“You seem to think that the only genuine existence evil can have is conscious existence - that no one is evil unless he admits it to himself. I disagree.”

- Gene Wolfe

Isolde grabbed a cup and a pitcher of beer to fill it, then drank it down, only to fill it back up again.

“Isolde, what’s got you in a hurry?” The blonde man asked disapprovingly.

Brecht slammed down his cup and cleared his throat. “To be honest, we don’t have much of a chance right now. The Duke has everyone cowed by threat of violence, and all those who resisted have been killed, conscripted, branded, or a mixture of all. The men that hate him nevertheless have to serve him. There is no choice but servitude or death. But when offered a way to get even, to rise up. They might well take it.” He grinned his habitual grin. “And when I heard little Josh say he saw you put down those guards like it was nothing...I knew it was the only chance we have. As I mentioned, there are still a lot of branded imprisoned in the barracks, and with the new recruits under guard and in training still, we could free them all, and with a bit of luck, they fight with us.”

“Things must be pretty desperate for you to pick some schoolgirls from the street for your rebellion.” Mireille raised an eyebrow.

“I am no fool. At least I sure hope so.” Langhold stroked his chin while looking at her. “You travel to Volstedt during the harshest winter in years. You are obviously mages or branded. All of you. You have an automaton, and you fight when threatened instead of giving up as every ‘normal’ traveler would. Ergo, you are no normal travelers. Before all this madness broke out, I heard that there would be a training event for the Academy of the Arts of Kronenburg. Luck played a role in my getting that information, but everything else is simple deduction. So. You are probably students and a teacher?” He looked at Calvin before continuing, “Perhaps on a mission...no then you wouldn’t have acted so recklessly. You are separated from your fellows and seek to get back. But you are no trained soldiers or spies and so you help out of a sense of justice. With that said, I offer a chance to do some good. With risk to life and limb and with a possibility of getting aid for you in return.”

He leaned back. “That is my offer and my request. What do you say?”

The rest were silent. The blonde man looked critically at the group of girls accompanied by two adults and a construct. Isolde grinned quietly and drank her third ale.

Alyssa looked at Calvin, who seemed to have a headache, and cautiously said, “I think it would be for the best. The academy group was under attack as you told us and could use a breather. If we help this rebellion succeed, then it would follow they could not put as much pressure on Fort Wolfsbane and the academy group.”

“Look at it from my point of view.” Calvin rubbed his forehead. “If one of you dies or is crippled while fighting the town garrison. I hate to even think about that. I am responsible for your safety! Yes, we are already involved but not to the point of fighting a war.” Gritting his teeth, he continued. “But I think you are right. What I have to confirm first, though, is what we are facing and if they are really branding the unwilling. If that is true, they deserve death. Each and every one of them.”

“When I was branded in Saintscrossing, they did not explain a whole lot about it. It seemed more like a matter of course.” Mireille looked at the fuming Calvin and felt a bit strange.

“That is normal.” Langhold shrugged. “I don’t know of any army that tells its soldiers honestly what awaits them. But here, it’s not just press-ganging but also killing them in a horrific manner. As you have been branded, you should know what happens when there is not enough compatibility. And imagine that happening to hundreds. The actual number of persons able to bear a brand is about one in ten. And if you thoroughly prepare and test for it normally, no one dies. But as times are hard, it is not that unusual for it to happen. But this here is a travesty, and I can only echo your teacher's sentiment. If you want to see for yourself, then I can show you. There is an old slaughterhouse that has not seen use in some time where they throw those they kill. Can’t waste anything, can you?” He grimaced. “Isolde will guide you. It’s near her former establishment.”

“Why me.” The woman in question whined.

“He already told you to get up and make yourself useful as something other than target practice. Hurry up!” The blonde man disdainfully eyed the still angry-looking cut on her neck.

With a sharp look at the still unnamed blonde man, not seeming nearly drunk enough for all her earlier theatrics, Isolde stood up and shrugged. “Well then, who will come with me? I suggest some of you stay here.” She eyed Alea and Butler One. “Not to be unfair, deary, but I doubt you could be stealthy if your life depended on it. And you…” She looked at Iseret, inspecting her exotic features. “I nearly said something stupid.” She grinned. “You will do just fine.”

Calvin rose and dusted off his pants. “Well. Alyssa, Mireille? You coming too? Or is it Iseret and me?”

Alyssa looked uncomfortable and finally answered, “I would like to remain here with Alea. As you said, nothing against you fine people, but I don’t want to leave her here alone.”

“I can understand that. Rolf here” Brecht nodded at the blonde man. “Will accompany you to your room where you can wait for your friends to come back. If you are still hungry from your interrupted dinner, I can have someone give you some food first.”

“My name is Rolf Baerken von Maarn. And I’m no servant!” The blonde man called Rolf apparently gestured angrily.

“But for your money and family, you wouldn’t even be here.” Isolde shook her head and patted Mireille on the arm gesturing for her to follow.

“I can hold my own against anyone!” Rold stood and looked after her, fuming.

“Yes, you are good with a blade, but sometimes I wish your proficiency extended to some manners as well.” Brecht smiled wryly to take some of the sting out of his words.

Alyssa looked at Alea and interpreted her slight frown as a signal to go themselves. “Thanks for the offer, but we ate enough. I have no appetite at the moment. If you could show us to our room- rooms? We would be grateful.”

“Mh. Then come with me.” Rolf stood and walked to the stairs in the entrance chamber leading to the upper stories.

Calvin, Mireille, and Iseret accompanied an only slightly drunk Isolde to a door leading outside.

The cold hit them as soon as the door fell shut behind them. Shivering, Mireille fumbled with another mana crystal, inserting it into a metallic pocket sewn into her coat. Soon, new warmth began circulating through the metallic threads woven into the fabric.

Calvin adjusted his collar pulled the hat he was wearing deeper into his forehead, and gripped his staff showing that he was ready.

Iseret let her gaze roam over the buildings surrounding the old house and then shrugged. “Let’s go.”

Isolde walked ahead while keeping silent. The streets, empty as they had been since coming into town, took on a more desolate air as the reason for the lack of traffic became known. A loose shutter banged against the wall, driven by the wind that had risen again come evening. A dog barked somewhere behind some houses to the right. A single gleam of light escaped between drawn curtains painting a thin line of light on the house on the opposite side of the street.

Dusk had come and gone while they fought with the guards and talked to Brecht afterward, so it was near total darkness, safe for the light of the stars and the few pinpricks of light like the one from the window. It seemed no one wanted to draw attention to themselves. Isolde never hesitated, seemed to have very good night vision, familiarity with the area, or both, and never backtracked or hesitated.

Ahead of them, the glaring cone of light from a bulls-eye lantern shone done the main street they were nearing. The side street they used was merely a somewhat open gap between the haphazardly built houses. Sometimes, they even met one or two stories above. Volstedt wasn’t big exactly, but it was old and venerable, and the houses were built tall as the town’s charter did not allow for an expansion of the city wall- a common problem with smaller towns in the outer duchies. The royals did not want them to become too prosperous.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

Isolde gestured, and her hand briefly flashed with subdued flames pointing to a shadowed doorway with an overhanging roof. Joining her, Mireille, Iseret, and Calvin pressed themselves against the stonework and waited. Four men in the colors of the Nordmarks walked past them, one lantern at the back and one in front. From where they were standing, they could hear some fragments of a quiet conversation accompanied by the clanking of arms and the crunch of boots on snow.

“...eer! And that was flat as Miss Winsfeld.”

“...hear that! She will tan your hide.”

“...amily?”

“...mother is on her way to the capital. Thanks to the new regulations.”

“...mh.”

Then they walked around a corner, and the voices became incomprehensible whispers on the night wind.

Isolde gestured again, limning her hand in the barest hint of fire, granting a flash of visibility in the total darkness beneath the wall.

Soon they stopped again, and Isolde looked around cautiously.

A shadow was visible for a fraction of a second, and a blue-green eye winked from beneath a dark hood before vanishing in the darkness. A smile tugged at Iseret’s mouth before she gave a barely perceptible nod and focused on following Isolde again.

The area was older, and the buildings mostly in ill repair as they reached a low wall circling a small compound. Two buildings loomed above the cramped yard a few dozen yards along and across, blocky and functional. An old gate was tightly locked. Isolde gave it a speculative glance before she jumped for the top of the wall and pulled herself up with unexpected strength and agility.

The rest followed, and soon they stood before large mounds of snow piled higher than the surrounding walls. With hesitant steps, Isolde walked up to the nearest one and then gently brushed the powdery snow from whatever lay beneath.

The four friends were hardly surprised as a hand was revealed smudged with old blood. Burn scars crisscrossed from the upper arm to said hand, coming from a somewhat familiar symbol, especially to Mireille. It seemed to be one of the lesser brands, useful only for those with low affinities.

Soon a head and another set of hands, then a leg, were freed from the oppressive snow. The wind hummed along the walls of the surrounding buildings, with the odd snowflake twirling along. Stars shone coldly from above, illuminating the large mounds. Their steaming breath was lost in the breeze. As Isolde turned and looked at them, something seemed to glitter in her eyes, and she quickly turned back to silently gaze over the yard and the heaps and heaps of snow and bodies. The main building with the large gate leading into the main workshop was not closed, and inside, there seemed to be some humanoid figures leaning against the sturdy tables where in times now past, animals were butchered and sorted for later use.

Rubbing angrily across her face, Isolde hissed, “Seen enough?”

Calvin swallowed dryly and nodded before realizing she couldn’t see him and said, “Let’s go back. Tomorrow we will talk.”

Lightning coursed along Mireille’s veins and discharged with a rasping crackle into the snow, melting a circular hole before she got a hold of herself.

Iseret sighed and remembered the small bodies buried in shallow graves behind the great temple where the desert hyena or jackals soon dug them back up again. All those that fell too deeply into the poisoned dreams of her Who-Is-Many-And-One. She remembered the boy that had been in the carriage that had driven them to their fate. He had cried so hard that he fell unconscious. She had tried to calm him and, in doing so, mostly calmed herself. He had not been there when they were taken from the snakes' embrace. That day so many years ago. Old bite scars twinged in remembered agony.

“What about the undead in the workshop?” Iseret whispered, and a bit of magic carried her words to her friends without going further.

“Not now.” Calvin bit out and then walked back to the wall.

“Undead?” Mireille looked around warily, a bit of lightning creeping along her hands.

Iseret softly took her by the arm and led her behind the receding figure of Calvin. “There are some in the workshop. I think they are not the wild kind but created for some purpose. I think Calvin is right not to bother at the moment. Let us concentrate on ending this new atrocity.”

----------------------------------------

Meanwhile, at the townhouse, Alyssa sat down heavily on the mattress stuffed with straw and then quickly shifted her seating to avoid the straw poking her backside. The room was small and probably meant for servants. There were two bunk beds with a total of four straw mattresses with some coarse blankets thrown on top. There was a musty smell probably from the damp and cold, without much ventilation. She rubbed a bit of the fabric between her fingers and winced at the prickling sensation. Even so, it would be much better than sleeping on the forest floor.

Alea tidied up the bed opposite and inspected Butler One for damage, after ordering him to re-sharpen his armblades she too, relaxed.

“Are you ready to kill town guardsmen?” Alea asked quietly. “I know we had to do it before, but this time it will be much worse, I fear.”

Alyssa looked out of the small window, the glass was frozen over, and ice flowers bloomed. “I don’t know. But I think it will be no problem.”

Silence fell and both busied themselves sorting through their supplies. With metallic rasping noises, Butler One used a whetstone to remove some small scratches from his blades.

“Are you alright?” Alea spoke again after a while.

“I think so?”

“Do you still have potions left?”

“There are two that are still unopened.”

“That’s...less than I had hoped.” Alea petted Cecily.

Cyrus was busy grooming his wings but lifted his head at the tension in the room, and one large eye blinked slowly at his mistress before he resumed his ablutions.

“I had to drink one yesterday. Taking control of the wight and his riders was more taxing than I first thought.”

“I am not surprised that it was taxing, merely that you thought differently,” Alea said archly.

“It is not as if I raised them all myself, and I was there when the necromancer wasn’t.”

“Probably the reason it worked at all.”

“No, that was the strange part. It wasn’t that hard. The jewel did most of it.” Alyssa brushed her fingertips over the crystal inset in her wrist, feeling its smooth coolness.

“If you want me to, I can have a look. I have been learning about soul magic since we got the notes from Willibald, the gnome. And I think my grandfather left me something in the form of Butler One. I have had some dreams where he taught me.”

“That is the first I hear of that. Are they pleasant dreams?” Alyssa looked at Alea curiously.

“Nostalgic, I would say. But there are techniques, spells that I can now use, which I never learned in the Academy. Some are merely the completed versions of some disjointed writings in the notes; some are different altogether.”

“You don’t sound displeased or alarmed.”

“I loved my grandfather. I forgot him, and I think that was his doing, but now that I remember, I know he was the most important person in my life. It is slowly coming back, but inside the dreams, I can meet him, talk with him as if he never left.”

“I wish I could see my mother again.” Alyssa looked at her friend enviously. “I mostly remember only a pale shadow of who she was. Do you know that feeling that you only remember remembering? That it is like a picture drawn from a picture, not the original at all? I only know that she was our light. And when she died, she took all of it, all that light, and nothing was left. My father was like the white moon always illuminated by her while having none of his own.” She smiled sadly.

With a ‘snick’ the blades retracted into the metallic arms, and with a soft whirring sound, Butler One stood back against the wall, waiting for when he would be needed next.

Alea raised her hand and then, not knowing what to do with it, let it fall on the bed again. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You need not. You think that you could help me with your light magic? But will it not hurt me more?”

“I think I can use it very carefully in conjunction with arcane magic, and then there should only be a bit of discomfort. Vanessa could help too.”

“We should try it then when we are no longer actively threatened. There might not be enough potions left. We won’t have the opportunity to go back and use a proper laboratory if we are to press on to confront the lich queen. Even saying that, I feel ridiculous.”

“That is something only you can know. I don’t see or hear Asandria, and she is the one insisting we have a chance.” Alea shrugged.

“I’m very sure she means it too.”

Time passed, and the beds were soon tidied up, their belongings still packed for a quick getaway if necessary.

Footsteps neared the door before someone rapped against it once, opening it soon after. Mireille walked in looking grim. Behind her came Iseret and Calvin.

“Did you find the proof?” Alyssa asked, somewhat intimidated by the tense and silent atmosphere.

“Mh. Wasn’t hard. They don’t think they have to hide. At all.” Calvin said in clipped words.

“They simply threw them in an old slaughterhouse’s yard.” Mireille sounded disgusted.

“I am sorry you had to see that,” Alea said quietly.

“Don’t let anger cloud your judgment. The rebels are no innocent daisies, either. But they probably mean...mh...if not well at least they are no genocidal maniacs. I think we should rest for the night and then talk more tomorrow. But before we go to sleep and you worry too much- Yes, we need to do something.”

“Where are you sleeping?” Mireille asked Calvin as she prepared her own bedding.

“I will ask if they have another room close by.” The wizard grumbled.

Soon everyone was settled.

“Do you think the bed is big enough…?” Mireille asked from above.

“No.” Answered Alyssa heartlessly.

“But it is sooo cold.”

A rustling sound could be heard, and then Alyssa was pressed against the wall. “I said no! The mattress is bad enough without half-lying on the wood of the bed-case!”

The protest went unheeded, and the warmth was welcome. Alea looked at them a bit enviously.

And then there was only quiet breathing and the wind rattling the shutters.