Halkegenia Online v2.0 – Epilogue Part 2
It started out like a wave. Spreading from the walls of the Royal Palace, down into the streets of the capital, flowing along back alleys like channels before doubling back on the main streets until there was no place left to go, no place to offer shelter. From there it stretched outward, into the surrounding countryside, and then to the other cities, the small manors and the large estates by way of the roads and ports.
An order perhaps too long in coming, at last given, now, when it would have the most devastating effect.
The Viscount de Wards' betrayal had alerted the Crown to the danger, the traitors that might exist even in its own midst. After the Battle of Newcastle, the Royal Guard had been scrutinized from the first to the last at the Queen's orders, its Commander down to the lowliest musketeer. They had been judged loyal, but the investigations had uncovered others, clerks, and servants who could not be trusted.
The logical thing would have been to take them into custody, to interrogate them, and from them, to extract the identity of further conspirators. But, after conferring for a time, it had been decided not to do so. In fact, to do nothing to them for the time being.
The Guard had stayed their hand, watching them as they watched, listening to them as they listened. They were followed, not allowed to suspect, when they made their reports by dead drop or in the back rooms of taverns, helped along by couriers and smugglers. A maze of dead drops and anonymous changing of hands. The trail had been lost more than once to preserve secrecy. But for ever lead lost, another way followed to its terminal point.
The smugglers had been tracked, their names had been made known, and their businesses located. Where they kept their stocks, where they laid their heads. Again, the Guard had stayed its hand. Only moving on those deemed 'non vital' to Reconquista. The others, they observed closely, even helped along, diverting unwanted attention.
Musketeers and petty nobility were sent in disguise to do business, to purchase goods and services and learn from where they came and how. Learning the other customers who frequented the black market and hidden routes.
Learning all they could of the illicit web, all of which led back to Reconquista and the conspirators within Tristain.
From there, the identities of Noble sons had been learned. Their families, their ties, their crimes against the Crown, until there could be no doubt of guilt. Men who would, if they were lucky, live the rest of their days in chains, serving hard labor as penance. And if they were less lucky, a swift, anonymous death within prison dungeons.
And what they found, left them in dismay. The web ran wide, and it ran deep. A rot that had slowed the investigation to crawl as they were forced to conceal their actions with even greater care.
Yet still, the Guard stayed its hand, it was not time yet. These young sons, always seconds and thirds, bastards, and extras. Disowned nobility with nothing to lose. It would be easy for them to be shed by their masters, discarded as part of a gambit. They would be sacrificed to save the real conspirators, leaving shadowy old men to continue their treason in the heart of the country.
To stop them would mean imprisonment, execution, measures that the Crown would not and could not take on such a dismaying scale without first justifying. And so again they had waited, waited for the first heads of higher authority to make a mistake, to reveal themselves.
A high ranking tax officer was among them, found by way of his subordinate, a smuggler. His associations were well known, but still, they were to be checked and rechecked, confirming what had been learned. The best lead they had found so far, a path to the center of the web.
Then, nearly disaster, a plot discovered by chance, the efforts of the conspiracy directed towards a single, finishing blow, a decapitation meant to take the throne. Did they suspect? Did they know?!
No, the plot had been in the works for far too long, only now taking form just as the final date closed. They feared, but only in general, not the specifics.
But it was not yet time to move. Move now, and they lost everything, they would be forced to start anew against a foe aware, or else, begin a witch hunt that would drive the nobility into the arms of Reconquista.
So again, they had waited, gathering their forces patiently, preparing to weather the storm. The targets were known, the likely time and location could be assumed with near certainty. Or so it had been thought.
When the sun had risen the day after the gala, ruin done to the Capital, a Royal Function disrupted at the very place where the Crown should be most secure. It was not clear whether it had been the right course of action at first. Surely it would have been better to put an end to the conspiracy before then, before their efforts became not only known, but known as a farce. They should have taken what they could and accepted that they would never burn out the cancer.
Yet the gambit had paid dividends like they would never have imagined.
Two bases found and taken apart, prisoners taken by the dozens and interrogated, notebooks and letters retrieved, fed into the waiting hands of spymasters and analysts.
And they had worked their magic, worming their way through what had been taken, sifting through notes, and sifting through heads to put everything together. No single piece was incriminating. None told the whole story. But taken together, with what had already been learned, it formed oh so many pieces of a very large puzzle.
Enough that they could now finish the picture for themselves. And with that done, with the festering heart before them, there was no longer reason to wait.
As one, the Royal Guard had moved, working their way down the list in exactly the opposite order from what the conspiracy had come to expect. They'd taken the shadowy old men first, giving no chance to fight or send warning to their co-conspirators, swords held to their backs as they stepped down from carriages, or blades held to their throats within the parlors of their own homes. Soldiers were ordered to arrest their comrades, or even their superiors, and did so on the authority of the Crown itself.
Some had tried to fight, to be brought down in the streets like rabid dogs. Some had attempted to flee, on foot, or in the air. To be chased down by the Knights and Musketeers. Some suffering the ultimate humiliations of being dragged in by Faeries, or worse, being taken by commoners, pistols held to their backs as they were marched from their homes and businesses.
Only when these ring leaders had been found, did the investigation turn its attention elsewhere, and begin the slow, relentless, process of hunting down the remainder of the conspiracy, now shattered, unable to communicate, and their identities known. It had become a great hunt that had gone on for fully a week as the last were chased to ground or fled the country, their names and betrayals publicly known, their power broken.
There was no use in chasing them now, they could do no more harm making their capture worthwhile, perhaps Albion would take them. The Guard had turned next to the aftermath. What to do with the thousands that had been found incontrovertibly guilty.
Foci had been confiscated, rank and title stripped temporarily in preparation for their trials where it would be surrendered permanently if found guilty.
If done one by one, without evidence, the Crown would have faced the stiffest of opposition. But all at once, and with the overwhelming weight of evidence on their side, it had gutted the conspiracy, and stayed the tongues of the loyal opposition as they watched, waited, and listened. The depths of the conspiracy shocked and outraged many, it called into question the authority of the Crown.
But there had been plans for that as well.
Even as the the disloyal were routed, Queen Marianne had publicly declared her intention to step down in the wake of her failures, and for her daughter, who had been instrumental in negotiating the peace with the Fae, and in seeing the investigation to its conclusion, to take her place as Tristain's monarch.
It did not matter whether it was wholly the truth, the blame or the credit, only that the people believe it. And they did. In this uncertain time, all that was known about Henrietta de Tristain was that she was politically deft, loyal to her country, and friend to the Fae. Her credentials were as good as any young monarch could hope.
With that done, Princess Henrietta de Tristain, soon to be Queen, enjoyed the greatest of advantages against her enemies on the first day of her rule. The outrage of a public, betrayed by their countrymen, and rallied however transiently around the symbol of the Crown.
The solution was of course not perfect. The rot had spread so deep and wide, the sheer number of betrayals had brought the organs of government nearly to their knees. It would slow preparations for the war, for a time at least, until things could be settled, new plans made to replace those that might have been stolen, new audits to discover how much had been thieved from the Kingdom's coffers.
And of course . . . it would be a very long time before every one of the traitors could be tried and sentenced. For the Lord of the Legal Collegiate, had, upon the day of the purges, vanished from his residence . . .
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Cold water, and the feeling of soaked hair as a head fought against the strength of his arm. Ephilates did not stop as the bubbles streamed up to the surface as if the water was coming to a boil, nor did he relent as the bubbles stopped and the man began to fight and buckle with renewed strength. It did him no good, the position was exactly the reverse of the one that he . . . that the human Akito had found himself in once in high school. An unfortunate altercation he didn't care to remember, except the lesson that bravery meant fuck all without the power to back it up.
'That's right, you're the one who can't fight back now.' He thought without a hint of mercy. It was a sort of catharsis, a release as strong as any drug that drove him to push down harder, placing all of his weight against his arm.
Only as the struggles began to weaken, did the man to his side, the Earth Mage Digby, sans wand hand since the events of La Forace Prison, gesture for him to let up, giving the struggling man a chance to breath.
"Do I really have to?" Ephi asked casually. "This idiot cost me dearly." How fucking hard was it to kill one Faerie Lord who'd practically been deliered into his lap? "Mortimer was supposed to be dead, and if he hadn't cheaped out on mercenaries even Morgiana wouldn't have been able to save him . . ."
All because of this fucking human waste who had the gall to go on about his innate superiority. The Sylph grit his teeth. He could have been leading the Fae once the current Lords were dealt with. Once the weak were culled off by the slaughter, and the strong sought leaders more suited to this world.
Instead, forced to hide away in a broken down hovel like this, crawling along the surface of the Earth like some trash mob or . . . or human. The sensation of nausea as he recalled that existence was almost overpowering. He'd lost everything. Of his own stupidity as much as anything else he thought with barely contained self loathing. He should have bided his time a while longer.
Well . . . Ephi grinned viciously, not everything . . . His hand squeezed at the back of the struggling man's skull like an overripe melon. He still had his personal strength, and the will and knowledge to apply it in some very painful ways. He could extract at least some satisfaction from that. Or he could, except . . .
Digby grimaced. "Just let him up."
Sighing inwardly, Ephi acquiesced, dragging the drowning man's head from the tub, the gasping, spluttering old face of the Lord Justice of Tristain. This was the man they had been obeying? Pathetic. He hadn't even been able to put up a fight when he, Digby and Isabella had descended on him and his guards, trying to flee the country like rats leaving a sinking ship. Not that he was going to make it very far. Richmond's status as the Lord Justice had earned him an early warning, but the Royal Guard had been closing in on him fast, he'd never have made it past the border.
Which was unfortunate, as he could provide incriminating evidence on some of the few spies that had escaped the Royal Guard's nets. It was a shadow of the conspiracies former network, but if Reconquista wanted any sort of privileged information from within Tristain to continue to flow, the few remaining contacts had to be kept safe and unsuspected.
'From killing blow to damage control.' Ephi mused, how quickly things changed.
Sadly for Richmond, his utility to Reconquista had expired with his position as Tristain's Lord Justice. Which worked out marvelously for Ephilates, the first good news he'd had in over a week.
They hadn't needed the guards alive, so naturally, they'd killed them. That left only the Lord Justice himself to be dragged off. They did need to know if he knew anything of value.
"My apologies Lord Richmond, for our miserable surroundings." Digby raised the stump of his arm to take in the tiny room of the dingy little cabin they had found along one of the back roads.
There had been no sign of the owners, most likely abandoned when the Transition had occurred. Just two little rooms, one with a cot, the other housing a few barrels full of supplies and a tub still in condition to hold water. Tattered old curtains closed, and lit only by lantern light, the space made a suitable miniature dungeon for their work.
"Cugh . . . cuh . . . Unhand me!" Richmond choked, spluttering past mouthfuls of water as he fought to suck in air at the same time.
'Fuck, have the discipline to do one or the other!' Had Sigurd and Jack really been found by this guy? Or rather, his cronies. They'd been looking for isolated Fae to take prisoner and interrogate, instead, they'd found a buzz saw of a Spriggan living out his delusions by slaughtering the Lord Justice's men, and a fairly powerful Sylph Mage Knight who was all too eager to kill his former Lord.
Richmond had been quite happy to change his plans to accommodate this new factor, once their loyalty had been proven of course. Ephi had thought it was of a sign of caution, to forcibly invest them in the cause. Now, he realized it had just been gloating superiority. If he'd know, he might have rethought his involvement, or suggested killing Richmond and putting someone else with a brain in charge.
"Defiant to the last I see, Lord Richmond." Digby noted casually. "You know, I'm a reasonable man most of the time. This would go by a lot easier with some truth serum, but that's quite rare," the Earth Mage lamented, "And expensive, and it's not something we're issued in the field without good reason. Now, I don't like to use torture, it hardly offers the best results, but as your value depreciates by the second, I view it as a matter of expedience. There is fast coming a time when, regardless of what you know, it will be better that I just kill you."
Though . . . " The Earth Mage spun around, cracking the tip of his wand against the flesh of the Lord's Justice's arm. Losing a hand hadn't done much to abate his ruthlessness. Ephi tightened his hold on Richmond as he screamed out, only then noticing the smell of cooking flesh, and the smoke rising from the tip of Digby's wand. " . . . you could always just tell us the truth and it would be equally painless for all involved."
"You Albionian savage!" Richmond growled. "When Lord Cromwell hears of this you'll . . ."
Ephi was about to knock the mage's head against the wall, a little solidarity with his current employers never hurt after all, but Digby beat him to it, catching Richmond solidly across the jaw.
"When Lord Cromwell hears of this?" Digby asked coldly. "When he hears of this, he will hear that half a squad of Kings Hand special forces, and two thirds of our spy network within Tristain was pressed into your service, and destroyed for your ambition of becoming Lord Regent of Tristain."
"You supported me!" Richmond screamed.
"I didn't have a choice!" Digby bellowed at the top his lungs. "You'd committed us before we even knew, and don't dare pretend you didn't plan it that way." Richmond cringed away, lips peeled back in a sneer. "You thought to use us for your own ends. Now I'll tell you," Digby grabbed Richmond by the temples, torquing his head back to face him, "I'll tell you. Lord Cromwell, bless his soul, is a splendidly forgiving man, too forgiving in fact. But you know what else he is?"
Richmond swallowed, it appeared his tongue had left him at last.
That was okay, Digby answered his own question darkly. "Not here . . . So why don't you tell us . . . tell us everything in that precious little head and I will swear not to kill you." It was fortunate that Ephi was at Richmond's back so that the man could not see his frown.
Digby raised his hand again, the signal for Ephi to drive the prisoner's head back under the water. Richmond resisted, but it didn't do him much good. Then again, Ephi didn't really see the point of this exercise. Really, the Sylph hadn't expected it to work. It seemed to him like this was the least painful of the techniques he had helped the crippled Albionian to perform. So why would it break the old Lord Justice now?
But maybe Digby was an old hand at this sort of thing after all, because when at last Richmond's head was let back above water, he had become astonishingly more cooperative.
"Please . . . Please . . . I'll tell you!"
"Anything?" Digby asked.
"Yes . . . Yes . . . Anything. But . . ."
"Ah, there's always a 'but'." The Earth Mage mused callously.
"Safe passage . . . safe passage out of this country and to Albion." Richmond panted. "Until such a time that Lord Cromwell may make his judgment. Assure me of that!"
And what, did he want his safety blanket too? Ephi wondered. It wasn't like they would be held to any promises they made him. He had to know that. Hell, it was his job to know that. Ephi had listened well, and 'Lord Justice' was not entirely far off from 'Lord Torturer'. Personally, Ephi thought that the old bastard was way overvaluing himself. Which meant they must have just cracked him like an egg.
"I so swear that as long as your draw breath, I will transport you to the White Isle." Digby said solemnly. "And that you will not be harmed by any man or woman under my employ." Taking a seat on a broken crate. "All I want is the truth."
The way that Richmond proceeded to spill his guts was . . . Ephi could only think of one word for it. 'Disgraceful.'
Less than two days of torture and an unrealistic promise, and he'd caved like a house of cards. It told a lot about the sort of man that the Lord Justice was, always sending others to do his dirty work, and unable to command respect based on his personal prowess. At least Sigurd hadn't been afraid to get his hands dirty, share in the danger, even if he wasn't really that much good in a fight.
It was something Ephi valued when people began to see past his false charisma, they still could not deny his valor.
Ephi had chosen to leave the room while Digby finished up. He didn't know, and he didn't want to know more about Reconquista's plans. At this point, until he had something new to aim for, his best chance for survival was being a hedgehog, painful to attack, and not worth enough to bother. That went for both his enemies and current allies. That meant carefully not overhearing anything he shouldn't.
Fuck!
How had it ended up this way? Why had he trusted someone like Richmond to have a plan? He should have known better, but he'd let himself ignore that Sigurd was blinded by revenge and Rip Jack had never been more than a tool, unable to act for himself, and certainly not to be trusted giving any sort of advice!
No . . . he knew why. Part of it anyways. Shutting the door behind him. He'd let some remnant of his past self weaken his resolve . . . contaminate him with its fear . . . 'Still within me . . .' That hideous other self that he had at last been able to shed, peeling away its skin like a chrysalis to achieve this form. The ugly self, the inferior human that had existed in that other world, imprisoning his true nature.
'No!'
The thought drove him to take action, immediate action, ill thought out action, as he drove a fist into the cabin wall, feeling wood yield and splinter under the blow. The pain as the energy of his punch partly rebounded, tearing the skin of knuckles, and casting an ache up from wrist all the way to shoulder.
Breathing heavily as the flare of rage subsided. He would not be compared to that loathsome self. He would not succumb the way that the weak willed such as Sakuya had, wearing her Sylph flesh like a macabre second skin, refusing to relinquish what he had once been. The raw frustration. How he loathed her every day for what she was. Just another sheep who viewed her old self as somehow desirable. And how he lusted for what she could have become.
But instead, she'd . . . rejected herself, and by extension ALfheim . . . and him.
He breathed in again slowly, controlled, feeling chest rise and fall. He calmed himself. In a way, the pain was good. It was a reminder of this reality, and of his own realness that he would not relinquish.
A feeble chuckle reminded Ephi that he was not in lone company. "I do hope the Lord Justice is not the one who has upset you, Old boy."
Propped up on the cot by pillows and wadded up traveling cloaks, blouse open to reveal sickly skin and ring of slowly fading raw flesh around his neck, the man's name was Chadrick, and in so much as Ephi knew, he had been the one involved in the assassination attempt on Prince Wales.
"Oh?" Ephi assumed a smile. "He's done plenty enough to upset me already. No need for more."
The thespian smiled dreamily, eyes ringed by lack of proper sleep, possibly a symptom of whatever condition had befallen him, or possibly its treatment, so far as Ephi could tell. In any case, Isabella had been doting over him since they'd departed La Forace under the cover of the attack, and was largely responsible for his being lucid at all at this point. Well, mostly lucid.
"The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge?" He pondered, wagging eyebrows. "I do hope so, vengeance is such an interesting motive . . . wouldn't you say?"
Whatever, the man was obviously babbling. "Where's Isabella? I wouldn't imagine she'd leave you like this."
"I believe she went to keep watch." The stricken man waved vaguely. "A precautionary measure, Digby hasn't shown much concern for keeping our guest quiet I should say. You do know some people are trying to sleep."
Ephi rolled his eyes. "Of course. Maybe I should give her some help." He turned to the door to the small room, only stopping again because Chadrick hadn't gotten the hint and kept talking.
"Although, I have to say I understand the motive for revenge. Failure has cost you dearly. Hasn't it? Your status, your ambitions."
Ephi smiled towards the door. "A wise man knows when to keep his mouth shut, Chad-kun. And besides," he looked back over his shoulder, "I doubt things are looking much better for an assassin who couldn't assassinate his target."
Chadrick's eye twitched. "Yes well, Royals are a uniquely hard breed to kill. We had such ambitions, but . . . ah well . . . I suppose my current success shows I'm not much better than a Knight at this business. Anyways, with my services in the past, I'm sure this failure will be forgiven. Although, it does make me consider . . . a proposition of sorts."
Ephi let his hand fall from the door handle. He wouldn't have entertained the thought at any other time. But Chadrick didn't appear to be all there. Maybe he'd let something useful slip. "Go on."
"I've just been thinking. You Sylphs have a talent for stealth magic. And I believe you mentioned learning that spell that old Jack had in his repertoire?"
"Mimic." Ephi agreed.
"Isabella couldn't see through it, and she is one of the best at her trade." Chadrick mused dreamily. "In fact, I'd almost say it was it was a true body. How your Faerie magic discerns the difference is a mystery to me. Powerful magic, and not yet well known, thus hard to guard against. Useful in our line of work. I'm sure you understand what I am suggesting."
Ephi snorted. Oh, he did, he simply wasn't interested. "Hmm, wander the wilds avoiding air patrols and bounty hunters, or deliver myself to the country that makes Zombies. Forgive me," he reached for the door handle again, "But I'm not that stupid."
"You're heading into Gallia after this, aren't you?" Chadrick asked suddenly. His eyes had grown sharp and clear, like the daze had been either an act, or was being held back by force of will.
"Well, there are only two countries bordering Tristain in this cheap ass knock off of Europe." Ephi growled. "So you have a fifty percent chance of being right. Why? Something you think I should know if I am?"
"Nothing at all." Chadrick smiled. "Just . . . If you find yourself in Gallia, and in the most unfortunate of circumstances, you might wish to drop my name and the service you have done us. It will either spare your neck or . . ."
"Or?" Ephi quirked a brow impatiently.
"Well", the thespian smiled, "They might decide to make your death more painful. They're very good at that."
"Mind tell me who 'they' are?"
Another soft chuckle. "Why, that's part of the fun old boy!"
Whatever. Not to self, don't get caught in Gallia. "I'll send Isabella back in to empty your bedpan." Slamming the door behind him.
As soon as he was out in the chill, early morning air, Ephi felt his mood improve. As his affinity for his new form had grown, Ephi had found himself tolerating confined spaces less and less. Ironic considering it was how his past self had spent much of the previous half decade of his life. Being out of the cramped cabin did him a world of good. He didn't belong in such places anymore, yet another detail that further removed him from the human he had been.
The human he had been . . . he stopped beside a pond not far from the cabin, surface still and dark, it made a passable mirror. Running a hand through short cropped green hair. The handsome features of a man in his prime. He couldn't make out one trace of his past self, a sort of narcissistic pleasure. That idiotic, fat cheeked expression had been obliterated for all time along with the rest of his former body. Obese stocky frame melted away into something tall, and lithe, wrung with strong muscle.
And of course, he lifted his left hand, a whispered chant and a snap of his fingers. The low powered [<Echo]> spell ringing out, sweeping into the surrounding forest and then returning with a sudden knowledge of heading and proximity of every vaguely human sized creature within two hundred meters. A chill ran down his spine. To do it just like that. But now it was real, just like his body, just like his wings.
And there were people who want to undo this?
The sky above, the ripples that existed there, when he thought to look, swirling air currents rising higher and higher, the morning thermals hadn't started up just yet, but they would soon, and then it would be easy to see the paths the birds, dragons, and airships would follow.
Surprisingly, this was the third day that he had not caught sight of a single pair of Faerie wings. Sakuya had sicked the Sylphs loose along with the rest when the purges had begun, and from what he'd gathered, they'd been instructed to be non too gentle with the conspirators they ran to ground. At last some of the beautifully vicious creature within her was starting to show itself.
If it got her to shed the pretense, he might not even mind if she managed to keep her promise. "This world exists for those who will take it." He decided. He could tolerate no attempt to undo that. To do so was a denial of what they were. What they were supposed to be.
But for now, he'd have to bide his time. Chances were still good that Reconquista would finish what they'd started, or at least weaken Tristain enough to be finished off by an opportunistic neighbor. When that happened, he'd just have to have arrangements in place to pick up the pieces. Even if he was despised, people would accept his way if it meant survival.
So . . . "Isabella." He called up to his right, into the trees where he had sensed an unusually large creature to be up so high. The water mage keeping watch from her perch.
"So you can detect me even up here?" The voice called down, narrowly directed by magic so as not to expose her position to any eavesdroppers. "Good morning Mister Ephilates. And please not so loud. I can hear you perfectly well."
"And I can hear anyone who gets close enough to hear us." Ephi replied. And if need by he could lay out a perimeter of proximity trackers, which ought to give them a bit more warning. Not that he was about to reveal anymore of his tricks than necessary. "Chadrick is awake now."
"Oh?"
"I thought you'd want to know, given his condition."
"Looking out for him." A soft rustling came from above as Isabella fell far to the ground, landing light and easily as a cat, folding to absorb the impact. "What a considerate man." She teased softly. "Though you are correct. A death experience is an excruciating thing, even for those who do not have a high affinity for our tools. I'd fear for Chadrick if he'd been more into character, his heart might have given out."
"Die in the game and you die in real life." Ephi said under his breath. "Now where have I heard that before?"
The water mage composed her features, pursing full lips. "Your impertinence aside. I must thank you for your help in la Forace. We'd likely have never gotten out without those eyes of yours to lead us back to the surface."
"Lot of good its done me." Ephi grumbled mildly.
"Maybe." Isabella batted her eyes. "I know it may not seem like much, but there is a certain honor among thieves and assassins. We'd all be long dead if there wasn't."
"I'm sure." He said sarcastically. A healthy suspicion for everything. It was one of the few traits of his old self that he cared to retain, even while throwing away everything else.
"Well, a strong backer helps too." She admitted. "Which is why I was wondering about . . ."
"A proposition?"
The water mage stepped back, mild surprise gracing her features. "Why . . . yes . . . Don't tell me . . ."
"Chadrick, the 'Old Boy'." He said sardonically. "I'm sure it was all just drunken ramblings. Heading to Albion that is."
"And what's wrong with Albion?" Isabella pouted in a way that had to be deliberate.
In fact, he'd decided everything this woman did was deliberate. What he hadn't been able to discover was the source of her ongoing fixation. If she was trying to seduce him, she wasn't very good at it. Not that he would have been averse to getting in her pants if he didn't expect a knife between his ribs for the trouble.
Another bit of his old self discarded without a tear shed. One of the less oft mentioned side affects of the Transition. Living in a city suddenly filled to brim with young, physically idyllic, and most of all, horny, pseudo humans had made it hard for anyone who was making even the slightest effort to not get laid. Fuck that herbivore attitude and its fixation with 'pure' 2D girls, 3D was awesome.
But seduction didn't seem to be it. He wasn't that arrogant to think he had anything to offer that she'd need to screw him for. Professional interest no doubt, and maybe a little personal. She'd spent hours examining Jack under all of his faction disguises. What little he'd seen of her craft, she, and Chadrick appeared utterly obsessed with perfecting their abilities to assume a disguise, and to detect one.
A real body, woven whole cloth from magic was probably very close to embodying her goals. Which made every Faerie a specimen to her.
"My sinuses." Ephi said dryly.
"Pardon."
"I'm terrible at heights, I get all congested. A failing in a Sylph, I know."
Isabella blinked quickly. It took her far too long to realize that it was a joke. 'Which means you were really thinking about it.' Yeah, best to leave these people before he ended up with his vital organs in specimen jars.
Finally, it made sense to her, she chuckled mechanically. "Yes, of course, I rather imagine that would encourage a desire to stay nearer to earth. But if you fear the fate of your comrades, you know, I had no intent to suggest Albion . . . Chadrick and I do not hail from the White Isle either."
And how the hell was he supposed to know that? The locals all seemed to be able to tell the difference between a Germanian, a Gallian, and an Albionian, but he sure as hell couldn't. Not yet anyways. Another item to put on the list of [<Necessary Skills]>.
"Ah well, there's no convincing you I suppose. Not that I blame you at all. But the offer remains open. I doubt we'll get many more of your breed very soon, and rarity confers a certain value that really shouldn't be squandered on necromancy." She stretched arms behind her back. "You should . . . think about it is all."
"Roger that." He made a note to keep it in mind, if only to keep out of it. Remembering why he was out here to begin with. "Anything of note?"
"Not since last night. Oh, an overflying ship, but no patrols. They probably doubt the remaining conspirators would dare hide so close to ALfheim forests."
Focus their efforts elsewhere. Its what Ephi would have done. In fact, exactly what he would have done. He supposed there was an advantage to being hunted by his own troops.
"Shall we head back quickly then?" Isabella gestured. "I shouldn't leave Chadrick alone if he's woken up."
"Lead away."
Chadrick had been happy to see her if nothing else, launching into more poetry or play recitations or whatever he'd managed to cram his head with while she mixed more of the medicine she'd prepared for him and forced the foul smelling mixtures down his throat. Whatever it was had left him slightly more aware, and brought on a break in his fever.
He was still quite conversational when the door to the other room at last opened and a tired looking Digby emerged, face a mix of contempt and disgust. "We're done here. Isabella, Chadrick, we'll meet up with the others for extraction. We'll have quite the report to make."
"And your promise!" A weak shout from behind him as the white faced Lord Justice stumbled free, untied from his bindings. "Do not forget what you have promised. The Good Lord Cromwell will have your head if anything is to befall me!"
"Yes, I'm abundantly aware." Digby's lips twitched. "No man or woman under my command will harm you. Mister Ephilates!"
"Sir?" Ephi asked.
"Very good work this past week. I see we've found at least one useful gem in this pile of shit. You may take your payment and depart at your pleasure. You're dismissed from service."
Ephi felt the smile spread across his face. "Thank you Sir!"
"Wha -" The Lord Justice did not have time to finish as Digby stepped aside and Ephi took the opening to burst forward, driving his sword through the chest of the man, right to its hilt. Eyes nearly popping out of his skull as he looked down at what Ephi had just done.
"Oh my. Look at that. It seems that we failed in protecting you." Digby said tonelessly. "I guess we don't have to haul you to Albion now. Well, this has been a bad week for us. Don't take it personally, you just didn't have anything warranting keeping you alive anymore."
"Well, you should take it a little personally." Ephi said as he applied his considerable strength to driving the guard of his sword hilt through the old Lord Justice's ribs, bone creaking and beginning to crack. "I mean, you've been a right pain in my ass."
Blood forcing its way up, dribbled like drool from the mages mouth. Frothing like a rabid dog. "D-d-damn . . . y-you . . . s-sub human . . ."
"Please now, don't embarrass yourself." Ephi said as he reversed his sword, yanking the blade free with devastating effect as the head of the Tristanian conspiracy fell to the floor, and with him, the secret of the few remaining conspirators and spies. "There's no shame in admitting that I'm just better than a half baked mage like you."
Watching one of the most powerful men in Tristain pour out his lifeblood onto the floor of this filthy little cabin had to be about the most depressing thing Ephi had seen since coming to this world. Isabella observed coldly, licking her lips while Chadrick waxed soliloquy about the transience of life.
Digby simply went about packing up his tools, muttering curses under his breath until Ephi spoke once more. "Well then, I'll be taking my leave . . ." Hefting one of the small but heavy chests that the Lord Justice had been fleeing with. A nice little bit of starting capital he thought.
The Earth Mage stopped in his work, reaching for his wand uncertainly. It seemed he hadn't really decided if he actually meant to let him go.
"Oh please." Ephi tapped the hilt of his own sword. "Is it really worth it?"
"He's right Old Boy." Chadrick said drowsily. "Our man here has done rightly by his obligations. And what he knows of us, and visa versa isn't worth killing over. Besides, you're down an arm, I'm in no condition to fight, and Isabella, love, would be as likely to fuck him as fight him."
"Anything else you'd like to speak your mind about?" Isabella asked in a voice like wasp honey.
"Ah well, a premonition perhaps." Chadrick admitted with a sappy smile. "It just occurs to that we shouldn't be closing doors when we don't know where they'll lead. I do hope we'll meet again," The inflection of the man's voice shifted ever so slightly. "Monsieur Ephilates."
Isabella gave her partner an uncertain look, but opted to abide his wishes, gently squeezing Digby's good hand until he lowered his wand, the Earth Mage making dark noises about this 'not being a democracy'.
Ephi shrugged. Regardless he'd take it. "I'll be on my way then." Ephi grabbed his bag and cloak, jam packed but still relatively light compared to the dense little chest balanced on his shoulder. It was a ways to the border, and he wanted to make it before the patrols decided to double back on this area.
