Huddled in the absolute darkness of his cabin, Ivaldi wondered if the fighting had finally stopped.
As time and silence went on it seemed it must have, but there was no sign of power returning to the crawler’s gemstone illumination.
He had heard impacts, and what sounded like serious damage to the vehicle’s chassis, but they had occurred further down the train of modules – his own segment should be mostly intact. He wondered if that meant that there was no-one left to re-route power and detach damaged modules.
Looking about with the ghastly monochrome of his darkvision revealed nothing further, and his eyes quickly started to hurt from the unaccustomed strain.
It felt like hours before he heard anything more, but in reality it could have been mere minutes.
The sound made his heart leap – it was the subtle whine of pistons moving under aulogemscis.
A moment later the gemstones overhead glowed back to life, resurrecting with them his hopes. He welcomed the sting as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. They hadn’t forgotten about him and abandoned the crawler.
Finally there was a hiss as the doors parted, but the face greeting him wasn’t the reliable and friendly Hylli.
Ivaldi recoiled at the apparition, a draconic glare peering out from angry red flesh - burns that marred the left side of Lord Uldmar’s features.
“Counselor Ivaldi.”
Uldmar spoke with a strained tone, but that was unsurprising, given the pain he was surely in. What was surprising was the note of respect in his voice.
“Come with me,” he continued simply, waving Ivaldi out into the corridor.
Waiting with him were two others from Uldmar’s team, one very gingerly carrying the dazzling cubic form of the silenced Echo, and a small man Ivaldi recognized as Uldmar’s personal attendant.
“My lord, we really must let the laeknir tend to your injuries,” the latter was saying.
Uldmar ignored him, marching off wordlessly.
The aulogemscire followed as if in a trance, wondering briefly if he was being led to his execution, alongside Safkhet and Echo. Uldmar was certainly keen to be rid of him, gauging by the pace the young nobleman set.
Hylli appeared around a corner on the way to the front of the crawler, and by her beaming smile he judged that his fate couldn’t possibly be anything worse than life imprisonment.
She took his hand as they walked, and gave a laugh as though she hadn’t a care in the world.
Could his sentence be mere expulsion from the council and his royal service?
“Isn’t it wonderful?! Lord Uldmar has called for a truce!”
It took Ivaldi a moment to process the meaning of those words.
“With the Formorians?!” he asked, jaw dropping. “B-but we can’t even communicate with them!”
Uldmar gave a low groan, as though Ivaldi pained him far more than his wounds.
“Try to avoid such imbecilic outbursts when we meet with the surfacers, Counselor.”
“The surfacers?” he asked, mystified. “You mean Safkhet?”
“She shall presumably serve as interpreter, but I refer to the motley brigands who attacked us and forced my hand.”
A door ahead hissed open, and Uldmar lead the way into the chaos of the control room.
“Lord Uldmar, just what do you think you’re doing, ordering our golems to retreat?!”
Captain Beyla appeared to have been waiting for his lordship while she was overseeing damage control for the crawler.
Her first officer looked relieved to see Uldmar, the source of her ire, and bustled off to direct the repair work.
“It was necessary,” the nobleman answered curtly. “A truce would be impossible if our footsoldiers and Triskelions were still pursuing the surfacers.”
“I command this vessel and its defense, not you my lord! Now you’ve left us an easy target for their stolen crawler and their Valkyries!”
“Not that easy, given we still have functional Skidbladnir and most of our golems, however they no longer have any reason to attack us.”
“Because you released that monster?!”
Uldmar showed a rare hesitation in his answer.
“We should speak privately.”
Striding off wordlessly, Beyla lead them back into the corridor, then into her personal quarters a short distance behind the control room. Uldmar had his attendant, Hylli and the two other noblemen wait outside.
The interior was decorated simply, without many personal effects, but was surprisingly messy for it; various clothing and oddments cluttering the corners and hanging from storage units which Ivaldi chose to charitably presume had been knocked open during the battle.
“We’re in private,” Beyla said, giving him an expectant look.
Uldmar might be a lord, but he was no Varangian, nor even a formal part of the military, and forming truces with the surfacers was far outside the remit the Justicar had given them. It was clear that the captain wouldn’t hesitate to disregard his orders if she disliked his explanation.
His lordship took a seat without asking, leaning back in the desk chair stiffly. It occurred to Ivaldi to wonder if his burns extended beyond the mushroom-leather neck of his pilot suit.
When he spoke, his voice was tired and the pain was clear now.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Safkhet freed herself during the battle. It’s clear that was the purpose behind the attack, and we lacked the numbers to prevent it. Rather than fight and die I chose to trust her, and she chose in turn to trust me. That is the only reason we still hold the object which she named Echo. She could easily have killed me and taken it… them back.”
Ivaldi noticed that Uldmar’s left hand was trembling as he spoke, but he held his tongue as the man continued.
“Counselor Ivaldi discovered critical information in Vitrgraf and through interrogation of the prisoner. This war has been orchestrated by… elements within our kingdom and the Harpy Empire… for their personal gains.”
Beyla stared at him for a moment, her anger turned to confusion and apprehension.
“Counselor, is this true?” she asked.
Ivaldi glanced at Uldmar, who simply nodded with gritted teeth.
“It’s… it’s all true Captain. I didn’t come with you to go to Northastr, my goal was always to get to Vitrgraf and, well, to confirm our suspicions. About a conspiracy I mean, I never expected we’d find Safkhet…. I still don’t understand it all, but she told me all what she saw down there… it’s hard to believe, but what’s clear is that Vitrgraf was sabotaged, and the people… the person responsible lied to us all and orchestrated the war with the surface too. The surfacers, they aren’t savage monsters, they’re ordinary people, just like us! Well… not just like us, they’re all giants and whatnot… but all this fighting, all the killing; none of it had to happen!”
Beyla’s fists had curled ever tighter as Ivaldi spoke, and as he finished he noticed blood on her palms.
“Who? Who did it?!”
Ivaldi looked to Uldmar once again, but the man simply stared back at him expectantly.
“We… believe it was the Justicar himself….”
Beyla gave a sharp breath, turning her eyes on the man’s nephew as he sat there in silence.
She crossed to the door and engaged the lock.
“Not a word of this can leave this room. I trust my command team, but there are too many newly assigned crew aboard for this trip – a dozen came with your luxury transport modules alone.”
Returning, she sat heavily on her bed, looking up at the glowing stones overhead.
“You really think we can stop the war?”
“We have to,” was Ivaldi’s simple reply.
~~~
The Pharyes were a strange people, Gastores had decided.
The two sides were still grouped up around their two vehicles, but where the chasmites had tended the worst of their injuries already, it seemed that the Pharyes lacked anything so convenient as magic to heal their own casualties. He had expected them to use some invention, a device of metal and glowing liquids, perhaps with a gemstone at one end, to simply rejuvenate all those hurt. Instead the injured had been brought carefully to one side, where they were tended to by hand, applying poultices and draughts of various medicinal concoctions.
It was the first time he had seen them out of their walking armor, and serious though the situation was, they appeared strange and comical to his eye. It wasn’t just the glittering nails and teeth, or the array of varyingly elongated or bulbous noses - they were miniscule too, even compared to humans or beastfolk, with oddly proportioned bodies that reminded him of frail and weak young children. Gastores was sure their tiny limbs were entirely too short to ever make effective use of weapons or wield the hefty tools needed for mining or a life underground. According to those able to sense it, they had very little magical power too.
It made him wonder how they could have survived long enough to develop their bizarre mechanical devices into designs capable of standing up to the horrors of the Formorians or the many frightful monsters of the depths.
Yet their inventions were the more terrifying, from the unnatural and relentless footsoldiers to the eerie tripods and lumbering striders, to the murderous metal shells they operated by hand.
“We were lucky,” he murmured to himself, as he watched them from a distance.
“Really?” Ripides asked, from his side. “We thought there’d be less than half that many. Seems unlucky to me.”
Berenike gave a heady chuckle from behind them. It was quite unlike the professional warrior, but as he turned Gastores saw that her grin was quite infectious.
“Gas is right! They had several times the force we expected, but we still came out on top. That’s great luck! Now Saf’s free, and we even have a chance to get somewhere with a peace agreement. Never expected anything like this when I woke up this morning.”
“Was it even morning when we woke up?” Gastores mused.
“That’s all you have to say?!”
Berenike laughed out loud as she spoke, a hale and jolly sound, but one which rang hollow to Gastores’ troubled ears.
“Well, no… you’re right that this is an amazing outcome, and opportunity. I just… I don’t know where to even begin with all this. Are you sure you really want me to negotiate with them?”
“Why not? You’re the smartest one here. Well, you and Sulis anyway. You two are the perfect people to negotiate.”
“She’s not wrong,” Ripides said, nodding sagaciously. “Pretend you’re wooing yet another girl back home!”
“I don’t woo,” Gastores protested quickly, worried Sulis would just so happen to be right behind him again. “And I never dated that many girls either!”
Ripides just sniggered at his protest, giving him a knowing look.
“I’ll be with you too in case anything happens, but I know you’ll do great, Gas,” Berenike said, ignoring Ripides and reaching up to pat Gastores’ shoulder.
Despite her lesser stature Gastores staggered from the heavy impact of her powerful arm.
“That’s something, but… I don’t even know what to say to them. How to look them in the eye. They… their people… took the captain. And a lot of other people too. People who never did anything to deserve any of this, who had never even heard of Pharyes before. Now they want a truce, after attacking us totally unprovoked….”
“I don’t expect it to be easy,” Berenike said, “but remember why we’re here. We want our people back and we want our homes and friends and families safe.”
“But what about the people who… can’t be saved?”
“More fighting… won’t bring them back,” Berenike said quietly. “I know how hard it is, but we have to think about the living right now.”
“But what if this is all a trick? How can we trust them after what they’ve done?”
“Trust comes later. We both want this truce, so we have to make it work. I’m counting on you not to let them outsmart us.”
“But none of us can even speak to them....”
“Gastores.”
Berenike sounded stern.
“If you were willing to face a dweomer golem for a girl you barely knew then you can face a negotiation for the sake of everyone you’ve ever met. We’ll do it together, you, Sulis, me and Safkhet.”
The young ogre found himself nodding.
“I’ll do my best. I just hope Safkhet speaks better… Pharyes… than they do Cycloan.”
“I dunno how she speaks any of it at all,” Ripides mused.
“I heard that she had no memory from before she met the Empress in the middle of the forest,” Gastores said, stroking his chin. “It’s really strange, like she just fell from the sky one day… and the first thing she does is become our ally. She can do such incredible things too, like when she saved Chasm…. Do you think she’s a goddess in disguise?”
“I don’t think a goddess would have fallen in the chasm and gotten captured like that,” Berenike said, with a dry smirk.
“The daughter of a goddess then? Maybe Nemoi sent her to us to help protect the Empire?”
“Saf’s sure she’s human,” Berenike replied.
The harpy sounded like she herself was decidedly less convinced.
“Oh well, she’s on our side anyway,” Ripides said lightly.
The other two looked around at him, but the guardsman seemed unperturbed by their stares.
“What? It’s true, ain’t it?”
Gastores was impressed once again by the deeply incurious, unimaginative nature of so many of his kin, but after their journey through the Underworld he could better understand it. Safkhet was a mystery in many ways, but it seemed that to Ripides she belonged in the same category as questions like how the Shards stayed up or what happened to the old Dweomer, or where the water went as it filtered down through the rock into the fires beneath. All were questions to which answers must surely exist, but the Ogres had lived this long without learning then, and the answers were unlikely to improve their personal lot.
If only ogres like Ripides could have appreciated the joy of discovery which he and Sulis had shared as they taught one another and explored the depths.
~~~
Finding new clothing have proven harder than expected – although there were plenty of beastfolk with the rescue party from Grand Chasm, all of them at least willing to share what they had to spare, there were none who were both as short and as… curvy as I. They had also made a point of packing light, further limiting the possibilities.
In the end an older woman named Patch came to my rescue, with attire that I could adjust somewhat to fit my figure.
“Let it out more or you’ll pop the stitching,” she warned me dispassionately, as I struggled with the softened hide vest. “Really girl, you never dress yourself before? You tighten the flanks after you get those teats of yours in.”
I could read in her snouted features the disdain for pampered highborn harpies, and that seemed to extend to myself, nobility or not. In and of itself I’d have found that refreshing after all the obsequious deference I’d endured as a friend of Ael at the Eyrie, but Patch seemed to replace pomposity with an attitude that the highborn might easily have deemed a form of lese-majesty.
Embarrassed by both her words and her unforgiving eye I was ready to defend myself when I realized that she actually had something of a point; I’d only donned real clothes for myself once since… becoming the real me. Back on Earth I hadn’t had curves or boobs at all, just a clumsy, awkward lump of a body that I had wrapped in whatever inconspicuous attire seemed acceptable….
I found myself holding in a grin at the thought of how much things had changed, despite the circumstances. Of all my problems, the necessity of re-learning to dress myself was a small price to pay for feeling happy to exist in my body, and comfortable with the way I looked.
At least when I wasn’t getting all my clothes burned or torn off.
“Sorry,” I said, as Patch caught my eye after a moment.
Cocking one ear she gave me a quizzical look. Perhaps she had been expecting me to tell her off.
“I… uh… I guess it’s true that I’ve not had a lot of practice putting clothes on. Not as much as I’ve had destroying them anyway!”
Seeing the chilly look in her eyes at my joke I cleared my throat and went on quickly, trying not to blush any more than I already was, stood half-naked behind some trees with this near total stranger.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful with these. Thank you again for lending me all this stuff. But… uh, do you think you could help me out here?”
Patch gave a weary sigh which spoke volumes about the sort of opinion she was forming about me, but she acquiesced all the same, dressing me not with hostility, but the businesslike hand of an experienced mother, lacking any squeamishness about the body of her charge.
Once she was done I conjured up some liquid water and froze the puddle into a simple mirror so I could take a look at the results.
Peering up at me from the sheet of ice was a young woman with a buzz-cut, dressed for hunting. On my chest I had a brown animal hide vest studded with pockets and loops, laced up at the sides and held over the shoulder by buckles, worn over a long-sleeved tan smock of some unknown fabric. My legs were covered in a matching set of hide pants that, luckily for me, also laced up the sides, allowing them to accommodate my thighs and posterior, while beneath them were leg-warmers of more tan cloth. Completing the ensemble was a hooded dark green cloak of a thick and scratchy sort, which fastened to eyelets on the vest.
The clothing wasn’t the most comfortable I’d worn in Arcadia – common folk didn’t enjoy silk undergarments for one thing – but it felt wonderful just to be clad and look somewhat normal again. My curtailed haircut even worked quite well with the huntress look I thought.
“Like a proper beastfolk now,” Patch said, observing her handiwork with an air of approval that was most assuredly directed to the outfit and not the occupant. “You sure you don’t want my spare sandals though?”
“No really, this is great, thank you miss Patch,” I said. “I’m pretty used to being barefoot by now, and I’d just end up breaking your sandals if I have to move quickly.”
She didn’t seem entirely convinced, but gave a gruff nod all the same.
It was only as we were walking back to the clearing and the others that it occurred to me that I looked altogether a little too much like some sort of halfling cosplay.