Underneath my fingertips, the lay of the Heartlands made itself clear. Eight tall spikes where there was once sixteen: the Spires of Heltia to the south-east, no longer beholden to its namesake but the whims of House Baylar – more grounded than the city’s predecessors, in their ruthless mercantile way. My hand walked its way west, finding tall towers and daunting walls made diminutive by scale: the Albright’s castle, home of the most powerful family in the land and painted a gleaming gold – or so others informed me. The territory that was exclusively theirs seemed small, but only when ignoring the fact that every other House existed at their tolerance. The fate of House Heltia made that clear.
The Heartlands themselves were flat; as shapeless and inscrutable as whatever secrets it hid. Past its broad borders lay the recalcitrant grasses of House Esfaria – the largest territory of all Houses but also one of the least productive. Unyielding earth generated an unyielding people, yet even the small harvest their land deigned to give was greater than anything the Wastes could provide.
Its cracked earth and grainy material against my fingers felt like the lines of some ancient face, yet despite its barren nature House Esfaria reached downwards anyway, to the small city of the Foot and the oasis it cradled. And past there, the bones of the Raven and its people, invisible to my sense of touch but always quietly smouldering somewhere in the back of my mind. Esfaria strived to execute the monstrous Ravenkin and obtain whatever Godsblood had melded with the taboo blood that defined those creatures. According to all reports, the countless Ravenkin that had feasted on Avri’s corpse in the days following its death were nearly eradicated. Esfaria had separated most of the Ravenblood and left it to languish into impotency under the harsh desert sun.
My fingers flew northwards, past leagues of Esfarian territory and the former Heltian territory of the Heartlands, to brush past the Albright’s flanks. There rolled smooth hills and fields of small bristles intended to represent grain that nevertheless felt rough against my skin: House Baylar’s territory to the north of the Heartlands, studded with rivers and good soil excellent for making rich men richer. Or so it had been. With the Ox having emerged from the Heartlands like a monster from a mound of bloodied carrion, its rampage through Baylar land had seen it devastated for the first time in decades. The cost of obtaining Spires may yet outmatch the reward. Doubtless they would attempt to lure it back to Esfaria, where it had roamed their expansive plains for years, but I doubted the House would take kindly to that. And of the two Houses, Esfaria knew Enn’s divine mind better. Baylar’s hubris had enough irony to fill a dozen songs.
And on the border of the Heartlands and Baylar proper lay the home of my own hubris: Fort Vane. Small and squat; untouched and unpunished. Inoffensive, despite everything. But there was irony there, all the same. Nothing had changed. No reward for four years of scheming.
I’d woven a thousand elaborate plans forming a net of schemes that felt, with each passing day bereft of any news, far too fragile to catch anything. The world was too large to fit under my fingertips. Yet too small to fit me at all.
I withdrew my hands from the map my parents had commissioned for my brother a decade before their deaths and rubbed them over the tired lines of my face. I needed to sleep, but judging by the scant heat on my skin sunlight had already begun to shine through the windows of the observatory. Or so it had been called when my father was the protector of these lands – the term ‘observatory’ took on a more amusing lilt cast from the mouth of a man who would never see from it.
The room was perched somewhat haphazardly on top of the original Fort – a relatively recent addition to what was a relatively young location. Fort Vane had been built at incredible expense in my grandfather’s time, and the observatory had been built at incredible expense in my father’s. I had already paid my dues, but only time would tell whether I had managed to herd anything here.
I drummed my fingers against my collarbone, then sighed and slumped over to my work-table. Atop it squatted the project I had been working on for the past several years, its surface studded with a set of pincers (heat, activation array; bond, basic array; bond, recursive array), attached to a half a sphere (bond, recursive array; bond, recursive array; bond…) with every surface covered in runes I had painstakingly carved myself. Most of it was my own work, but it still irked me that the prototype was based on something I believed Neelam – that old, ignorant man – had created for House Esfaria’s use. Neelam was undoubtedly a genius, but an excess of Owlblood had narrowed his perception so far that even a blind man had more vision than him. Better to keep Yoot’s influence thinner – enable focus – and use mortal genius to bridge the gap than become a doddering, dazed fool like most Owlbloods.
I felt the contraption and my own lack of further insight, then snorted. I couldn’t even focus on the device I’d created. It was a work so staggeringly complex that it was borderline incomprehensible when it was looked at in its entirety, yet I was certain the minutiae could be improved vastly. Greater efficiency; greater safety; generally better short and long-term prospects – all were outside the scope of this prototype. But without the right person, it was impossible to test. And I had no real peers who could provide criticism. I’d never had any.
The drumming of my fingers echoed through the vast, empty room. I frowned, then tapped my fingers again. The way the sound bounced around the observatory was familiar, yet off.
I tilted my head. “Hello?” I called.
A quiet scoff from a place I’d thought empty had me turning so quickly I knocked a chisel from my worktable in my hurry. Another moment passed as the sharp sound of flint against metal grated on my ears.
My nostrils flared as they caught the stench of cigarillos. “How the hell did you get in here without setting off the door chimes, Valorie?”
“Slowly. Wanted t’see how long it’d take you t’stop molestin’ yer map an’ notice. An’ it’s Val,” came her voice, ground to a harsh gravel after decades of smoking. “If you’d be so kind, boss-man.”
I smiled wryly in the direction her words emanated from. “Three letters seem far too short for a woman as talented as yourself.”
She gave an amused bark, accompanied by a faint jingle as she slipped the bell I’d given her onto her wrist. She only ever wore it in conversation with me, and I had never asked for anything more. “Four’s only a mite longer, so I’m satisfied accompanyin’ you in brevity.”
“You spoil me, Val.” I lay a hand on my chest dramatically. “If only all my partners were as devoted as you, and I could have the Heartlands in more than just miniature.”
We both chuckled at that.
“…You don’t want the damned place, though, d’you?” she asked suspiciously.
“I wouldn’t have sold it if I did,” I responded. “Are the Baylarians still roaming about outside?”
“Yup. Waitin’ fer th’ runaway princess, I gather.”
I sighed. “Maleen. She doesn’t deserve this.”
“Who does? She shoulda gone south.”
“We both know this fort was the only place she could have gone.”
“You gonna take her in if she makes it?”
I nodded. “If she makes it. But beyond these gates, my hands are tied. You’re certain they won’t storm us?”
“After what I did for ‘em? An’ with all them…” She paused, waiting for me to supply a name. I never had. “…Big cloaked fellers at yer back?”
“They don’t know about them.” I waited for a moment. “…Not going to mention the king?”
A small chime as she waved a hand. “King does what king wants.” The grin in her voice shared space with a rare tinge of respect. “If that means killin’ you…”
“Not yet.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “I just…” The urge to vent all my fears gave way to better judgement. Val was a dangerous person to share doubts with.
“They might siege us fer Maleen, though. Yer grandaddy put together some good defences here, but we’ve too few sentries t’use ‘em well. No one thought she’d make it this far. Heartlands’s a bad enough place even without a whole army at yer heels. It’s bad luck for her, but it’d be a brain-dead move t’let ‘er in.”
I nodded slowly. “We’ll see. Any sign of her?”
She chuckled. “S’what I’ve come in here for. They’ve made a nice little wall o’ flesh twixt the Heartlands an’ here. Bunch o’ riders dragged this old feller out with ‘em.” She sniffed. “Looks like they’ve worked him over, but even with yer little far-sight thing, I can’t see much more. Whaddaya think, boss-man?”
The ‘far-sight thing’ was a device I’d created to magnify light. It had been my first major project, put together to amplify light over a decade ago, but had languished in storage ever since. Ironic in hindsight, given I had possessed little use for it, but I had thought someone else might be impressed with it. But the few individuals in the Fort hadn’t wanted it, and selling it would see replicas proliferate through the land with little profit for myself. Upon first using it, Val had launched into a tirade calling everyone who had refused it fools.
The memory still lent a faint smile to my face, despite the fact I knew she had not done it for me. Or maybe she had weighed the cost-benefits and made the deliberate choice to do it for me. Beneath a thin skin of genuflection lay an iron core of cynical mockery. She wore a skin of good humour over a heart of ice.
I had never thought women could come as cold as Val. My mother and her maids had been gentle, soft creatures. When Maleen had visited, she had been small and shy. I had heard her bodyguards were exceptions, but as silent as they were I hadn’t been sure they truly existed. I’d heard of great warrior women – like General Maja, or Bina, or dozens of other heroes – but they dwelled in the realm of stories. Swaddled within Fort Vane, insulated from the outside world in every way that mattered, I’d never had a chance to meet anyone beyond the few dozen acquaintances. Until four years ago.
Val took a long drag of her cigarillo. “What’re you day-dreamin’ ‘bout?” she asked.
I considered lying, but thought honesty would be more enjoyable for her. “Women.”
“Ha!” she barked. “Typical. Who is it? One o’ them prissy little maids? Maleen out there?”
“You’re sure it isn’t you?”
A short pause, then she wheezed, long and hard. Just when I was beginning to get worried for her health, the scarred woman barely managed to get her laughter under control. “By all that’s good an’ green, I hope not.”
I raised an eyebrow, failing to conceal a smirk. “I’m not your type?”
“I like a man who jumps when I say jump.” A pause and swishing of hair as she shook her head. “You try an’ jump, an’ you’d jus’ fall over.”
“It’s probably a good thing that you don’t lust over your future brother-in-law,” I joked.
“Not yet you ain’t. Or are you ready t’get all them documents ready to say so? ‘Cause I’m more’n happy to speed this whole thing up.”
“I’m sure you would like that. But no. Not until we’re done.”
“Can’t blame a girl for tryin’.”
I said nothing at that.
“An’ I know I haven’t been a girl for a while, but…”
I leaned over and picked up a chisel off the floor.
“Don’t sulk,” she spat, “it makes you look like a constipated dog. The little snot’ll get here. You said yer cloak-buddies saw ‘im by th’ old crater.”
“I’ve no clue how much I can trust them. Or how much they trust us.” An overly strong sweep of my arm whacked another instrument off my desk, and I restrained myself from growling as I bent down to pick it up.
“He could be with th’ little Head, numb-nuts,” she snapped.
“That would be convenient, but I don’t bet on convenience.” The word left a sour taste in my mouth. “The plan’s thin enough as-is. And what about the people after him? You do understand what it means for you if- ”
“You’re worried about them?” Val gave a mocking laugh. “Gods: I wouldn’t trust them lot to keep them kids they caught tied up. I reckon that cloak-girl I told you about’ll slit their bellies like a bunch of dead fish, if she hasn’t already.”
I shook my head as I finished rearranging my workstation.
“What?” she snarled. “What? You got somethin’ to say?”
“Calm down, Val- “
“I want you to keep it together.”
“I’m allowed some self-pity.”
“Some? It’s disgusting- “
“Val,” I warned, trying and failing to keep the anger from my voice.
“There we go.” And just like that, her provocations were gone. “Put some spine into it. Have a bit of godsdamned belief.”
I sighed heavily. A few moments ago I had felt a night without sleep weighing upon me. After the conversation with Val, I felt twice as exhausted.
“Let’s go have a look at their ‘wall of flesh,’ then,” I said.
She suddenly slapped me on the back. “That’s what I like t’hear. Let’s have a look..”
At her approval, I rubbed at a sudden flush at the back of my neck and felt for the cane I kept at the observatory entrance. Dangerous, that. After finally managing to grasp it, I followed the soft chimes of Val’s bell out onto the small veranda ringing the observatory proper. Wind whistled softly across the decorative battlements and ran its icy fingers through my hair. I crossed my arms over my chest and pressed my bare feet together.
“Cold, boss-man?” Val asked. “Should I fetch yer down-blanket? Give you a massage? Heat some scented water an’ wash yer lordly feet?”
I had precisely zero chance of getting her to do any of those things for me. “So long as we get back inside before too long, I’ll be fine.”
“Well, don’t let the wind carry you away,” she stated, bell jingling as she leaned on the battlements. “Not much change at first blush. Better view, though.”
“Can you make out anything further away?”
“Hold yer damn horses – it’s barely dawn. You could hoist Kani’s head on a flagpole out here and the Fox itself wouldn’t make out anythin’ but shadows an’ fog.”
“The fog’s still around?”
“…Mostly gone.”
The wind whistled as a brief silence reigned. It stretched further. I drummed my fingers against my collarbone and wondered what kind of expression the person next to me was making. Just before the quiet extended from discomforting to outright unpleasant, Val spoke.
“Oh, movement.” There was a jingle as she raised the far-seer to her face. “Damn, they’re really goin’ for it.”
“Who is?”
“Round six people ran from- “ A faint, insubstantial shout command carried over the plains. “Bout to be spitted by arrows. Oh, damn!”
Hair swished as she turned around. “What is it?” I snapped.
“Some Owlblood jus’ spewed a bunch o’ light. ‘nough to make someone blind,” she stated, then laughed. “If they ain’t already.”
“They’re a strong Blooded?”
“They’re bloody fat. Couldn’t tell you much more’n that.”
“And- “
“Oh, look at ‘im go!” Val shouted. “Man jus’ shattered the Baylar line! An’ right behind him’s this…”
Her voice trailed away into nothing.
“What?” I said, because the only thing I could do was ask. “What?”
She breathed out a short laugh that was a pale imitation of her usual cackle. “That’s…”
I resisted the urge to shake her. “By the blood, Val, if you don’t- “
“It’s my daughter,” she said.
I blinked. “You have a daughter?” She had never mentioned one. I had never imagined her capable of having one.
The woman beside me did not seem to hear me. “Ha,” she whispered. “Let th’ birdie out o’ it’s cage and it bloody flies back anyway. What’s a lady t’do?”
I pursed my lips, angling my head elsewhere.
“Well.” There was a series of audible pops as she stretched her back. “She’s alive, I guess. If fate’s gonna go t’the trouble o’ gift-wrappin’ somethin’ fer me, who am I to refuse?”
At another time, I might have let her have a moment for herself. But we would need to make a decision about whether to open the gates soon. “Your daughter,” I prompted.
“Kit,” she said.
“Wouldn’t it be Pup?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
She paused. “Oh, right. I kept tryin’ t’get people t’call me ‘the Lynx’, or somethin’. Kept robbin’ people who though ‘the Jackal’ was a man. It pissed me off so I wanted a more feminine name. Always liked cats – vicious creatures, them. Gave up a short while after she was born, but we’d already been callin’ her that fer a while.”
I sucked air in between my teeth. It was an incredible coincidence that Val’s daughter – who I’d never heard mentioned in the half-decade we had known one another – would arrive alongside Maleen. Though, it was almost certain that any woman half as skilled as Val would be snapped up by Graves in a heartbeat. I hoped the old bodyguard had made it, if only for Tam and the girls.
“Y’know, s’pose it’s a funny thing ‘bout birds. Let ‘em out o’ the cage an’ they’ll jus’ fly right on back.”
“What is she like?”
“Well, she’s a good-lookin’ girl. Not quite so pretty as me, but gettin’ there.”
“I’m sure you’re so radiant that if I wasn’t blind already the sight would burn my eyes from my skull.”
She wheezed a laugh. “Yup, that’s me.” There was a quiet inhale as Val took another drag of her cigarillo. “Strong ‘n lean. Mean, too. Made sure t’raise her tough as a brick. She’s about as dumb as one, too, but no one has it all.”
I replaced the frown tugging at my lips with a wry smile. “Except you.”
Another cackle. “Right you are.”
“Will she help us?”
“She’s canny enough t’know what’s good for her. She’ll help me.”
“And me?”
“So long as you’re on my side.”
I sighed. “I’ve always dealt fairly with you, Val.”
“Mm. But I’m jus’ waitin’ fer the day you decide fair ain’t clever for you.”
“It will never be clever to make an enemy of you.”
A brush of hair against shoulders as she inclined her head. “Jus’ makin’ sure you remember that.”
Another long pause followed as I gathered my thoughts. “Is she a good fighter?”
“Yeah. Damn, look at her go. Jus’ butchered two fellers down below. Bam bam,” she rattled rapidly, “jus’ like that. An’ look at that big feller! An’ that man… Blood. Like an entire line o’ soldiers is so much nothin’.”
“Is she as skilled as you?”
Val inhaled slowly, a low rattle in the depths of her abused voicebox.
“Val?”
“She’s…” The woman ground at the words as if they were nails stuck in her throat. “In a fair fight, she’s better.”
I sucked air through my teeth, weighing her bitter tone in my mind. It took several long moments to formulate an appropriate response. “How often do you fight fair?”
“Never, if I can help it.” The grin had returned to her voice.
“That seems more your style,” I told her.
Val snorted. “Kit’s in the archers – whatever Owlblood or fancy gadgets she’s got is doin’ work – along with some massive feller. Like a scythe through wheat. The big man…”
The bell chimed as she shuffled forward. “Yoot’s ilk’s stealin’ his feet from under him. Bit o’ fire. This guy though, he’s somethin’ else… Oh! He’s lopped th’ legs of a horse. Th’ Owlblood’s horse!”
“His ally?”
“Use that thick skull o’ yours.” she snapped. “No, not his damned ally.”
“Well, I can’t- “
“Hoo-hoo!” she cried. “Just crushed the lil’ swine ‘neath his boot. And… Oh.”
I felt like tearing out my hair. “Just bloody tell me!”
“They’re too spread out. With the cavalry… Does Maleen have orange hair?”
“Yes.” I leaned close to Val, as if closer proximity would somehow grant me her sight. “Why?”
“Well, I suppose that problem’s ‘bout t’be solved.”
“She’s there? I’ll go and give the order to lower the- ”
“It’s a stupid risk – you know that. An’ she’s…”
“What?” I growled.
“Well, their Owlblood’s doin’ business again. Saved her noble hide, but seems some big bastard survived.”
“What happened?”
“Ox’s balls, Gale – I’m gettin’ to it. No bloody appreciation fer- “
“Valorie!” I snapped.
She cackled. “Well, some big Oxblood jus’ got stabbed by some guy, killed the feller and ripped his guts out in th’ process. Enn always makes ‘em simple. Say what you want ‘bout them angry Blooded bastards, but they sure do know to die.” She took a drag of her cigarillo. “I ever tell you ‘bout this stupid bastard in Spires- ”
A pause.
“They’re not movin’. Why ain’t they movin’?”
“They’ve stopped?”
“They’ve stopped in front of an entire godsdamned army.” She released a heavy breath. “What th’ blood’re you doin’, birdie?”
The scene her words had created in my head was a static thing, broken by moments of sudden flux. Every idea of the physical in my head behaved the same: a single place; a single object; a single person – all illusions created by my own grave ignorance. I knew all this, but could not change it.
That meant sometimes I was simply wrong. More often, I possessed some combination of accurate elements and inaccurate ones. But sometimes, I was right.
I took in a sudden breath. My heart thudded in my chest.
“The man’s stopping them?”
“Yeah. How’d you- “
“What does he look like?”
“Huh. Tall – ‘tween an Oxblood or big mortal; probably a big Foxblood, judgin’ by how he moved. Hair’s too dark, though. He’s broad. Got dark-ish skin. He’s messed up, an’ coated in some kinda black gunk.”
“How many eyes does he have?” I said quickly.
A slight chime from the bell around her arm as she turned her entire body to face me. “What?”
I tried to grab her, missed, and screamed, “How many eyes!?”
An intake of breath as she understood what I was asking. Several excruciating seconds passed as she looked out at the battleground again. “Gods. Six. Maybe seven. He’s hurt bad.”
I could barely breathe. “My god…” I whispered. “We need to get them in.”
“Gale- “
“I’ll handle it. Go.” I waved an arm towards where I knew the gatehouse was. “Get them lowering it.”
“Won’t be able to convince Baylar- “
“Hurry up!” I screeched.
“Watch yer tone, boy,” she snapped. “I’ll do this for you, but you damn well better be haulin’ your blind ass down behind me.”
“I will, so stop talking and move!”
Val’s grumbles gradually disappeared as she re-entered the observatory and barged out through the heavy door with an uncharacteristic amount of noise. I jogged after her, pausing only to snatch the device off my worktable and slip it into a pocket. The bells on the door jingled as I hauled it far enough open for me to squeeze through, then slipped into the stairwell.
Descending was a cautious affair. I had broken an arm several years back when a maid had tipped a carafe of wine on the varnished wood and neglected to inform me. The stairs spilled into one end of the upper halls, where my own residence was.
The room was musty, overly spacious, and generally unused. I paced over to a wardrobe and inserted a key from one of my pockets into it. When I pulled it open completely, I allowed myself to run my fingers over the worn, cracked, piecemeal tablets that waited within. Tales of blood and suffering and peace; of an eternal heaven and a temporal hell.
I snatched my fingers away and slammed the door shut. I had a job to do.
That large, empty room offered little else to me. Of greater interest was the attached workshop, where I did most of my tinkering.
As soon as I entered it, the scent of burnt hair, reeking ozone, and unwashed bodies crawled up my nose ferociously. The final smell indicated the presence of either myself or my assistant, Colin, after several days of work. Given that I had bathed yesterday, the reek could only belong to Colin. The click-clack of the bell I’d made to identify him soon proved me correct.
“Colin?” I called, swiping my cane rhythmically to avoid running into him, or any fallen tools that would stab into my bare feet.
My implement soon snapped meatily against what must have been his calf.
“Hm?” The man gave a grunt that grew louder as he turned. “What is it?”
“I need you to fill a sack with any bloodtech with combat applications.”
“Combat applications?” he asked, as if the phrase was entirely foreign to him.
The Owlblood often struggled to equate the things we created – often with the ability to violently propel objects or explosively detonate in a burst of flame – with their practical use. Like most of Yoot’s ilk, his focus was narrow and shallow; he missed simple things and shunned discourse. He was good at what he did, but without my guidance he would have gone the way of Neelam – continually expanding something for no other reason than the desire to continually expand it. What use was magic that helped no one?
I patiently began listing the items I wanted. They were stored inside the adjacent storage rooms and had likely remained unmoved since I placed them there, but recalling their exact location and painstakingly running my hands over their runes would take less time than Colin simply glancing at them.
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After several failed attempts to impress upon him the need for haste, the bag was eventually filled with a select few items I thought might be useful for deterring any would-be invaders, or at least frightening them into a conversation. The bloodtech mounted on the walls would have to do most of the heavy lifting. I ran my fingers over the devices within the bag and hoped I would never have to use them on anyone.
I tucked my cane under one arm and hobbled out under the weight of the sack without saying goodbye to Colin – he cared little for pleasantries. The varnished wood beneath my feet was mostly smooth, yet frequently indented with the memories of countless domestic incidents: dragged furniture, dropped bottles, idle scratching, smashed plates and failed experiments all leaving a mark perceptible even through the soles of my feet. Accompanied by the almost silent hum of everburning lanterns, I continued loping towards my destination.
The hallway was wide enough to allow two people to pass, but not without remark. The delicate rattling of Bella’s bell – one of the Fort’s maids – notified me of her presence a short time before its owner greeted me.
“M’lord,” she muttered. No remark about my luggage. “Careful of the mop water.”
I opened my mouth to say something – a witty retort, something to spur laughter – then closed it. A nod was all she wanted.
The mop water – cold and musty – clung to my feet as I trod past. She had moved out of my way.
There were several routes that could be taken to the outer court, where the gatehouse lay, however the fastest was through the Hall of Mirrors. Within the expansive ceiling of the Hall, all sound soared and swooped, multiplied by its acoustics into a reverberation that enhanced its source a hundredfold. Every step was accompanied by a dozen others, slowly fading into nothing. Even the dull pad of my feet on stone seemed something much greater.
The floor transitioned suddenly into glass, which formed a skylight for the dining chamber below. In its centre was a brazier that was almost constantly aflame during Frost, to which Colin and I had attached various bloodtech pipes which would heat air throughout the fort. There was no need for sight to know they wove their way through the air above me – I’d placed them there, after all. Even bowed beneath the weight of the sack as I was, I made sure to run one hand over the hot runes, assuring myself that they did truly exist.
Originally, the Hall had been intended to host any visiting nobles – a more stately counterpart to the homely dining area below – but it proved too cold to eat in. The endless mirrors that lined the walls apparently created an effect that inspired in low doses and unnerved in high ones. The incredibly expensive space had held a few parties before the Fort’s isolation slowly stifled such gatherings into nothingness. In the present, the Hall gathered a soft blanket of dust in its stale air. I liked the place: the Hall was wrapped in a familiar silence that few other places held. In a way, it was comforting. Though perhaps only to the blind. I’d heard the maids say it was still good for lighting the dining chamber, at least.
I gave the Hall’s pipes one last pat as I exited it, then turned a sharp left into one of the servant’s stairwells. Stomping down the precarious, winding steps put me at risk of jamming several splinters into the bottom of my feet. My only solace was the scent of baking down below. Whatever was being cooked was likely made with honey. We had not had honey for almost a year, but several of the people that came to negotiate with me had offered gifts. Several months back, one Baylarian ambassador had brought a hefty pot of honey that had needed three people to carry in.
A rapidly-approaching tinkling warned me the kitchen-hand, Alfie, was barging up the stairwell heedlessly. The adolescent ran with a recklessness that had led both him and I into collisions several times before, so to avoid further embarrassment I pressed myself against the banister of the stairwell. The boy stumbled slightly upon sighting me, muttering an ‘So sorry, m’lord’, then continued rushing upwards.
“If you are looking for your mother,” I called after him, “she’s mopping the floor past the Hall of Mirrors!”
Bella wasn’t a mother I would want. The simple act of exchanging words with me had been enough to earn him a hiding behind closed doors. The stone walls were not thick enough to conceal his sobbing the next day. But any interference on my behalf would be a severe overstep. The kind that I was certain Bella would outright rebuff, damaging the frayed authority that tethered the people of the Fort to me. Most had lived within its confines for decades, yet many had already departed upon my father’s death and my brother’s illness.
With the weight of the sack across my shoulders, navigating the steep descent was barely manageable. Far more dangerous than the stairs themselves was the fact I rarely took them. When I clomped downwards and realised I’d misremembered a stair that was not truly there, I was sent teetering downwards.
The moment before I hit the ground, a sudden set of clangs accompanied a thick set of arms wrapping around my torso.
“Oh, blood,” the Fort’s cook, Greta, groaned as her arms trembled. “You an’ your brother, eh? I’m too bloody old and you’re too bloody big fer me to keep catchin’ the two of yous.”
“Apologies,” I said, scrambling to stand straight before both of us hit the floor. “I was in a rush.”
“C’mon m’lord, have a honeyed flatcake, eh? Just finished ‘em.”
The pressure of her arms temporarily released as she moved to seize my hand instead – as she used to, when I was a child. She begun guiding me into the kitchen the stairwell connected to. The scent of baking sweets was overwhelming, yet the kitchen was almost entirely silent: empty of the bustling that had once filled it. There simply were not enough people in the Fort to warrant too much effort.
“Spent a bloody year lookin’ for some way o’ bakin’ bread tha’ ain’t borin’, aye?” She gave a loud snort. “Couldn’ find one. Let me tell ya, m’lord, if it takes me a hundred years to bake another loaf again, it’ll be too soon.”
The large bell around Greta’s neck clanged as she continued speaking. She had been the first to agree to wearing one, but had requested the loudest one possible in exchange. Yet the cook had never spoken so loudly or laughed so boisterously, back when my family had been whole. A veneer of overly-wrought cheer fell on her whenever I was around. I was already trying to figure out a way to extract myself from her grip.
“You may need to bake another few loaves.”
“Wha’? Why?”
“Val and I are working to admit entrance to several people,” I explained. “One of them might need food that doesn’t trouble the stomach overmuch.”
“Soup, then. Not bloody bread.”
“Alright. You’re the expert, after all,” I said, gingerly pulling my hand from her grasp. “Now, uh, if you’ll excuse me…”
“O’ course, m’lord. And if you need- “
“I’ll be sure to let you know,” I stated rapidly, swinging the sack back onto my shoulders.
“I could help- “
“I’ll be fine,” I snapped.
My retort seemed to hover in the short silence that followed.
“I appreciate the offer, Greta,” I said, more gently. “But I will be fine.”
The older woman sighed. “Take care, Gale.”
“I will.”
I walked out into the stagnant air of the dining hall, where most chairs had long since been placed atop their respective tables, to better allow the servants to clean underneath. The faint sound of disturbed water resounded through the empty space as one of the maids dipped a rag into a bucket and wiped the dust from the furniture. Her bell chimed slightly, but that revealed little – there were three maids that occasionally swapped theirs. I did not know who she was. She knew that, and said nothing.
I walked out of the hall. The dimensions of sound fundamentally altered as the air above me stretched into sky. A bell rung distantly as the guards atop the wall sounded an alarm, while Val and the soldier turned both stablemaster and captain of the guard – Greta’s husband Henrik – argued with one another. The few horses that waited in the stables stomped nervously at the sound of their master yelling. The scent of grass and mud mingled pleasantly.
Most of the structures within the Fort were pressed snugly against its battlements, sheltered from the elements by thick stone rooves. The exception was the outer court – the mostly open space the drawbridge led in to. The rows of flowers that circled it had been uprooted in recent years and replaced with various vegetables, but otherwise remained mostly unaltered since the days of my grandfather.
I braced myself and began squelching through the muddy snow towards the walls.
“Duke Vane!” a high voice called as a set of feet stomped past me.
The full title seemed strange. Being a duke meant little in Heltia, given the only other nobility was the Heltian line itself. Either way, it did not belong to me.
“Tam,” I greeted. I still had not found the time to make her or her children bells. “Just Lord Vane. My brother remains the Duke.”
“Right, o’ course, many apologies,” she stated hurriedly. “I heard that might be Maleen over the wall. Is Tully with her?”
“I’m going to find that out right now.”
“You have to let her in,” Tam insisted.
“I will, Tam, regardless of who’s there. You might need to prepare yourself for the worst- “
“I know. I know. It’s a long, dangerous road from Spires. But- ”
“Wait inside the Fort proper,” I warned. “There may be arrows coming over the wall. You will be the first to see… Whoever enters.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Thank you, lord.”
Her squelching steps quickly departed as I stomped towards the wall.
“Boss-man,” Val called from above. “You need a hand with that?”
“No!” I replied, then reached the ladder. “Yes.”
“Step back a beat.” I followed her instructions. She clambered down so quickly I could scarcely envisage how she had done it. “Alright, hand it over.”
I did so and she grunted under the weight.
It was easy to forget that Val didn’t have the body of a young woman. “I’ll take some things out- “
“Pfft.” She began scaling the ladder, most likely one-handed. “You,” Val grunted, “think, ugh, I can’t handle a bag?”
“I would have- “
“I can handle a bag!” she ground out. A fleck of spittle fell on my hand from above. “I could, nugh, toss this bag an’ hit the Dolphin if I wanted!”
She grunted and swore her way to the top of the wall without dropping the sack. I cautiously climbed after her, making sure to have at least three limbs on the ladder at all times.
The top of the wall was filled with a tangle of noise as guards scurried back and forth in preparation for the oncoming army. I only ever came to this place to maintain or add the bloodtech weaponry mounted on the outer sides of the battlements – a rare occurrence leaving me with a muddy idea of its layout. None of my disorientation was helped by the guards’ lack of bells. Asking them to wear ones had seemed a good way to expose our garrison’s lack of numbers to any would-be enemies. Part of me regretted that decision, now. I groped for a wall and leaned on the outer edges of the battlements, out of the way of the activity.
“…strange order, s’all I’m saying Miss Valorie,” a familiar voice sounded.
Val let out a frustrated growl. “Gale’s told me- “
“Lord Gale.”
“Yer bloody boss’s given the order, alright?”
“Look, Val- “
“Lady Valorie.”
“It’s- “
“Here’s the big man hisself.”
A chime followed as Val stomped over to me, seized my arm, and hauled me over to the man she was speaking with.
“You fall asleep or somethin’?” Val drawled at me. “Not like we’re in a time sensitive situation. A lord needs his rest.”
There was a pregnant silence as the guards around her processed those words. I could feel their eyes turn to me, awaiting some kind of rebuke that would never come.
“Henrik,” I greeted.
“M’lord,” the captain of the Fort’s guard stated. Henrik was an older man, but an infusion of Lizardblood in recent years kept him as fit as a young one. “What’s this ‘bout the bridge gettin’ down?”
“It’s true.”
“Sir, if we’re known to host fugitives- “
“Running towards the Fort are Head Maleen and her few remaining companions.”
There was a long pause as Henrik processed that. “Are you sure?”
“Val, give him the far-seer.”
She gave an audible grumble, and for a moment I thought she would refuse, but a moment later there was a short snap as she thwapped the long device into Henrik’s waiting hand.
Barely a heartbeat passed before Henrik was speaking again. “Sir, with all due respect- “
“No,” snapped Val, “with respect. Don’t matter if it’s due or not, you speak t’him like he’s Wump itself.”
Henrik continued tersely. “They will not stop.”
“I have guarantees from all sides involved in this war, Henrik,” I assured. “We will be fine.”
“Might be that none of those schmucks out there know that!”
“All we have to do is momentarily stop them,” I said. “Get them open to negotiations. We don’t need to shelter Maleen forever, but she needs to get behind these walls.”
“We have a dozen guards.”
“We have one of the most well-fortified positions in all the land and a surplus of bloodtech weaponry. You’ve never had an opportunity to use my creations, but if need be they could kill every single remaining soldier out there.”
His accent grew thicker alongside his agitation. “If we kill ‘em we’ll be dealin’ with more’n just them! It’ll be all o’ Baylar!”
“Which is why we won’t kill any of them,” I snapped. “Lower the drawbridge. Make a show of force. Get them inside. Raise it. I will negotiate.”
“M’lord- “
“That’s enough,” snapped Val. “You have yer orders.”
Henrik made a strangled noise, then sighed.
“Ambrose, why don’t you help our duke along?”
“Lord,” I corrected. “Give him the far-seer.”
“Yes, lord. Off you hop, Ambrose. There’s a good lad.”
A short sigh was shortly followed by a muttered ‘My lord,’ as Ambrose locked an arm around my own. Ambrose was Greta and Henrik’s third and final child – born almost two decades before I secured a small amount of Lizardblood to buoy Henrik’s ailing health. Their first two daughter had already been married to some well-to-do merchants that used to trade between Baylar and Heltia, before the Jackal’s continual pillaging of the trade routes led Baylar to suspect Heltia was purposefully reneging on their deal.
The unions had been organised by my mother and myself, and had proved a great asset in contacting the bandit during the foetal stages of my plan – back when the Jackal had just been a name on the other end of our letters, and I’d yet to progress further than desperate fumbling. It wouldn’t be an understatement to say I owed everything to that connection. I wouldn’t have been able to get anywhere without her.
Ambrose was only a few short years younger than me, but I supposed he would forever be a lad in his father’s eyes. He had been a vague presence most of my life; one that lingered outside every conversation his parents exchanged mutely. We rarely spoke.
“Tell me what you see, Ambrose.”
“Spirits.”
I frowned. “What?”
“I mean,” the normally eloquent man stuttered, “my lord, I’ve seen several strange shapes in the forest, as the fog cleared. They resemble- “
“Ghosts,” I mused, mind falling to the words engraved on the slabs hidden in my closet. “Ghosts,” I repeated, a slow smile forming on my face.
“Sir?”
“I believe you. But I need to borrow your eyes for a moment. Tell me what you see.”
“Of course…” A pause. “May I ask, how does this thing- “
I took the far-seer from him and extended it, keeping each of its many runes pressed against my consciousness. The deeper my examination went, the more power my Owlblood would push into them. With blood as thin as my own, the comprehension needed to go deeper.
After a quick exertion of will to fill it with power, I handed it back for Ambrose to peer in. He inhaled a breath.
“What do you see?”
“Five are running – one needing assistance from another and far slower – while an… Oxblood? Carries a sixth,” he reported. “The army… How many have died? There are corpses- “
“Ignore them. What’s the army doing?
“Chasing them.”
“Who- “ I stuttered, “who’s the one being carried?”
“A, uh, short, no, tall man. Covered in some kind of black substance.”
My fingers twitched. “You’re sure?” I grated out.
“Yes.”
I flexed my bare feet, feeling the contours of the freezing stone and the small chinks between them.
“My lord?”
“I… How did they…”
“The remaining cavalry are charging them.”
“What? How long before they- “
“Mere moments, my lord.”
My jaw worked silently. “Val!” I screamed.
Steps immediately padded towards me. “Bridge’s lowerin’, boss-man.”
I vaguely noticed the heavy sounds of chain being unwound, but they were unimportant. “Get the, get the ballista.”
She comprehended my nebulous commands without issue and ran off towards one of the small ballistae mounted on the wall. They were closer to oversized crossbows, yet had been modified to propel their payload at far more vicious speeds. But the true difference lay in the bolts Colin had put together for them. I’d reluctantly modified from designs originating in the Spires of Heltia, but then again, there was little bloodtech that wasn’t. Neelam Heltia had been in a genius in every respect except the ones that mattered.
“Scare the Baylarians!” I called after her. “No deaths, Valorie!”
“Not even one?” she joked back.
“Val!”
She snorted, bell jingling as she waved an arm in acknowledgement.
“Keep describing,” I commanded Ambrose.
“Several of the horses seem to have fallen due to Owlblooded influence from a, uhm, round woman. Her magic seems to have run out.”
I frowned. An Owlblood’s power, originating from their body, shouldn’t be finite. Steady, perhaps even borderline useless unless channelled through bloodtech for an individual as weak as myself, but not a resource that ran dry. The woman must be a layman using bloodtech, however modifying something as complex as momentum shouldn’t be something a mortal could do without extensive knowledge of runes. A field which only those with a hint of Yoot altering their minds could comprehend. It was a paradox.
But the mystery could wait. Ambrose continued speaking. “The other cavalry seem to be wary of getting too close.”
“How many remain?”
He counted in a whisper. “One, two, three, four, five. Five, my lord.”
“Do they look… important?”
The young guard awaited further elucidation.
I had little to give. I’d never seen what I was attempting to describe. “Uh, badges? Heraldry? Like… officers?”
“We have identified them as officers, yes.” I hoped I was imagining the hint of exasperation in his tone. “One seems to bear the marks of Dure.”
“A Lizardblood- “
“The infantry have charged past the cavalry. They seem… Unafraid.”
“Unafraid?”
“…Hateful.”
“Are they gaining ground?”
“Some faster than others, but yes. None seem particularly quick, but the limping one is slowing them dramatically.”
I clenched my fingers ineffectually around my cane, leaning over the battlements as if it would help me comprehend the scene better. Guards shouted around us as they rushed to prepare for the oncoming soldiers, and I felt the almost overpowering urge to scream for silence; to be able to glean some hint of clashing swords or approaching footsteps.
“Val!” I cried. “When can you fire?”
“Hold yer horses, Gale. It’s a bloody hard shot yer demandin’.”
I turned to Ambrose. “Do, do they- “
“The swordswoman has slowed to combat the first three to reach them. She has… killed one. Amputated another. The third, though…”
“What?”
“Ah. She has been tackled.”
That was Val’s daughter. “What do- “
“The limping woman has stabbed the one who tackled her comrade. The spearman – though he seems young – who was assisting her has managed to impale another soldier on his implement.”
“Brave.”
“Perhaps,” Ambrose mused. “But even with the teenager abandoning his weapon, they are far too slow to escape. The infantry will reach them in five. Four. Three- “
A massive retort ripped through the air in front of us, so loud I feared Enn itself had suddenly taken the field. The weapons of several guards around us clattered to the ground moments after the sound, while an echo like a thunderclap rushed through the plains around us. A faint ringing took residence within my ears.
“The ballista,” I said, releasing my cane to better grip the battlements. “Has it killed anyone?”
No words followed, only a slight rattle as Ambrose’s helm rattled.
“Ambrose.” My fingers were clenched tight enough to ache.
“They…”
“We have tested these weapons. There should be no smoke; you should be able to clearly see what’s happening.”
“I’m just…” A pause. “It was too bright. I can’t see.”
I growled incoherently. “Val!”
“Yes?” came the distant reply.
“Did you close your eyes?”
“’Course.”
“Warn the others next time.” There was no bite behind my demand. “Have you killed anyone?”
“Well,” she chuckled, “they certainly got a scare.”
“Are they moving?”
“Some’ve fainted, but none were hit.”
“Is the army still charging? Are the refugees running?”
“By all that’s good ‘n green, give ‘em a moment. They were right bloody next to it. Oh, but, yeah. Few soldier with more courage ‘n wits are still runnin’.”
“Is your daughter- “
A clank of armour as Ambrose’s head snapped towards me.
Val grunted, bell ringing alongside the sound of a heavy crank turning as she reloaded the weapon. “Yup. Still down. She’ll be up soon.”
“What- “
“Get yer pissboy there t’tell you what’s goin’ on,” she growled. “I’m busy savin’ their hides, thank you.”
“Wha- Pissboy?”
Ambrose straightened next to me. “Shut yer filthy hole, you northern slag!” he screamed in his parent’s accent. I winced at the volume.
Val just cackled.
“Ambrose, be quiet and tell me what you see.”
“I didn’t- “
The strain of ignorance pierced through my patience and twisted my face in a vicious snarly. “It doesn’t bloody well matter whether you have wet yourself or smeared dung in your eyes and started to perform a bloody Divinity!” I hissed at him. “So long as you can tell me what the hell’s happening out there!”
“Uh,” he intoned bonelessly, “well, uh, most of the army have halted. A few… haven’t noticed that fact, and are still running.”
“How many?”
“Maybe eight?”
“Are our refugees moving?”
“Yes, finally. The giant one has abandoned the large man further ahead to return and help them along.”
“They need to grab him,” I muttered. “Tell me when- “
“The big one has picked him back up. They aren’t going faster than a walk, however.”
“Why?!” I snapped. “There’s an- “
“My lord,” Ambrose quietly rebuked.
Right. I was his lord.
Val yelled a warning, giving everyone enough time to clamp their eyes shut and plug their eyes before another concussive bolt hit the middle of the battlefield. The infantry was apparently in disarray, with most of the stunned soldiers resisting any attempts for the cavalry to shove them back into formation.
My own inefficacy had lulled me into a fugue. I was not just a spectator. There had to be something I could do.
The fog of my own idiotic mania cleared from my mind, and I remembered what I’d set out to do. I groped my way to the sack and retrieved one of the devices – a relatively simple sound-amplifying set of runes – and held it over my mouth.
“HOLD, BAYLAR.” My voice was almost enough to deafen my own ears. “ALLOW THE REFUGEES ENTRANCE. NEGOTIATIONS MAY COMMENCE AFTERWARDS.”
“They won’t like that,” muttered Val to me.
I barely prevented myself from flinching. I hadn’t heard her approach. “There’s no alternative. Are they stopping?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then I’ve done what I need to.”
“Mm. Well. Hope yer eventual negotiations go well.”
“It will be fine,” I told her, attempting to dull the edge that crept into my voice. “Are they inside yet?”
“Give ‘em a minute.” The sound of metal striking flint scraped against my eardrums as she lit a cigarillo. “You go an’ greet ‘em. I’ll keep them soldiers out there from gettin’ too close.”
I nodded.
Val clapped me on the shoulder. “Good work, boss. We’re nearly there.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, and began the laborious process of retrieving my cane and descending the walls into the outer court. After leaving firm instructions to demonstrate some of the nastier weapons if the Baylarians got any closer, Henrik quickly followed.
I danced from foot to foot, fighting against the icy snow freezing my feet and the tension filling each limb. The urge to pace was almost overwhelming, but with the snowfall and ice ubiquitous through Frost, the ground often differed from day-to-day. If the visitor’s first impression of me was of a blind man tripping into the snow because he couldn’t sit still, I might break my own skull open with a rock.
Time stretched. Every single one of my senses grew taut. It felt as if each individual movement in the area was grating against my skull: from the slow clanking of the lowering drawbridge to the barest brush of boots against stone atop the wall. A gust of chill air slithered across my skin. A bug crawled across my bare feet, and I shook it off with a swear, Emerging from beneath it all were five faltering pairs of footsteps.
Henrik’s ragged breathing grew louder as he leaned closer. “Are you sure ‘bout this, m’lord? There’s still time to raise th’ bridge, keep ‘em all out.”
“It cannot be for nothing,” I told him.
“Gale…”
“Come on,” I said, as the drawbridge finally touched ground with a dull thump. “Let us greet our guests.”
We walked, slowly and steadily, beneath the gatehouse. The shadows were cold, but the day had barely begun. There was ample time for it to grow warmer.
I folded one arm behind my back as the footsteps halted on the other side of the draw bridge. All except one pair, who pushed themselves to the front of the group with a strangled grunt.
“Gale?” came a voice. Lower than it had been in that dry Summit all those years ago, when a troublesome girl had been entrusted into the care of a mopey teenager, because none of the adults had the time. Yet still familiar through all the differences.
Despite myself, I found a soft smile on my face. She had always been a good kid. “Maleen. Come on. Don’t keep us waiting.”
Maleen quietly sobbed as the group limped their way into the courtyard. Immediately, Henrik began reporting their injuries.
“Ma- Head Maleen has an arrow through her leg.”
“Gods.” My head snapped towards him. “Can you tend to it?”
“She needs a doctor. A surgeon.”
“I know, but ever since Varas ran out on us we’ve been in short supply. Surely you have ample medical experience? On the battlefield, I mean?”
Henrik had been recruited from House Heltia’s mercenary army, along with most of the guards on the wall. “Some.”
I tried to judge the contours of that brief response, but the tiny amount of information available to my ears yielded nothing. I swallowed. “What do you need?”
“Greta, some twine, an’ some o’ that hard liquor your maids like to hide. And a hot iron.”
I ran a hand through my hair, imagining the surgery. “Gods.”
“But m’lord…” Henrik sighed. “The man looks far worse’n her.”
“I’ll handle him,” I assured the old guard.
“M’lord?”
“From what I know, I believe him to be part Lizardblood.”
“…Part Lizardblood? What do you mean…?” Even with the dulling effect Lizardblood often inflicted on Blooded, it took Henrik little time to understand. “Oh gods. His veins.”
“Help Maleen.” I paused for a moment. “Bring one of the group with her so she feels more comfortable.”
“I can’t leave you- “
“The entire guard is on the walls, Val included. Surely you don’t believe a group cunning enough to cross the Heartland, survive the Aching, and outfox Baylar to be stupid enough to attack me.”
“We need to- “
“Henrik.” I ground my teeth. He should’ve known better than to force me to command him. “Do it.”
Whatever expression he made must have been a sight to behold, but it was unavailable to me. “…Yes m’lord.”
Then he was moving away, beginning the process of quietly explaining everything to Maleen.
I ambled over to the four others, where some unwieldy weight was slowly being lowered to the ground. Distantly, I heard Tam’s voice quietly breaking into sobs. Tully was not among them, then. I rubbed my eyes and continued onwards.
“Wait,” came a voice similar to one I knew well, yet missing the huskiness of long-abused lungs, “Gale Vane’s bloody blind?!”
“Kit…” rebuked Maleen, pausing her conversation with Henrik. “He’s the best the Heartlands has, now.”
“The best can’t even see the godsdamned runes, Maddie! How’s he supposed t’help- “
“Perhaps tell me what you need first,” I snapped in her direction, unwittingly scrunching my nose as if I’d smelled some overcooked, underdone meal I’d eaten far too many times before. “And maybe avoid judging my competence from what you first see – as someone who can never make that mistake, I assure you it will do wonders for your future relationships. Because I seem to be your only choice, Kit.”
“Listen, you little…” There was a frayed quality to her voice I had missed in my initial ire. “I jus’…”
My tone softened. “What do you need?”
“Can you help… this feller on the ground here?”
I swayed my head, listening for any surrounding footsteps. Henrik, Maleen, and one other were departing. Several careful steps brought me closer to the three who remained, and the one on the ground. “The Ravenblood?” I whispered.
“Wha… How’d you- “
“He’s covered in black blood, isn’t he? Has black veins? It’s not difficult to figure out.”
There was a sound of fingers brushing past fingers from one of the taller ones. “How do you know?” asked a different, smoother voice. “You’re blind.”
The question would’ve raised my hackles, were it not for gormless inquisitiveness of its tone. I turned towards the speaker, trying to gauge any mockery from them but unable to in the silence. “Who asked that?”
“Gast,” replied the woman. “…For Ronnie.”
“Is one of you the Owlblood?” I asked. “Or perhaps. But one of you can read runes?”
“Yes,” said the same voice.
I suddenly decided I didn’t want to push Gast asking how she could read runes. It could only be uncomfortable. “Alright. What do you want me to do precisely with this man?”
“Get th’ blood out.”
My breathing quickened, and I immediately fought to steady it. “You’re sure?”
“Look, I know it’s… I know it’d be easy t’end him, but he’s done you a favour for gettin’ Maddie here. An’ he should get one in return, right?” I heard her swallow. “Right? That was th’ deal Maddie gave us. One wish from you, for what we’ve done for her.”
My brows wrinkled. “I’m not a star. I cannot grant wishes.”
Silence.
“But I can try. For what you have done for me.”
Everyone present released a breath. Except me, who struggled to keep mine firmly under control.
For a moment, I considered not asking my next question. Leaving it unsaid, and simply going through with the operation without consent. But doing so would disrespect everything I believed in. It would all still work if he refused. “Does he want this, though?” I said, carefully.
“Yeah. More’n anythin’.”
There were noises of agreement from the two others.
I swallowed, a fierce pricking emerging from the back of the back of my eyes. Leaning backwards, I felt the cold air wash over my face. At that moment, what did the sky look like? Did the world beyond my own – ephemeral and forever beyond my grasp – react to what had just been said? In the darkness of my mind, I felt it must have. After all, here was the moment where the world beyond my own ceased mattering.
With a dig of my nails into my palms, I brought myself back to the outer court and reached into my pocket. I brought the device I had spent what seemed like unending hours working on and proffered it towards the rune-reader – Gast. She gently retrieved it from my hand.
“What’s that?” Kit asked.
“A conversion stone,” I told her, voice steady.
“It’s not gonna work- “
“It’s designed for the Ravenblood.”
There was a pause. “What?”
A carefully moulded sigh emerged from my mouth. “I wanted to prove I was better than Neelam.”
“Neelam Heltia?” Her tone grew agitated. “So you jus’ happened t’design a conversion stone.”
“Neelam gave up. During the Heltian Conditions,” I added, “the presiding Houses asked him whether it would be possible to simply take the Ravenblood from Cultists. He thought it would be too difficult. Too pointless. So when I heard the song about the Ravenblood of the Foot…”
“You made one.”
“It’s keyed specifically for a Ravenblood who has assimilated an Oxblood – that’s all I knew about him. Is this…” I took an unwitting step forward. “Is this him?”
Ragged clothing brushed as the trio rotated their bodies. Their breathing remained harsh from their labours. A boot lifted off the snow and repositioned elsewhere. Between them ran an exchange as alien to me as the gods themselves.
“How do we know you’re not jus’ plugging poison into him?” Kit’s words were stern, but her tone was exhausted.
“Get Gast here to check the runes. It obeys most basic principles of a conversion stone, though there are some truly extensive modifications. And to be frank,” I added, because her mother always appreciated frankness, “if I wanted to kill you I would have shot you before you reached the walls.”
“Gast?”
A pause hung. It grew fat and distended upon the tension that lay in the air.
“Good work,” she finally stated. “How did you…” There was a slight brushing of flesh as she rotated the device. “Oh, very good.”
“Gast?” Kit repeated.
“You made this?”
I nodded.
“He’s very good, Kit.”
“Does the…” Her voice was baffled. “Is it a conversion stone?”
“Kit, he’s very good.”
“Is it a conversion stone, Gast?”
“Yes. Maybe. I need more time.”
“Well, we got ‘til he wakes up, so is it a conversion stone?”
A silence. Gast must have nodded.
“Gods.” There was a rustle as she ran a hand through her hair. “This’s too good t’be real. No one gets this lucky.”
“It’s no coincidence you came here for this problem,” I told her. She seemed smarter than Val had given her credit for. “With Spires gone, it’s the only place you could have gone for this kind of help.”
“Blood. S’pose you’re right.”
“Now, Gast,” I said, “if you could insert the device into the skin above his heart, it should begin operation. I also need to warn you that I don’t believe it will remove all his Ravenblood; simply certain parts. I’ll need to talk to…”
“Vin,” Kit supplied.
“Yes. Vin.” I rolled that name over my tongue. “Vin. I’ll need to ask him several questions in order to modify the device correctly. It will be some time before I can remove all of it.”
“It usually take that long?”
“Longer, for conversion stones made for generic blood types, however this will be designed specifically for him. It should take far less time than usual.”
“An’ you can destroy the blood, too?”
“I can try?” That was no lie. I was being honest with them. I could try, if all else failed.
“Alright. Makes sense.”
Snow crunched as Gast lowered herself to the ground. There was a short silence.
“It’s done,” she said. “Stone’s on.”
I leaned over and felt the device. It was in his skin.
Just like that.
A sudden weakness took my limbs, and I steadied myself with my cane.
“Well.” I gave a trembling smile. “I should let you get settled. Gast and… Ronnie, was it?”
Silence.
“Ronnie jus’ nodded,” Kit explained.
“He… or she can’t tell me themselves?”
“Nah, they can’t speak. An’ I dunno what they are.”
“Right.” Possibly the worst kind of person to interact with a man like me. “I’ll have a maid prepare some rooms for you and bring some food – we have plenty of empty ones.”
A short silence, followed by a crack of turning necks. They were looking at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Oh, uh, right. Gast?”
“Ronnie wants a wish.”
I blinked. “I can… Could we discuss this later? I’m sure it will be more productive when you’ve rested.”
“They get rooms?” observed Kit. She gave a wet snort, then spat something onto the snow. “What ‘bout me?”
“I thought you would like to meet with your mother before you turn in.”
There was a brief pause. Something shifted around us. I’d made some sort of error.
“What?” she said weakly.
“Your mother, Valorie,” I told her, trying to decipher whatever had just happened from the faltering contours of her voice. “She’s employed within this fort.”
“You’re jokin’,” Kit muttered. “What kind o’ luck is that? You’re messin’ with me. Why would you- ”
There came a call from atop the walls, falling from high above to land thin and distorted at our feet. Full of good humour and frayed edges.
“What kind o’ luck indeed?” Val laughed. “I’ve never put much stock in hogwash like ‘fate’, but y’know birdie, I think I’m startin’ t’believe. Why else would you be here?”
There came a set of sudden, frantic steps, accompanied by a set of dull grunts. Kit must have shoved her two companions behind her. Her feet shifted in a familiar way, and with some surprise I recognised the stance. Val occasionally trained with the guards, and she always began a bout with it when outnumbered.
“How’re you alive?” The young woman’s voice broke into harsh, painful pieces.
“Aw, c’mon, Kit. Yer dear old mother could thread herself through the eye of a dragonfly, if needed. Prison bars an’ th’ Ox? Easy as easy can be.” A pause. “No thanks t’you, o’ course.”
“I…” The swordswoman retreated further as Val carefully descended the ladder. “It was a Heltian prison! I had no chance, Mother!”
Val tutted as she drew closer.
“Kit?” Gast asked.
“I would’ve died!” the young woman insisted. “It was over.”
“I was jus’ stronger’n them, kid. Wanted what I did jus’ a bit more fiercely than anyone else in that prison. Kept true to it. An’ kept fightin’ for it.”
Val gave a barking laugh. “S’pose you didn’t want it nearly as much.”
I listened, stunned, to Kit retreating further. “I did! I swear I did! But with you gone it was l-like…”
“L-like?” Val imitated her daughter’s stutter mockingly. “L-like what, huh?”
“I-It was like I was dreamin’!” Kit pleaded. “Like nothin’ was real, an’ I couldn’t…”
A high, barking cackle followed her words. “Time to wake up, oh Kit o’ mine.” I heard the grin in the Jackal’s voice. “Back t’the real world with you.”
----------------------------------------
The negotiations between the Baylarian officer and myself took a simple form. They would threaten to besiege Fort Vane, and I would tell them to bring someone with negotiating powers. It was a bluff, predicated on the belief that I wanted to avoid any deaths – we both knew I could devastate their army if it did surround us, but that would inevitably result in the full force of what was now the third most powerful House grinding me into dust.
However, after explaining that my link to House Baylar had initially come through the Albrights, there was little they could do without consulting their superiors. Potentially antagonising the ruling House was a decision the negotiating officer was extremely happy to defer up the chain of command. They sat in an unenviable position: their failure to capture Maleen would surely result in a flogging and subsequent demotion, but pushing to get the Head back would likely result in a hanging.
The compromise I offered was to give them leave to camp in the open fields around the fort, which would let the army ensure the erstwhile Head couldn’t escape. The danger Maleen posed as the last remaining noble of House Heltia was only operative so long as she could make connections and eventually return to Spires. Killing her was ideal, but caging her came a close second.
Of course, there was no certainty that the Albrights wouldn’t endorse my execution, but the opposite was also true. House Heltia was eradicated in every way that mattered, indirectly giving our monarchs what they had wanted from the war. Overkill to deter the House away from a rumour, but criticising would be hypocrisy. Given that I represented one of the most skilled Owlsmiths remaining after the fall, killing me would be a serious loss. But if they knew my suspicions about Ichor and my association with the Seeds, it would be safer to silence me.
But the point of the negotiation wasn’t to persuade the Albrights, or even permanently deter House Baylar. My demand that they let me keep Maleen and bring someone with actual clout combined with the concession that they could remain nearby should have given the impression that I didn’t want to keep the Head; I wanted to leverage her for more power. Gale Heltia had entered this game a minor player, yet remained only slightly stronger; why wouldn’t such an ambitious man want more? So I kept lying and wheedling and concealing and smiling and prayed they would see as little as I always had.
When they asked for the man who had killed so many of them as a token of good-will, I gripped the battlements fiercely enough to rip open my palms and told them it was cruel to blame the dog for the commands of the master.
When the sluggish beat of boots against earth had finally trailed over the plains and into nothingness, I slid to the cold stone beneath my bare feet, heart beating in my ears. They had bought the story I sold them. Of minor player who sat at the same board as them.
But in truth, I played a game of higher stakes. Of a hell with no more room for me, and the heaven with enough for everyone. And it was all reaching its final phase.
I placed a hand over my sightless eyes and began to weep.