She moves like a wave through southern Keesark into Halften. And as she goes, as she rolls, the sea behind her grows larger.
The bag from the depths stays next to her, in a pouch on the flank of her pale horse, and she never opens it; though Lei Chaudri sometimes thinks he sees it move. But maybe that is the bright sun and the shadows playing tricks, or just a mirage from the aching in his head. It aches now quite often.
They are moving slowly, steadily, along a path the Paragon had once walked before. Before, her journey was shared by only one companion, a companion of solace, who showed her tricks and wove stories in the nighttime sky. Back then he let her live in lives of another time and reality, so she could escape the one she was in.
Now, there is only one story in this ascent.
This story sharpens, grows as they ride on. Dark wings fill it out with tidings of strange occurrences in Quersido, of the walls creeping up along the city outskirts, and an equal but opposite tide to Allayria's pull flows into the turned city from all corners of the kingdoms. A trickle of that tide even tries to sneak past Allayria in the dark one night... but it fails.
But this does not worry her too much; Ben always had friends in many places and for them to all now gather in one spot for her is... rather kind of them.
She smiles at this, alone, and it is an expression nearly as dark as the night that surrounds her, no starlight on the horizon. She stares into it, through it, and muses that all she will ask of them now, even as her own horde moves, is a little more patience.
For there is one piece left on this board that she must deal with before she moves in on the king piece. One last piece to fall.
She turns to the creature waiting, behind her, only its pale leering mask visible in the night.
It sets to work.
Bear's Spear is exactly how she remembers: tall, flat, and hewn in dark stone and steel; a cold place, stark and unyielding. But inside it this time, creeping along its halls, are vermin, rats in human flesh.
She dismounts from her horse, the pale tendrils of dawn light glinting low on her crimson armor and Marshal Marron approaches. She had come with support from Solveigard City, sent by its queen.
"Even if these Cabal 'soldiers' are on the green side it will be difficult to take the fort," she says, as if she has not warned of this before. "The natural structure—"
The Paragon turns, looks at her.
"Let me worry about natural structure," she says. "All we need is for one of us to get inside."
And, as she speaks, five creatures dart out from around her, as if loosed by command, and scuttle into the dark. Their shadows flit through the waning night and when they reach the bottom of the base their shadows latch on and climb.
She watches steadily as Marron fidgets beside her. This is not part of the Marshal's typical game, not part of the rules, and in this new territory she is... lost.
Reduced to nothing but a question when all the expected structures are taken away, Allayria muses. How frail the human mind is.
They watch as, one by one, the little dots disappear into unlatched windows.
Green... she echoes Marron's word for the squatters inside, that new smile of hers twists on her face once more. Foolish.
In one of the vulnerable rooms a man dozes in a chair next to a table. He's bent over it, head nestled on shoulder, arm outstretched across the maps and notes, as if he meant to reach for something before sleep took ahold of him.
The fire has gone out in here, so the room lies cloaked in heavy shadow and faint dawn light when he stirs. At first he doesn't understand what has awoken him; he's groggy, eyes crusty and head heavy from a long night. But something in the depths of his brain is alert—had, in fact, woken up at the soft patter of feet on the floor.
It's that primordial brain that leads him to rub his eyes instead of lay his head back down again. That instinct which leads him to peer around.
Shadowed shelves near the door; the darkened outline of the fireplace; the shape of a rug, black in the low light; the window, the only source of the light. Did he open it last night? He doesn't remember.
Something catches his eye next to the window. A strange shape—something on the wall, he thinks. But there was nothing hanging on that wall, was there? He didn't remember that either.
The man's brow scrunches, he peers fixedly at it as the dawn light grows a little brighter. A shape... Did it look like, was it a face—?
The thing on the wall moves and, outside, the waiting horde hears one, short scream. The Paragon lifts one hand, stretches it out, points, and twists it around.
[Yield.]
The lights are coming on now, flickering in each window, but it doesn't matter. There's a body lurching down their halls, silent but for grunts, even though inside it screams and screams and screams. Behind it, a mask tails it like a shadow, waiting for the others to join.
They do, and when the doors open, when faces peer out, the attention of the awakening residents of Bear Spear fix on the leering ghouls that follow the man.
"God's above!" someone shouts, barely noticing the careening man pass by. "What the hell is that?"
They run past him, nearly into him sometimes—some going toward, others fleeing away. And this man lurches on, down the stairwell—foot cracking ominously as he falls—and into the lower halls.
"Someone wake up the Smith-callers," a man shouts, sprinting past, a stone sword being drawn out of the ground as he goes. "Get the Solveig gang down here—"
The man twists on by, and it's only when he's struggling down the front part of the entry hall that anyone stops and turns.
"Oi!" someone shouts. "Are you alright?"
But the man does not answer. He shuffles on, underneath the arches, toward the double-doors.
"Hey!" the woman tries again. "Where are you going?"
Her shout turns to a cry of alarm when he collapses on the lever, angling it down so something on the front doors clicks.
The woman is saying something else, but the man can only groan pitifully, lurching back up, swaying.
"Stop!" someone else shouts behind him.
An arrow buries itself into the oak wood by the man's head and then, only then, does a sob escape the man's lips. His hand shoots out, hits one of the front doors. It slips, clutching onto a handle.
"Stop! Stop!"
The man pushes the doors open. He stumbles out into the early morning light, in front of the waiting army. He sways a moment longer, teetering like a fresh calf, before his legs suddenly steady and he pitches himself off the bridge into the dark abyss below.
On the field ahead, the Paragon steps forward, draws out her sword.
"The natural structure has been taken care of," she tells Marron. "Storm the keep."
She turns back, looks at the marshal as three metal balls fly off of her belt and begin circling the air behind her without any outward command. Her eyes are dark, like the lure of an endless void.
"Slaughter them all," she says.
A/N: I'm sure everything is going to be fine.
I'm saying that a lot this book 🙈
Chapter Notes: We first encounter Bear's Spear in Partisan's "Lei." Marron is a Keesark Marshal who traveled with General Jin and Allayria to Vatra.