[Lady] Saphora

The incredible thing about the scrying network that the Orpheus House maintained—other than how easy it was to gain access to the scrying sensors and recreate their eyes around the city—was the control it offered to the users. Extensive reach, bordering on invasive, allowed the conspirators to monitor all of the attacks in real time.

The consulate burned to the ground, engulfed in flames from a fire-touched [Mage], mere seconds after the command was given. A few key ships from across the inland sea, thinly disguised as [Merchant] vessels, followed soon thereafter.

Watching the thick pillars of gray-black smoke rise in lazy curlicues was as enthralling as she had always dreamed. She let out a satisfied sigh; she could scarcely imagine anything as marvelous as sitting back and watching her enemies turn to ash.

If only I hadn’t left my wine glass in the mana-infusion suite, this would be the perfect day, she thought with a twinge of regret.

Bloodthirsty as his reputation hinted, [General] Kepko led the charge against the foreign interests personally. His bulky form was unmistakable on the scrying mirror. The ropey bursts of viscera exploding out of his enemies was strangely hypnotic. Any opponents below the Second Threshold stood no chance; they exploded under the detonations from his enchanted gauntlets. [Lady] Saphora found herself thrilling to the carnage, swept up in the grand, bloody drama of revolution.

“Don’t forget the library,” the moderator commanded in clipped, business-like tones. “Cesspool of revolutionary ideas.”

“Yeah! Only our revolution is allowed,” Saphora said, snickering.

“Decorum, young [Lady],” the moderator chided.

Saphora rolled her eyes. She only had to put up with the hag for another few days, if all went well. Curious how the fight was going, she switched away from the faces on the mirror and pulled up an image of the library.

Her nose scrunched up in confusion. It looked just like usual. Soaring buttresses, stained glass windows, serene crowds of patrons streaming in and out of its doors. Where was the fire? Where was the blood? She chewed on her lip while she watched for another few minutes, but it proved just as dull as ever. Sunny day. Boring people. Nothing changed.

There! The fluffy white clouds in the corner of the image shifted abruptly, returning to the original position they’d occupied at the opposite edge of the mirror. She blinked, tilting her head to the side, and squinted. Several familiar outfits went by. It took a few minutes to be sure, but it was unquestionable once she realized that the mid-morning sun had never advanced to noon. To anyone with less refined senses, it may have been undetectable, but the image in the scrying mirror undeniably looped after several minutes.

“That sly witch,” Saphora snarled through gritted teeth. She should have known better than to work with Mistress Ozana. No one who had dealings with that sly mage crafter could be trusted. What else had been tampered with?

Her fingers flew like lightning across the glyphs that controlled the scrying mirror. Each of the scenes seemed stale, now that she looked more closely. Who knew what was happening in the city right now? Something was terribly wrong.

“We have a rat in our midst!” Saphora declared, switching back to the group discussion. She scowled. “Kepko is going to tear you—”

She jerked around, cutting off mid-sentence as a massive swell of mana erupted across the city. No mana senses were required; the way all her fine hairs stood on end was more than enough to announce the counter-attack. Ripples of unease swept through the meeting.

[Lady] Saphora shivered at the overwhelming power. She severed the connection to the scrying mirror, discarding her fellow co-conspirators with as little regret as if she’d tossed aside a well-used tissue. Let the masses rot. She’d fend for herself from here on out.

An alarm sounded from an enchanted vase tucked away in the corner of the luxurious sitting room. From the outside, it appeared to simply provide a home for her favorite bouquets of delicate jasmine and hibiscus, adding a counterpoint fragrance to the scent of old books and refined erudition. Hidden within its elegant form were the enchantments that powered its true function: to alert her in case of emergency.

Swallowing her inclination to sneer—of course she knew it was an emergency—Saphora checked in with her faithful [Huscarls] by activating a hidden ward that allowed for ranged verbal communication. Nearly half of the worthless servants had resigned in the wake of the terrifying and humiliating assault at the hand of that crafter.

“Imminent and personal danger, Ma’am,” came the instantaneous and panicked reply.

She tensed, her fingernails digging into her palm despite many years of mana soaking and skin refinement. “Evacuation?”

“Strongly recommend, though it’s not my place to presume on the [Lady]’s desires,” her [Huscarl] said without any hesitation. “A powerful [Spear Master] is cutting apart our defenses like a scythe through wheat.”

Curse that hideous little rat!

Scowling at the interruption of her celebration more than from any real concern for the danger, she stalked through her mansion until she reached her personal chambers. Tides of anger seethed within her. How dare they! She’d worked too hard for this to give up now.

Yet she found herself donning a cloak, strapping a dagger to her belt, and keying in her secret security code to open the underground passages that would lead her to the basement underneath her House’s research facility. Once she entered those hallowed chambers, she’d lose any pursuers with ease. They might win this first clash, but Gilead would rise up against their oppressors once they witnessed such blatant disrespect from the agents of Densmore.

Soon, her people would be free of small-minded foreign minders. They’d clamor for her leadership, happy to trust her competent guidance. She’d raise up her House once more and make a new legend. A true name for herself, as befitting her talents.

Cool air flowed through out of the narrow hallway, washing over her face and bringing her back to the present. She slipped into the passageway, activated a mana torch, and closed the door behind her as she crept onward. Victory was assured. First, though, she had to escape the vengeance of overzealous [Soldiers].

Downward sloped the passage. Steep stairs cut into living rock carried her toward her destination, lit by the soft, warm glow of the torch. Murky as the depths may be, mana always provided clarity.

Her white-hot fury at losing the initial clash had burned down to embers by the time she reunited with her retainers. Sparks of bitter rage ignited in her heart when she realized that of her once-formidable band of [Huscarls], only a single remained true. He was her oldest servant, a man devoted to her family from before her birth.

Embers flared back into raging flames at the thought of slinking away with only a single bodyguard. She should be accompanied by a full honor guard for her tactical retreat. How dare they abandon her in her hour of need! She’d remember their treachery. Each slight, each small rebellion to save their own worthless skin. All of the remaining bodyguards would die upon her return. It was the least they deserved.

“This way, my [Lady].”

She flushed when she noticed that her [Huscarl] refused to meet her eyes. He gazed at the ground with steadfast determination and trembling hands, appearing resigned to his fate. And so he should! Better to be unfaithful to her House and honest about it rather than skulk around like a beaten dog, devoid of the courage to strike out on his own. He gave lip service at best, but he was as useless as the rest. They all denied her the honor that was her due.

He’ll die last. And worst.

Pleased with her new resolution, Saphora smiled thinly. She swore her vengeance by the heavens above and the sands below, sealing the pact. She flounced after the [Huscarl] as he led her through a shining, pearlescent portal and into the Rift below Gilead.

“Sharp eyes, swift feet, my [Lady],” her retainer cautioned as they walked.

“Why? Isn’t this Rift tame?”

He had the temerity to snort. “No such thing. This is safer than most, but each time you enter, it’s like pouring oil on a fire and hoping you don’t get burned.”

He stood closer to her than was strictly proper, but something about the haunted look in his eyes made Saphora refrain from commenting. Perhaps even an old Rift could be dangerous. She’d be equally magnanimous and not mention his impudence. Besides, his fate was already sealed. What did a few more minutes of indignity matter?

Tall, needle-thin spires of rock jutted up from the ground ahead of them, emerging from the fog without warning. They rose impossibly high, disappearing from view high overhead. She could scarcely believe her eyes; they shouldn’t have been able to sustain their weight, yet they soared into eternity.

She swallowed hard. They were just stupid rocks. They had no right to make her feel so insignificant. It was rude. Unsettling. As her anger flared, she drew on her mana to center her.

Her [Huscarl] grabbed her arm, his fingers as unyielding as iron. He whispered fiercely, “Don’t let your mana leak like that!”

“Insolent cur!” she spat, twisting away from him and brushing off her sleeve. “Touch me again and I’ll rot you from the inside out.”

Mana surged behind her. She whirled around, preparing a reverse healing spell to deal with the new threat. Her eyes widened. A hulking form charged out from behind the eerie spires, multi-horned and covered in coarse, thick reddish bristles.

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Bellowing in challenge, it bore down on her, unleashing waves of intimidating power that dwarfed her own meager output. Its milk-white eyes glowed with ghostly, flickering light, and she instinctively flinched away, shrinking in fear as unfathomable pressure crashed over her.

“My [Lady]!” came a hoarse, desperate cry from her [Huscarl], followed by a shove from the side that sent her sprawling out of the path of the rampaging beast.

She scrambled to her feet, took one look at her retainer impaled on the monster’s long, vicious horn, and ran. Her screams echoed through the canyons as she plunged ever deeper into the heart of the Rift.

Minutes bled into hours. Her burning terror faded, replaced by a cold certainty of her own death. Why had she turned tail and fled? Today was supposed to be her greatest moment of triumph! Now she wandered, turned around in the labyrinthine depths, unable to find the way out of this accursed place. Nothing looked familiar. The shadows blurred together, monotonous yet ever-shifting, voids unto themselves that conspired to confuse and torment her.

When she got out, the cleaning fires of vengeance would be legendary. She’d start with the rats who forced her into this position, then move on to the nattering moderator. If all went well, she’d complete the sweep with a clearing of her house, removing the useless bodyguards and replacing them with her own, hand-picked specialists.

Thirst kicked in after a few hours. She tried to work salvia into her dry mouth, but nothing seemed to help. Her cracked lips and parched tongue tormented her. She wasn’t a [Commoner] who was used to hardship! Is that even a Class? I suppose it might be a useless Copper ranked Class for talentless grunts who balance the ledgers and build bridges and the sort.

“ . . . picking up a signature!”

“Not far, now. Found her!”

Voices! Her head snapped up. “Finally, a welcome party,” she murmured. “Battle must be over.”

Ranting to herself vastly improved her mood. She shuffled onward, ignoring the ache in her feet and legs and side from so much running and climbing. The artificial, clear luminance of mana lamps up ahead steered her toward the group who’d come to serve her. As they should.

Of course they’d look for her. It was only right. Bunch of fools! They’re lost without my guidance.

“You’ll be rewarded for your loyalty. I’ve re-emerged,” she announced imperiously, lifting up her chin and clasping her hands behind her so that everyone could bask in her greatness as she entered the light and announced her presence to the search party.

=+=

[Lady] Evershed

The jolly-looking gentleman at Lady Evershed’s front door did not particularly match the image of destiny she’d initially expected. Slightly plump and of average height, he seemed mild, kind, and disarming. Dozens of tiny brass buttons decorated the front of his vest in a scattered hodgepodge of star-shaped, circular, and triangular fasteners in no discernable order. Crinkles around his eyes spoke of mirth and light-hearted living. Yet he pressed down against the mesh of the world with an intensity that made her eyes flare wide with shock.

“May I come in, good Lady?”

“I’d be honored,” Evershed lied. She lifted an arm, pressed her cane against the door, and held it all the way open for her guest. With a faint smile that took all of her courage and patience, she invited the infamous [Numismatist Regent] of Grand Ile to saunter into her glass studio—a thing she’d once swore would never happen unless he sent her corpse down the river first and tore the deed to her home from her cold, enervated fingers.

“Love the quaint decor, though it’s not as enduring as precious metal,” he murmured as he gestured at the delicate glass decorations arranged around the shop.

She bit back a scathing answer, considering and discarding a dozen potential replies in a split second before settling for offering him tea. She kept her voice and movements easy while they spoke. Time enough for settling accounts, should she survive this encounter.

“Do you take milk?” she asked, and swiftly repressed an instinctive shudder when the coin-obsessed monster answered in the affirmative.

Of course he does. Peh!

Nonetheless, she nodded graciously and strolled about the studio, collecting another tea cup of her own making and retrieving a glass of milk from her cold box. She brought it to just the right temperature with her [Greater Heat Manipulation], levitating the abominable mixture over to her guest. All the while, she kept up an innocent smile, and never, ever turned her back on him.

The minter accepted his glass cup, eased into an overstuffed, green-striped chair, and took a tentative sip. His face brightened. “Ah, that hits the spot.”

“Glad I could assuage your midnight thirst,” Evershed said. Control eluded her; this time her voice came out acerbic.

“Truthfully, the tea isn’t why I’m here,” the [Regent] said with a regretful sigh. He slipped an oversized coin out of his breast pocket and set it down on the arm of the chair, balancing the glass tea cup on top of it like it was a tiny coaster.

“I’d doubt your taste in brews if it were. Shall we get to business?” Evershed raised one eyebrow, waiting for the other half of his declaration. Rumor had it that he had a theatrical flair. This was her first time seeing it in person, however, since he had assumed his current position shortly after she withdrew from the public eye a few decades ago.

The [Regent]’s smile had disappeared, although the crinkles around his eyes remained. “Business it is. Three of my colleagues have resigned tonight. Two others have put in transfer requests to different departments. Yet another handful have named successors with known ties to your family.”

Evershed hid a smirk. She covered by sipping her own tea. “Sounds like you have your hands full.”

A vein pulsing in his neck was the only hint that he was less than perfectly composed. “Rescind your orders, Evershed.”

“I’m flattered you think me so influential.”

He cleared his throat. “Very well. If you’re going to dam up information, then I have no choice but to open a sluice gate. Let’s review your communication with Naftali.”

“I have many contacts, both home and abroad. You’ll have to be more specific,” she said while meeting his suddenly-intense gaze. His ability to snoop on her mental notes unnerved her, but she’d never show weakness around him. Not until I have the upper hand.

“I’m afraid I don’t have time for games,” the [Regent] snapped. “Your reputation works against you. No one else in this city is capable of coordinating a high-level coup involving many foreign and domestic allies with such ease. Stand down now, and I’ll expunge it from the record personally.”

Lady Evershed drained her tea. She eased herself up from her seat and shuffled over to a display case, maneuvering so that the [Regent] shifted in his seat to face her. Behind him, her precious little friend leaned forward, his right hand resting on the hilt of his knife. Poor child was in over his head, but she appreciated the gesture.

“Rude,” she replied with a low chuckle. “Insinuating that I’m disloyal to the fine leaders of Grand Ile is one thing. Insulting my competence in such an action? Peh! If I were coordinating a deposition, you’d only find out when it was too late to stop it.”

“You refuse to cooperate?”

Evershed picked up a glass goblet etched with a facsimile of the walls of Grand Ile. She traced the legendary gates with her finger, considering the wealth and power that flowed into the great city from all over Densmore.

“I refuse to let my city languish any longer under your tight-fisted, short-sighted control,” she said, straightening her back and lifting her cane. Calling on Skills from both of her Classes, she wielded the growing gravity of her domineering pride alongside her total command of her studio to bind the [Regent] in bands of mana-empowered glass.

His presence clashed against hers, painting a picture of utter implacability that resisted the change she sought to enforce. Absurd amounts of mana surged through him, staggering her backward with the force of its presence.

Glass fetters burst asunder.

In that moment of chaos, Baryl struck. Wild-eyed and screaming with childlike anger as he sought to protect her, he launched at the powerful, Second Threshold [Regent]. His knife hit the man’s back—

And snapped.

Snorting, the [Numismatist Regent] turned and backhanded the boy into a shelf of glass curios, shattering the little sprites and fanciful creatures in her collection. “Cheap tricks? A little gutter rat with a toothpick? No wonder you fell from power, Evershed!”

A cry of agony tore from her throat. Desperation drove her. She reached out to him with her magic, confirming in an instant that Baryl’s spirit weighed down on the mesh of prestige that was woven between her and all the people she’d ever met. He still lived.

“Power?” she spat at the [Regent]. “You know only how to crush metal and men alike in a rigid mold. You’re not a leader; you just like control.”

“So high and mighty, Lady Evershed,” the [Regent] sneered. “We could have worked out an arrangement. Mutually benefited. I’m flexible, believe it or not. Now? Witness exactly how a mold works. [Mana-Impression: Stamped in My Own Image].”

Once more, power swirled around him, coalescing into a vision of the world that hit her with physical force as it manifested. Gasping for breath, she fought to control her body, twisting against the impression of a giant coin press bearing down on her. Crushing her. Changing her.

Her own power pooled at her fingertips. This was it. The moment she’d waited for. The final fulcrum. Distant events culminated; she felt the shift with unparalleled clarity as her inner world condensed and purified her mana, then exploded outward in boundless energy.

She laughed, understanding in a flash the insight that had eluded her for all these years. It was so simple. She didn’t need to dominate mana—or people, for that matter. She simply had to paint a picture of a more compelling future and invite them to participate. Isn’t that what Nuri had hinted at in his letters about imbuing?

“What are you doing! Stop!” the [Regent] screamed, panic twisting his face into an ugly mask.

Evershed battled back, leveraging her burgeoning understanding of mana to craft an image of her people flourishing. Against the strictures of stagnation, she represented change: not a bloody revolution or an imposed policy, but the joy of growth.

Something deep within her shifted.

The Second Threshold, just like that? [Lady] Evershed marveled, embracing her original Class once more. She threw off the impending danger of the coin-press, shredding the narrative the [Regent] wrote in mana and blood.

Awestruck, she invoked the new version of [The Weight of the World: The Domineering Manifestation of Pride], which had transformed into a higher rank and gained a new title. In an instinctive way, she knew that [The Weight of a Thousand Worlds: Fealty of the Worthy] worked in a similar way to her domineering Skill, yet her new understanding of leadership had changed it to work with people who trusted her.

Power expanded out in a sphere from her. Her Classes hummed, and [Lady] forced its way to the fore once more. She’d nearly written it off a decade or two back; her momentum had stalled, and her influence in Grand Ile waned. Her calculated gambles had backfired. She’d retired from politics in semi-disgrace, searching for a way to reinvent herself.

The [Regent] was bound in glowing chains of glass once more. This time, he couldn’t break the bonds. He was as helpless as stubborn stone ground down by a glacier. His sense of solidity creaked, buckled, and imploded.

Seconds ago, he was the most powerful man in all of Grand Ile. Now, the landscape had changed. The air seemed more alive, as though a weight had lifted. Once more her people were free to grow and change and reinvent themselves.

Groaning, Baryl sat up, holding his head. She levitated a healing draught over to him as easily as thinking. The world responded to her commands effortlessly now that she’d advanced.

Chimes rang out in endless melodies, alerting [Lady] Evershed that her mental invoices had been paid. Investments came due, propelling her forward in strength. And, in the center of it all, one luminous connection rose above all else. Thrumming with power and glowing brightly in her mana senses, it led far, far to the West, toward a strange young man she’d helped last year despite how illogical it had seemed at the time.

[Lady] Evershed shook her head and smiled. Tomorrow, she’d resume her rightful place as the leader of Grand Ile. Tonight, she would indulge her curiosity and send messages to the Capital, asking what in all the heavens and abyss Nuri had done now. That boy was trouble, but this time it seemed to have worked in her favor. She couldn’t wait to see what he did next.