Chapter 11: The Host's Call

“He forgive Razzda!”

Elma slammed her hands on the small table in the center of Fulgan’s tent hard enough to cause Yorm to look over.

“It was not him!” she spat before pointing towards Razzda “You were in the sack the entire time so maybe the voice was enough, but we all saw a resurrected corpse prancing about on that stage laying out the most obvious trap I’ve ever heard of!”

Razzda sobbed as she clutched Bullminth’s Blade close, just as she’d been doing during the rest of her ride in the bundle of cloth that was now discarded behind Elma.

They’d lucked out by making it back to Fulgan’s tent without Elma accidentally touching Bullminth’s Blade. They’d been stopped by Burybiters, directed straight into a crowd of people, fell right under the Archon’s Eye and had somehow remained unfound.

Yet of course that luck was bound to run out.

The tent was painfully small, only enough room for two or three people to sit around the small table in the center. Elma figured it was just big enough for Fulgan to talk business, but the cramped environment was doing nothing to alleviate her irritation.

“He speak like Maltop, sweet words for Razzda.” Razzda closed her eyes and tried wiping away tears only to smear it all over her face in the process “She leave him, too scared to help. But he not mad, forgive Razzda like before, hold back Caltop and Clan. Do... same with Archon?”

“No! No!” Elma was practically leaning across the table “You cannot be considering this. The Seventh Scourge has him, he’s one with the Dream now! Your lover is gone!”

“No!” Razzda shook her head repeatedly “You say not Maltop! But talk same, cares same, cheers same! You lying, Lady-Lass!”

Razzda had been a mess straight out of the bundle, sobbing and babbling about Maltop. Apparently just hearing his voice again was enough to drive her into a guilt-laden mania.

Elma couldn’t believe they were having such a pointless conversation. No matter how much was left of him, Maltop was a Dreamer. He was the Archon’s and that was that, anything he did or said would benefit the Archon above all else.

That plea for surrender couldn’t have been more blatant if they had wheeled a cage onto that stage and just asked Razzda to jump in. Yet here she was arguing with their ‘True Warrior’ to not walk straight into that trap. The same ‘True Warrior’ who was clinging to Bullminth’s Blade like it was some kind of stuffed toy. She was crying all over that sacred blade’s scabbard, smearing tears and snot on Altez’s only hope whilst bemoaning a lost lover.

Elma once again had to admit it: Fulgan was right. She hadn’t given much stock to the legends about the wielder of Bullminth’s Blade until it had nearly crushed her arms, but there was no way that Razzda was a True Warrior.

But Elma still needed her, all of Altez needed her. And that fact just made their conversation more horrid to engage in.

“Why… why would I lie?” she tried “I’ve been risking my life all day, what do I have to gain from lying?!?”

“She hear him, he forgive coward Razzda, traitor Razzda,” Razzda frantically shook her head “Make chest ache. Eyes hurt! He not dead, he forgiving Razzda! Archon not do that!”

“The Archon killed him, damn it!!” Elma could feel her nails digging into the tips of her gloves “I was there! Saw him have a Dreamer chew his throat out right in front of me!”

“Elma.”

Her head snapped towards Yorm, who gave a brief shake of his head.

She snapped her mouth shut, glaring at him for a moment before sighing and sitting down.

She was getting nowhere.

Razzda probably wasn't listening to a word she was saying, so why even bother? As much as she wanted the sword as far away from the trade fair, the Archon, or any of his supporters, Elma had to remind herself that grief wasn't something that could be rushed through.

No matter how much of a problem it was being.

There was no telling how long Fulgan and the Rightster would take getting the wagon ready for their escape. While it was yet another source of stress for Elma, it did have the side effect of giving her the first genuine moment of rest she'd had since the incident at Bullminth's Armory.

She'd been going nonstop since the sun had come up. Meeting up with Fulgan and Yorm, sneaking into the Armory, chasing down Razzda, evading the clans. It had been the most intense few hours she'd had in months, but that didn't mean she could rest easy just yet.

A quick breather, that was all she needed.

A couple minutes to let her muscles recover, then it was back to saving Altez.

So she leaned against the table, letting her arms rest on it whilst her eyes lost focus. Staring over the wood as Razzda sobbed across from her.

It was understandable to an extent, she supposed. The loss of a loved one was always devastating. She couldn't just assume Razzda would be able to soldier through it, despite how helpful that would be.

""I watched my father die." she finally spoke, "Though I'm not sure how it compares to losing a lover."

Razzda's sobbing hadn't died down. Elma wasn't even certain she was hearing her.

"I cried when it happened," she continued anyway "but afterwards it was more of an empty feeling. This... lack of willpower, of enthusiasm for anything. It was only after I came to terms with what led to it, to such an... an unfair and unjustified death, that I found my fire."

Narrowing her eyes towards Razzda, Elma searched her for any sign that her words were sinking in.

Nothing.

"I spend many days longing for his words of wisdom, wishing it was a false nightmare of youth. Nothing can change that." she declared before turning her gaze away "But I'd never want him as a Dreamer. Not with his ideals warped. The one saving grace of his death was that he was never made part of the Dream. I could think of nothing more nightmarish than bearing witness to that, Razzda."

A brief whistle drew her attention back to Yorm, who nodded towards the Tent's entrance before stepping outside.

With one more calming breath, Elma began to rise. Putting her hood up, Elma gave herself a brief stretch before making her way towards the front of the tent

"I'm not asking you to not want him back." Elma put her hood up and walked "I'm just... trying to keep you from making a mistake."

No response.

Razzda just kept muttering miserable woes to herself. It was as if Elma were talking to a brick wall.

Scowling, Elma stomped out of the tent after Yorm.

The moment she was outside, she noticed the giggling.

Glancing to the side, she saw Lefty sitting in front of the tent. Her large eyes turned on Elma the moment she stepped outside, only to giggle louder. One hand wiping drool from her mandibles as the other fondled the pommel of her Warhammer.

“Trouble with the Nurl, hmm ?” she asked before tilting her head “So fun to hear! Like watching manfilth drown! What will you try next, hm? Is Lefty not entitled to a preview of the next show as thanks for her glorious guarding?”

Elma didn’t even bother replying, turning away from Lefty and finding Yorm leaning against another stall. Taking a breath, she approached. Getting her mind on topics of actual importance was just what she needed.

The fair was back in business, but a new feeling had settled in since Maltop's speech. No longer were folks merrily trading, scamming or browsing. Everyone was getting ready to move. Merchandise was being taken down, stalls were being deconstructed, and whispers of where the fair would move next were as common as gusts of wind.

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Luckily, the stall Yorm leaned against was already closed up with its owner nowhere in sight. Giving a brief glance towards a pair of Nurl carrying fabrics into another tent nearby, Elma adjusted her hood before drawing closer to Yorm.

“Calmed down yet?" he asked, waiting for her to nod before sighing "Good, 'cause I've been mullin' over stuff."

“Can we get out?” she asked

He raised his eyebrow at her.

“With Fulgan’s wagon.” She clarified “Can we make it past the search?”

Yorm lowered his head for a moment and thought, leaving Elma to cross her arms and glance around. Besides the Nurl with the Fabric, there were two other stall owners and a group of three traders with travelers’ bags slung over their shoulders. None of them seemed close enough to be aware of their conversation. Most of their attention went towards Lefty, who continued snapping her mandibles at any who drew too close.

“I’ve seen him smuggle folks before.” Yorm finally gave a shrug “And with how much stuff he and the bug are supposed to be loading in there, I’d probably say we’d make it… if the host weren’t here.”

Elma turned back on him and raised an eyebrow under her hood, prompting Yorm to continue with her gaze.

“Dreamers ain’t as wild when the Archon has an Eye near 'em.” He waved a finger around “They’re grounded by the thing, keeps their thoughts from going all loopy from joy.”

“I beg your pardon,” Elma crossed her arms “but the Dreamers we fought in the Armory seemed outright delirious at times.”

“Exactly, too coherent.” Yorm nodded before scratching at his neck “Fulgan’s used to them being hysterical, doing his business outside the Archon’s oversight. He hasn’t had to scheme under an Eye, so I can’t say if he’ll be able to pull this off.”

Elma swallowed dryly at that.

“So…” she glanced around “we find a new way?”

“We cut down the host.” Yorm stated, immediately leading Elma to whip her head around to look at him incredulously.

His face was still as even as ever, showing no sign that he was joking about the lunacy he’d just spouted.

“Excuse me?” she asked

“Cut down the Host and don’t leave any Dreamers nearby for the Eye to move to.” Yorm reached down to adjust his coat “The Eye disperses, leaving the Dreamers free to go manic. Their antics become a problem for the Nurl, leaving them too distracted to properly conduct their search.”

Elma walked in front of him and snapped her fingers in front of him.

“You want us to kill the host,” she held out her hands “okay, but I doubt the Clans or the Dreamers would let us get away with something so-”

“That pretty place he wanted Razz to meet him at.” Yorm rolled his eye “Even if its an ambush, having him away from the fair is boon enough. We ambush the ambush and kill every Nurl, Dreamer, and Host we see. Our escape is practically guaranteed after that.”

Elma took a step back.

She’d gotten lucky with the first Host, she’d known that from the very beginning. The Archon had been distracted, the whole place was being rocked by explosions, she had plenty working in her favor.

The odds of that happening again weren’t impossible, but using the sword as bait? That was the real problem. She couldn’t imagine the Archon would risk the Host unless Razzda showed up, and he just needed her dead or crippled to ruin everything.

“How do you plan on luring him out without the sword?” she asked, only for Yorm to shake his head “I’m not letting either of you risk Bullminth’s Blade for a chance to ease our escape.”

“Figured you’d say that.” Yorm lowered his hands before looking past her and sniffing the air “I’m not liking our odds any other way, but it smells like we’re both a little late for that.”

Elma went quiet before following his gaze back towards the tent. She looked from it to him for a moment, then turned and stomped back towards it. Lefty was ready with more taunting, but Elma’s focus was solely on moving past her to throw open the tent.

Only to reveal it empty.

With a Nurl-sized cut down the back.

Elma’s heart froze in her chest, her entire body locking up like a statue in winter as she realized the extent of their failure. Whatever Yorm had thought would improve their chances didn't matter: they’d just lost Bullminth’s Blade.

And it was probably already on its way towards the most blatant trap in existence.

Elma pulled away from the tent and darted around it, trying to find signs of Razzda behind it. There was nothing, not even tiny footprints to give her a route.

“She cut the tent?!?” Lefty’s confused shout was what tore Elma from her search “On Lefty’s watch? The audacity of the filthy little rodent!”

“Ran off before I could even make an offer.” Yorm sighed, which led Elma to storm out from behind the tent to confront him.

“There’s no way you can’t track her scent, right?” she demanded, eyes widening when he nodded “Then we need to move, we can still head her off!”

Elma spun on Lefty and pointed to her, “You need to tell Fulgan that she’s taken the bait!”

“You dare order me so casually?” Lefty snickered before leaning forward, tilting her head as her mandibles spread wide.

Elma whipped her hand back just as Lefty snapped those mandibles at her. Lefty giggled as she shook some drool off, leaning back up and turning away.

“What luck that the scene is so dire,” she said whilst strolling off “I would snap your legs in my maw at any other time you scrawny wretch!”

“You do that.” Elma nodded before turning her glare at Yorm.

With another shrug, he lifted his head up and sniffed the air. Without words he turned and began leading Elma westward. She tried her hardest to maintain her cover of concerned mother, but the idea of Razzda drawing closer to the host was pressing to the forefront of her mind.

They passed fairgoers, wandering Burybiters, and numerous stalls that were in the process of being taken down. It was the same as it was around Fulgan’s tent, with most readying either to join the fair on its move to new opportunity or leave to pursue their own interests.

But walking among them now were something else.

"Lying ain't swell, friend."

Elma tried not to freeze up at the uncomfortably familiar voice.

Two Dreamers were standing beside a half-deconstructed stall with several Burybiters around them. The stall still had some hefty animal furs dangling inside, some of them large enough to have only been killed by the hulking Melkish Stall Owner with the intense beard.

Though he towered over the Dreamers, his meaty hands clenched the edge of his counter tightly as they examined his wares.

"Killed with care." one of them pointed from pelt to pelt whilst constantly brushing long hair out of his face "killed with love! Killed with happiness!"

"Buut were they killed with a permit? Hearthside Bulls are only for hunters of a professional standing, friend." the other Dreamer cooed whilst running a tongue along his dagger.

The exact same way he'd done before Elma had cut him down in Bullminth's Armory.

It was the Blade-Licker, the Dreamer she could distinctly recall cutting apart with Yorm several hours ago. Yet there he was, with nary a trace of the wounds he'd suffered.

"My kills were confirmed by an anointed huntmaster." the Stall Owner grunted before turning away "I can show the writings."

"Go go, please!" Blade Licker pierced his tongue with the tip of his dagger gleefully "Only the best for the Dream! Be the best! Best for the Unimata!"

Yorm was quick to pull her close to his side, trying to look like an unassuming couple as they passed by. Luckily, the Blade-Licker was too caught up in examining the stall to see them.

Despite having seen it plenty of times, Elma found herself grinding her teeth at the mere sight of him. More specifically, it was the lack of the wounds she’d given him at the Armory that ached. But she wouldn’t let it slow her down.

Elma didn’t care for anything that wasn’t a direct obstacle between her and Razzda.

There were very few of those actually, with the number of Fairgoers and Nurl dropping dramatically the closer they got to the western edge. Where stalls and tents once were, piles of planks of wood and folded cloth sat by themselves or being loaded into wagons. Horses were being saddled to the larger wagons, while the smaller ones were fitted to Beetles.

Perhaps they’d even be ready to leave before the rain came.

Beyond the wagons, Elma looked to Yorm as his nose led them directly in the path of several Burybiters running towards them. He didn’t stop, so she tried to make herself look as small as possible as the Burybiters rushed past them. They were frantic, cursing or arguing with one another as they ran.

As they passed Elma could see that some were nursing bruises, with one even clutching at a gruesome headwound as he stumbled along after the others.

Only when they were gone did Yorm speak.

“One of them was close to her at some point.” He told her before looking ahead.

“Did they grab her?” Elma looked to him, only for Yorm to shake his head “Do you think we can catch her?”

“Before she gets to Mount Drypeak?” Yorm shook his head “Definitely not before she gets noticed.”

“Why?” Elma looked forward, only to go still at the sight beyond the edge of the fair.

Right beside the large pile of crates they’d passed on their way in earlier that day. Beside it were four unconscious Nurl and two men, several with broken bones and blood trailing from one’s nose. Nearby, a Beetle Mount was sniffing at an unconscious Beetledriver in the same state as the others.

There were three crushed pieces of metal scattered around the Nurl. And only upon closer inspection did Elma realize they were horns, similar to the one Luksen had blown into on Bullwing.

“These…were these guys supposed to do the search?” Elma found herself looking around, there was no one else around who she assumed would be fulfilling the Clans’ promise of searching all who leave.

Only for the fleeing Burybiters to immediately come to mind.

Elma spun around, realizing only then that they’d fled towards the center of the Fair. Straight towards the Burybiter tents.

“Surprised she could mess up this badly so quickly,” Yorm walked past her “But I suppose love does that.”

He looked back to Elma and nodded towards Mount Drypeak.

“Killing the host’s the only option now if you really wanna get that sword outta here.”