“Thank you Thalia, that will be all.” Said Valerie, and she waved the mage goodbye to her quarters.

Thalia gave a wan smile, bowed politely and entered her room.

Valerie pulled a loose strand of hair from her face, tucked it behind her ear and strode back to her bedroom for a long and difficult think. It had been a very long night, preceded by a long day and another long night. As it stood now, Shale Kadran remained in his cell. Valerie needed to consider very carefully what the next step would be in his interrogation. Or perhaps it would be his reintegration.

Valerie entered her room to find it neat and tidy, a stark contrast from how she had left in the midst of last night. She frowned at the neatly stacked papers of assorted importance atop her desk, and the array of ordered pens, inkwells, stamps and crests aligned to the side.

A well fed lamp shone pleasantly by the window. Valerie’s expression softened at the freshly changed sheets and pillows of her well made bed, and at the empty bin of which had previously been full of scrunched balls of drafted letters and unwelcome propositions.

Valerie left the little bell set carefully atop her bedside table alone, and began the slow and filthy process of removing her armour, and changing into something less malodorous. She didn’t want to bother her maid, Gria, this late in the evening. Valerie did appreciate her help in cleaning and maintaining the room, but Gria often went overboard, and though she’d be loath to admit it, she was getting old. The least Valerie could do was change out of her own gear, and let the maid get some rest. She owed her that much after bringing her here.

Rightfully, Valerie should return the filthy armour back to the armoury, for Andric to clean and pack away. She knew he still remained there, he’d fallen asleep at his desk last night and Valerie had checked in on him periodically yesterday, but he refused to leave when there was so much work left to be done. Valerie heaved her chestplate and greaves into a freshy swept corner and slung her sooty chainmail atop the pile. Andric would have to wait until tomorrow to process that. Nobody else ought be disturbed tonight. They all required rest.

Valerie stepped into her bathroom, splashed her face with freezing cold water and slipped into her nightwear. After a long, enduring yawn she sat down before her desk and lunged for a fresh quill. Valerie readied her hand above the page and then froze. Her mind faltered. She had no idea what to do. Who was there to write to? What could she consult to rectify this abysmal situation?

The neverending list of problems began to creep into her thoughts: the outer wall remained half-broken, the mercenary group was threatening to pull out despite their obligations, the garrison was down in numbers regardless, there were just two new people on their way in the next three months, those Academy brats were still causing trouble, weaponry was decaying, funds were low, and last of all, Shale Kadran remained in detention.

Valerie rubbed her eyes a little too intensely. Static blotches strobed across the parchment before her. She mashed her fist into her forehead and forced her flow of issues to a stop. Valerie picked up her family crest and turned it over in her palm. The little metal emblem was worn. She’d spend many nights clutching at the thorned rose atop its face, thinking deeply of her family. Of her heritage.

Valerie squeezed the crest, dipped her quill into an inkpot and began to write. She would begin with what was accessible to her now, what was achievable, and then work her way up to the real issues. First, it was time to stop putting off her correspondence with her brother.

“My Dear younger brother Barnaby, the rate at which you have ascended the honourable ranks is both impressive and laudable. Vesita’s hand must surely be guiding your noble career…”

The quill had left a deep imprint in Valerie’s thumb and index finger by the time she’d finished writing. Four letters rested by her bedside, each freshly sealed with her family crest. The first two letters were her replies to both her brother, and High Marshall Blanewick. Each with polite confirmations and platitudes of course, as one expected of her. Though the sharp curves of her lettering and the deep grooves in the paper may betray a little emotion to a more perceptive reader.

The third was addressed to her former tutor of medicine, Professor. Rithal, regarding Shale Kadran’s condition and supposed amnesia. Valerie had her doubts about Shale’s condition, and the professor’s words may help alleviate those concerns. Or confirm them.

The last was addressed to the Warden of Dalendir, the largest of the border towns located along the edge of the Blight, approximately. Her petitions to the Warden usually returned very little, but Valerie had offered up some significant gold and bronze incentives for cooperation and recruitment opportunities this time. It was a half-truth, based on an unpleasant assumption of imminent desertion. She would know whether that would come to pass or not in the next few days.

Valerie cracked her neck and tucked her quill away. Her remaining tasks were distant and abstract. The wall was gradually being reconstructed. She anticipated it would take three more days before it was totally repaired. Her mage squad needed rest, and the conscripts could only do so much digging, splitting and stacking each day. Siddal would inform her of any further issues or failings as it progressed. The Stalker’s body was being harvested in good time. Its bones would prove to be highly valuable, and Andric had already provided her with several schematics detailing possible functions and implementations.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Of all things, it was the young Blight-born, Shale Kadran who stuck in her mind. A man capable of injuring a Greybone Stalker all by himself. But also a man of unknown allegiances. Of unknown humanity.

Olindar’s ceremony had not gone to plan, according to him. Although the issue was not that Shale was or was not a Revenant. The critical fault was the ceremony’s half-baked result. Olindar did not possess the knowledge necessary to parse through the events of the Severance. That he had survived the ceremony should have meant he was human. But his prolonged period of unconsciousness, and the severe recoil that afflicted Olindar upon the man’s return was a mystery. It should not have happened.

Most concerning of all, was his apparent disregard for the security measures in place to keep him contained. He broke free from Olindar’s anti-mage cuffs with ease, and proceeded to punch a hole into the repulsion field. Thalia hypothesised that his wounds were all that were keeping him detained. And Valerie had instructed Thalia to apply healing slaves and surreptitiously use minor corrective bone setting spells on the man, as a gesture of good faith.

Of course, the alternative was that the entity in her detention cell was of such great power that it rendered all their protections and rituals pointless. That it was playing with them. That they were all dead already.

Valerie broke out of her chair. What was she doing? This situation was not permissible. The Bastion was literally falling apart under her watch and she’d brought an unknown intelligence behind its shattered walls!

She paced up and down her room. Her hands buzzed with tension. How much longer would this farce go on for? How much more time could she reasonably commit to this lost cause? Everyone was dying out here, and for what? There was no back-up coming. No more funding. They needed this to fail. Needed Valerie to fail.

Valerie tightened her hands into fists. Her nails dug into her palms as she stood still, staring at the crumpled list before her. The scrawled memorandum of the fallen. Squared off at the bottom was a list of different soldiers. The sell-swords. The twelve men who were threatening to leave. To desert the Bastion. They would leave, Valerie was certain of that. Their ad hoc leader Varn was surprisingly persuasive for a psychotic fool.

Valerie unclenched her fists. Blood welled from her hands. She ignored it, and pulled on her boots. It was time for action. Real action. It was no longer the time to passively accept what was given to her. It must be salvaged. For that, Valerie needed Shale Kadran on her side. And she didn’t care if he was a man or a damned Revenant Puppet, she would acquire his help.

As Valerie approached the detention cells, she heard fierce whispers arguing among each other in the dark. A small purple dot bobbed up and down in the distance followed closely by several footfalls.

Valerie held her lamp out aloft and called out to the darkness. “Who goes there?”

Feet squeaked still several paces ahead of Valerie, and the tiny light vanished into the darkness. The frantic sound of rustling cloth and hasty gestures reached Valerie’s ears. She continued forward and her small sphere of light followed with her.

An impatient foot scraped across the stone before Valerie and she sped up toward the mystery figures. Valerie sighed and her lip curled in irritation when the light hit the faces of Erik, Seraphina and Lyra.

“Was the day tour not exhaustive enough, children?” Muttered Valerie.

Erik and Seraphina stiffened in alarm and offence, as Lyra wilted in shock.

Valerie held her gaze on the unruly trio. Silence drew out slowly and painfully as the students wriggled on the spot. Valerie spoke nothing.

Lyra steadied her quivering lip. She fixed her gaze onto her partners in crime and glared at them. They protested through wide eyes, but Lyra bared her teeth and drove her elbows into the pair.

“Ow!” cried Seraphina, and she elbowed Lyra back.

Erik met Valerie’s eyes, took a deep breath in and spoke. “Apologies Lieutenant General. We didn’t mean to surprise you with our presence. We were just headed to the top of the Mage’s tower to view the night sky. We heard the stars are particularly spectacular and must be seen.”

“I see.” Valerie rolled her eyes. “And I suppose you took a few wrong turns and accidentally found yourselves here, just outside the detention area? In the dark, with merely a mote-lamp.”

Valerie’s curtness took Erik off guard and he spluttered in response.

Lyra jumped in his place. “Yes, we’re sorry if we intruded, Lieutenant General, sincerely. It was a mistake. And do not worry on behalf of our sakes. We have the necessary light, here.”

Lyra brought her her little mote-lamp and beckoned Seraphina forward. Seraphina looked a little confused. Lyra gestured toward the lamp and Seraphina widened her eyes and nodded.

Seraphina held her hands around the mote-lamp and flexed her fingers lightly. The lamp pulsed with bright, white light. The entire corridor swam with luminosity. Far too much in fact. Everyone cringed at the brightness and held up their arms to cover their eyes.

“Sera!” Snapped Erik, and she smothered the lamp with cupped hands.

The room returned to normal.

“Sorry.” Squeaked Seraphina.

Valerie blinked the residual light away and struggled to maintain her composure. Her left eye twitched involuntarily, but she bit back her words until her anger dissipated.

“I see. Please see yourself to your rooms. There are no stars in the sky tonight, the cloud cover is quite heavy. Goodnight.” Valerie’s tone was dry, unemotive. She had little patience for the students, despite their behaviour.

“Thank you Lieutenant General Valerie.” Said Lyra.

She bowed, grabbed the others and walked off at speed.

Valerie frowned at their backs. They had gotten up to something, she was sure of that. It was likely to do with her prisoner, too. But at this point in time, as Valerie stood in her pyjamas, she wanted to delay further conversation with them at all costs.

Right now, she would interrogate the symptoms, not the disease, they could wait until tomorrow.