Chapter 10: The New Host

Elma had to admit that Fulgan was right.

After donning his filthy clothes, strolling back into the fair was easy.

Far… far too easy.

It put Elma on edge more than immediately being surrounded would’ve, as most of the stalls seemed abandoned now. Tents were closed up with signs set out foretelling of the owners’ return. The only signs of life they saw were the Beetle-Drivers carrying cloth and tools towards the Stable.

Elma couldn’t help but pull at the hood of Fulgan’s cloak even if there was a hint that one of those Beetle helmets turned their direction. The third time it happened she felt Yorm elbow her in the side, prompting her to glare his direction.

Only to find herself once again distracted by how bloated the travelling coat made him look. He wore it over his fur armor, leaving him looking bulky even for a Tribal. Elma couldn’t help but think it would draw attention.

He was only using one of those wide-rimmed nomad hats to obscure his face, but wasn’t keeping it low like Yisshin tended to do. Elma was certain someone would eye him up, grow curious and start asking questions.

But the side-glance he was giving her implied his thoughts were elsewhere.

“What?” she hissed

“If you act like you’ve got something to hide others will assume the same.” He stated before stretching his neck “Relax.”

“Easy for you to say-!” Elma winced as she felt a tug. Looking down to the bundle of cloth in her arms. A tired, muffled groan seeped out, prompting Elma to quickly pat the bundle.

“Sorry!” She whispered in a quieter tone until the bundle went quiet.

“Wouldn’t want to wake the baby, hm?” Yorm reached out to give her a pat on the shoulder, But Elma quickly brushed him off.

“Oh who are you even acting for?” Elma gestured around “Besides those Beetledrivers its just been us and him since we got here!”

She gestured ahead towards the Rightster, who had been leading them southward since they reached the Tradefair. Elma had hoped his sheer presence would be enough to intimidate any suspicious eyes into looking elsewhere, but the only looks they’d gotten were the occasional glance from a passing Beetle-Driver.

It was terrible, but most of all it was quiet.

The distant sound of Beetledrivers talking to one another, the clanking of strung up pots or bottles hanging in empty stalls. It was a far cry from the bustling loudness that the fair had had only two hours ago.

The only hint at what had happened was a recommendation two different Beetledrivers had given when they passed them.

Go to the center, to the auctioneer’s stage.

But the Beetledrivers had been caught up with fixing their stable, and had given nothing else for them to work with.

Everyone was being told to assemble in the very heart of the trade fair, leaving the rest of it as barren as the Burybiter tents had been the last time Elma was there.

It was not knowing why that was the worst, but none of them had wanted to draw the Beetledrivers’ attention for more than was necessary by asking questions.

Perhaps someone who could actually draw was showing her face off to everyone just in case. Perhaps they were organizing search-parties to venture into the Beetle-Burrow after them.

None of Elma’s ideas did anything but make her grind her teeth together.

Yorm had been right, Elma knew that she’d be suspicious immediately if she saw anyone acting as anxious as she was. She needed to focus on something, anything else before she ruined their cover before they’d even had a chance to use it.

“How… did you and Lefty come to work with Fulgan?” she finally asked the Rightster “I mean, unless your names are just one of his puns then it sounds like you were close before.”

“Same hive… Lefty gave new orders when the Queen was slain, as there was no princess to replace her.” The Rightster continued forward as he spoke, the tip of his halberd head cutting through some of the taller grass “Yisshin offered resources in exchange for might, resources to construct a new Queen.”

“C-Construct…” Elma’s face went stiff as she tried to process the absurdity of what he’d just spoken “Build a new Queen?”

“Indeed, the legs have been sculpted.” The Rightster extend one hand before clenching his fingers tightly “I’ll craft the arms after the body, the Queen liked her hands.”

“Right…right…” Elma scooted a bit closer to Yorm so she could whisper “Still think working with them is fine? That was pure madness.”

“A dumb, impossible task is fairly benign, actually.” Yorm just shrugged off her concerns once again “Compared to most Queenless, I mean.”

It was infuriating.

He could point out how much she was putting the mission at risk because of paltry acting, but couldn’t recognize the danger of working with broken bugs. It wasn’t just concerning, it was absolutely stupefying.

And she could almost definitely assume that it was because of Fulgan.

Elma wasn’t entirely sure how their relationship worked before the Alliance called them in to help investigate the rumors of the Armory, but for some reason he refused to note the risks Fulgan was putting them in.

Broken bugs, sending them into the fair without him, fretting over his goods despite the savior of Altez being quite literally in their grasp.

Yet for some reason Yorm just kept giving him a pass.

As if just thinking about him had summoned him, a cloud of Black Ash formed before them right before Fulgan stumbled out. He’d managed to actually dress himself in another coat that Elma immediately realized was fresh and clean compared to the filthy leftovers he’d given them.

“Okay, okay, quick change of plans, friends!” He leaned against his crutch before turning and gesturing for them to follow “Come on, gotta stuff ya in my tent for a bit.”

His words were enough to draw her mind from the foul clothing he’d left them in.

“What’s changed?” Yorm asked, prompting Fulgan to stop and scratch at the side of his head.

His nails scraped some grime from his bald skin before he flicked it away and waved his hand about.

“Some big speech,” he continued forward “Burybiters want as many folks as possible to hear it, ain’t letting any tradesfolk leave with their carts till it’s over.”

“So your wagon’s grounded,” Yorm sighed before looking behind them “Beetledrivers kept pointing us towards the Burybiter tents, must want us to participate.”

“Which is not something we can risk.” Elma stated whilst glancing between the two of them “Surely?”

She didn’t like the looks they were giving each other, as if they were actually considering walking into the midst of a large gathering. As unsettling as the empty stalls and tents were, the idea of just strolling into an assembly of fairgoers almost made her feel ill.

Every single one of them were, if not supporting of the Archon, completely willing to do business with his supporters. Not to mention the sheer number of criminals that were likely profiting using the fair. Elma didn't want the Blade anywhere near such a gathering.

The Rightster didn’t look as though he was going to oppose whatever they suggested, he just stood off to the side waiting for Fulgan to do something whilst inspecting his broken halberd head. Perhaps that was just the kind of loyalty that lying could attain.

To Elma’s surprise, Fulgan didn’t send them into the lion’s den, instead shaking his head before continuing ahead.

“Eh,” He waved his hand around again “We’ll keep it on the table.”

But as he led them back through the fir towards his tent, Elma found that glimmer of hope dampening more and more. The further from the Beetledriver Stable they got, the less they saw of the Beetledrivers. It was a reprieve that Elma found far too short-lived.

For they began finding more Burybiters.

Wandering the central portions of the fair in groups of five or more, lounging about or waiting at intersections between stalls. The Burybiters initially only gave them glances as they passed. But eventually that changed, with those glances turning into confused stares as they kept walking.

Even with the ridiculous over-sized worker's trousers and jackets that most were wearing, Elma couldn't help but notice that they were immensely outnumbered.

Besides the flapping of tents in the wind and the voices of the Burybiters chatting loudly with one another, something else became apparent to Elma the deeper they got.

A loud voice was echoing from the heart of the Trade Fair, but they were still too far for her to cleanly make out the words. Despite that, something about the voice was familiar. She couldn’t quite make it out, but it was undoubtedly the speech that the Clans were herding people towards.

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And it became increasingly clear that the Burybiters realized they weren’t moving towards it.

“They know.” She muttered, only for Yorm to sigh.

“Just relax,” he gave her a pat on the back “we’ll be there soon enough.”

Elma couldn’t help but squeeze the bundle in her arms tighter every time a new group of Burybiters came into sight. They weren’t scattered all over the fair like before, and every pair of broken goggles or eyes felt like they were centered directly on her.

Eventually, that fear manifested itself in the form of one of the Burybiters pushing away from a stall to get in their path with two others. Fulgan didn’t slow down at first, until the Burybiter held up a hand towards them.

“Lost?” the Burybiter asked before pointing towards the loud voice in the distance “Speech that way.”

Elma’s tongue felt like ash in her mouth, choking her as her eyes darted to Fulgan. But he merely threw his free hand up and gestured back towards them.

“Try telling them that.” He groaned in disgust before nodding to the Rightster “My associate and I have told these two half a dozen times by now but-!”

“Please sir,” Yorm quickly pulled Elma to his side “you have to understand. She just wants our daughter’s herbs before the rain hits.”

“And I said we’d get the clans askin’ questions!” Fulgan snarled before gesturing back to the Burybiter “Well look here, it’s the Clan asking questions!”

Elma locked up, her eyes darting between Yorm and Fulgan as they argued. She knew she couldn’t just stand there clutching the bundle, so took a breath before hardening her glare and turning it on Fulgan.

“Heartless! You said we could have them as soon as we paid!” she spat at him whilst petting the bundle “Have you no regard for an infant’s pain!?!”

“Stop!” the Burybiter looked even more fed up with the scene than she was “Speech almost done! Move quick or miss out!”

“But our daughter…” Yorm looked to the bundle “Surely just a moment to-”

“No. Runt not cry, Runt okay.” He stated before pointing towards the voice in the distance “Move.”

Fulgan shrugged before starting to shamble in the direction of the Burybiter Tents. Once again, Yorm played his role as the caring father and pulled Elma into a side hug as they followed behind. She glanced up to find his worry quickly vanishing, returning to that even look of disinterest as they walked.

With the Rightster following behind and the voice becoming louder, Elma soon found one worry being replaced by another.

“You led us there on purpose, didn’t you?” she asked Fulgan “Just to make us act like fools.”

“Such a low opinion of me!” Fulgan snickered “I found your acting surprisingly swell! Still rubbish compared to us, but not completely foul.”

Elma wasn’t even able to fume at his continued lack of care, for she could see them. Fairgoers were scattered all over the paths leading to the Burybiter tents. Sitting besides stalls or leaning against tentpoles, their numbers grew as they drew closer to the center. Dozens of Men, women, Nurl and even a few Yisshin. Some were chatting or grumbling to one another.

But most listened to the voice.

“Fair not end with murmur. With big cheers!” the broken speech was enough evidence of it being a Nurl, “Archon not want fairfolk feel cheated! Dug last shinies for fairfolk.”

As the voice became clearer, Elma quickly realized that it almost sounded like Caltop. But it lacked his gruff inflections, his bitter tone. The Bundle in her arms was shifting and shaking more and more. She began rubbing it and quietly demanding silence, only for a muffled voice to seep through.

“M-Maltop?” it asked drowsily, and Elma was forced to admit that she had come to the same realization

By the time they actually reached the heart of the fair it was easy to see that several hundred people had crammed into the place. All gathered together looking up towards the Auctioneer’s stage.

It was no longer empty, with several men and women standing at the sides with the telltale glow of the Dream emanating from their eyes and mouths. Elma recognized a number of the Dreamers from Bullminth’s Armory, some of them she had personally cut down with Yorm. Yet there they were with manic grins and clenching hands with nary a trace of the damage they sustained down there.

Drawn back from the Dream in the exact physical state they'd been in when they first died.

At the side Caltop was downing another bottle of Burnfount with his good hand. The one Razzda had bit was pressed tightly to his chest, though the true extent of her bite was hidden by soiled bandages that had turned dark blue with his blood. There were no rivulets trailing down his chest, so at the very least the bandages had done their job to stem the bloodflow.

Beside him sat Luksen, examining a large pile of golden pieces that Elma quickly recognized as the same ones that the Burybiters picked from Bullminth’s Armory. In fact, it looked bigger than the pile they had gathered. But she wasn’t entirely focused on examining the excavated gold. Her eyes kept glancing to Caltop before following his own gaze towards the front of the stage.

Both were staring at the same Nurl everyone else’s eyes were glued to.

The one who’s head Elma had split open down Bullminth’s Armory.

And the one who now had a giant green eyeball growing from that very same headwound.

Maltop.

His eyes still emanated the same light of the Dream as he paced along the edge of the stage with a megaphone in one hand. But in between his eyes, the flesh Elma had split open was occupied by the Archon’s Eye. It grew from his broken skull, with clumps of brain matter clinging to its sides as it looked over the crowd independent of Maltop's movements

But it wasn’t making him levitate like the Host down in Bullminth’s Armory. The Archon’s Eye wasn't as fully grown as the one that had grown from the last host. That didn’t stop Elma from going rigid whenever it looked in their direction.

“Look all over, no more Shiny in ruin.” Maltop pointed to the pile of gold before grinning wide at the fairgoers “Fair move on, but still danger! Remnants get relic, ruin good business. Archon sees this, yes?”

“That filthy thief wrecked my bar!” one of the fairgoers shouted.

“Yes yes, Archon mad too!” Maltop pointed to him and nodded “Need thief dealt with, so pack up different, yes?”

It was surreal seeing him up there merrily proclaiming the Archon’s will given the state he was in the last time Elma had seen him. Of course, she’d known that her blow hadn’t killed him simply because he was still speaking after she’d wrenched her sword out.

But she hadn't anticipated the Archon’s Eye would move over to him.

“Maltop!” the bundle shook again, so Elma quickly pulled it close so she could whisper.

“Please, they’ll all see you.” She looked around before burying her face into the bundle “That’s not him, okay?”

The bundle went still after a moment, prompting her to give a small breath of relief.

“Archon help search for baddies!” Maltop gestured towards the Dreamers at his sides “They help Clan, get good business for fair!”

At that he looked back to beam at his brother.

Caltop’s eyes widened for a moment, only to shakily nod before downing more Burnfount and turning to help Luksen.

“Search all who leave.” the Dreamers cheered and clapped wildly as Maltop pointed out towards the fairgoers “Get fairfolk back to normal, punish Remnants!”

The cheers of several of the crowd joined the Dreamers, but Maltop was quick to raise a hand for silence.

“But Maltop know, Goldie not mean for mess.”

“What?!?” another Fair-goer snapped “Thanks to her my stall was practically crushed!”

“And Archon help fix, yes!” Maltop declared before closing his eyes “But Maltop explain to Archon! Goldie not bad Nurl. Not Lazypoor. Archon help Maltop fix fair, fix mess.”

Elma kept glancing down towards the Bundle in her grasp, praying that it didn’t start making noise again.

“He fix for her too!” Maltop declared “So spread message from Maltop, maybe she hear. Come to pretty place with Fancy Sword. Maltop and Archon fix mess!”

Even though the Archon’s voice wasn’t echoing from it, Elma couldn’t help but feel like the Eye was pausing on them whenever it turned their direction. But it still didn’t speak, and Maltop never seemed to focus on them.

He looked over the fair once more before bringing a hand to his chest and taking a bow before holding the megaphone out to his side. Luksen looked up at that before nudging Caltop, but he just shook his head. He ended up taking her place at the pile of gold pickings as Luksen stood up to go take the Megaphone from Maltop.

She gave him a nod before speaking into the megaphone.

“Hear clear, yes? Fair ready for moving! Move to next shiny find, followers come, others go. All search when leave. Speech ended!”

As soon as she lowered the megaphone the chatter of the crowd began to rise dramatically. Some complaining about the fair packing up or eager for where it would move next. Others complaining about the Archon’s sudden declaration while others continued cursing the Remnants and Razzda.

Elma stayed stock still as the crowd began dispersing back across the fair.

If they were taking Fulgan’s wagon, it’d be searched. The question then was whether they could manage to keep hidden during an inspection.

Elma had only ever known the Dreamers as the fanatical servants of the Archon, bound to his will by the Arcane power of that Dream they were so obsessed with. The idea of them picking through the back of a wagon with any sense of care seemed almost ludicrous. But there was no way that the Burybiters or Beetledrivers weren’t going to help, and she wasn’t so sure they’d overlook them unless they were extremely well hidden.

She looked to Yorm for any signs of distress. He and Fulgan worked together before. Surely, he would know whether they’d be able to hide amongst his goods.

But Yorm was just humming and nodding, his face as impassive as ever. Elma couldn’t tell whether he was still playing the part of a regular civilian nodding at the work of the Archon or if he was impressed at the danger they were now facing.

She didn’t have long to wonder, for the familiar voice of a Yisshin cut through the chatter of the Crowd.

“I fought with them!” it declared right behind Elma before she felt herself being roughly shoved aside.

Luckily, Yorm’s arm shot out fast enough to help her steady herself before she lost balance. Elma’s eyes snapped towards the figure who’d pushed past.

Sev, the Yisshin that had smashed her nose earlier in the Beetle Stable.

She was pushing through the crowd on her way towards the Auctioneer’s stage, her loudness having already drawn the attention of the Archon’s Eye before Maltop even looked at her.

“Those Remnants, good sir!” she gave a bow once she reached the stage “My companions and I crossed blades, and would be happy to volunteer our services to-!”

“Sev!”

Lip stumbled past Elma with his Battle Chest in one hand and the other desperately clutching several rolls of bandages and herbs.

Elma instinctively lowered her face a bit, shielding her visage with the edge of her cloak’s hood as Lip dropped several rolls on the ground beside her.

“Help me carry this stuff, please!” he demanded whilst scrambling to scoop up the parchments “Tick needs-!”

“Worry for him later, friend.” Sev gestured to Maltop and Luksen, “We have an opening here, we’d be fools not to take it!”

Elma turned away as Lip scowled and stomped over to the stage, only to feel Yorm grab her shoulder.

“Come on, the way’s clear.” He said before nodding towards Fulgan and the Rightster, both of whom had already pulled away from the dispersing crowd.

Elma didn’t hesitate, pulling close to him as they followed the flow of people. Once more adopting the visage of a simple couple seeking aid for their infant child. It worked well enough, no extended looks were given their way. The groups of Burybiters had spread out once again, hopping off of crates or strolling out from behind tents as they resumed their patrols.

But as Elma held the Bundle close, she found it was making noise again.

Not the tired groans of a groggy Nurl, or muffled grunts of annoyance.

Just barely seeping through the cloth was the unmistakable sound of sobbing.