A Green Sun Illuminates The Void
Chapter 6: Ignis Sacri
{0}
The evening sky was heavy-lit by red, streaming in through the narrow west-facing windows of the cramped room. The door was securely bolted and fastened; the desk was cleared apart from a few, disorganised components in an alchemy kit. Apart from that, the sparse decorations were almost painfully neat and tidy, the kind of precision that speaks of having little to waste.
The woman in the room frowned, and adjusted the lacing on her left bracer, loosening it and flexing her wrist. Evidently, it was to her satisfaction, because she smiled, and checked herself in the cheap mirror as she stretched out. Her bandoleer, seven pouches of varying sizes, went on next, the weighted jars sitting heavy and full, and then came the cloak.
And up went the hood.
... showtime.
{0}
With a twitch, the charcoal snapped in Colbert's hand. It was the only mark of his irritation, but it was enough that any of his colleagues would have been rather surprised by the almost palpable heat radiating off the fire mage.
His theory had been perfect! He has been so sure that he had worked out what had happened to Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière!
Clearly, what had happened was that the magical binding had been ruined by that first summoning, interrupted through sheer accidental bad luck. He had gone to check the crane with the broken-wings caught in the explosion, so sure that he would find that she had actually bound it as her familiar.
He hadn't just been wrong. That would have been much easier to handle; after all, there was no precedent that you could just bind random animals that flew into your circle. But there were... scars on its ruined wings. Burn-like scars, which looked a little bit like the text on the strange shell of brass and fire which had imprisoned Miss de la Vallière for five days; incomplete lettering in the form of curves and lines. Apparently, they had appeared overnight, during the hours of darkness, on the first day that the crane had been with them.
And he had talked to the water mage that handled the animals around the Academy. That it was still alive was surprising. The bird's wings
weren't healing. The animal seemed to be in pain, but it wasn't getting any sicker, and the break wasn't getting infected. In fact, the commoner groundsmen had claimed that it seemed to be, in some indefinable way,
better than it had been, which was surely rubbish.
So they had tried to put it out of its misery, because it was cruel to let such a beautiful bird suffer in such a way.
It hadn't died. Even when they had snapped its neck.
The bones there had just knitted themselves back together, even as the broken-winged crane remained unhealing. And that didn't make any sense at
all. Because it wasn't a familiar. He had visited Miss de la Vallière during the day, in her bed in the infirmary, and she hadn't been able to see through its eyes, hadn't shown any control over it, hadn't... done anything which would imply that it had been bound to her. Colbert was annoyed, because reality hadn't had the common decency to give him a nice binary answer to his conundrum.
Annoyed, and also intrigued. Familiars were branded, yes, but not in this way, not with so many words, and certainly not in what appeared to be the predecessor alphabet to ancient Brimiric runes. And that apparently the broken-winged crane was now undying... that was just
unexpected.
... what would happen if he could, next year, get another student to mess up their first attempt at the ritual, he thought, before shaking his head. No. Forcing that kind of magical accident, in the most important day of the student's life, was immoral.
He'd feel better after dinner. Then he could get back to processing and copying the text from the book using his colbertotype.
{0}
Arriving late, together the asymmetrical pair of Kirche and Tabitha made their way to their customary seats. One could indeed wonder why the two of them were friends, for they were apparently polar opposites in every single way. One was tall, overdeveloped for her age, red-headed and dark-skinned, all too typical of the Germanian nobility, descended from eastern horseback tribes. The other was petite and childish in form, ghost-pale, her descent from
Les Lignées Triomphante written in her blue hair and in her features.
Nevertheless, to the confusion of others, they were still close enough that Tabitha could drag Kirche out to the forest close to the school, to help care for her wind-dragon, and feed it the meat that was such an important part of the creature's diet. Indeed, in the time since the summoning, Sylphid, the dragon, had grown rather fond of Kirche, not least because the fire mage was willing to sear her chunks of cow to a juicy medium rare.
And that was the reason for the lateness. Not the trip to the forest; no, that had been planned for. But the fact that Sylphid had decided to give Kirche a big lick, which had left her clothes and hair soaked in dragon-drool and cow-blood, meant that she had been in a state which was
completely unacceptable to turn up to dinner, and so a hurried wash and change had been necessary.
By that point, Kirche von Zerbst had built up a healthy appetite, both from the lateness of the hour, and the fact that searing steaks for a dragon made one's mouth water. And so she was somewhat surprised, and somewhat aggravated, when her blue-haired friend stabbed her in the hand with her fork, after only taking a single bite herself, and spitting it immediately out.
"What was that for?" the red-head hissed, trying not to make a scene.
"It'll heal."
Kirche spluttered a bit. "Well, yes, but that's not the point! It hurt! Argh!"
"Stopped you eating."
"It certainly will!" The redhead fumbled for a napkin, dabbing at the puncture wounds. "It... it didn't go deep, but... argh! It hurt!" An angry glare was directed at the pale girl. "What did you do that for?"
"Stop you eating."
"I know, you said that, but..." Something clicked inside Kirche's head, and she looked up, eyes suddenly alert. "What's the problem with the food?"
"Nothing. Under-flavoured. Warning sign."
The darker-skinned girl tilted her head. "... is that it?" she asked. "I can understand that you might be... cautious about over-flavoured food, because it might be hiding poison, but underfl..."
"Poisoning method." One finger was pointed at the salt shaker, and tracked over the other condiments. "Add your own. Avoids food tasters. Used in Romalia..." she paused for second, "and Galia."
Kirche's gaze darted around the room, from person to person. Everyone in here was a target, and she wasn't sure who in particular might attract an attempt like this. The buzz of conversation was a distraction, as she tried to consider who here might be a target for this kind of assassination attempt.
Apart from herself, obviously.
"Maybe we should tell someone?" she suggested, eyes still tracking.
There was no response from the blue-haired girl.
"You know. Because we don't want to get everyone poisoned," Kirche continued.
"No point." The tone was ice-cold, clipped, and soft, almost inaudible in the sound of the other students eating.
Fingers drummed on the table, Kirche casting a hungry glance down at her plate, before looking back at her friend. "Why?" she demanded.
The other girl paused for a long while. "Because it will tell the poisoner?" she said... no, Kirche was pretty sure that was a 'suggested'. It was an entirely uncharacteristic hint of uncertainty from the wind mage, and, in fact, she was fairly sure that the other girl was lying. But she chose to accept it for now.
"So now what?"
"Find poisoner. Eliminate."
Two eyebrows were raised. "Kill?" the Germanian asked, her surprise evident.
"Eliminate. Kill or recruit. No difference."
{0}
Down in the kitchens, Siesta smirked. She had stayed up all night, sneaking in for another shift in the kitchens when they were almost empty, and she had made good use of the herbs and plants that she had stolen from the arboretum. Tucked inside her breast pocket, she had the honey-and-herb mix, sealed with wax. Some of those plants had been
nasty; she had blotches on her hands where the sap had burned at her skin just when she had been making the mixture, and she was only thankful that she had worn gloves when picking them. She was a little concerned that this might cause problems, but with sufficient honey, and telling the anathema that the healers had told her to drink it, it should probably work. No-one expected medicine to taste nice, after all.
And she was ready. Her duty was almost ready.
Yes. All she had to do was get assigned to the dinner delivery to the infirmary, and then put... the... fuzzy... woozy...
Thud.
Gloing.
Sploosh.
Siesta lay unconscious on the floor, covered in soup. And around her, the rest of the serving staff in the antechamber had similarly collapsed.
{0}
The thuds and clattering had by now stopped.
"Huh," Kirche remarked, her eyes wide open, as she looked around the dining room, filled with snoring nobles. "So... everyone?"
The blue-haired girl nodded, her hand shooting out to grab one of the salt shakers. A cascade of whitish powder fell out of the top, the consistency completely wrong for what it was meant to be. Tabitha sniffed at it, smelling nothing, before she tasted a tiny amount on her little finger, spitting immediately onto the table. "Rose," she said. "Twilight Sip. Knocks out, also paralyses. Assassins use on guards. Can stop breathing, but fairly safe." The side of her mouth twitched. "Still, water mages will be busy. Causes lung problems, also issues with kidneys and heart if dose too large."
"So... wait, the salt was..."
The air-mage scanned over the entire table. "Not just salt. Pepper too. Probably everything. Maybe in food too, will not test it. Also wine." she remarked, clinically. "Mass transmutation of sedative into other forms. Limited duration, return to normal all at same time, when already eaten." She glanced over at the nearest of the serving staff, lying unmoving amongst the remains of the plates that they had been carrying. "And them too. Not sure how that happened."
Kirche slumped down. "That's clever," she whispered. "And if it had been... you know, something deadly?"
"Death." The blue-haired girl leaned over, and pushed Malicorne's face out of his bowl of soup, where he had been blowing bubbles in a rather disturbing manner which suggested that he had probably been drowning. "Stop people dying in soup, then blow out candles," she instructed.
"Why... ah, fire risk." Kirche von Zerbst pulled herself upright, drew her wand, and with a quick slash, extinguished all the fire in the room.
There was a pause.
"Can't see," Tabitha remarked, in the darkness.
{0}
Montmorency was not talking to Louise anymore. Louise was not talking to Montmorency anymore.
All in all, this was probably a considerable improvement in the general state of affairs, which meant that the social combativeness of the room had gone down considerable, and the occasional sullen glare was more than fair payment for blessed silence. The fact that the chief healer, the Abbe, had informed them before he went to dinner that, if they did not both shut up, he would be putting them in with the sick first years, and if they caught pentapox it was God's will, may have had something to do with this truce.
"
... and then, what of Gem? What of Gem the Doomed, built into a dead volcano born of fire, the caves below it filled with deliciously flammable firedust? What of Gem, which somehow has decided to get in a trade war with Paragon, despite the fact that the two cities are over a thousand miles away from one another? Indeed, let us not speak of Gem, for it is a silly place. Silly, and doomed. It is not your mandate, although it is likely you will have to liaise with whichever of the Princes will be assigned there, for the South is the domain of the Endless Desert, and such efforts will have to be coordinated."
Sadly, the priest had not known of the neomah in Louise's head, and so it had not been told to shut up. And even if he had known about it, he would not have been able to make it be quiet, so it was probably for the best. At the moment, Louise had managed to channel it into telling her about the lands of the south, rather than nagging her. She had always been a little curious of what lay below the lands the elves controlled, and now... well, she couldn't quite trust anything it said, because some of it sounded rather unbelievable, but it was entertaining in a way, and at least it wasn't going on and on about other things. Or trying to get her to do... Louise blushed... slatternly things with Montmorency.
At least those bits weren't as bad as when it started talking about what the neomah did when they weren't being... you know, annoying head-familiars. She wasn't sure whether it was actually telling the truth about those bits, but she had been blushing hard enough that the healers had noted that she had a temperature and was flushed, and given her something to cool her down.
Unbeknownst to either girl, the water in their glasses shifted slightly.
And then, about a second later, it shifted again, but the motion was larger this time.
Louise stretched out to her full not-very-long length, running her hands through her hair. She... well, huh. Her hair wasn't greasy at all, despite the fact that she hadn't had it washed since right after the fight. It was a little dry-feeling, but otherwise in perfect condition.
The water in the glasses rippled again.
'Marisalon,' Louise asked, mentally. 'Should my hair be like this? It's... odd.'
There was a pause from the neomah. "
I didn't have hair, fair lady," the demon remarked. "
I am afraid I cannot be of much assistance... although I can, of course, give you grooming tips. One of my former mistresses had me care for her intimately
, and so I know how ladies of the Realm dress themselves and care for their hair."
A ripple, larger once more.
The corners of the girl's mouth twitched upwards. That actually sounded tolerable, and... well, maybe it might be useful. Maybe she should have a shopping expedition someday soonish. Yes. She could treat herself. She'd earned it, after all.
Over on the other side of the room, Montmorency sat upright, with a groan, and stared at her glass of water. Regularly, perhaps two seconds apart, the surface of the water would leap, rippling and bouncing off the inner walls. Squinting, she peered at it, looking to see if there was an insect or something in the glass. There wasn't. And she wasn't using magic, and she doubted that there was another water mage that close. She'd notice. But there was certainly something making it move.
As if something... was... shaking... it...
And that was just about when Montmorency noticed the twenty-metre tall golem, walking directly towards the window. And, unsurprisingly screamed.
This served to alert Louise, who followed the other girl's gaze.
She also screamed. The golem was a walking behemoth, large enough to almost completely block out the view from the window already.
It also didn't appear to be stopping.
The next few seconds were what might be deemed to be 'confused'.
{0}
Flat, sensible shoes clicking against the stone floor, followed by the clatter of the mass of lesser constructs that followed her, the notorious mage-thief, Foquet, named by some "The Crumbling Dirt" made her way through the corridors of the Tristain Academy of Magic.
To the profligate and decadent members of the upper nobility, she was a terror, the thief who came in the night and who not only stole the gems from one's summer home, but also who stole the glit of the decorations, animating the metal to dance away into the darkness. To the middle nobility, she was whispered rumour and bragging rights alike; to be targeted by her was proof that one was – or rather, had been – wealthy, even as others denied the weakness that she bought. And for the commoners and the poorest among the so-called
inexprimé houses, she was a source of schadenfreude; almost a lesser folk hero, from the way that she humiliated their betters. She stole precious gems and deeds to land alike, and was known to be a discerning connoisseur of enchanted goods.
To no-one's surprise, there was a price on her head in all four of the Brimiric nations, and the Emperor-elect of Germania had publically sworn that whosoever that bastard of an earth mage was, he would have his balls hanging from his saddle-horn.
That had provided no small amusement to the decidedly female Foquet. It had made all the careful and painstaking androgyny of her costume and public image worth it, in a very real sense.
But then again, she had always had a taste for the dramatic. And her full education in the finest examples of the thespian arts, Brimiric and otherwise, served her well.
Take the golem outside, for example. It was a contingency, nothing more. If all went as planned, they would be chasing the mage who used the giant golem... and she had set up several robberies in the past year, to establish that as a modus operandi. But if things did not go well, it was still a giant golem she could use to escape in. And in some cases, brute force was... useful.
She was going in through the inside of the King's Tower. The golem was attacking from the outside. She would be interested in seeing who got to the soft, tasty centre first.
And, of course,
everyone knew that mages had to keep a close eye on a golem that size. Foquet smiled, under her disguise. If anyone had escaped her sedatives, their reactions to the golem would be... interesting.
{0}
Barely breathing heavily, Louise dropped Montmorency none-too-gently on the roof, and stared at the golem, which had just walked through the building. She coughed once, twice, in the dust kicked up by the destruction that the golem had inflicted, and continued to stare.
Kneeling by her feet, the blonde girl was hyperventilating, bandaged arm clutched up against her chest. "There is a giant golem thing that just walked through the building!" she hissed at Louise, once she was approaching the ability to string a coherent sentence together. "
Why is there a giant golem thing!"
"I have no clue!" Louise hissed back.
"Giant! Golem!"
"I know!"
"What is it doing here!"
"I don't know!"
There was silence, as they glared at each other. Monmon relented first, looking away, down to her arm. "How did you manage to do that?" she asked, a hint of curiosity mixed with the anger in her voice. "And... and what are we doing on the roof?"
Louise paused. What were they doing on the roof? Well, yes, she sort of had picked up Montmorency and most of her bedding and carried her in one arm up here, but... why had she done that?
Not that she wanted the other girl to die. No, what she didn't know was why she'd carried her up to the roof, and... she turned around, to stare at the door, which was lying on the roof. Yes, why she'd kicked down the door along the way. How had she even done that? It had felt so natural, so
right to be acting with overwhelming force.
"
Fair lady, that was most impressive indeed."
"Why am I on the roof?"
"
That was all your doing, my Princess. I didn't say anything." The neomah coughed. "
And we would probably have been safer not going to the roof of the building which the construct had just walked through, though of course I defer to your superior wisdom. Is it a warstrider, or is it simpler than that?"
"... yes, that is what I asked you, Zero." The blonde sighed, which turned into a pained cough. "So you don't know."
Louise puffed up her chest. "Oh, s-so sorry I saved your life!" she retorted. "Clearly, I should have thought up a better path while the giant golem was smashing th-through the place!"
And that did shut up Montmorency, at least for a little bit. Crouching low, the two girls watched the golem tear apart the well-kept grass with its spurred feet, heading inexorably towards the main tower.
"You know, I
bet it's Foquet of the Crumbling Dirt!" Louise whispered, staring at the behemoth. "Attacking the Academy with a giant golem... who else could it be?"
"... an attempt by Albionese Republicans to take the treasures of Tristain and use them for their own nefarious ends!"
"What?"
"Well, we've always been allies with Albion," Monmon said, lips twisting. "Maybe they think it's okay... or they'll plant evidence to make it look like the Royalists! Or the Royalists are doing it to make us think that it was the Republicans who tried to make it look like the Royalists, so we'll interfere with the war on their side!"
Louise blinked. And then she remembered. "Oh. You're still on lots of painkillers, aren't you?"
The blonde squinted. "Um... so I am." There was a cough. "I
wonder why?" There was a glare directed at Louise to go with those words.
The pink-haired girl massaged the back of her neck. This didn't really seem like the time for acrimony. "Look... I wasn't
trying to... um... hurt you like this. I mean it was a duel, yes, but I sort of snapped. And... I only did it after you
stabbed me."
Well, maybe a bit of acrimony.
Montmorency puffed herself up... and then deflated slightly. "You wouldn't stop moving, and I was on the edge of collapsing," she muttered, in what resembled an admission. "I'm only a line mage, and I want to do alchemy when I'm older. I'm not a fighter. I can't keep going."
There was silence again, but a more pleasant one, the air between the two girls cleared slightly. A silence which was broken, at least for Louise, by the shriek within her head.
"
My lady..." began Marisalon, voice fearful and shrill. "
W-w-why are there two moons?"
"Huh?" muttered Louise, as, crouched down, she half-crawled along the roof of the academy, trying to keep low. She had no idea how on earth the golem saw, but keeping small and unobtrusive was probably a good idea. She glanced up at the sky. Taksony was just rising over the buildings, to join his sister moon. They were both nearly full, casting their red and blue light down upon the earth. Yes. Two moons.
"
Two. Moons." A mental intake of breath. "
What is going on here!" the neomah shrieked.
A grunt of effort, as Louise pulled herself up a ledge, muscles aching from the exertion. "That's how many moons there are," Louise said through gritted teeth. She went to wipe her brow, only to find it dry. And, thinking about how she felt, she didn't feel sweaty at all, even if she knew that this much exercise
should have left her her drenched.
"
Nuh uh. Where am I! Where am I! This is not the inchoate depths of formless chaos, nor is it the terrible necrotic wastelands of the Underworld... this place feels real and proper, but... argh!"
Louise couldn't help but smirk at the self-righteous, annoying, promiscuous, degenerate thing's terror. "There are two moons," she suggested again, trying to distract herself away from the giant scary golem in the courtyard. "That's how moons work."
The neomah sounded terrified. "
No! There is one moon! In Creation, it is the traitor Luna! In the City, it is the Unquestionable Ululaya, the Blood-Red Moon! Only ever one!"
Louise sniffed. "That's a bit stupid," she remarked, looking away from the golem, to stare up at the twin moons. "How would the tides work if you only had one moon?"
"
By the will of gen-generous Kimbery, the Sea that Mar-Mar-Marched against the Flame," Marisalon said, promptly, tripping over her words. "
Or by the traitor gods who prostrate themselves and follow monstrous Luna's path through the skies of Creation. How do yours work?"
The girl screwed up her face. 'Just shut up and let me pay attention to the golem,' she mentally commanded. It wasn't because she wasn't exactly sure herself, and as far as she knew, it was just something to do with the moons, no. Not at all. "I'm not going to talk to you about cosmology." She cleared her throat. "That's... that's the King's Tower the golem is going for," she continued, talking to the blonde.
Behind her, Montmorency's eyes were wide, as she caught about half of Louise's conversation. "Um. Yes."
That the Zero had started talking to herself, and, worse, seemed to actually be having a conversation, rather than muttering... well, she really hoped that this meant that Louise had actually summoned something which was invisible, or too small to see. Or had picked up an unseen spirit which was following her around, in which case they'd want to call a trained exorcist from the nearest monastery.
Because... um, she didn't actually know what it would mean otherwise. After all, crazy people didn't have proper conversations. Not like that one. And...
... her chain of thought was broken, as the titanic fist of the golem came smashing down against the tower wall, and the counter-magic lit up the night. The heat washed over both girls, a burning wave that left the water mage gasping for air. The golem hit again, and again, and each time, a new ignition of magic lit the night, random arcs of lightning and wind and fire splashing off the golem. Cowering, the blonde saw a jet of flame the size of a playing field wash over the roof somewhere along, leaving the slate glowing. She rolled over, and saw Louise standing upright, a strange green glint in her eyes, shining in the night, which seemed... wrong compared to the red and actinic white of the fire and lightning.
The other girl's lips were moving, muttering to herself again. And her pink eyes were suddenly wide. "We have to move!" she screamed down at Montmorency. "She says that patterns are..."
"What!?"
And Monmon felt another thing slam into her, which this time was Louise, the petite girl brining her shoulder into her, and together they fell, down into the room below, as the entire roof gave way.
"'Svoid!" yelled the well-bred scion of the Montmorencys, once she felt she could breathe again, dots flashing in front of her eyes.
{0}
The redhead flinched, as behind her, the night lit up in red and white. A few seconds later, the thunderous crack of the magical force echoed around.
"What's... what's going on?" Kirche asked Tabitha, who was running ahead of her, and annoyingly, didn't seem to be out of breath at all. Of course, the blue-haired girl didn't... she winced... wasn't suffering from inconvenient bouncing. This was a school, Founder and East Winds damnit! If she'd expected to be doing this sort of thing, she would have bound her breasts this morning! The boys might drool over them – although she did try to discourage them from doing that literally, because it was disgusting – but none of
them had to put up with the hassle.
"Magic. Discharge, high-power defence systems," Tabitha replied, in a way which would have been terse and clipped if that wasn't how she spoke normally. "School built on ley lines, access to more power for magic."
"I'll say! I couldn't..."
"Talk less. Run more," the blue-haired girl ordered, as they sprinted towards the forest.
{0}
The door bounced like a ball as it flew off its hinges, and incinerated itself in a ball of fire, as it set off several traps.
With a few soft steps, the thief was within the chamber itself. Looking up, in the glow of the magical light, the tall arched ceilings of marble were perfectly smooth, and beautiful, unmarred by the excess paintings which were so common in the rest of the Academy. The androgynous figure cocked its head slightly, and waved their wand in gloved hand. From behind them, a swarm of crude, doll-like clay figurines surged in, the amateur work of an unpractised dot-class magician.
There were hundreds of them.
Or, to be more exact, there had been hundreds of them, just up until the point that the first wave hit the traps, and were torn apart.
Foquet coughed once, as the air, which tasted of ozone and superheated ceramics, wafted out of the entrance way. Quite carefully, the mage took a step forwards, and placed their foot on one of the tiles, making sure that the pressure-sensitive plate clicked. And then took another, quiet deliberate step, making sure that there was the click, before the next step was taken.
It was slow going. There may have been enough books to find the optimal route through the maze of traps and wards, but there was no convenient 'off' switch to the defences. It would be been lovely if there had been one, but from all the research done, there had seemed to be no other way. At this point, there was a strong suspicion that the only reason they hadn't recharged yet was that most of the magical power in the structure was trying to ward off the assault of her golem.
One of the advantages of planning ahead, Foquet thought with a secret smirk.
{0}
"Argh! Mars' blood," yelled Louise, shaking out her hand. "That hurt! A roof shouldn't hurt
my hand when I break through it!"
"
Much as I hate to request things of you, fair lady..."
"... urgh. And my back hurts! Am I getting old or something!"
"
... most graciously I do believe that we need to work on your unarmed fighting skills. You need to learn how to fight without weapons."
"I am perfectly well educated in fighting, thank you very much. I..." Louise dropped to her knees again, back down onto the boxes of spare bedding which it turned out that the Academy kept in its attic. "Argh! It hurts!"
"... you just punched through the roof," Monmon muttered, staring up at her from the depths of a pillow-filled box, with her own groans. She added, acerbically, "And apparently landed head first. You're spouting gibberish... not that that's that unusual for you, of course."
"Not funny, Flood," Louise grated out. "My hand, it..."
The blonde managed to leaver herself out of the soft bedding, rolling out onto the dusty wooden floor. Wand in hand, she poked at Louise's fist, already swelling, and winced. "Bruises, and I think there might be a fracture," she added, as the other girl yelped at the touch to one area. Shaking her head, she looked upwards, at the hole in the roof. "How did you even do that?" she asked, curiously, as thunder boomed from another lightning bolt. "People can't punch through roofs."
There was a bitter giggle from Louise. "No, I think what we just found was that people aren't
meant to punch through roofs." She gasped, and clutched at her hand. "Void, it hurts!" she complained.
"Hold still, Zero, and don't squirm, or it'll just hurt more," Monmon said, grabbing her wrist, and bringing her fingers out before her. "Don't be a baby."
"Baby! I..."
"
My lady, she offers healing unprompted. Unless you should wish to suffer on, this might be one chance to let her have her ministrations."
"... fair enough."
"
And also stare down her top, because... have you noticed how attractive she is when so fetchingly dishevelled like this?"
Louise closed her eyes, rather than let the neomah win by getting her to stare. Especially since, she now realised, both of them were still in the loose pyjamas of the infirmary, rather than their uniforms. She just tried to breathe steadily, as the pain faded, becoming nothing more than an ache.
"There," she head Montmorency say. "I... I think I got the fracture... there's just a bit of bruising. It was only a tiny fracture. Um. If it was a fracture." She blinked. "So you were just making a fuss about nothing," she muttered softly. She did not say it loudly, because when the person you are dealing with just punched through a room, it's best not to be too argumentative. And also "... Louise?"
"Mmm?" she answered, pulling herself to her feet, and looking around.
"Is there something on your forehead?"
There was a slap, as Louise rubbed furiously. "Is it gone?" she asked. "What is it? Is it a bug?!"
"Umm... I think so. I mean, I think it's gone, not that it was a bug. It... must have just been the light. It was glittery."
The two of them looked around the attic. It was a tall and drafty, the infrequent windows mostly blocked by the boxes and trunks, and
"Can you see any candles?"
No candles could be seen.
"
My fairest, and most majesterial of all the Princesses of the Green Sun," Marisalon said, her voice even richer and more obsequious than normal, "
there are things that can be done to resolve the darkness."
"... no, I'm not going to set anything on fire,[/i]" Louise muttered, alarming Monmon a little.
The neomah sounded smug. Smugger than usual, even. "
Ah, no, my fair lady. You are so, so close to the revelation of your glory. Merely...draw in the essence of your soul, and carefully release some. And, my lady. I have been thinking, and I find myself not-liking the conclusions If... if you have two moons, then you are not of Creation. What then! What then! What then! I... don't what to do! I... ah, that would be why you knew not of Paragon. But then... nothing... no sense... argh."
The girl squinted, and ignored the coadjustor's panic attack, following the initial advice. She bit her lower lip, as she worked through mental muscles she never knew she had.
And there was light.
"Louise..." breathed Montmorency, eyes wide. "You're
glowing."
The pink-haired girl glanced down at her hands which revealed, that, yes, a slightly-sickly green radiance was wrapped around her hands, burning like cold fire across her clothes and skin. "Uh... yes, of course! It's all to do with my magic!" she retorted, after a moment's pause.
The blonde stared at the other girl, at the unnatural light which illuminated the attic like a torch, and the way that it seemed to cast no shadows. And in the centre of the forehead of her forehead, an X-shaped cross, burned the colour of brass, flecked with the ever-present viridian.
"What kind of magic does
that?" she managed, panting, as the pounding rhythm of the golem's fists against the warded tower resounded, again and again, like some vast drum.
Louise blinked. "Um... I don't think I have a normal element," she said, with sudden hesitancy. "I think I found a new element... why I've always had problems with magic before. Vitriol, maybe."
"
Acid! Really?"
"What do you know..."
"Of course I know it! I'm an alchemist and potion-maker, aren't I? You can get it from mixing a few reagents. But I've always been told that it's merely the Fire within Earth, not an element in its own right!"
"I don't think now is the time for arguments about elemental theory," Louise blurted out. She took a deep breath. "Look, can you see any teachers?" she asked, going over to one of the windows, and with a single blow with a curtain hook she had just picked up, smashed the lock off.
Huh. She glanced at the curtain-hook in her hand, a two-and-a-half metre long piece of iron-capped oak, a spike at the end. Certainly, right now for some reason she felt
much more comfortable with this in her hand than her wand. Tabitha carried around a heavy staff, rather than a wand, after all, and Louise could suddenly see why a heavy lump of wood was something much more... concrete than magic. For one, even if you'd depleted yourself of willpower, you could still beat them senseless.
Wait, why was she thinking this?
Wreathed in green fire Louise sighed at her own distraction, and poked her head out of the ruined window, before the blonde grabbed her by the collar, and yanked her back down.
"Do you want to be seen?" hissed Montmorency. "Or hurt your hand again?"
She was targeted by a level gaze. "I'm on
fire. Cold, not-burning, green fire. I think I can't really hide like this. And... look," Louise pulled the other girl's head up with sudden force, "no mage. It's a massive golem, and that means that the caster has to work hard to keep it going. That means it won't be that bright. Can you see who's guiding it?"
There was always a compromise between potency and initiative in golems; everyone was aware of that simple fact. Even commoners.
"Now that you mention it... no. Because it's a massive golem thing!"
"Well... can't you... like, freeze the floor under it. I mean, that'd be far more useful right now that, say,
stabbing it with an ice spear," Louise hissed, still feeling rather bitter about that.
Monmon went pale. "And have it fall on us? Or the school? We're already in lots and lots of trouble, remember! And," she added, with a trace more self-control, "it's far too big for it to slip like that. It'd just... just break the ice."
"Well, we can't stay in here! We're going to have to stop it!"
"... we aren't? And we have to?"
"Look we're already both in trouble from your... from the fight," Louise corrected herself, as the other girl narrowed her eyes. "Is there any better way you can see to show that we're not bad? Because..." she balled her fists, "... I am not going to be expelled! Ever! I... I will never have to face M-M-Mother after that happened! I-I-I'd rather die than... than have to face her..."
'And,' she thought, as they began to search, now-lit in green that did not cast shadows, 'you're going to explain everything about this glow, you stupid head familiar! Why didn't you tell me about this glow thing earlier!"
No response from the neomah.
{0}
And here it was. The inner sanctum. Ancient prizes, dating back to the era of Birmir and before, reaching all the way back into ancient history when – or so the Church held – God had sent the Founder to bring the world into being. Sigsimundshelm, the Iron Rose, the battleflag of the Eastmadchen... all of them were here. There were other, newer things, such as the Staff of Destruction, and the Thirteen Teethed Wheels, which, even in this light, gleamed prismatic in their reflections. And, of course, relics taken as war trophies from the terribly few victories against the elves who occupied the Holy Land in the depths of their inhuman blasphemy, which were naturally completely different. Although no less valuable.
Oh, and some gold, too. Quite a lot of it.
Foquet breathed out, and steeped her fingered together, gathering her strength. Around her, lesser golems crumbled back into the dirt they had been crafted from, before she inhaled sharply, and began to chant out lout, forcing her will into reality through complex interlocking syllables. The dust began to roll across the ground, swirling, twisting, mixing, as the gold and silver dripped off the ornaments and pooled with the dirt, alloying and mixing in one sea of metal that was at once liquid and solid.
Her new constructs began to form.
And then it was done. The cloaked figure stumbled, slumping down, almost utterly drained. So much of her will was occupied with maintaining the army she was trying to control that she had very little left for herself. But it was going to be only a little bit longer, and she could have pulled off the heist of... the century. At least.
The horde of gold golems began to loot the treasury, en masse.
This was a once in a lifetime chance for her, and she certainly wasn't going to waste it.
{0}
Both girls stared at the now-immobile golem. It had just... stopped moving a few minutes ago.
"Do you think the spells killed it?" Montmorency whispered, as if by talking too loud she could stir it from slumber.
Louise focussed on it, doing again the thing she had worked out could be used to tell elemental affinity...
"
Insignificant Embers Intution, the technique is known as," Marisalon said, her voice sounding hollow, as if she were operating completely on autopilot.
... and it wasn't there, to that hot glinty feeling behind her eyes. It was just cold, dead, mundane earth, completely below her, not even deserving the attention of a mort... that she'd give to a commoner. "It's not active," she said, softly.
"Oh? And how do you know that?"
Louise paused. "Glowy green magic," she said, pointing at her forehead, where the crossed-swords gleamed.
"... and I'm just not very happy to see you catch fire like this, Zero," Monmon muttered. "It's not... natural."
It was odd, Louise thought, as she stood on the roof, staring down at the immobile giant, leaning on the curtain hook like a staff. Being on green glowing fire and being able to punch through rooftops and casually smash apart doors was somehow a great comfort, and made the nickname of 'Zero' ring rather hollow.
Wait. That wasn't odd at all.
Although, talking about ringing hollow, inside her... there was a feeling of... it could only be described as 'hunger', but such a description was a poor one. Emptiness, perhaps. The feeling that she needed to... to rest and let the fire burn down, so she could get... yes... like she was a bonfire, and she needed to get more fuel.
Louise really wished she knew the words for this.
"
Anima banner. Light of your soul. Soul's too big for your body, so it overflows," the neomah said, without any of the usual flowery pleasantries.
Louise felt she could grow to like this traumatised, shell-shocked neomah. It had all the utility of the normal annoying one, but much less of the annoyingness. She herself would think about the idea that the head-familiar was from another world when there
wasn't a giant golem around, even if it did appear to be inactive right now. The girl hefted her borrowed curtain hook. It felt solid, but... no! She wasn't stupid enough to try to attack a giant earth golem with something made for closing hard-to-reach window coverings.
Twitching slightly, Louise clutched at her head. What was happening to her head? Objectively, she knew she should be
terrified of that thing. As it was, she was... cautious. There were... there... in her head, there were half-heard susurrations of memories she had never had. And the voice didn't sound like Marisalon. She still asked it what was happening.
No response from the neomah.
Clutching the solid wood pole, resting it on her shoulder, the girl looked around, searching for a way down to the
She felt a hand clutch at her infirmary pyjamas, and turned. The blonde was tugging at her. "Shouldn't we hide from the massive golem?" Monmon suggested. "Rather than, you know, going down towards it?"
"I'm on fire! I can't really hide!" Louise muttered, grasping her improvised polearm tighter.
Montmonrency sniggered, in a burble with turned into a gasp of pain. "And whose fault is that?"
"Oh, very funny." A pause, and a deep breath. "Mother would do it. I... if I'd didn't, she would ask me why. And we're both nobles! If someone dares to steal from the Academy like this, we're honour-bound to try to stop them." And then she gasped, and threw herself down, trying to conceal herself to no avail. Because, lit in the green flare of her soul, from the entrance to the King's Tower came a parade of golden golems. The man-sized figures were laden down with... well, everything. Blades, paintings, long things wrapped in black velvet; the yellow-figures carried them what was undoubtably almost uncounted wealth.
Also, the golems were, as best she could tell in the green light, made of gold. That increased their market value a fair bit.
The figure among them, robed and hooded and veiled until one could not even tell the gender of the individual – if they were even a human, as opposed to another golem – cocked its head, and paused. Obviously, they were somewhat perplexed by the green light everywhere, with no obvious source. That was one of the disadvantages of the fact that the light cast no shadows; it mean that solid walls didn't stop the illumination.
"Ladies, gentlemen," the cloaked figure announced to the skies, spreading their arms wide. "I would like you all to remember this as the day that you were honoured by the visit from Foquet! And with that, I bid you..."
"Thief!" Louise leapt to her feet, pointing, as next to her Montmorency groaned. "You're just a dirty thief! Put all those things down, and surrender!"
There was a pause. "I am not dirty," the figure said. "And I'm not a thief, either."
"You're lying! You just stole all that treasure!"
A glance, turning their head to stare at the golems made of stolen gold, carrying stolen paintings and stolen weapons and stolen jewels. And other things which had also been stolen. "No I didn't," Foquet said, voice dry despite the magically-enforced lack of identifying characteristics.
"Lying thief! Give it back."
"Louise," Monmon muttered, rolling her eyes. "I think she's winding you up."
The pink-haired girl snorted, and began to take the stairs down from the roof, two at a time. "Surrender!" she roared out, at the top of her voice.
Foquet only snorted. "Please, no violence," the figure said, clearly. "Just let me leave, and no-one has to get hurt." With a wave of a wand, the golden golems began to march out, bearing their misbegotten loot. As they left, Foquet turned, and bowed, theatrically, from the rear of the column. "And since you are here, I would just like to say that you will always remember this as the day that you
almost managed to almost manage to capture Foquet of the Crumbling Dirt!"
Her response came in the form of a thrown curtain hook, which scythed through the air, whistling slightly, in a carefully measured, infinitely well-drilled sweep that spoke of long years of practice, and no small amount of accuracy despite the improvised nature of the weapon. It would be no underestimatation to say that it was completely unexpected, and thus despite the fact that Louise was not the strongest of individuals, it was still enough to catch the hooded figure in the knees, and send her sprawling to the ground.
"How
dare you underestimate me, sorcerer!" Louise yelled, a sudden harshness in her voice. "Are you aware of whom you're dealing with?" Hands balled into fists, she broke into a charge, a green-lit comet crossing the field.
Foquet groaned, and a wave of a wand bought an earth wall up to send Louise face first into the dirt. Slowly, the dark-robed figure drew themselves up again, with a groan. "Scream and babble all you like, child, but you just made a mistake," the mage said, slowly, and began to chant.
"Little girl? Who are you to
dare to call
me a little girl!" Louise roared, moving in to try to body-check the first golem who moved in to save its mistress. She bounced off, the crude manikin of dirt and gold and silver being rather denser and tougher than she expected, but came back to her feet upright again. "I am..." and then there was no time for talking, as more moved in.
Only to be blown away in a sudden hurricane, as something vast flapped overhead. Something passed in front of Dorika, obscuring her blue light, and came around again, as wind scythed through the ranks of the golems, tossing them like dolls. The pink-haired girl could only drop to the ground, clutching onto the nearest of the fallen treasures to prevent her from being blown away, if nothing else. Wincing, she opened her eyes with a groan, to find that she was now smeared in dirt and her hair looked like it had been pulled through a bush backwards, complete with twigs, but she was otherwise unharmed.
She squinted down at the black-velvet-wrapped treasure in her arms. It was long and thin, maybe two metres long, with the top thirty centimetres more heavily bound in fabric, and
heavy. A tag on it labelled it "The Staff of Destruction". At that point, Louise swore that she would protect it with her life, on her honour as a noble. Even if... she grunted as she pulled it, and herself upright... Founder, what was it made of? Lead?
The concealed face of Foquet turned, to stare up at the wind dragon and its blue-haired rider. "You should be asleep, little girl," the androgynous voice said. "How were you able to avoid the sedative?"
Tabitha tilted her head. "Unimaginative," she said, simply.
"What?" The Earth-mage seemed offended. "It was novel! It was exquisitely planned! And even if you were immune, it affected everyone else! Hah! No matter, I can handle a..."
"Talk too much."
"What? How dare... argh!" The reason for the interruption was made clear as Foquet ignited. No bolt of fire lanced out, no projectile that could have been foreseen or counted. The thief, and a bubble several metres across around here, were merely suddenly the centre of a great bonfire, an orange conflagration which burned blue around the edges. In truth, for many present, the fiery light, intense though it was, was a welcome relief to the sick green bonfire which enveloped Louise.
Louise felt the wash of heat over her face, but the von Zerbst's control was astonishing, and she was no more than lightly sunburned by the sudden pulse of heat.
And standing on the walls to the academy, where Tabitha had placed her, Kirche slashed her wand to the side, panting mildly, and the bonfire vanished, leaving only the glowing red-hot crater on the floor. "Well," the redhead said, turning her gaze on the scene before her. "Hey, Zero! I never thought you'd manage to set yourself on fire like this!"
"Sh-shut up, Kirche!" was the answer roared back. "It's not burning fire! I'm f-fine!"
"Are you sure? Because creepy green-burning fire is sort of a sign of something having gone very wrong." She sniffed. "Of course, you did do a very good job of slowing Foquet down until some proper mages could arrive. And it was very scary! She'd managed to poison basically all the rest of the school!"
"Sedate," said Tabitha, now circling the static figure of the golem, eyes locked on the inanimate figure.
"What!"
"Sedate. Non-lethal. More precise. Confusion if say 'poison'."
There was a sigh from the darker-skinned girl. "Fine, fine. Yes, she knocked all of the others out. But why were you... oh, of course. You were in the infirmary, so you didn't eat the food," Kirche said, a note of self-satisfaction present in her voice. "So you got lucky, Zero."
"Luck?" asked Tabitha, softly, who was promptly ignored.
"Hey, I'm here too!" Monmon yelled from up on the roof, now that she felt that she could breathe again, pulling herself to her feet with shaky legs.
Kirche's eyes widened slightly. "Oh," she said, with a shrug. "Didn't see you there. Because, you know, you're not on fire. Freaky, green, not-actually-burning fire."
"It's my magic, von Zerbst! I... uh oh."
And the 'uh oh' was well founded, for with the shriek of breaking ceramics, the golem stirred back to life. Insofar as a blank-faced, crude manikin of earth and clay could look annoyed, it looked annoyed. Very annoyed.
{0}
Ensconced within the hollow cavity of the golem's chest, Foquet was indeed annoyed. Her robes were heavily burnt, and only the native anti-Fire warding they had, in case of traps, meant that her injuries were only superficial. If she hadn't managed to retreat into the earth, and under the ground into her golem, or if her wards had been a little weaker, or... well, she would have been
ash.
What kind of student could throw around that level of Fire magic?
Well, it was all her own fault. She'd got distracted by the glow and petty revenge because someone had thrown a stick at her, when, clearly, it had just been some kind of Fire-based illusion. It would be interesting to learn, but the real threats were the girl on the dragon, and the Fire mage on the walls. With a muttered spell, and the limited gestures she could manage in here – and she winced at the flickers of pain, from her burns – the surface of the golem budded pustule-like eyeballs, marring its crude simplicity.
The woman's eyes widened. Yes, she'd read the headmaster's files. Kirche Von Zerbst had been her assailant. That would explain a lot. But she had her objectives, and she was safe now. The question was what she should do next.
Spreading her arms, she winced again, as limbs of clay protruded from the walls to envelop her arms and legs. The golem was not enough on its own, not when faced by hostile mages. So she was simply going to assume direct control of it. She wagged her fingers, and the hands of the golem moved in parallel, mimicking her every gesture. The woman lifted one arm, and the golem raised one arm.
Foquet bought the arm down on a building, the enchanted stone resisting better than it would otherwise, but the roof still caved in, kicking up choking dust. In the light of the twin moons and the green illumination from that distracting girl, dust devils could be seen to dance in the night, surely exulting in her triumph.
Ah,
yes.
"Let Act II begin," she declared, the golem amplifying her speech.
{0}
"Oh, this is not
fair," Kirche yelled up from her position on the wall. "People aren't allowed to avoid your incineration like that! How did she even get in the golem?"
"Triangle class. Powerful," was the eternally helpful commentary from the girl on the dragon.
The red-head grinned like a shark. "Well. I haven't had a proper go against anyone as powerful as me. This should be
interesting."
"You could try to stop her getting away with the golems!" Montmorency yelled from up on the rooftop, pointing with her mobile hand at the way that the lesser constructs were marching towards the larger one. "Isn't it easier to control one big one than smaller ones?"
"Well, slow them down with ice," Kirche ordered. "I can't really melt them without melting what they've carrying, too. I'll deal with Foquet!"
Burning green, dragging the Staff of Destruction, Louise tried to keep away from the golem who was lumbering towards her in an attempt to reclaim the relic. A punch did nothing but hurt her hand, and a kick was similarly ineffectual. Reaching out, the gold-silver alloyed hand snatched for the Staff, only for there to be a
gloing and the golem to fall backwards, fracturing as green light flared from within its metal shell.
Arms screaming at her from the weight, Louise nonetheless smirked, her inner fire – which had been diminishing slightly – burning up again. These golems may have been made of precious metals, but as it happened, the Staff of Destruction was a heavy bludgeoning implement. The black velvet covering was falling away now, disintegrating after the Green Sun Nimbus Flare, and the actual form could be seen now. It was a thin, elegant staff of metal, quite unlike the gnarled wooden thing that Tabitha used, and even in the green light of her anima, the metal reflected in red and yellow and green and purple and blue, like a rainbow. But that was nothing compared to the... the blade that tipped it; a jagged piece of crystal around thirty centimetres long, and maybe ten centimetres wide, which was clearly asymmetrical...
... picking her way across the glass-charred wasteland which reached from horizon to horizon, she thought of the lands that had once been here, and found she could not, and wept...
... and it called to her, singing in wonder and joy and recognition. She breathed in, deeply, the awe and terror together filling her bones, and she tore off the remnant of the black velvet, to grasp the Staff – though, really, it was more of a spear, or maybe a glaive – of Destruction firmly.
"We need to save the treasure!" Louise yelled to all the others, eyes locked at the no-doubt priceless artefacts scattered all over the ground like some kind of set of farming tools left in the fields by idle peasants. The response to that was another hurricane blast of air from Tabitha riding above, sweeping the golems away from the vast earth construct, before the leviathan raised a hand, and rattled off a barrage of earthen spikes, forcing the dragon to try to pull a precipitous spiralling turn to barely avoid them, retreating to a safer distance. Fire splashed against that hand, breaking away chunks and leaving it glowing, and it moved to do the same to Kirche, who squeaked and dropped off the wall, out of site.
"Those ones, running towards the earth one!" Monmon yelled, trying to cast with her offhand, slowed down notably by it. Nevertheless, the legs and arms of several golems were now encased in ice, slowing them down or crippling them. "Kirche! One by the well, not carrying anything! Melt it!"
"'Bout time!" Red fire flared, a relief from the green, and a lance of heat left the golem puddle-like. And the grass on it on fire.
Staff of Destruction dragging on the floor, Louise stumbled forwards, towards one carrying two large crates and getting too close to the larger golem, which was walking around, collecting the smaller ones. With a grunt and scream, the blade hit the golem side on, and knocked it over, shattering into silver, gold and dirt. The two crates hit the ground, with the sound of smashing. The inertia could not be so easily fought, though, and the glaive went flying, to land vertically upright in the ground, vibrating slightly.
"Founder!" Louise yelled, even her muscles ached at the exertion she was putting them through. "Give me strength!" she added, darting over to try to wrest it out of the earth, where it was embedded, in both prayer and exasperation. Hefting it free ones again, she scanned around. And found that the two moons were no longer visible.
Because there was something in the way.
"
Look out!"
As Louise found out, the vast golem moved with precipitous speed, albeit clumsily. The earth shook, as it headed towards her next. And the great fist of the golem came down. Louise threw herself aside with violent force, and
felt the pulse of air blast her, felt the a piece of flying stone tear its way across her cheek. Flipping onto her feet with instincts which seemed far too engrained, the girl felt her stomach muscles protest at the way they were being treated. Time seemed to stand still, as she stared at the fist, which could have crushed her like an insect, and only one thought filled her mind, heart beating like a drum in her ears.
She
really loathed powerful mages. Not Mother, of course, she'd never hate Mother, but at times, when all seemed useless and she was doomed in
inexprimé ignominy, she hated the concept . She hated the way they had all that power, and never seemed to have done anything to deserve it. She hated the way that they seemed to have won some cosmic game of chance, the way that they, with their powers, made her feel small and useless and inadequate and a failure to her family. They never seemed to work as hard, they never tried... even Kirche and Tabitha, who were 'only' triangle mages, and who were on her side, had sauntered in as if she had done a 'good job' not dying to a powerful mage when it had only been her and Montmorency, who was still injured and exhausted, against
that thing. And what had they done to deserve being triangle-rank at such a young age? Where was the fairness in that?
Nowhere.
But most of all? She hated that at-best-benevolent patronising attitude, that self-confidence, that way that they could so casually shrug off the idea that they were at all lucky, and 'it was all a matter of wanting it'. She wanted it. She had wanted it her entire life. She had a perfect bloodline, she studied and worked and tried and forced herself to continue until she was sick, until she sometimes collapsed from exhaustion or hunger, just as Mother had shown her to do, and what did she get for it?
Nothing.
Muscles screaming under the impossible weight of the two metre-long staff, she lunged forwards, sweeping it around with all her strength, in a wild sweeping blow. The girl channelled all her hate into that one blow. The world seemed all too shallow, like it was painted on the night's sky, as she struck, the light around her as dark as the void compared to her own incandescent radiance. She revelled in her strength. In this slowed world, she laughed to herself as the green fire surged within her soul and within the hand of the golem alike.
One blew apart, flares of viridescence preceding the grapeshot-like burst of clay that tore across the courtyard, embedding red-hot fragments into the far wall.
One burned to even greater intensity, and flared to new heights, taking on a sudden resolution and clarity which had not been there before.
Engulfed in a bonfire, Louise stood, staring up at the golem. It may have been night, but the entire courtyard was lit as brightly as day, in terrible green, flecked with brass which flared and surged, adding and shifting the hue of the radiance. But in the unhealthy glow, further details could be seen within the pyre; streets, corridors, towers and fortifications and emplacements all writ in brassy green fire. Zoom in closer, and the tiny dancing figures, at once less than the height of a man's fingernail, and yet fully detailed, and real and independent, moving as they saw fit, became evident. Six hundred and ninety-nine led the dance of ten-thousand figures, through the streets of the metropolis, in supplication to their terrible queen. And they were not the smallest; zoom even closer, and layers and layers of more complexity became evident, in this world made of the burning light of the girl's soul.
Looming above these subservient figures, these tiny subjects, towering in the light cast no shadows, was a vaguely feminine figure. It was taller than the highest tower, and its four arms were spread wide, exulting in the glory of her revelation. Opening her mouth, the titan of gilded-bronze and viridian sang out, a cry of victory, of triumph inevitable, of pain and distress and glory.
And what of Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière? She was... different. On her brow, a pair of brazen swords burned, glowing as if they were a window into a strange sun. Her hair had lengthened slightly, and now twitched and swayed on its own, moving in a way disturbing reminiscent of the idle twitching a hand. Through the terrifying mane, thin, elegant, almost dainty spikes of bone rose, a crown of horns with her caste mark as the crowning jewel. But even these things were subsumed by the overall change. For now, unlike before, she was imperious, a target of awe. The light of cruel authority, of mighty power burned in her eyes, and glowed within her skin, making her distant, cold, unreachable and divine. Lit by the light which had forged Creation, the thought of raising a hand against her was suddenly obstructed, hindered by the metaphysical weight of her presence.
Flying overhead, the dragon recoiled, letting out a panicked shriek, bucking and twisting until its mistress could calm it.
{0}
"... wow," muttered Kirche, grinning like a maniac as she slagged another golem. "I
have to learn how to do that myself!"
"Foundersfire," Monmorency swore to herself, staring up at the green, vaguely female behemoth and the demon city which it strode through.
"..." Tabitha did not say, soaring overhead, as she tried to calm her dragon.
"... oh, you have to be kidding me!" Foquet yelled from within her golem, staring in shock at the missing arm. "Not fair!" Bringing her other hand around in a backhanded slam, she grinned in satisfaction as the girl didn't even try to dodge. Beneath the giant's hand, the tiles cratered, some underground room collapsing into a sinkhole.
And then the pillar of sand, glowing brilliant green, and now resting on the hand of the golem recoalesced, and Louise slammed the Staff of Destruction into the golem's hand once again, this time from above.
With similar effects.
{0}
Standing in the rubble of the golem's other hand, Louise grinned like a madwoman. She... she had actually done it. And, yes, she now felt like her arms were about to fall off, because the Staff was Brimir-damned heavy, but she didn't care! She was a mage, and she could fight the golem-construct of a triangle-class mage and it was
glorious and ... oh, wow, she was feeling woozy. But she still felt like she could fight the entire golem, even if it had no arms, on her own.
The sad thing about that statement was that she probably would have to. And she wasn't sure that she could even pick up the Staff again, and... was that golem regenerating its arms?
No. It seemed to start and stop. And then the golem laughed, high and distinctively female. "You know what's funny?" Foquet declared, from inside. "You know the joke?"
"N-no?" Louise managed.
"I already got half the golems of gold, and what they carried," the woman declared. "So there's really no need to fight you. This is already worth wealth beyond measure, and you can damage my golem." It inclined its head slightly. "Fair well, little girls. And I believe you
will most certainly remember this day, so, as a result, Foquet the Crumbling Dirt bids you adieu!"
And with that said, the golem turned on its heel, and, earth shaking with each footstep, it began to leave, arms reforming as it tore rocks from the ground and from the less warded of the buildings. Firebolt after fireball from Kirche slammed against it, but it ignored the barrage, and leapt the exterior wall of the Academy in a single bound.
"Come back and fight me, you whore!" Kirche yelled after it. "We were just getting started!"
"Kirche!" Tabitha called out, having already landed, leaping off her dragon's back. "Come!"
"What is it? We need to track down that bitch! She... coward... running from the wrath of the von Zerbsts rather than facing righteous justice!"
"... the fiancé-stealing wrath," Louise slurred, pupils dilated, sinking to her knees. Around her, the bonfire burned brilliant green, and her hair writhed spasmodically. It was probably only that which was keeping her upright, the tendrils extending to anchor her to the ground. And that was a state of affairs which ended when she started to empty her stomach on the ground.
"Sylphid. Hurt!" Tabitha announced over the sound of the retching.
That was enough to bring both Kirche and Monmon running.
{0}
"Well, I got the barb out," Montmorency announced, wiping her by-now blood-soaked hands on her utterly ruined pyjamas, "but... I'm too tired to do anything but sterilise the wound and stop the bleeding. And..." she raised a hand to her forehead. "I think I need to go sit down. As in... right now. Really... oooh."
Supported by Kirche, she was walked over to the green bonfire which, although diminished, was still present. Louise looked normal once again, and was lying on the grass, staring up at the heavens and hugging the Staff of Destruction almost like a child. It would be, however, more accurate to say that she was lying on what had once been grass. Around her, in a perfect circle, the green spring grass was... yellowed. No, it was more metallic than that, the leaves still pliable, but decidedly... stiff.
Monmon collapsed besides her.
"Zero," Kirche said, looking down at the petite pink-haired girl. "Heh. That was... impressive." She clicked her knuckles. "It wasn't much fun being your rival when you were so pathetic."
"Go hang yourself, von Zerbst."
"See, that actually works," Kirche said, blowing a kiss at her.
"That wasn't a joke," Louise said, eyes flaring. In a non-literal sense.
Hand on hip, the Germanian shrugged. "So, when's the fire going to go out?" she asked, curiously. "And what was the bit where you went all monstrous?"
Louise tilted her head, and paused. "In an hour or so," she said, deliberately not answering the second question.
"Well, yes." Kirche looked up at the red orb of Taksony, and grinned. "Well, I'll go see if anyone's woken up yet, so we can get a
proper pursuit organised to catch that thieving coward! Tabitha's not going to leave Sylphid, and you two can't really walk. See you later, when maybe you can come up with a reason why you went all weird and glowy and monstrous, Zero."
No response, and Kirche left, bare feet against the paving.
"She's right, you know," Montmorency said, after a while. "That bit was... weird. You went all glowy and... and around you. In the green fire? There were... things?"
Louise was silent. And then, "What kind of things?"
The blonde twirled her fingers in her messy, ruined hair. "A four-armed woman of green fire," she said, softly. "A city. Tiny dancers in the city."
Another long pause from Louise. "I see."
Montmorency tried to prop herself up, and groaned, sinking back down, onto the strange grass. "What's going on with you?"she asked Louise, hand going to feel her bandages. "I saw
all of that. And... you don't get a familiar. You do things with green fire, and don't act like a dot-level fire mage should. You can apparently
turn into sand. You catch
fire."
"Really."
"Um... yes! I saw you! What is going on!"
Slumped down, the Staff of Destruction resting against her shoulder, Louise sighed and grimaced, staring down at her still-burning hands. It... it felt lighter now. Like it wasn't crushing her, like she could wield it as an extension of her body if she chose to. And that felt nice, so she hugged it tighter. "You want the truth?" she said, wearily. "Fine."
"
Fair lady, no!"
"I... I failed. I... no familiar came. I don't know if it was because I was an
inexprimé," those hateful words were hard to say, "or because I just couldn't concentrate after that first explosion hurt that poor bird. I th-think it was the latter one, though, because the
inexprimé don't make things explode, right?" She drew in a shuddery breath. "So I crept back at night, with the copy of the book, and went and did everything
perfectly."
"You didn't!" Monmon was even paler than usual. "You know that all the elemental correspondences and... haven't you heard the stories? Ghosts and demons and monsters, oh my!"
Louise laughed, bitterly. "Yes. My... one of my sisters used to take pleasure in telling me those stories. And I think at that point I didn't care, as long as it was
something. You don't understand," she continued, an air of desperation entering her voice. "My family... there isn't a
single inexprimé listed in the genealogies. So either I'd be the first failure
ever, or they utterly disown and get rid of any de la Vallière who doesn't have the blood." She huddled up, a sick giggle burbling up. "Well, this shouldn't be true now. I... I hope Mother can be proud of me."
A pause. "What happened?" Montmorency asked, trying not to let her own worries get in the way. "Ze... Louise.
What did you summon?"
"Nothing. I'd broken all these rules to do it then, tried my hardest, and..."
"And..."
"... and nothing. Still. Not even an explosion."
There was a snigger from the other girl. "Really? I thought that was meant to be an interesting tale, which explained why you could catch fire, and... nothing? Really?"
"By the Founders' Names, yes." Louise's smile disappeared, and she winced. "So... I ran back to my room, and there was something waiting for me. It... well, it was a she. Clearly. Pinky-purple skin." Louise thought back to that night. "Bald. Dark eyes. A... I can't describe the smell, but it was nice." She shook her head. "She said she was a familiar, looking for a new master, looking for one worthy to serve. That I'd called her, from somewhere far in the east, from... I think jungles." She paused, tilting her head slightly. "Yes, jungles... she said near somewhere called 'Ra-thais'," Louise worked her mouth around the syllables which were somehow unknown, and deeply, deeply familiar. "We talked. I... I decided to bind her, I completed 'Contract Servant', I think, because... then she fused with me."
The blonde paused, and ran a hand back through her sweaty hair, clinically pulling a lock out as she rewound the ringlet around her fingers. "That makes sense," she said, bluntly.
"Wait, what?"
"Well, it was clearly some kind of spirit. Maybe a champion-spirit. So... yes, it gave you access to its powers, for as long as you live."
Louise spluttered slightly. Partly because of how accepting the Flood was being, and partly because she now had a pretty good idea about Marisalon's mindset, and unless there were heroic champion spirits of Eating Grapes and Being A Scarlet Lady, she severely doubted that was true. And if it was true, and they did exist, she didn't think that she wanted that sort of power. "And you th-think this because..."
Monmon sighed. "I'm a Montmorency," she said, as if it explained everything.
It didn't explain it to Louise, and the girl said so.
"It
means that I'm descended from the water spirits; our entire family is. Not recently, and other people claim that it's just mythology... and the Church promotes that, so my parents can't push for it, but we know it's true. If you'd ever dealt with the spirits, and had them recognise you as kin, you'd know it. It's said that we used to know how to welcome our kin into our flesh, to hunt-down oath-breakers, but the secrets were lost long ago." Montmorency shrugged. "People don't like to talk about it. Some parts I haven't mentioned to you, which we don't talk about outside the family." Her eyes narrowed. "There's a reason our family has declined in status and breeding," she said, her voice chilly.
"Oh." Louise sighed, stretching out her aching body. "So, what now?"
{0}
It was around forty miles away from the Tristain Academy of Magic, and Foquet the Crumbling Dirt had reached her destination.
Although, burned and frazzled and exhausted, she really wished she had waited to transfer the order to her client, who was taking rather too much pleasure from the contents of her triumphant theft. The pale-skinned woman, with those strange markings under her eyes, was... well, the only word was 'caressing' each of the parts she found, taking the blades and the strange metallic components and ignoring the gold and the jewels and the paintings. A breastplate was examined and breathed over, and kept, while another, a clearly more elaborate one from the reign of the last king's grandfather was discarded. Just like she always did.
It was very disconcerting. Still, at least it was almost over.
And... had she just squealed, Foquet thought in disgust? Yes, she had. The other woman carefully removed two twinned things which resembled some hybrid between a wand and a pistol from their rosewood case, and was stroking them. Carefully, one was returned to its box, and the other received a more detailed examination. A button was depressed, and like clockwork, a lattice of barbs unfolded spider-like around the central wand-like spike.
"Beautiful..." the dark-haired woman breathed, reaching out with one slightly shaking finger to stroke the delicate barbs which had unfolded around the central rod, sparkling in prismatic colours when it hit the light. "It's... so beautiful." The air flashed around her, just for a second, as she lifted the silvery devise reverently. "It's almost intact, too; damaged from age, and it's slightly misaligned, but that can be fixed."
Foquet stared at the woman cooing over the stolen good. "What is it?" she asked, curiously. "It looks almost a bit like a wand, but..."
Letting out a shuddery, ecstatic breath, the other woman adjusted her coat, regaining her composure. "A wand? Of sorts." White-gloved fingers ran along the central tube. "Perhaps it is as far beyond a wand as a wand is beyond a stick."
"What does that mean?"
A thin smile crept onto the other woman's lips. "I don't know, yet," she remarked. "It needs..." she seemed to be searching for a word, "... life, vitalism... it needs a steady supply of magic before it can operate. It would take a triangle-class mage just to bring its mechanisms to life, and they would be exhausted before they could even use it once." A chuckle, and the Myozunitonirun raised her hand, sighting down the wand at a nearby ramshackle building in this abandoned village in the fens. She said a single word, in a language that Foquet could not recognise, and purple light flared on her forehead, forming words for a brief second.
And the shack blew apart, in a purple-blue ball of lightning. Thunder cracked, echoing around the landscape, and the horses began to panic, bucking and shivering. The ball-lightning faded and earthed itself, and then all was quiet again, the only evidence the now-burning shack. Reverently, she laid the weapon – for that was what it surely was – back down again, and once again was all business.
"I have separated the things I desire from the rest. You may keep the rest as a retainer," the dark-haired woman said, casually dismissing the gold and the silver and the paintings. "In addition," she had one of the hulking armoured figures with her bring forwards a travel chest. "...in addition, here is the pre-arranged payment for your level of success," she added, almost insultingly, to reveal the gleam of newly minted coins, all bearing the seal of the Papacy. "Fair well, Madame 'Foquet'. You would best be heading back to your place of employment, no? Farewell. Contact us again if you acquire, or believe you will acquire anything on the lists I have provided."
And the Myozunitonirun had her escort duty begin repacking the treasures she had selected, into their own carefully padded cases for transport.
{0}
