“What could you possibly want me to do?” Riley's question with a lot of emphasis on the word 'me.'
“See if you can get your thing to do its thing.”
“That's your plan?” says Lane.
“I never anticipated anything like this.” Using my thumb to point at Wilde's possessed body. A halo of light now shining from him. “If it doesn't work I'm going to charge him, but something tells me I'm not the only unworthy person here he's going to blast.”
Lane's eyes widening as the implications – at the realization that he's probably also on the list – set in. The man looking around the gathering. The jeers and accusations of cheating had been replaced by mutters as everyone's attention had gone to Wilde, with a handful laughing about my impending demise. Not the most pious group of people.
“Sister Riley,” he says. Riley's attention snapping to Lane at the unexpected form of address, at the fact that he knows her name. “I doubt anyone has explained it to you like this, but listen to me carefully. The deities that we ask favors and counsel from, and who are the source of all of those little miracles you've no doubt started tapping into, the truth is they need us far more than we need them. We serve as their mediums and mouths so that their causes and crusades may touch the world. Without us, without our desires and obsessions, they're no more than powerless icons.”
Riley had pulled out her holy symbol, the golden key, and had been twisting it in her hands. “Before I came out here,” she says, “I thought, well, I don't even know what I thought, but since I've been here I thought I'd found something a little bit bigger than myself to believe in. Is that all they are?”
“I'm glad to hear you've found purpose,” says Lane, with a genuine smile reflecting genuine relief. “There can be wisdom in their words, and valor in living up to their ideals, but it should be more than clear they're not infallible. The true creators of the universe wouldn't belittle themselves by seeking out the prayers and praises of ants, or by micromanaging their creation. Therefore, Sister, know that when you are requesting aid from your patron, you are, in fact, demanding, and despite how they may pretend they're usually more than delighted to provide. They exist to serve us even as we serve them.” Holding up his finger. “But, a word of warning, don't bind yourself too tightly to their causes. You have relatively little to gain from such an arrangement, and they, much. Before long you'll find the ties that bind are tied to your limbs and then have wrapped themselves around your neck.” Riley nodding at the advice. “Ask your patron and I'll do what I can to appease mine.” The man turning back toward Wilde.
“Lane, is that what happened to you?”
“I'm not so far gone,” he replies, turning his head, without a hint of taking any of the intended insult. “If I owe penance for any of my decisions I'm prepared to atone. We all have to live with the consequences of our actions, even if physical wounds here may not be permanent. That applies to more than me, Macarthy.”
***
“Mac,” my master had said, “you've got good instincts, but approaching every situation like you are isn't going to make you successful in the long run. You're not invincible.”
“Could've fooled me. Somehow I keep getting back up.”
“You do,” he'd said, putting an elbow on his desk to prop up his head. “It's remarkable, actually. You're the only one who keeps throwing yourself in even knowing what you have to deal with when you fail. Hardheadedness aside, your actual issue is preparation, or a lack of preparation. There's a famous saying, 'Victorious warriors win first and then they go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.' ”
“I think I may have heard something like that before. Who said that?”
“He was a military strategist during the first eastward expansion, back during the Empire's third century.”
“How old is this Empire?”
“We've been around. Through wars, natural disasters, slave rebellions and coups, and we've weathered them all because we've learned the lessons of preparation.” My master had waved his hand. “Mac, let's not get off topic with a history lesson. My point is, you can't just keep halfassing things and expecting everything to work out.”
“It's worked pretty well, so far.”
“Mostly, mostly,” my master had conceded. “You have good instincts, but relying on instinct alone will only take you so far.”
“I think I'd rather go in knowing ahead of time I'm going to have to rely on my instincts. Sometimes, no matter how much preparation you put in, something's going to come along to blow all that preparation apart. What's your preparation for that?”
My master had sat back in his chair and had given a rueful snort. “When that happens,” he'd said, “fall back on that most comforting refuge of the shiftless, hopeless and destitute.”
“Alcohol?”
“That's not a bad guess,” he'd chuckled, “but no. I'm talking about the tried and true, praying to the gods.”
“Will that actually work?”
“Of course not, Mac. I'm only yanking your chain.”
“I figured something like that may actually work around here.”
“Well,” my master had said, “there's a non zero chance you'll get an answer, but you may not like what they have to say.”
***
“She wants to talk to you.”
Only moments after Riley had started her communion the building heat had begun tapering off and reversing. It had now diminished to the point where Lane once again was standing next to Wilde. One of the Empaths Wolfe had been speaking with started jogging toward the pair, with Vesper on the other sideline breaking away to get there first. Tentatively reaching out my hand to touch Riley's offered symbol.
I have a demand, comes the voice. A woman's soft, mournful requiem.
What?
When the time comes I will call on you, and when that happens you will do as I ask.
What if I refuse?
A icy cold sensation settles in around my midsection. Frozen tendrils creeping up to take hold of my chest and stopping my heart, mid beat.
You won't. I know exactly who you are - moreso than anyone else - and I'm confident you'll see it done to the best of your ability. And also, the voice growing softer as it fades, Evelyn thinks very highly of you. As a personal favor, please keep her safe.
With that our brief contact breaks and my heart resumes beating. Giving my chest a couple thumps to make sure.
“Evie, you're a champ. I want you to know that.”
“What did she want?”
“She said she wants me to keep you out of trouble.”
“The only reason I ever seem to run into trouble is because of you.”
“You have to admit this was way more entertaining than some stupid duel.”
“Thank you for at least acknowledging that this was a bad idea.”
“I never said that, Evie.”
Giving her a wave and spinning around to join the powwow at the center of the dueling area.
“-only a theory,” says Lane, “but that weapon of yours may have some unintended properties you're not fully aware of. I'm going to want to look at it, and you should be more cautious when using it.”
“Sure, sure, we'll deal with that later,” Wilde says, not really paying attention. His focus, instead, on me. “Lucy, you ready to get back to this?”
“How're you feeling?”
“I feel great.” Wilde striking a pose, causing the Empath healing him to shift his position in order to maintain contact. Lane getting that disappointed look again.
“He's got some burns,” says the Empath, “mostly first degree, some a bit more, as well as some minor internal damage that probably came from the wand.”
“Do you really feel like you're up to it?”
“I'm ready to go right now, but if you're not you could always concede.”
He still wants to do this. Well, he'd come to the event prepared. His new chain coat, stronger than steel but not the sturdiest or lightest material, had been made out of a metal that possesses an innate resistance to magic. Certainly not cheap, and certainly not common, he must have commissioned it specially for this occasion. His cloak and boots, also new, their brown color not yet faded by the sun or dirtied by the dust of the road. Who knows what other little tricks he'd prepared? If he still wants to, it'd be disrespectful not to go through with it.
“Five minutes?” The Empath shrugging. So, more or less. “Hey, Lane, if I need your approval for a weapon, I've got an irregular one I want to use this time. Let me show it to you and get your sign off.”
Walking over to Riley and Wolfe, and receiving a torrent of insults from the people around them.
“Evie, do you have my bag, I need to get my chain.”
Reaching into my pack and pulling out my specially made fifteen foot chain.
“Is that made from...?” Lane asks.
“Yep. And it wasn't cheap for this little amount of chain, I'll say that much. Is it allowed?”
“What do you usually use that for?”
“Flesh Golems in the graveyard.” The man displaying some concern, but then his curiosity winning over.
“I'll allow it,” he says. “Oh, Macarthy, I doubt it'll be an issue this time, but try and keep everything above board. For everyone's sake.”
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“Won't be a problem.” Jackass. Kneeling down and starting to draw the Animate runes on the center link of the chain.
Wolfe coming over, spending a few moments watching, then taking a seat next to me. “I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier,” she says.
After every insult thrown my way today - still being thrown out! - after all the vitriol and hatred, the person with the smallest, most insignificant, most deserved failing of the bunch feels the need to apologize. Replying with 'Don't worry about it' would be an insult.
“Kate, you're better person than I am. I should be apologizing to you on my hands and knees for dragging you here.”
“If you're offering,” says Riley, “I will take that apology.”
“Don't worry Evie, I just got something and you're first in line when I figure it out. But, what's up, Kate, you seem on edge.”
“I'm fine.”
She'd been about to say something, but then had clammed up when Riley opened her mouth. Well, she's probably fine, she'd say something if... if what? Wait, if anyone wouldn't open her mouth, it'd be her. Where'd my sudden ease come from? Looking down and noticing Wolfe's hand resting innocently on my leg. Taking a breath, trying to focus and sort through my emotional tangle.
“Kate, you not saying anything when you need to doesn't help anybody.” Removing her hand from my leg. “I thought we know each other better than that.”
Wolfe opening and closing her removed hand. Taking a moment, then staring me down. “It was a stupid idea coming here.” Her true feeling coming through. Thoroughly fed up and angry.
“No shit. But you followed me in, so what does that make you?”
“The fool that follows the fool. I try to avoid crowds – I've got something to better help manage it, now, but everything still presses in – and these people are the absolute worst. It's like everything they do is designed to be big and boisterous and bursting with emotion.”
“So stop using whatever it is you're using.”
“Five seconds after you came outta that door I pulled it in. Besides, I don't need it to know everyone here absolutely hates your guts, and you hate them right back. You drew that on your face for everyone to see. Why are you even bothering with this?”
“Me not liking them is part of the reason. You said you were fine being backup, so back me up.”
“You're hopeless, you know that?” Wolfe letting loose an incredulous laugh. “These people are yelling at you for cheating, but look at the weapon that guy's using. If what you did is cheating, and what he's doing isn't, what kinda sense does that make?”
“It doesn't. I figured you'd already sort of come to terms with the way things work around here.”
“I don't think I ever really will.”
“Kate, you never will if you keep everything bottled up. It's not good for you - and manipulating other people's emotions isn't good for them, either.” Jabbing my finger at her.
“You're one to talk,” she mutters. “How badly do you even want to win this?”
“An hour ago I didn't really care. Now? I do and I don't.”
“That's what I thought. You know what, Lucy, fuck you.”
“Kate-” Riley warns.
“Evie, be quiet, I'm not going to walk on eggshells around her. She's not even remotely as crazy as she sometimes puts on. There's always method to the madness.”
“I coulda told you that,” the other girl says.
“So what do you want me to do, Kate? I'll concede, if you want, and then we'll get out of here.”
“If you dare do that I'll break every bone in your body.” She's serious about that. At this moment, right now, she'd try to do it, and she's probably justified in doing it. “And then I'll fix you back up. I'm going to get your head right and you're going to take this seriously.”
“You already did. I'm terribly sorry that everything is so out of control, and that I disrespected you so badly.”
“Don't fight me.” Grabbing my hand. “You've been such a mess this morning. You've been bouncing around since before we got here.”
The feelings coming in waves. First, a calm, unnaturally calm, and my first instinct being to rebel. Wolfe shaking her head. Trying to relax and let it wash over me, to send all my internal discord away, to send everything away. Blasting and scouring it all. Next, anger, her anger at every single person within earshot, including, and especially, at me. The sensation ebbing and flowing and throbbing with the curses still being directed my way by the crowd. Added to that, excitement, happiness even. Where she's even-? Oh. I love you, too, Kate. Last, the calm again, but mixed with something indescribable and placed on top, not to wash the other emotions away, but to contain the sensation underneath.
“This is how you feel when you're out fighting in the field. My closest approximation.”
Is that what this feeling is? Everything's all simple and clear, and there's my goal. The path to it wide and obvious.
“I won't let you down, again.”
Breathing in the brisk morning air and letting the crowd's hate roll over me while walking back to the center and re-setting up. Breathing out and staying centered. Tossing the chain down in a heap to the side and activating the Animate runes inscribed on the middle link. Wilde five paces away, his spirit weapon held in both hands, in its default state as a halberd. Taking a sideways stance with my left leg forward and holding out my hatchet. Reaching out and reacquainting myself with my metallic extension. Willing the chain to raise one end off the ground. Uncoiling, defying gravity, rocking back and forth, making it seem like serpent ready to strike.
The spectacle of it raising into the air having the desired effect on the crowd. Their jeers and hate giving way to rampant speculation. It was something they'd never seen before and, because of that, capable of anything in their minds. If it causes Nico to hesitate, it'll buy me some time to draw on him, and if he comes charging in, like last time, it'll wrap it around him, either an arm or a leg. My grin going wide. Flexing my new appendage, causing the end in the air to rear up, with the other end still on the ground whips back and forth like a cat's tail.
Lane looking over at me. At the chain. Raising his arm. “Go!” he shouts.
Wilde extending his arm, opening and closing his hand, his spirit weapon vanishing and reforming. In place of the halberd, a bow, and his other arm already drawn back with an arrow knocked. Firing.
Forgetting about the chain, letting it fall, and activating the shield in desperation to slap the projectile out of the air, and another, twice more, with each deflection releasing a shower of sparks as the incoming arrows are smacked aside. Taking a step forward. *crackle* And the next one coming right after. Swiping it down. Juking to the side, foiling the next shot, and extending my empty, gloveless hand to put a blot on the ground in front of him.
Another arrow, and another arrow deflected, sending more spots dancing in front of my eyes, the crackling flash momentarily drowning out the yells from the crowd. Focusing on the blot on the ground and juking again to the side. Summoning the image to my mind, the curve, the sharpened lines and intersections of a Rune Trap. Reaching out and-
The serrated tip of the arrow tearing through my armor, creating a line of pressure in my right thigh.
-activating the Rune Trap. Activating the shield in preparation for the next incoming arrow but none coming in. Trying to blink the spots out of my eyes. He's not where he'd been. Every shot he'd been blurring more and more with the background and now he'd vanished from sight completely. The colors of our surroundings all earth toned, brown dirt, and the members of the house all wearing browns and greens, with hints of grey where the armor underneath their cloaks came into view. The only spots of color their little gold on blue insignia.
There's nothing worse than a fair fight, nothing so inequitable on its face. Fights should be dirty and quick and one sided with outcomes nigh forgone. Rules of honor and gentlemanly forbearance create and enforce the worst kinds of dishonesty. The strong dictate and the weak give way, the active move and the passive are trod upon, and the smart place their pieces and the stupid find themselves hedged in. He'd dictated the terms of this engagement, he'd chosen the venue and he was comfortable pelting me at range or having a straight up fight in close combat. And now he'd resisted the Rune Trap and completely camouflaged himself to ride out the sickness, and he'll be ready to fight again, soon. Now isn't the time be stupid or slow. Focus. His strength and foresight is no excuse for my weakness. Now move.
This direction, he should be over here. Taking a step and a lancing pain running though my leg, the fletching of the arrow still sticking out with the tip firmly embedded. Ignore it, bear with it, it's not bleeding that badly. Raising my hand to draw on anything in range.
Taking another step while my empty hand made a sweep, and a streak appearing in midair less than ten feet away and approaching. He's definitely been holding back on certain details in preparation for today. The pressure in my right thigh vanishing, the entire arrow disappearing, as his weapon changes forms. Wilde's blurred image bounding forward, his halberd making an overextended, horizontal chest high slash.
Elegance only exists in storybook combat, the real thing never has any such luxury. Tucking my hatchet and rolling to the left to avoid his attack. Quickly pulsing the shield in his direction to send a cloud of dirt and rocks his way and reaching out to one of the many Mending runes already pre-molded on my armor. Scrambling back to my feet, feeling more tired than moments before, but my leg once again supporting my weight, tender but no longer bleeding.
There's the streak over there, but he's not charging in, he's trying to loop a bit around. Why isn't he- oh, he doesn't know he's been marked. But what to use? He'll partially, mostly, resist everything. Had started a bit less than full. Sixteen plus nine plus seven, about fifty five left. Moving slowly in the direction of my discarded chain while keeping an eye on Wilde's not entirely camouflaged form.
“She can see you!” Someone from the crowd yells out to inform him. The cry being taken up by a few more. Cheaters.
Tensing for the inevitable, and the inevitable coming, another barrage of arrows. Knocking them aside, left and right, all of them aimed no higher than my stomach. Ah, that's what it is, he's been aiming all of them low so if they miss they won't hit any of the spectators - or at least they won't be fatal if they do. Another arrow releasing and Wilde taking a step forward. Another arrow being flicked aside in a shower of sparks. Moving a bit closer and his weapon shifting back to the halberd. No overbalancing swing this time, no mammoth attack, only a measured advance with his weapon ready to strike.
If he'll mostly resist everything then better to chip away. The form appearing in my mind, three dimensionally a fissure. Going to break your new magic resistant armor apart and rip you to shreds. Wilde's weapon momentarily disappearing, raising his hands and chopping down. Using the shield to knock it to the side. Disjunction. Some spiderwebbing cracks appearing, but Wilde barely even flinching. A rubber mallet striking a metal can, the outside dented and the squishy bits inside jostled, but not more than that. Screw it, just keep using it, there's soft flesh underneath. Disjunction.
“You mangy, flea-bitten bitch!” he yells. It's working! It's definitely hurting him, and he's definitely – the weapon shifting form to a spear, and the guy unleashing an unrelenting, furious series of pokes and thrusts. Dodging and smacking them aside with the shield, forgetting entirely about attacking, just doing my best to put my feet behind me to not end up full of holes.
It did work, he's hurt, but more than anything it made him very fucking angry. Goes to show a rubber mallet's more annoying than effective. Can't get in close, his weapon is always the best for what he needs, and staying on defense is a losing proposition. There's only one remaining option, full attack, and with this backpedaling my weapon of choice is nearly back in range.
Using a particularly violent pulse of the shield to force the spear away and reaching out with my right hand to call my set aside, long metallic limb. Grabbing the end links of the chain and his weapon slashing back down, a halberd once again. Releasing my control of the chain in order to activate another burst of the shield to knock the attack aside and then manually whipping the fifteen foot length toward him, Taking control and securely wrapping the chain around his middle. A spear thrust coming directly at my face. Not releasing control of the chain to activate the shield, and instead rocking my head to the side. Barely grazing, the attack narrowly avoided.
Releasing my held end of the chain at him and constricting it, pulling it in on itself in order to give Wilde another hug. A second thrust to the face, easier to dodge this time, going wide. The chain going under and around his armpit. A third thrust of the spear coming, not at my face this time, lower. Shifting my weight to the left, trying to dodge again, but too slow, my mobility limited and my concentration split between my feet moving one way, and the chain another.
The tip of the spear piercing my chest, and the rest of the blade following. He looks so elated, he thinks he's won. Teach you not to underestimate me. Ignoring the pain and keeping my concentration on the chain. Someone else got stabbed. Someone else's breathing suddenly became very labored and filled with fluid. The hot pain radiating from my center not mine, the throbbing ache a mere phantom.
Whipping the other end of the chain up at his face and then around his neck. His arm coming up, trying to stop it, but also being constrained and forced against his neck. The feeling of the links wrapping around diverting his attention, letting me stumble back some. Tightening the grip of the metallic links. My fingertips starting to feel numb, the taste of blood on my lips.
Wilde's weapon contorting out of control, the blade extending, making little turns and getting jagged, turning into some nameless thing. The chain wrapping around his leg, squeezing, and pulling it out from under him. Walking forward, each step and each breath sending out waves of pain, focusing only on keeping my hand clutched tight. Everything getting all dreamlike and my hands going numb. Hatchet up and then down on his exposed face, slicing through the bridge of his nose into an eye, sinking deep. A translucent ghost appearing at his side.
The Mending rune is already on my armor. Need to heal up and stop the bleeding, but somehow already down on one knee. Maybe take a quick seat, first. The ground coming up to meet me and everything tasting and smelling like blood. Yells and shouts around me.
“Let me through.” Her voice a bit of a ways away. More yelling and shouts. A white ripple distorting the air off to the side of my vision, and following it an agonized scream of pain. If it had been loud before, now its pandemonium.
“Let her through.” A man's voice, much closer. Lane. Absolutely furious. More yelling, but sounding like everything is moving further and further away. An unfortunately familiar sensation when bleeding out. And then a feeling of warmth pulling me back from the brink.
“Don't worry.” Her voice as warm and as reassuring as the feeling radiating from her hands. “I've got you.”