Chapter 74: On a limb

Laborers and soldiers alike busied themselves with the very last of the harvest. Tons of cereals were already in warehouses or ground into flour by Kazar’s mills. Only a few vegetables and some orchards at the edge of the forest remained, and they soon became hives of activity. The Kazarans collected the fruits as they ripened, defended the fruits while they ripened, and dressed and cooked the hare-like monsters who failed to break through to the ripening fruits. Marruk broke the yearly record of captured ‘harrans’ (the monsters) by seven and made a pretty penny with the pelts, not that she needed the money anymore.

With the harvest coming to an end, Viv proposed a vote on taxation. After extolling its necessity, they gave the citizen a choice between a small fixed part and a high percentage of their revenue, or a larger fixed part and a smaller percentage. It was basically a choice between being risk-adverse or not and didn’t make much difference to the city income-wise. What mattered was that people got a choice and the opportunity to discuss it. There was another round of massive, village-wide meetings and quite a few scuffles but that was liberty and politics for you.

The newly arrived Enorian refugees were included in the discussion but didn’t participate much. Most of them were abjectly grateful not to be made into slaves and being given food until they could develop their new lands. A few of the younger men and quite a few women joined the newly formed witch-pact corps of crossbowmen, now supplied by the Yries directly with ever-more polished ranged weapons.

The insular and distrustful people had decided to up their presence in Kazar. They were selling crossbows and armors in exchange for cloth and other goods. Viv had started stockpiling weapons in preparation for autumn, when a lot of soldiers would be free from the work rush.

They celebrated harvest day.

Viv didn’t have to do much. People had been doing this for ages and didn’t need direction. The same grannies and aunties who always did the thing did the thing. The same boisterous dads and grumpy, tender-hearted old farts mounted decorations at the ass-crack of dawn as they had for decades. Kazar took on festive airs and the fair grounds were once more the scene of vibrant preparations. At Viv’s personal request, their prisoners were even granted enough good food to handle their own banquet, after being told that it was ‘for decent behavior’. Viv sat at the place of honor while young lads and lasses competed in games of strength and dexterity for each other’s attention. She had to sit with a smile while the difference between Europe, which had pursued musical excellence for centuries, and Kazar, which had pursued survival, was made manifest.

For all their horrible flute plays, Kazar had a vibrant cultural identity, and they had claimed it with even more fervor since declaring independence. Soldiers and guards loved to add white, embroidered pennants to their armors so that every spear was a flag. A few traces of red dyes were appearing as well with the mountain tribes getting increasingly closer. Arthur had been given a special throne as the town’s mascot (she thought she was some sort of mayor). It was all very intense, but Viv was used to it now. You could only spend so much time taking care of people without genuinely caring for them. Viv was trapped in Nyil and she no longer minded that much. She only wished she could send a message to her family and friends. Tell them she was alive. And happy.

As the festivities were coming to an end, something unexpected happened. The head of the scouts, a dour man by the name of Michar, came to get her. He was unusually embarrassed.

“Yeah. So. I would like to know if you could be my witness.”

Viv froze in her seat and cast a dubious look backwards towards Solfis. The golem didn’t react.

“As in, for a duel?”

“No. I’m getting married.”

Michar didn’t strike her as a bridezilla so it was probably fine.

“Hm, I have no objections, I guess? When?”

“Tonight.”

It was already well past midnight.

“Now,” he insisted.

Viv’s paranoia woke up and flushed the last traces of sweet wine from her system.

“You’re fucking with me?”

Michar’s absolutely flustered face told the contrary. He was red as a beet under that slightly green skin tone. He also showed signs of deep shame, not the nervousness one would expect from a shit schemer and Michar was a shit schemer if there were any. He didn’t have a single cunning bone in his entire body.

“It was… sort of a last minute decision, Your Grace?”

“You unexpectedly decided to elope?”

“No, well yes, well, there is this girl. She’s not the most social one.”

“A Hadal.”

“Yeah. Their first generation. Anyway. We were fucking and I proposed. She said yes.”

Viv glared at the man and wondered what had caused his brain to short-circuit, and thought that to propose ‘in medias coitus’, or whatever it was called, was the height of dick-fueled retardation.

“Lead the way,” she offered with an annoyed sigh.

And he did. Right into the forest.

***

The Hadal base could be found through an unassuming grotto entrance decorated with some red flowers and entire bouquets of mummified beastling heads. It was a cavernous and maze-like underground structure with naked, grey stone walls, not a single fucking light and passages blocked by heavy doors. It was also silent. The weirdest thing was that it smelled good. Really good. Like laundry and freshly-made pastries. She could not feel a single hint of the dampness or cold one would associate with such a place. Even as they reached some sort of main hall, the scent became that of flower and soap.

There were benches in the main hall. They cornered tables loaded with half-eaten victuals but there was no one sitting there for now. Illumination was provided by a few gems embedded in a stone roof dotted with a few timid stalactites. Irao took the center spot, looking all solemn because he was standing straight for once. Marruk and Solfis had followed, as well as Arthur and they sat their asses on a bench on their right.

Irao seized a tiny bell and rang it once. It gave off a light chime that sounded much louder than it really was. Viv felt a rush of black mana. It was too confusing and fast to follow, but her danger sense remained silent and so did Solfis. She was not under attack.

Hadals were filling the other benches, appearing as if from nowhere. Michar stayed at the back and a slightly shorter woman materialized by his side. A dark veil hid her form and most of her features.

The room was still quiet.

“Viviane?” Irao asked.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know how to officiate a marriage.”

Restraining the urge to groan, Viv directed the two lovebirds to walk down the ‘aisle’ and busied herself humming Mendelssohn’s wedding march. She stood by Irao’s side and welcomed the pair with her most serious expression. For some reason, the atmosphere favored whispers. She spoke in a low voice.

“We are gathered here tonight to celebrate the union of first scout Michar and…”

She hesitated then, until a barely audible whisper floated by her ears.

“And ‘Hey’, of the Hadals.” (Hay? Hei? She didn’t know.)

“Michar, do you vow to take Hay as your spouse, to protect, love, and hold her…”

She did her best to make something nice and romantic. The rugged Michar was crying like a fountain, snot dripping down his nose.

“…until death do you part?”

“Yes, I do.”

Viv repeated the same for Hay who nodded vigorously. The ‘veil’ had turned out to be an unadorned white cloth. She was practically bouncing on her feet.

“Then by the powers I hold as the leader of Kazar, and in the name of all the light gods, I declare you husband and wife.”

Viv almost jumped when she felt something caress her spine, and an old pain woke up for a fragment of a second just as the blue halo of the gems above her took on a light golden sheen. It had worked.

“You want to add something?” she asked Irao as an afterthought.

The man pondered for a long time. Finally, his yellow, slitted eyes landed on the assembly. Viv knew that they were wearing dark colors but they were so coated in mana that she could not even discern their faces.

“We left. We gathered. Now we live, we choose, we love. I wish you the same. Enough talk, let’s eat.”

Viv joined in with the party but must have fallen asleep mid-way, because she woke up in the tower with a glass of water nearby and a small note written in an angular hand. It said: ‘thank you’.

A few days later, at the bank.

The door shifted under the pressure of tiny white claws and Tom Manitaradin’s eyes widened. He turned from the lobby desk where he was exceptionally present and addressed a shadow behind a potted plant.

“Fetch me Lan, please.”

The shadow was still a shadow a moment later, but it felt emptier and the statuesque accountant sashayed to his side.

Witch, now heiress, now mayor Viv’s companion strutted sinuously over the polished tiles. Its paws clicked merrily on the ground, and it was not long until its head popped up from behind the counter. A pair of malevolent red eyes settled on Tom. They used to be feral and murderous, filled with barely contained aggression. Now, they were cold and patient. Still murderous though.

Tom saw himself reflected in the slit pupils and pondered the strange intellect behind. The albino drake placed a full pouch on the counter.

“Change to gold?” Tom asked. It was the creature’s second visit.

Once again, an affirmative rune materialized above its head. Tom knew this to be impossible, yet it happened anyway. He made for the pouch and patiently counted the coins. Those were Enorian currencies, swapped against deadland loot at the temple of Neriad, he wagered. Prize for a raid.

By his side, Lan placed a hand over his shoulder to signify that she would begin. A pulse of mana erupted gently from the woman and those who were sensitive enough could have then guessed that she was, in fact, a priestess of Sardanal.

The god of wealth, growth, and insight was well respected in the north and she was strong enough to bypass an occulted status. Yet, she seemed to struggle. He felt the tension in her posture.

The creature’s eyes veered to his left as soon as she started praying. Again, an impossibility. In order to distract it, he picked up the owed golden talent and placed it on the desk with reverence.

The creature gave one last disdainful look at Lan before centering its attention on its newest treasure. Tom could see the pupils dilate with pleasure. It picked the talent between careful claws and inspected it.

Lan’s hand suddenly clamped on Tom’s shoulder with a ferocious strength, and only his experience stopped him from letting out a gasp of pain. He could feel her nails digging into his muscles, and a mild shake did nothing to calm the woman down. Tom managed to keep his composure through a supreme effort of will, although it was not strictly speaking needed. The drake had taken the pouch from its collar and gently, carefully placed the talent within. It turned and departed without a glance.

Sharp talons clicked on the tiles. The door opened and closed. They were alone.

“What was that about?” he hissed in anger.

“Dragon.”

Tom’s heart missed a bit. He gasped lightly, and felt tears well in his eyes from the sheer, mind-defying absurdity of it all. No, she was messing with him. This made no sense at all. No one on Nyil would be mind-bogglingly insane enough to— she was messing with him.

“Lan, this is not—”

“Dragon.”

***

Viv sprinted through the underbrush in a gait specifically designed to avoid getting caught by a root. She jumped between two trunks and felt her danger sense flare. The witch didn’t turn. A nope shield rose behind her back before she could really think.

A stone disappeared with a hiss.

“Shroud.”

A line of black mana hit the ground and a wall sliced up to mask her figure. The earth was twisted and pitted like an asteroid. At the top, towers of solidified gravel extended like gothic spires. The design was both alien and familiar. Another stone hit it a moment later. Viv was already off. She raced under low boughs, jumped on a stump and caught herself in the middle of a small ridge which she scaled an instant later. Short mana extensions dug handholds as she moved. She went over the elevation and blocked another stone. A line of trees blocked her path. A small burst of mana cleared enough foliage to let her through and right in the middle of a beastling pack.

Viv’s shock was extremely short-lived and she kicked the only standing creature in the jaw. She crossed through the trio of flea-ridden huts, then jumped down another ridge. There were boulders under her feet here.

“Sneaky Ghillie Lemon Squeezy.”

Viv’s shape was soon covered in an eldritch, tentacular coating of black mana. The mundane name did not express the unsettling appearance of the ever-changing armor. It moved randomly when she did, sometimes turning her into an inhuman beast. It had the added benefit of making it harder for others to spot her vitals.

Behind her, the angry shrieks of the beastlings turned into death screams. Time was of the essence. Viv took a sharp turn right and crawled silently under a thicket of pine trees. The shadows swallowed her and her vision was reduced to a narrow corridor. She looked up barely in time to find her path blocked by a thick webbing and a spider the size of a frying pan.

“Aw fuck that.”

The entire structure vanished in a cloud of annihilation magic. She bit her lip and kept going. Her thoughts were distracted. Specifically, they obsessed over a single concern.

“Please don’t jump on my back, please don’t jump on my back.”

Fortunately for her, the eight-legged creatures didn’t apparently live in colonies and she successfully made it on the other side. The trees were more spaced there, with tall ferns in between. Her goal was very close. Sadly, time was up.

Solfis landed in the middle of the clearing.

“Aw.”

//You did better, Your Grace.

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//You have made some improvement.

“I stopped because there was a big spider.”

//Fascinating.

//However, your mistake this attempt was getting in the thicket while I had a visual on you.

//I killed the beastlings noisily.

//You should have guessed from the timing that I would see you crawl in.

//After that, it was merely a question of cutting you off.

“Oh.”

//You did scale the ridge with commendable speed.

//You blocked all the projectiles aimed at you.

“I’ll have to do better.”

Solfis tilted his head.

//If I may, Your Grace, I question your sense of priority.

“What, for training?”

//For spending so much time doing so.

“Didn’t I mention it? When the prince returns, we won’t wait for his siege specialists to lay siege this time. We’re fighting in the forest.”

//I remember you mentioning… guerilla warfare.

//I did not think that you would participate.

“Who else? Unless she dies, they will have a red mage.”

//Your path is not adapted to fighting in a forest, Your Grace.

“Neither is theirs. That’s why I’m training right now.”

Solfis took a few steps forward.

//You do not wish to slow them down.

//You wish to defeat them.

“Yeah, I have a plan.”

//Your knowledge of warfare might not translate well in our world.

“That’s why I have you and the others to go over it. Besides, remember what I told you about guerilla warfare?”

//I have logged the explanation you gave to Marruk.

//You define it as a smaller group of combatants engaging a larger, more traditional one through the use of ambushes, raids, sabotage and the use of mobility.

Solfis’ dry definition let Viv know exactly what the ancient war machine thought about those.

“Right, but at the core, guerilla warfare is about being a massive dick. And the people of Param already do it quite well.”

//We should build a traditional force.

“We will as well. That will be your job. Enough of that, time to regrow limbs. This is it.”

***

Viv had estimated that her understanding of change was sufficient to start experimenting. The first step was to perfect a diagnostic construct. In order to do so, she had grabbed the willing pair of inquisitors and the less willing Enorian earth caster, whose name was Lodan and who was a bit of a twat. The participants had gathered at an isolated guard house at the edge of the city for some tranquility. A large circular altar now occupied the center of the room, with Viv’s notes and books spread across a large desk set against the far wall.

Viv busied herself inscribing the four runes Orkan had mentioned and then recognized from her book. They would serve as a basis for their work.

“I am a prisoner of war,” Lodan screamed while she was working, “not some guinea pig!”

“Orkan volunteered. I just need you to smooth the stone between two attempts,” Viv explained curtly. She was still working and in no mood to be pestered. This was going to be a long session.