One day left till Spring Fest commences.
We're here, people. Glasswolf city beckons.
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Once the heat of the sudden rush of martyrdom wore off, bitter bile rose to Farren's throat, as though thousands of live maggots writhed inside the heavy armour of the Vasaen she'd put on. With the visor slammed shut and her face hidden in the iron confines, an awful sensation crept on her-- that of being trapped within a decaying corpse. The gauntlets seemed crusted with black blood, no matter how many times she tried to wipe them off.
In her hands she bore the pale green flag of Drisia, riding alongside Xenro as the standard-bearer.
The others rode in silence-- Rendarr and Gray, Lieutenant Evander and Klo, and finally Captain Walric with a handful of battlemages bringing up the rearguard.
Upon the road, trade caravans, common folk, and peasants with herds of cattle gave them a wide berth, calling to their patron deities when the dark shadow of the company crossed their paths. The less afraid of them muttered curses and shook their fists.
The undead may have earned great power, but at the cost of their honour.
They rode through the tall gates in a canter. The guards lowered their spears and gave way to the dust-cloaked squad of scouts coming through.
So far so good.
A voice called out to Farren in Drisian, the dialect so thick she could not hope to understand even with her schooling. A city guard came riding up, asking a question from the tone of his voice.
Her hands froze up around the reins of her horse. What little she'd been taught about the Drisian language during her training had long since faded in her mind like old lettering upon a headstone. Farren blamed it on lack of use rather than poor academic skills, though Gods knew it was the latter.
The guard repeated his question, angrier this time.
She shook her head in response, hoping a yes would suffice.
It did not.
The guard looked alarmed, and went off into a rant about something, the foreign words mingling together into an incomprehensible mess in Farren's head out of panic.
A clear voice answered in her stead, and now Farren could catch some of the meaning.
"Saw him heading toward the roadside inn," said Xenro in Drisian.
Muttering what Farren knew was a foul curse, the guard stomped away toward the direction Xenro gestured, but not without throwing her a strange look.
"I told you to keep it shut," muttered Xenro as they moved onto a rather crowded avenue.
"I didn't even say anything!" she said, her own voice reverberating within her stuffy helm. The spring air was warm and gentle, but inside her armour the heat was sweltering.
"It's in your blood," said Klo, grinning for the first time in days. "So much as look in the wrong direction and you raise chaos."
"You folk are so dramatic," Farren drawled, then looked over at Xenro for support. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"
"The fellow was asking if Draedona had dragged off his cousin by the feet because he was late for his shift," Xenro said.
"And I nodded...yes."
Needless to say, Farren dared not even look in any other people's direction, staring dead ahead as they made their way through the city. Here Lieutenant Evander took the lead to guide them well, so that they would not appear suspiciously lost in a city they were supposed to know like the back of their hands.
"We've been through these streets before, Karyk and I. When Drisia hosted the meetings of the Council at the palace," he said, his quiet voice concealed beneath the din of the busy city. Then he let out a dry chuckle. "Little did I know back then, he'd end up in one of those dungeons just downstairs."
He led them along a broad concourse, flanked on each side by bustling market stalls. Much like Byton, the city was getting ready for the Spring Fest, the rush increased tenfold among the townspeople for some last moment preparation.
Among all the other merchandise, the prevalence of fireworks caught her attention. They did not use anything of the sort on Spring Fest, back home. The festivities usually started in the morning with offerings to Lord Rhilio.
"Whaddya think this is all about? A Drisian custom we didn't know of?" she asked Rendarr.
He shrugged. "Perhaps?" Then he elaborated in which part of General Reylan he wanted to shove one of those firecrackers.
A homesickness tugged at her heart. All creation rejoiced at the coming of spring after bitter winter, yet here she was, far from home, walking an unknown city, clad in a dead man's armour.
Farren reached into her belt pouch. The present from Linder, the amethyst-studded barrette was still there, unharmed despite all the leagues travelled and battles fought.
Captain Walric parted from the company at this point, having gathered a general idea of the place, especially of the stables attached the guard houses.
"Now where are you headed off to?" Xenro asked her in alarm.
The captain grinned wide beneath the rim of her helm. "To take the... reins of the situation," she said. "I don't know about you all, but I sure want to keep an escape route open in the highly likely chance this suicidal mission goes wrong."
Xenro pinched the crook of his nose. "If your Drisian is as good as Farren here, better you stick with us," he said wearily.
Captain Walric shook her head, before gesturing to her mercenaries. "In our next move, there won't be no need to speak."
"Then I'm coming too--" said Farren, wondering what new trick the woman had up her sleeve.
But a large hand closed around the scruff of her neck.
"You aren't going anywhere," said Klo. "I turn my back for one second and you'll be getting the whole city chasing after us."
"Indeed. Keep your idiot, Sergeant." With an affirmative nod, the captain broke away from the company with her folk in tow and headed for the stables.
Farren huffed, feeling her own warm breath blow at her face inside her headgear which seemed to boil her alive as the sun rose higher overhead. "Should've left me with the others then, if I'm so troublesome.”
Klo's dark eyes glittered from between the visors. "I would have, really, were you only good with your axe. But we don't need that side of you today."
Her voice was soft, barely audible yet commanding all the same as they moved through the busy streets in a trot. Around them, the capital of Drisia droned on, common folk going about their day and pointedly avoiding the wretched air about this supposedly undead group of soldiers.
"We need that rogue from Silver Knife back in you. The one that trod the enchanted alleys, wandered the halls of noble houses unseen, and lone woods unharmed."
Farren was alert at once. "What do you have in mind?"
"A thorough look around the palace from the outside, for starters. Identify a possible escape route. We strike at midnight." She turned to Lieutenant Evander. "Are you familiar with the layouts of the dungeon, sir?"
"I'm afraid not. Had no reason to venture beyond the conference hall before, although..." He looked at Farren. "There's a high window facing the gardens, in the east wing-- which might be an option if you want to escape without raising an alarm. The palace gardens are mostly unguarded. My memory is a bit faded, but I trust you would help to renew that."
Farren nodded, for the first time confident in herself that she would not disappoint him. "I will, sir."
Dusk was nigh when Farren returned from her brief venture. Lieutenant Evander's memory proved flawless. In an unassuming stroll about the city, Klo elaborated to them what was to be done.
"Remember: no harm will come upon the common folk, for conquering a city is not what we are here for. Go in, get him out, and next we're far from the city gates without anyone being the wiser. "
"Sounds simple," said Xenro. "Not so in execution."
But Farren's interest had been piqued by that tone of challenge alone. She urged her mount to walk alongside Klo, leaning in slightly to listen. "And how would we get out of there?"
She smiled. "Leave that to me. Now cut to the chase, shall we?"
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"First, gain entry into the palace. Should not prove too hard, given your disguise."
Eleven bells.
The waxing moon hung high overhead.
Crossing the wide avenue, leaving their mounts in the stables, Farren, Xenro, Rendarr and Gray came upon the very front doors of the palace. No hindrance came yet, only curious looks at the scouts. Down they strode along the long hallway, which came to divide further into many a passage. From the lieutenant's guidance however, they knew it would be the stone stairs they ought to take, spiralling deep into the dark bowels of the place.
Now suspicion fell upon them, as they ran into a group of prison guards, making their way to their shift.
"Halt!" cried the leader, one of the few words in Drisian that Farren could understand, and came dashing up to them.
She and her squad mates exchanged looks.
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"Things will get rocky in the second step, because a handful of scouts charged with patrolling the distant lands have no business wandering the dungeons, do they?"
"Then what do you suggest?" they had asked the squad leader.
"Knock them out, nice and clean. Rendarr and Gray would know what to do. To Farren I give leave to screw the law of restriction once again-- though be careful. As for Xenro, I should ask him to hold back... unless you encounter a Vasaen."
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The guards had no time to react when fists slammed into their faces. One hit the wall and blacked out, another fell unconscious in the chokehold Gray tightened around their neck. The hilt of Xenro's sword fell onto the forehead of one that drew his blade.
But the fourth guard slipped away and ran, sprinting down the passageway.
Farren's head was clear at once, her breathing even and sorcery flaring up on her fingertips to muster the only spell she'd ever learnt: the spell of immobility. Her footsteps made little sound even as she ran in the heavy armour, a thief in the dark, once again an underdog among the gangs of Silver Knife chasing after a chance of glory.
Her hand closed around the gaping mouth of the guard about to scream. The body fell limp in her arms as the magic coursed through.
The four sighed in unison.
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"Third step, switch those dusty arse armour with the guards and blend in."
"I'll soak in a bath for a whole week, if we ever get out of this."
"Suit yourself," said Klo.
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After Rendarr and Gray had tied up the unconscious guards and hid them behind a stairwell, gagged and restrained, Farren made sure to cast her spell on them, thus further prolonging the time they had at hand.
"Poor souls are gonna have a nasty shock when they wake up," she said, getting to her feet. "Sort of like that thing that happens in your sleep when you can't move. But worse."
Clad in the armour of the palace prison guards, they went in.
For what seemed like hours and days they wandered in the dank hallways of the dungeon, but to no avail. The prison cells were divided into two levels, yet if they were to check the faces of each inmate, they could hardly hope to find the commander until daybreak.
With great reluctance on Farren's part, they chose to split up.
It was nearing half past eleven when Farren and Xenro came across the heavily guarded solid door of iron, at the very end of the lower storey.
But in the fourth step, things began to go wrong.
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"Fourth step: locate commander Karyk. This one's pretty obvious."
"Won't be an easy task. Yet even if we do so, what's our next course of action?"
The company halted in their slow trot. They had reached the centre of the city.
They followed the direction of the sergeant's hand, which slowly rose to point toward the gallows set in the middle of the town square. A crowd gathered there, chattering. A low murmur rose among the people as two city guards rode up to lower the shrivelled corpse from the noose, as though making space for...new ones.
"My Drisian may not be fluent, but I understand it nonetheless," she said, then stared at the lieutenant. "If you would confirm my suspicions, sir..."
He halted, and listened hard to the low rumble of gossip that flew about.
Lieutenant Evander sucked in a sharp breath. "This can't...be."
"But it is sir. It is as they say," said Klo. "They're hanging Commander Karyk tomorrow alongside a Drisian soldier accused of treason."
She turned to the rest. "This is what you must do once you find the commander:"
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"We are here on the general's orders," said Xenro. "It is time."
One guard, seemingly the leader, looked at him for a long moment. "You are...early."
"Only since he wills it so," said Xenro.
The prison guard stood in silence for a grim second, before nodding. "So be it. A shame that he's decided to sully a day like Spring Fest with a public execution. But that filthy traitor had it coming."
Farren clenched her teeth, stomach churning, head reeling in anticipation as one of the guards fumbled for the key from the heavy bunch fastened to his belt.
The key clicked in the lock, the snap reverberating upon the damp stone walls.
Things were going smoothly. But not the kind of smooth Farren would have liked, for it seemed less like a swift crossing and more like the moment when the current of a river speeds up before plunging down a waterfall, sharp rocks jutting at the bottom. Their boat sailed too far downstream to fight against it anymore. A bout of nausea rose to assail her out of sheer panic.
The iron door to the cell swung open with a screech.
Two emaciated figures sat huddled inside, one young and one old.
For the first time since the night of the attack on Kinallen, Farren saw Commander Karyk. He hunched, Draedona already tugging at his soul, hair almost completely shot through with grey. The younger man did not raise his face to look, but she presumed he must be the Drisian soldier accused of treason.
Xenro's harsh voice made her flinch as he strode in to bring the prisoners to their feet. The other guards joined in, thrusting their spears forward to urge them to get up.
Slowly, with heavy chain links grating across the flagstones Commander Karyk rose, and a strange smile was on his face.
"At last," he said, "my wait is over. May in afterlife I reunite with my comrades."
The younger prisoner let out a cynical laugh, as though he'd seen how bleak the afterlife could be.
One of the guards spat and spoke in broken Midaelian. "Your damned comrades couldn't care less if you rotted to death in a dungeon!"
Commander Karyk shook his head. "I don't blame them. Who would travel across enemy lands for an useless, senile old man? Their time is better spent in preparing for what's to come."
"Their defeat, you mean!"
An uproar of jeering laughter boomed from the prison guards as they shoved the two, sending them staggering nearly into her and Xenro's arms.
"We'll see, old man, if your tongue remains so sharp when the noose tightens around your neck!'' They cheered. "All hail King Krugmann!"
"All hail King Krugmann!" She heard herself and Xenro utter the same, even if their throats begged to be choked up.
To say the walk down the passage with the prisoners was agonising would be an understatement. On their way here, minds preoccupied by the search of one of their own, they hardly paid heed to the cells that lined either side of the passage. But now the voices of the inmates rose to a haunting wail, pale, skeletal hands reaching out through the bars to grasp at her feet as she passed. A single night here, and she would lose her sanity.
The place reeked of bodily wastes and the floor beneath her feet was deathly cold. Above, the city prepared for the long awaited Spring Fest, but here below, the scene of nightmare did not waver.
Yet judging by the stoney indifference with which the guards stood, it seemed the Vasaeni had begun to infiltrate these ranks as well, eerie in their uncaring aloofness.
Not until they were several corridors out of earshot did Farren dared to open her mouth to speak.
"Commander," she whispered. "It's me. Farren Clearstrike of Kinallen." Her own name sounded alien to her ears.
The prisoners halted in their tracks. The commander's eyes bulged, hearing Midaelian tongue for the first time in months. "Corporal...?"
"Private now, sir. Got in a bit of trouble."
But he said no more.
No hint of surprise, or even a trace of joy she could see in him, but only weariness. Only silent acceptance of impending death. Did he not recognize her Midaelian speech, if not her rank?
Farren thought of enquiring more, but chose to save them for later. Time was limited, and Miadelian words spoken within these halls would be a dead giveaway, if they were to be overheard.
They walked.
Several flights of stairs they climbed, turned many hallways Farren did not remember crossing. But they never found the easternmost window overlooking the palace gardens.
"You sure we aren't lost?" Farren whispered.
Xenro said nothing, but the sweatbeads appearing on his brow were answer enough. They turned into another passageway, but this one had no windows at all. Farren had long since lost her sense of direction within these winding hallways.
At this point the Drisian soldier spoke out.
"You are indeed lost," he said in heavily accented Midaelian.
Farren and Xenro stopped in their tracks, staring at him. The Drisian captive turned to face them. Matted red hair stuck close to his scalp, cheeks hollowed. His eyes looked ancient, even though he could have been of Farren's age. Black stains were smeared across his dirty linen shirt. Upon his thin chest, the number 'one' had been burned in Drisian numericals.
The first of his kind after the Apocalypse.
Almost instinctively, her fingers reached for her dagger. He made no move to defend himself.
Xenro stood eerily still, eyes fixed on the young man and uttering not a word.
"You were saying?" Farren urged.
"I sit and count the bells down there, you know. There's naught else to do," said the Vasaen. "And that's how I know you made a terrible mistake. You should have come sooner. The time's nearly twelve bells now."
The things he drawled went right over Farren's head. "What?"
"The Spring Fest, you fool!" he snapped suddenly. "The ceremonies start when the clock strikes midnight."
The abundance of the fireworks...now they struck.
The celebration started at midnight, rather than daybreak.
The Drisian soldier still droned on. "General Reylan would then come to get us out to lead us to the gallows. But he'll find the cell empty. Oh, damnation! Fireworks and food and mead and songs and...hanging traitors! Praise be to Rhilio the merciful for this year's harvest!" He seemed to grapple with his sanity.
Farren did not blame him.
But when he began to cackle out loud, Xenro had no choice but to clamp his mouth shut with one hand.
"Stop!" cried the commander, trying to pry his grip off him. "Don't harm him. I'm the reason he's ended up here. He tried to help me escape!"
Xenro stared at him, then slowly removed his hand. "Please," he said, giving the young man's shoulders a gentle shake, "get yourself together. Tell us what we did wrong. Surely there must be a way to amend it?"
With a thundering boom, there sounded bells from a great distance. One...two...three...
Twelve bells.
With a low rumble, fireworks shot out into the sky outside.
The Drisian soldier shook his head, as though the sound snapped him out of his mind's slow spiral into madness. His eyes were wide and clear as he looked at them both.
"General Reylan..." he said, "he was supposed to get us out when the celebrations were to start. You...must hurry. He's headed for our cell even as we speak. He'll know something's amiss, the moment he finds it empty."
Farren took a deep breath. "The high window in the east wing, above the palace gardens. We have a friend waiting for us there. Can you...can you help us find it?"
He gazed for a long moment, as though having a hard time interpreting the simple words. At last he nodded.
"Yes...yes, I can."
The soldier led them back along the hallway they'd come. After a number of twists and turns and missed stairwells, it turned out they had been indeed cast far off their original course. Around them, the palace upstairs seemed to come to life. Many voices spoke, both above and below them.
No doubt the absence of the prisoners had been noticed. And yet here they were, still within the confines of the palace walls. There was no sign of Rendarr and Gray yet.
When Farren had begun to get certain that this Drisian soldier had betrayed them as well, they burst into a moonlit corridor. A tall shaft of silver light fell through the window. Stars glinted on the inky sky outside. Dark silhouettes of trees could be seen, standing like silent sentinels frozen by a spell.
Farren dashed to the window to see the palace gardens arrayed out three floors beneath like a grey-green sea, flooded in moonlight.
Her heart jumped to her throat when a metal hook shot out from below, nearly smacking her on the nose--and latched onto the window-ledge. A length of sturdy rope, dyed black, fell right down to the ground.
Farren leaned out and gave it a tug to check the strength. The sky lit up in a flurry of gold and green and red as a bunch of fireworks went off beyond the walls.
"What took you so long?" cried Klo, not bothering to keep quiet in the ever-rising clamour.
"A little detour because we love hanging out in a piss-rank dungeon!" Farren yelled back, the moment's frustration spilling out. "Please tell me Rendarr and Gray are down there with you."
"What?" her voice drifted back. "I thought they're with you?"
Farren leaned back in to stare at Xenro.
"Get them down first, and get yourself out," Xenro said, gesturing to the prisoners. "I will look for them."
"Like hell I'd let you run off alone," muttered Farren and turned to Commander Karyk. "Hurry, sir."
But he stood staring blankly at her.
"...No." Commander Karyk took a step back. The Drisian soldier stood leaning against the wall, eyes unfocused.
Farren did not understand.
"We're here to get you out of here, sir! Lieutenant Evander is right outside--"
"Shut up!" Commander Karyk flinched, putting his hands over his ears and squinting his eyes shut. "Is this another of your General's tricks?"
"Commander, it's me! Corporal Clearstrike of the garrison of Kinallen," she said. "Please, hurry up and let's go. We haven't much time."
"Then show me your face," he said.
If that's what it takes.
She took off her helm. Sweat ran in runnels down her face, crusts of congealed blood still stuck in her dirty hair from the last battle. Filthy and reeking and battered-- but she was the Farren Clearstrike alright.
If he did recognise her, it would be by her misdeeds, rather than acts of honor-- of this she was certain.
"Remember me, Commander? Your friend--Lieutenant Evander brought me in and...I tried to desert. I'm that brat of Silver Knife. The one with the thief's brand," she said, searching for recognition in the commander's glazed eyes. "But I'm no spy of this General Reylan you speak of. Trust me."
Commander Karyk shook his head feverishly. "Yes... yes, the Clearstrike girl. I do remember you."
The door at the far end of the passage slammed open. Several voices shouted in Drisian words of alarm.
A man with an eye patch, clad in ornate green robes stood in the lead of a dozen armed prison guards, quite ready for the festivities-- and something else, judging by the sword at his belt. As he stepped out into the slanted column of light, his lone eye glinted blue-grey, and hair silver-blond.
And the eye halted right on...her.
"Well well, if it isn't Finnian's little sister again," said Emric, a grin creeping up on his face. "Do me a favor, would you? Hold him tight. He's been trying to escape."
Commander Karyk gave her a look of utter betrayal and backed away. "I knew this was a trap! The Gods would never forgive what I've done. This is my punishment!"
No more was spoken. The guards lunged at them, swords bared and spears ready.
All urgency in her seemed to fizzle out. Farren wanted to drop everything and run--and deal with this like she had with all her problems.
Move. Get the hell out of here, you fool!
But her feet were rooted to the spot. Frozen, like a stunned beast held at arrowpoint.
The following moment, several things happened as many more fireworks went off, flooding the passage with light.
Two figures leapt at the guards from the other end of the hallway, so fast they seemed to be but passing shadows. Blades slammed into blades, the deafening clang of armour against armour echoing on the stone walls. Emric swerved to one side, taken aback from the suddenness of the assault.
Rendarr and Gray broke through the barricade, swords glimmering. The entire passage filled with golden light and deafening cracks, the sound of drums and flutes and song drifting in.
"Run! Take them both and get out!" cried Gray, even as more guards rushed in through the doorway. Xenro joined the fray, and the stench of blood now mingled in the festive air.
Getting the commander back to the window was a daunting task, for even as a frail fellow, he resisted her attempts with all he'd left in him. At this point, the Drisian soldier helped.
"Snap out of it, will you? These are your folk!" he cried as he dragged him to the window with Farren, "here to help you out! You wanna die in this hellhole, old man?"
But Commander Karyk stopped struggling as a face appeared at the window, a war-scarred hand appearing upon the ledge.
Lieutenant Evander climbed up and stretched out a hand.
Time seemed to halt, as though to honor the battle-forged brotherhood between the two, if only for a moment.
The commander's yellowed eyes shone with recognition, tears leaking down his sunken cheeks. "Rhanes..., my brother. It is really you."
"Forgive me," said the lieutenant, "that I could not bring you back sooner. But come. We go home now."
A crossbow went off, and a quarrel shot off through the window, inches above Lieutenant Evander's head. Commander Karyk tarried not a moment, and next, he was out, sliding down the rope and out of sight.
Next went Rendarr and Gray. Fighting was futile, for more and more guards came flooding in, alarmed by the commotion. Xenro found it hard to disengage. The enemy closed in on him, perceiving him as the greatest threat no doubt.
The Drisian prisoner made a sprint for the window, but he fell forward, struck down by a quarrel which did not miss its target this time.
Farren paused, even with one leg up on the brink of the exit route. The Drisian soldier lay there, bleeding out, yet not dying. Living through every moment of agony without an escape.
The first Vasaen. The one who came back after Commander Karyk killed him with his own hands out of mercy.
The one who started it all.
Should they leave him here to his torment?
"There is yet a final piece left to this puzzle," Xenro had said. "A young man of Drisian blood whom I must find."
"Fuck this." Farren climbed back down and rushed to him, and hoisted him on her shoulders. It was alarming how little he weighed.
And thus at last she and Xenro were cornered, their backs against the wall--barely a few paces from the window. Loaded crossbows, unsheathed blades and cruel spears surrounded them. Xenro breathed heavily, tired arms shaking beneath the weight of his sword. Farren could not draw her blade with the prisoner slumped upon her back.
Right outside this armed circle, stood Emric, ever calm and collected. Not a drop of blood sullied his attire, not a hair of his head out of place. He needed not even his sword to freeze the blood in their veins.
He smiled softly.
"A lovely performance, I must say," he said. "A perfect start to this long awaited occasion of festivities. I would invite you to stay a bit longer. The main events are just about to start. What do I care if that old man got away? Two are here to fill his place. I must prepare...three ropes, in that case."
Dark shadows swirled at his feet as he raised a hand. The silver ring still glimmered on his finger. Unknowingly, Farren fingered her own ring of gold and sapphire, given to her by Xenro so long ago. But had it any power against this wretched thing of dark sorcery?
Xenro stepped in front of her and the Drisian soldier, sword raised-- a gesture Farren had become familiar with.
"Go," he said, eye to eye with Emric. There he was, back at playing the suffering hero again.
But Farren was having none of it. She held the Drisian soldier tighter as Emric took a step forward.
"Go!" Xenro shouted. "I shall hold them off."
Emric's pale brows rose in mock surprise. "Don't make such false promises to your friend."
Xenro had no time to answer.
Dark magic sizzled in the air at once, pitch black Chains materialising around the Drisian soldier's body-- and yanked him back from Farren's arms, throwing him at Emric's feet. He placed his boot on the young man's chest.
"Get them," was all Emric said.
The guards closed in, weapons thrust forward. More Chains emerged from the darkness, lashing at them both. Farren dodged, swerving in the direction of the window--and hated herself for that. The whirring of arrows speeding toward her left her no choice but to crouch and take hold of the rope. The others shouted below, but she could not discern the words.
Even as the sorcerous bindings closed around him, cutting into his skin deep enough to draw blood, Xenro turned to her for a last time.
His eyes were bright and wide, as though a realisation had dawned on him at last, one that could get them all out of this nightmare. He uttered a few words, even as Farren made a final, desperate leap out of the window.
Things slid into place in her mind, and the solution shone bright. How could she not see this before?
"Use my ring, Farren," he said.
"Summon me out of here."