Chapter 16 - Revelations

North of Penrith, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein Year 995

Amara watched as Isolde moved to pick up her spear. The woman inspected it, shaking some of the disintegrated Aberration parts off the blade. Her fingers wrapped around the handle, and Amara’s eyes honed in on a glowing jewel embedded in the center of the pole. Isolde tapped the gem, and in a flash of umber light, the weapon shifted, folding in on itself as pliable as clay until all that was left was a significantly smaller coil wrapped around the jewel. The glow faded, and Isolde placed the spear into a small pouch at her waist.

“What was that?” Amara’s eyes remained fixed on the pouch, as though she might be able to discern its secrets if she just stared at it long enough. It reminded her of the heating sphere she’d gotten Colm, albeit much more advanced, but it was always nice to hear confirmation of her suspicions.

Isolde turned to face her. “The blacksmith who made it embedded some of his magic into the gem,” she explained. “I can activate it by touching it.”

So she was right, then. Amara grinned. “Sounds expensive.”

Isolde chuckled lowly in response, but she didn’t deny it. Certain blacksmiths and artisans received licenses that allowed them to purchase ore for the sake of their crafting. None of the ones in Winrow had ever gotten a license, though, and so were unable to buy ore, even though Amara had heard the blacksmith mournfully wish for some far too many times. Anything that was made from such craftsmen was much more expensive, especially if it had magic imbued within it. Even the heating sphere she’d gotten Colm, simple and low quality as it was, was worth a majority of her savings. Amara’s eyes flickered over to the woman’s earrings, which swung slightly as she moved, currently perfectly mundane.

Amara wondered what level license the woman had. Even with a license, ore was still expensive, so she had to have money, which she’d already suspected. Her presence in a place as rural as northern Vanstead became even more peculiar. Amara was starting to lean towards the “runaway noble” explanation. That would explain her mannerisms, at least. Even after the battle, she still looked remarkably put together, and her silky hair was barely messy.

“So, are you a noble or something?” Amara asked, voice casual. She didn’t see a point in beating around the bush. Isolde raised an eyebrow.

“I’d rather not answer that.” She stepped closer. “Actually, I’m curious about you as well.” Her eyes shifted over to Amara’s scar-riddled arms, then to the back of her hand, where the numbers and letters had long faded away. The woman’s eyes were sharp, sharper than Amara had seen them so far. They still weren’t as intense as that piercing gaze she’d felt on the evening streets and in the shadowed tavern halls, but she was getting closer.

“As far as I’m aware, the highest recorded natural magic output in the history of Augustein is 16. 22 is unheard of.” Isolde nodded at her. “I also have yet to see anyone with such low variability. It’s always at least a third of one’s maximum output, and usually it’s half. And I’ve certainly never seen someone’s baseline stats change.”

Amara grinned, the edges sharp. “Yeah, it makes for a pretty destructive combo,” she joked.

Isolde smiled keenly, gesturing at the scorched grass around them. “I can see that.” She tilted her head to the side, her earrings swaying with the motion. Her voice lowered to a soft mutter that was just loud enough for Amara to hear.

“I seem to recall an odd rumor going around a few years ago,” Isolde said. She tucked a strand of hair back. “Some of the watchmen who participated in the coup claimed they’d found evidence of disturbing experiments sanctioned by the Raymoths. Magic experiments, conducted in some remote facility in northern Vanstead.”

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Isolde shook her head, and Amara watched her movements closely, but she found her own muscles remained largely relaxed. Fighting together had an odd way of making people more comfortable around one another.

“Of course, such rumors were left unverified. Most assumed it was propaganda meant to garner more support for the coup and the new Rosevale regime.” Isolde’s eyes stared pointedly at the scars littering Amara’s arms.

“You want me to confirm or something?”

Isolde was quiet for a few moments. A gust of wind breezed past, rustling the leaves and causing a few to scatter. They drifted down, floating in lilting, twisting paths before eventually landing atop the burned grass. Finally, Isolde smiled. Amara’s eyebrows rose.

It wasn’t soft, but it wasn’t threatening, either. Its angle was different from the other smiles Isolde had given so far, and more genuine than any other expression she’d seen on the woman.

“No, I think I already know the answer.” Isolde chuckled. “Besides, it wouldn’t be fair for me to press you when I myself have been rather tight lipped about my own situation.”

Amara stared at her. For a few moments, she didn’t speak, allowing the silence to hang over them as she absorbed both the words and Isolde’s expression that was at once new and also strangely fitting. Slowly, she felt a grin spread across her face.

Amara cocked her head to the side. “Hey, I appreciate the self awareness.”

Isolde laughed. A true, ringing laugh that shook the whole body and temporarily abandoned any airs of elegant grace. Finally, the woman shook her head, shaking away the last traces of amusement. She reached into her bag, which she’d recovered shortly after the fight, and rummaged around its contents before finally pulling out a roll of bandages.

“Here.” She stepped up to Amara, who was surprised to find herself remaining relaxed even when Isolde stopped right next to her. Isolde nodded at her arm. “You’re injured.”

Amara blinked and glanced down. A large cut was dripping warm red down her upper arm. It must have been from when she’d run into that branch, Amara thought.

Without another word, Isolde began dressing the wound, moving with quick, precise motions. By the time she was done, the white bandage stuck out starkly against her medium brown skin, sitting just atop the layers of scars. Amara swung her arm around a few times, testing it, but she didn’t notice any numbness.

“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “That would’ve been a lot messier if I did it myself.”

“I assumed so,” Isolde said, mirroring her expression. She stored the bandages away again and glanced around the clearing.

The remains of the fight were scattered all around. A pile of dust now lay on the ground a few feet away, all that was left of the Aberration. Scorched grass surrounded the mound, and more than a few tree trunks had been split apart, deep gashes marring their surfaces from where the Aberration’s limbs had gripped onto them. Branches littered the ground, and judging from the state of some of the trees, Amara suspected that more than a few would collapse soon, joining the ones that had already fallen during the fight. That is, if they weren’t swallowed by the Warped Forest first.

Amara’s eyes widened and she slapped her fist. “Shit, I almost forgot. The Warped Forest!” She spun around to face Isolde. “There’s still time to head there, right?”

Isolde stared at her. “You wish to see the forest,” she said slowly, “immediately after fighting that Aberration and being wounded. Am I correct?”

“Uh, yeah?” Amara scratched her head. “We can rest first if you want, but you don’t seem all that tired to me.” Mentally, she resolved to work on her stamina. She’d made it a point to get in shape after recovering from her wounds, and she’d always thought she had pretty good energy for having been malnourished for so long, but seeing Isolde during the fight was proof to her that there was still plenty of room for improvement.

A few moments of silence passed. Then, Isolde’s laughter rang throughout the clearing. Amara felt oddly pleased to hear the sound again so soon.

“Of course,” Isolde said with a smile. “Let’s go.”