. Sending her for a straight-up combat assignment had felt off from the very beginning. Surely Wardes had actual fighters at his disposal? She clearly specialised in stealth and magical thievery.

“You knew this already.” They digested her assent in silence for a mere moment before immediately zeroing in on the only reason she hadn’t tried to tunnel away from the clone as soon as they were out of sight of the chapter house. ”There is something you are protecting. Your masters are aware of it. This thing is so important to you that you would die to keep it from harm. I see.”

The thing actually appeared almost human for a moment as it straightened out of its awkward pose and seemed to legitimately consider what it had just deduced. Seeing it almost be a person felt just wrong for some reason. ”Very well. The choice remains simple. I can leave you here, or else you can defect.” Matilda’s only possible response to the voiced proposal, at least at first, was an incredulous stare.

“Please… just kill me. If I do either of those, she’ll…” There wasn’t all that much hope in her for that tactic. However, it had just shown her what felt like an actual, uncontrolled emotion; thus, she did have some hope that it might be swayed not to just leave her there. Even suicide wouldn’t work at this point; they’d know.

“Do not be afraid.” It stepped forward and held out a hand to her, glowing eyes regarding her with some unreadable emotion shining in them. Quite literally, it seemed. Hesitantly, Matilda took the hand. It was very strong, and they helped her to her feet with almost no discernible effort. “If you join, then you will be one of us. Then ‘she’ will be one of us. We take care of our own, Matilda. Should you defect, I swear I shall make sure no harm comes to her.”

Founder help her, she almost believed him. Almost. Even if she didn’t, though, what choice did she have? For as much as they claimed it was ‘simple’... well, she supposed it was merely a matter of choosing her damnation. Whether it be the certainty of failure, or the uncertainty of treachery.

“... okay.” In the end, her hope defeated her. If there was a chance, even the tiniest chance, that she could protect Tiffa from the monsters at her back then she’d gladly throw her lot in with the monster in front of her. The masked man nodded, clearly pleased with her choice.

“Very well. This will sting a little.” The man reached out and placed his hands on either side of her head. His grip was gentle and serene; like the most cliche gesture of a cheap, sappy romance novel. All of the threatening airs and danger seemed to leak out of him as she felt him completely relax. For the barest instant her own wariness dropped to match his in a transcendent moment of absolute trust.

He was wrong, as it turned out; when he snapped her neck she didn’t feel anything at all.