Chapter 50: Achiyo Defeated
Conrad Kemp looked around at all the celebrating forces within Rhalgr’s Reach. Both Alliance and Resistance fighters alike were going about their duties grinning, even laughing, discussing the future with hope in their eyes. And those off duty were drinking and singing in the tavern. Even the quiet infirmary had a smile about it. “Hah, to think that the last time Gridanian troops trod this soil was more than a century ago, during the Autumn War – and that was to defend against our invasion.” He looked up at the great statue of Rhalgr. “Ours is a long and bloody history, to be sure, and it gives me heart to see that despite our acrimonious past, we can still come together for the sake of the future.”
Achiyo smiled at him. “No nation has a truly spotless past, but now we are united by a common goal.” She could but have hope that whatever this Autumn War was, it was long past enough that their current efforts would only build a sturdy foundation to end all bloodshed between them.
And she hoped that this hope, this optimism would spread. She had seen terrible things when she had ventured into the field with the Ala Mhigan scouts, had seen the sad eyes of the common folk, had heard their reluctance to believe in the Resistance. It was familiar and she did not like that it was.
An armoured knight marched up to them, and Achiyo took a moment to recognize him as Arenvald, a young Scion. He had been around since she first joined them, but clad in new silver as he was, he seemed taller, older, and she almost took him for a stranger. “Commander Kemp, if I may! My name… My name is Arenvald Lentinus. A… a half-breed, as you can doubtless tell. I’m here to fight for a free Ala Mhigo. For an Ala Mhigo where women like my mother are never made to suffer.” He bowed awkwardly. “I pray you grant me this honour.”
Conrad reached out to clasp his hand warmly. “…You are a trueborn son of Gyr Abania, same as me. This is not my honour to grant, but yours to freely take. Welcome, brother.” Arenvald smiled back, shook Conrad’s hand firmly, and stepped back to be out of the way.
Conrad turned back to Achiyo. “With our swelling ranks, and the aid of the Eorzean Alliance and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, I believe we will soon be in a position to seize the initiative. Once our new recruits have received sufficient training, I will propose to General Aldynn that we draw up plans for an assault on Castellum Velodyna.”
Achiyo glanced south, though the cliffs blocked the view of the tall Garlean tower. “You can count on us to assist, gladly.”
Alphinaud had returned from his own quests, and for the first time in a little while, most of the senior Scions in Ala Mhigo were present. Certainly, Tam, Thancred, Kekeniro, and Urianger were away on their own business, but enough were assembled that Alphinaud wanted to re-affirm their commitment to the liberation effort, now that the Resistance and the Alliance would be turning towards offensive action together.
Achiyo did not see the point. Were they not already committed from the moment they had set foot in Ala Mhigo beside the Alliance? Did one small victory – for though it was promising, it was only one victory, over one patrol, over one experimental weapon – truly change the outlook for any of the Scions?
Y’shtola perhaps said it best, with an utterly deadpan expression: “Ah yes, asking everyone’s opinion before making a critical decision. Truly, this is a far better arrangement than having centralized leadership.” Achiyo was… pretty sure that was sarcasm. “I thought this a foregone conclusion given our actions thus far, but if you require renewed affirmation, then yes, I am still wholly committed to this cause. For it is ultimately the selfsame cause I have served since first I pledged to serve Master Louisoix and the Circle of Knowing: the salvation of Eorzea, by any means necessary.”
“We drove the Garleans from Eorzea,” Achiyo said, when he looked to her for her answer. “I will not stop until we do the same here.” And then perhaps the feeling of injustice she’d carried within her since her teenage years would be appeased.
R’nyath had dropped in on Rhalgr’s Reach after Achiyo and Vivienne’s victory, but now he was back in Castrum Oriens, checking on his friends. Guydelot met him just outside the tavern, leaning against the wall. “Sanson’s still trying to make up his mind what to do with that bleedin’ journal. Well, not like I’m in a hurry or nothing.” He stretched and yawned.
“I wonder if I’m even needed anymore,” R’nyath said. “I might be looking to get back to the Scions, since the hard part of this mission is done, one way or another, isn’t it?”
“Probably,” Guydelot said, and closed his eyes as if going for a nap in the sun.
At that moment, Sanson emerged from the tavern, looking determined.
“So you’ve made up your mind, then?” Guydelot asked, peering down at him. “About what to do with the truth?”
Sanson nodded firmly. “I have. I shall go to the Adders’ Nest and entrust the journal to our superiors’ care. Above all, we cannot allow it to be used as an instrument of hatred. Having said that, neither will I stand for the truth to be erased. I will oppose any attempt to do so with all my being.”
Guydelot blinked. “Er, I’m not sure I understand. What do you want to do exactly?”
“I will hand over the journal… on the condition that the truth be revealed one day, when the people are ready to accept it.” Sanson made a sheepish smile. “Call me indecisive, but I cannot bear to see the tome misused, nor the truth wilfully buried.”
Guydelot smirked. “Well, well, look at you! Sanson the Stiff, standing his ground! Goes without saying, but I’m with you, Chief. Ain’t no one gonna exploit or erase history on my watch.”
“Yep, we just let the right people know, and they’ll know what to do,” R’nyath said. They just had to tell one of the Seedseers, right?
Sanson breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, my friends. For trusting in me.”
Guydelot snorted and looked away. “Don’t let it get to your head, though, eh? Had your decision not been to my liking, I would’ve knocked you flat on your arse and resigned from your swivin’ unit.”
Sanson shook his head and sighed. “So much for ‘You decide’… Never change, Guydelot.”
Guydelot smirked again. Sanson couldn’t help but smile back. R’nyath winked at Guydelot behind Sanson’s back, and observed his struggle for composure with great amusement.
A Serpent soldier came hurrying up to them. “Captain Sanson, right? Some fellow asked me to pass this letter to you.”
Sanson accepted it with confusion and opened it. His eyes went wide. “Th-this is from Nourval! ‘The journal is yours to do with as you wish. But ere you take it away, I would speak with R’nyath, and R’nyath alone, one last time. I await you in Dimwold, by the Percipient One.'”
“I guess he’s not asking me out because he misses my winning smile and my ear wiggles,” R’nyath said glumly.
“Oh, this reeks,” Guydelot growled. “Tell me it don’t.”
“But if this is a trap, why would Nourval ask for the strongest of all of us?” Sanson said reasonably. “He may truly have something important to say. Conversely, it would also offer us a chance to convey our intent. I am loath to expose you to danger, my friend, but will you go to this meeting?”
“I mean, you guys are just a linkpearl away,” R’nyath said. “I can probably hold out long enough for you to get me out of trouble.”
“I don’t like the idea of you going alone, but that’d defeat the purpose of the meeting,” Guydelot said. “At the first sign of danger, though, get out of there fast, all right?”
“Guys, guys!” R’nyath said, raising his hands. “Stop fussing over me like you’re my big sisters or something. I notice anything a hair out of place, I’ll call on the Bole and run.”
“All right,” Sanson said, still looking like he wanted to take it back.
Guydelot ruffled his hair. “You’d better.”
R’nyath pouted at them and loped off. They really were like his sisters.
It was a trap, obviously, but it was kind of a flimsy one. R’nyath shot two bandits with arrows, and one with his rifle, and that made them think twice about messing around with him – without Nourval, he couldn’t help noticing. So much for one more look at that nice hair. Or whatever he had to say.
Guydelot was pacing at the gate, and brightened up when he saw him. “Ah, you’re back. But where’s Sanson?”
“I thought he stayed here with you?” R’nyath said, confused. “Haven’t seen him since I left you two.”
Guydelot frowned. “Another letter arrived right after you left, asked for him to come as well. You’re really alone, then?” He peered behind R’nyath into the woods, as if Sanson might just be late. Then he snarled and clenched a fist. “Swive me! You were just the diversion – Sanson was their real target! I thought it’s be all right seeing as you’d be there, but I should’ve gone as well! Gods strike me down for a fool! If you didn’t see Sanson, they must’ve nabbed him on the way to Dimwold. Come on, we have to find him!”
“Of course, because he’d have the journal,” R’nyath said, running back down the path at Guydelot’s side.
“No, he gave it to me,” Guydelot said. “You didn’t think he was so daft as to bring the tome right back to them, even if he thought it was safe?”
Well, all R’nyath could think was that it was a good thing Guydelot hadn’t stepped outside of the castrum too.
“There! What’s that?” Guydelot exclaimed, pointing at something lying beneath a bush. R’nyath had completely missed it coming back from the ambush. “Sanson’s book!” He grabbed it up; it was lying open to the last page. “A message in blood, the godsdamned mummers. ‘We have your friend. We will send our price to the Adders’ Nest.'” He gritted his teeth and snapped the book shut. “…That whoreson can take his ransom and shove it up his arse! We’re gonna storm their hideout, tear ’em all new ones, and free Sanson!”
“Whoa, easy,” R’nyath tried to calm him, backing away from the raging, shouting boyfriend. “We don’t even know where they are right now.”
For a moment longer Guydelot glared down the path, then took a deep breath and sagged. “Dammit, R’nyath, how can you always be so calm? It’s downright contagious. And you’re right, of course. We don’t even know where the bastards’ve taken Sanson.” He turned about and began heading back up the path. “Come on, let’s hurry back to Gridania, to the Adders’ Nest.”
It took several days for Nourval’s demands to arrive at the Adders’ Nest, days that R’nyath and Guydelot had spent very busily. R’nyath had informed Heuloix of the situation, and that Guydelot would be keeping the journal until Sanson was back to hand it over himself; Heuloix might be trustworthy, but not everyone in Serpent Command was. The Elezen bard, meanwhile, had gone in search of Jehantel, hoping to learn more clues that could possibly help convince Nourval to back down. Whether or not Serpent Command would decide to do anything about Nourval or not, R’nyath and Guydelot would be ready.
An entire day after Nourval’s message had finally arrived, Heuloix had called for them both. “Command has made its decision. You will not wish to hear this… but the order rejects Nourval’s demands. He and his band are to be summarily eliminated.”
“What!?” Guydelot cried. “H-hold on just a second! You won’t even try to negotiate Sanson’s release?”
“We’re going to ensure that he’s safe before we start eliminating anything, right?” R’nyath asked, looking Vorsaile hard in the eye.
Vorsaile grimaced. “As a nation, we cannot bow to acts of intimidation. I’m afraid negotiation was never an option. And here I must repeat the order for you to relinquish the journal at once.”
Guydelot had not had a very tight lid on ever since Sanson had been kidnapped, and once again he blew up. “So what you’re saying is, you’re abandoning Sanson! You’re gonna let him die! Here’s the great Vainchelon, hero to all Gridanians, but you won’t even lend an ear to his descendant! Oh no, instead you choose the easy way out! Just kill everyone, even your own man! Wash away the bloody past with more blood! Just to be clear, I ain’t siding with Nourval – there’s no excusing his method! But there’s no excusing yours either! It’s bullshite, that’s what it is!”
R’nyath looked around at everyone in the Adders’ Nest staring. Guydelot was making a scene… hoping to use social pressure to bend fate to his will. “Aye, it’s bullshite!”
Heuloix raised a hand for patience. “Now, now, pray do not be so quick to despair, for I was simply relaying the outcome of command’s deliberation. A deliberation in which the Seedseers had no part, lest you fear.”
“You could’ve led with that,” R’nyath said. “And what difference does it make?”
“It makes a great deal of difference – to me,” Vorsaile said, with a tight little grin. “As you say, Guydelot, the orders are ‘bullshite’ – not the words I would have chosen, but you speak the truth nonetheless. And I, for one, have no intention of abiding by them. The decision was largely influenced by a small handful of our leadership, and not the boldest handful, if I may add. ‘Tis plain from the fact that they did not think to bring the matter before the Elder Seedseer. Captain Smyth is a dear comrade; like you, I would spare no aid in any effort to rescue him. And I am pleased to say that we are not alone in this sentiment. As a matter of fact, I have already reached out to my lancer and archer acquaintances, and they stand ready to aid our cause.”
“Aye,” said Luciane, of the Archers’ Guild, coming forward to join them. “When the call came, full many of the guild offered their bows. There is not a soul in the guild who knows not of R’nyath and Guydelot and Jehantel. Together, let us rescue Sanson.”
“Sanson once trained in the halls of the Lancers’ Guild,” said Ywain with a smirk, “and I should like to hear his excuse for being captured so easily. I’ve handpicked those of our ranks who can keep their heads above unsettling truths.”
Guydelot looked around with a slightly shocked expression, and R’nyath had to mirror him. Scuttlebutt had not previously said Sanson was terribly popular, but this blew that perception clean out of the water. Guydelot’s eyes sparkled. “Oho, now we’re talking! There’s still hope for the order if it has good blokes like you, Vorsie!”
Vorsaile twitched. “…I would thank you not to call me that. Now, our scouts report that Nourval and his band have since returned to the Twelveswood. They have made their lair in the North Shroud, near the shards of Dalamud. Even as we speak, the order mobilizes a unit for an assault. We must be there ahead of them. Set out at once; I will remain here to stall our forces as long as I can. Godsspeed!”
The Twin Adder intelligence led R’nyath and Guydelot right up to the shard of Dalamud that the Warriors of Light had once entered alongside Alisaie. He had vague memories of the twisted plant and stone monsters they’d fought to clear a path to the shard, but they had apparently all been eradicated. Good, they’d been a huge pain. All that awaited them was a few bandits, Nourval, and Sanson. Sanson was bound and gagged, and looked covered in bruises, but he appeared to be alive, and awake; his eyes were full of concern as he watched Guydelot and R’nyath approaching.
Nourval had changed into an archaic, knightly set of armour. Inherited from his ancestors, perhaps? It was actually pretty stylish in its own way, and it had a lovely burgundy tabard. R’nyath really wished he wasn’t such a hateful arrogant prick. “Well, well, I was not expecting you two,” Nourval called to them. It looked like he had had his shoulder healed up since their last encounter. “Here to deliver the Gridanians’ answer, are we?”
“You wish, you craven whoreson!” Guydelot shouted at him. “Whatever your demands are, it ain’t got nothing to do with us!”
Nourval’s mouth turned down in disappointment. “So you are acting alone. I thought you had some wits. Or do you care that little for your friend?”
R’nyath smiled sweetly. “Kill Sanson before you get your answer, and all deals are off – everything you’ve worked for up in smoke. Or do you care so little for your goal?”
Nourval’s eyes narrowed. “Hmph, mayhap you have some wits after all. But clever though your ploy may be, have you the strength to back it up?”
Guydelot nodded, smirking. “Oh, don’t you worry on that score. We’re gonna knock you around so hard, all the scales will fall from your eyes. And if that ain’t enough to make you see clearly, I’ll even slap in a song – something lively to wake you up from your misguided beliefs!”
Nourval snarled, grabbing his lance; he and the other bandits started forwards towards the two bards. “I will suffer none to stand in the way of my ambition!”
Guydelot snorted and loosed a volley of arrows together with R’nyath. “Your ambition’s shite, an’ we’re gonna make you see sense even if it means beatin’ you senseless!”
R’nyath laughed and bounded to one side as Nourval came at him. Sanson hadn’t been accidentally shot where he sat forlornly tied up, and he was quite willing to beat Nourval over the head with his bow if it kept the man away from Guydelot, who wasn’t quite as good in close quarters. Previously, the defending job had fallen to Sanson, and as Nourval’s spear launched crashing waves of earth aether at R’nyath, he almost rethought his position…
Nourval’s henchmen were down – not dead, but an arrow in the arm or leg tended to hamper one’s ability to hurt people. So all he had to focus on was dodging Nourval, aided by Guydelot’s enchanted singing.
Of course, Nourval hated the song, hated that it was bolstering R’nyath’s strength and reflexes, and turned his attention to Guydelot, binding him in place with earth aether and charging him to stab him. R’nyath darted up to him before he could reach his friend, and caught him with a crack across the head with his bow, sending him to the green grass. Ooh, had that been too hard? He tested his bow and it didn’t seem to have any fractures, so he was going to assume it was still sound for the time being. At any rate, there were more important things to worry about than Nourval, and he and Guydelot ran to Sanson.
Behind them, Nourval painfully picked himself up and began to make a run for it… until Luciane, Ywain, and Jehantel made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere. “Why!?” he cried in a despairing tone. “Why do you not understand!? Why do you not see the Ala Mhigans for the filth they are!?”
Guydelot spun, but instead of a blaze of fury, he reached for his harp and began to sing. “Let each spear be thrust for everlasting peace. Let each arrow be loosed for the forest and the trees. And the greatest rule of all, for all to embrace: let each life be lived for smiles on every face.”
Nourval slowly turned, pale, jaw dropped. “Th-that song… How do you know it!?”
Guydelot offered him a wistful smile. “I just learned it recently, with a spot of help from Jehantel here. He showed me Vainchelon’s grave, which I understand your family’s been tending for generations. The song was engraved on the headstone. It’s a fine piece, and it ain’t hard to see why your ancestor loved it. Taking up arms that we might have peace, so the words go. Words that came from Vainchelon himself, as a matter of fact. The Autumn War gave birth to a good many anthems, and a good many of ’em borrowed his words. Take a look, and you’ll notice a recurring theme: peace and harmony.”
Nourval flushed. “How dare you preach to me of my ancestor!? For generations, my family has sought justice for Lord Vainchelon! You couldn’t possibly comprehend our pain!”
R’nyath quietly worked on Sanson’s knots. Boy, they were numerous and tight. Sanson was staring at Guydelot in admiration.
“Not us, perhaps, but I daresay your geat-grandsire, Lord Landrenel, could comprehend it better than any,” Jehantel said to Nourval. “He witnessed his own sire murdered before his eyes. He knew the painful truth, yet he chose to keep it a secret. Why was this, do you suppose?” He locked sincere eyes with Nourval. “It was because he knew that, above all else, his sire desired peace. Had it been made known that their hero was struck down by treachery, ordinary Gridanians would not have been satisfied with protecting their homes. Nay, they would have demanded justice. They would have demanded blood. The war would have raged on, leaving yet more death and destruction in its wake. And the peace that Lord Vainchelon dreamed of would have gone up in smoke. Knowing this, Lord Landrenel…”
Nourval cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Spare me your lies! Lord Vainchelon desired Ala Mhigo’s destruction! You cannot tell me otherwise!”
“Tell me, young man, did it not strike you as odd that I knew of Lord Vainchelon’s grave?” asked Jehantel. “That which your family has kept secret all these years? The explanation is simple: I had the honour of knowing Lord Landrenel. Like you, he admired Lord Vainchelon and everything he stood for. And what he stood for, first of all, was peace and harmony. If you would honour both their memories, you would do well to honour these ideals.”
R’nyath nodded. A fellow didn’t get assassinated at a peace conference because he wanted to keep making war. Maybe Gylbarde had feared that Vainchelon would not be stopped by any other means, but Vainchelon had gone in good faith, it sounded like. Still, that was a tough position to be in, especially for Lord Landrenel.
“No…” Nourval stammered. “Th-this cannot be… My ancestors despised Ala Mhigans. Y-yes, they all did. If not, everything I’ve laboured for… all the blood and tears… have been for naught…”
Sanson stood, finally free of his ropes, and walked forward a little unsteadily. “I ask not that you forgive. But know that neither will we forget. When the time is right, I will see to it that all know of Lord Vainchelon’s great sacrifice. This I swear in Nophica’s name.”
Nourval looked at him, then fell to his knees, weeping.
Sanson looked at him with compassion. “I only ask that you believe, as your ancestors fervently did, in a brighter future – one of our own shaping, undarkened by shadows of the past.”
“Sanson!” Guydelot ran to the blinking Hyur, grabbed his face, and kissed him soundly on the mouth. Sanson flailed wildly for a moment before falling into the kiss… and then hurriedly pushing Guydelot off him.
“Guydelot!” He was scarlet, and unable to make eye contact with anyone. “Don’t… not in front of everyone!” he hissed.
At the push, R’nyath had almost felt Guydelot’s heart lurch as if it were his own, but with those words, he grinning until he felt like his face would split. He’d known Guydelot’s feelings weren’t unrequited. Just… more privately. Well, Sanson wasn’t a bard himself, after all.
Jehantel, Luciane, and Ywain conferred a bit, and the end of the debate was: they would let Nourval go, with his surviving followers. Even after all he had done, which really did verge on treason, and there were probably quite a few Serpent scouts who would be disgruntled with that decision, but Jehantel had hope that a new seed had been planted in his mind. And after all, folks could change; maybe he would fight with them instead of against them in the future.
They all left, and then it was just Guydelot and R’nyath, fussing over Sanson. R’nyath got out his astrologian globe to do what he could, but Sanson wasn’t badly injured at all. “Worry not, I am quite well,” he assured him. “Thanks to the both of you, it ended with only a few cuts and bruises for me. But ere I may rest, I must see to one last task: making good on my promise to Nourval. Guydelot, have you still the journal?”
“What do you take me for?” Guydelot said, handing him two books. “Here’s Gylbarde’s and yours. Try not to do that again, eh?”
“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Sanson said, blushing slightly. “Come, let us return to the Adders’ Nest.”
R’nyath dropped back a bit on the pretext of sorting his gear, so he could give the others space to talk – though certainly they’d have plenty of time to talk after he left, too. But they probably had a lot to say to each other right away.
And they did. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but Miqo’te ears were sharp, and hanging back far enough to actually not hear would look even more suspicious. “Did you have to do that in front of everyone?” Sanson whispered.
“No, but I wanted to,” Guydelot said unrepentantly. Then went on more hesitantly. “You… you’re all right with…?”
“…Yes,” Sanson said, turning very red. “I… er… never actually thought about it before. I didn’t realize that your feelings… That my feelings… But… it… makes sense.”
“Makes sense…!?” Guydelot struggled to keep his voice down. “The only reason I joined your bloody ‘unit’… After all the mutual pinin’ we did through Coerthas and Dravania, and that’s the best you got?”
“Hush, he’ll hear! All right, all right, I admire you, I’ve always admired you, even when you’re the most irritating man I know-”
“Because I’m the most irritating man you know,” Guydelot muttered.
Sanson folded his arms and looked away. “…Thank you for coming to rescue me.”
Guydelot reached over to gently pull his face around. “You’re welcome.” And he kissed him again.
“I ship it,” R’nyath whispered to them. Sanson turned red again; Guydelot smirked at R’nyath, giving him a rude gesture which R’nyath cheerfully returned.
“We’re getting close now,” Sylphie said, looking around with luminous eyes at the rather barren-looking trees about them. Clouds were gathered overhead, but there was no rain. “I rarely venture this far south… The air always feels so heavy.”
“It’s a bit depressing out here,” Rinala agreed. “But I bet there aren’t a lot of Garleans, either. It doesn’t seem like a place that anyone would want to live in…”
“I guess that makes it a good place to live if you don’t want to be found?” Sylphie said to her. “When you’re around, I find I can hear the voices of the elementals more clearly. I suppose it’s easier to be tranquil when you have a veteran white mage at your side!”
Rinala blushed. “I-I guess? I’m glad to help!”
Sylphie suddenly stiffened. “Did you see her? I think that might be Gatty’s mother! Come on, let’s go!”
But before they’d gone another three paces, the blonde woman stepped from the trees, her bow drawn and ready. “Get away from us, conjurers, or I swear this arrow will find a new home in your meddling heart!”
Both of them froze in place. “Why… are you so angry at us?” Rinala asked. They hadn’t done anything, had they?
“I know why you’re here, and you’ll not have her!” snarled the woman. “Now unless you want to sprout feathers, it’s time for you to leave!”
“You’re Gatty’s mother, aren’t you?” Sylphie called. “We’re not here to take her away – we’re here to help her!” The woman seemed angry, but angry people were often afraid, maybe even afraid of things that weren’t true. They had to help her understand.
The glare – and the arrow – did not waver. “I’ll not fall for your lies, conjurers! Get away…” She gasped, and now her bow did waver, her pull on the string loosening. “Get away from us!” She fell to her knees, the bow and arrows falling from her grasp as she pressed her hands to her chest in pain. “Ugh… Not… now…”
“Mama!?” cried Gatty, rushing from hiding to her mother’s side. Her poofy hat slipped off, revealing a pair of horns on her head.
“No, Gatty!” gasped her mother. “They’ll… see you… I’m fine! It’s just… one of my turns…”
“Gatty, you- you’re a Padjal!?” Sylphie cried. “The aether… it’s overwhelming! Rinala!”
“Voidsent!” Rinala exclaimed, grabbing her cane. “We can’t let them hurt them!”
“I’ll take care of them, you strike down the voidsent!” Sylphie said, hurrying to the huddled pair with her wand.
Rinala nodded and focused. There were so many voidsent, and Gatty’s uncontrolled power was breaking holes right into the void, or so it seemed. It was like playing a game of whack-an-eft. With demons. Her tail lashed as she sought her targets.
When Gatty’s emotions finally wound down, leaving her unconscious and sleeping, the voidsent stopped. Rinala cautiously turned to the others, her tail slightly fluffed. “Are you all okay?”
“We are unharmed,” Sylphie said. “Gatty’s just exhausted from expelling so much aether. She’ll wake up after she’s had a chance to rest. Speaking of which,” she said, turning to the mother, “you should be resting, too. Your heart’s in bad shape, isn’t it? I managed to calm the attack, but the condition itself is beyond my art to heal.”
“May I see?” Rinala said, and when the woman didn’t stop her, reached out to examine her aether. Sylphie was right, though. Some conditions were so rare that no one knew what spells would treat them, and this was one of them.
“It grows worse by the day,” said the woman. “I am grateful for all you’ve done today, conjurers, but naught has changed: my daughter stays with me. Please, just leave us…”
“Listen to me: we did not come to whisk away your child,” Sylphie said, with some exasperation. “If we’d wanted to, we could have. But we just came to learn what was upsetting the elementals and what could be done to ease their disquiet. And it seems the answer lies in stopping the voidsent from coming after Gatty.”
Gatty’s mother – Sanche – still needed some persuading, but faced with two very earnest young woman, she came around. Her story was simple: with her husband dead, she had been unwilling to give up her only child, even though Padjals were supposed to be raised by conjurers as children of the Forest.
And now Gatty’s powers, which she had never learned to control, or even what they were, were running amok, attracting voidsent whenever she was upset or afraid. “Is there naught that can be done!?” Sanche cried. “We just want to live in peace…”
Sylphie and Rinala sat in thought for a bit. “We could teach her to control her powers,” Rinala said, adding with a bit of a gulp, “without telling E-Sumi-Yan.”
Sylphie looked up. “Yes! That’s a great idea! Well, you have to go with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, so it will mostly be me.”
“I don’t want to put this responsibility all on you,” Rinala said.
Sylphie shook her head. “You have other responsibilities too, ones that I can’t help with. But look, I can teach Gatty to control her aether, and continue to treat Sanche, and solve this problem with the voidsent at the same time! All without telling the Conjurers’ Guild, of course.”
“We’ll have to be really clever about it,” Rinala reminded her. “E-Sumi-Yan is smart.”
“I know,” Sylphie said. “Trust me.”
“Thank you – this means so much to us,” Sanche said fervently. “We can talk more inside the house…”
Gatty was stirring, and sat up rubbing her eyes. “Hello again, Gatty!” Sylphie said to her. “I used my conjury to help your mother feel better. Would you like to learn some magic, too?”
“Really!?” Gatty bounced to her feet, eyes sparkling. “You know magic that can help Mama? Please teach me!”
Sylphie laughed. “I will, I will. I think your mother wants to talk about the arrangement some more, but we’ll get started soon.” She turned to Rinala. “Please don’t worry about us while you’re off doing Scion things. I’ll take care of everything.”
Sylphie really was grown up. Maybe more grown up than Rinala, right now. “Okay, but if you do need help, just send me a message, okay? I’ll be thinking of you.”
The Xaela woman, fire in her eyes, marched up to Chuchupa, still covered in Mamool Ja blood. “I lacked the courage to ask before, but now I must: Chuchupa, would you… would you return with me to the Azim Steppe? There is much my people could teach you, just as you could teach us. With your help, we would never need fear the will of Karash ever again. Please, Chuchupa, say you will join my clan.”
Bugger it! was Chuchupa’s first reaction. She liked Dorgono, but why’d she gotta ask like she was proposing marriage? She couldn’t say she wasn’t tempted, of course – Dorgono sure knew how to fight, and maybe folk in her tribe did too, despite their weird thing with this Karash. And her pals among the Roegadyn warriors were… Well, Curious Gorge at least was becoming completely barnacle-jointed for no apparent reason.
“Nice o’ ye to ask, but I gotta refuse,” was her eventual answer. “Achiyo and company need me to keep beating up Garleans, or else they’ll try and swipe all o’ Eorzea.”
“By the Mother, of course!” Dorgono exclaimed. “How could I be so blind? I could never deprive Eorzea of her protector. Let us return to the others… and please do not mention I asked.”
“No problem,” Chuchupa said. “Pleasure fightin’ with ye.”
“And with you.”
And just like that, Dorgono was off back to the East as suddenly as she’d arrived. A shame, really. If she’d stuck around she would have made a good comrade-in-arms. But she had her own goals, and she’d accomplished them, and she wasn’t going to screw around out of sentiment. Chuchupa respected that. Dorgono waved to them from the stern of the ship as she set off from Moraby Bay, and Chuchupa and the Roegadyn warriors waved back.
When she turned away to trot off to the tavern, she found Broken Mountain beside her. “Once again we are indebted to you, Chuchupa. Not only have we eliminated the Mamool Ja threat, we’ve helped Dorgono on her way to reuniting with her people.”
“Not a bad day’s work,” Chuchupa said with satisfaction. “It calls for ale.”
“Yet there still remains the matter of my brother,” Broken Mountain said.
“What, ye figured out what’s busted his balls so bad?”
“Perhaps I have. He would not dare admit it, but I knew from the moment he laid eyes on Dorgono that he was in love. And therein lies the problem. The only love he has ever known is that for his axe and the thrill of battle. In light of her less-than-favourable treatment of him since his defeat here at the Wolves’ Den, I fear his love and loathing for her are at odds with one another. Unable to get a grasp on his emotions, he’s lost touch with his inner beast.”
Chuchupa gagged. “Gods, it’s worse than I thought! There’s no savin’ him now. I never woulda guessed he’d get soppy in love.”
“He will be distraught in her absence, to be sure, but as they say, time heals all wounds,” Broken Mountain said.
“If t’were the case, folk would end their lives happier than they started,” Chuchupa said. “Nah, he’s not gonna be no fun now. Call me when he feels like beatin’ stuff up again.”
Broken Mountain looked askance at her. “You dismiss him, but like you, he never thought he would fall in love. No one can predict how they will change. What will occur when the same fate befalls you?”
“It’s honestly not in me nature to mope,” Chuchupa said. “If that were to happen to me – an’ I’m not sayin’ it will – I doubt anything will change. Ye can point an’ laugh if it does, I ain’t a bad sport.”
“I await the day,” Broken Mountain said, and Chuchupa stuck out her tongue at him. She didn’t have time of day for soppy romance. It would have to ambush her in a dark alley, and even then if she started acting like Rinala she would get someone to put her out of their misery first.
“I wish you an ahoy and an avast, my honoured matey!” Oboro said, dressed in plain Western clothing, waving to Rinala. She gave him a quizzical look; the contrast between the pirate words and his polite, accented voice was rather comical. “Ah, forgive me – I was just practising my Lominsan dialect. How do you – er, ye – reckon it sounds?”
“I think you will need to practice a bit more,” she told him. “You’re saying too many of the right letters. But maybe Jacke can help you with that.” It seemed that she’d only just left Sylphie when a message had arrived for her from Oboro. Well, the Scions hadn’t been called together yet, so she had time to spare for her rogue and shinobi friends.
Jacke looked up with a delighted grin as Rinala pushed open the door of the Dutiful Sisters, Oboro in tow. “Well, if it ain’t the dimberest damber of ’em all. I trust ye’ve been keepin’ yer stabbers sharpened? What with you and Oboro on the job, I reckon all’ll be bob afore the darkmans comes ’round.”
“I hope so,” Rinala said, while Oboro blinked rapidly, trying to parse the Lominsan underworld dialect. “It must be pretty difficult if you’re asking both of us!”
It didn’t really seem that difficult at first; V’kebbe had already sussed out the gist of the problem. It seemed some Easterners had been captured by Carvallain and the Kraken’s Arms, and upon being escorted into Limsa Lominsa, had absconded with but one item from their ship – when they had promised to give up every piece of treasure in exchange for their lives. She thought it sounded a bit silly, that it shouldn’t be a big deal over one scroll, but all the pirates disagreed. And Jacke’s further intelligence that some of the runaways had been at the Drowning Wench being awfully loud about how much they’d sell the scroll for was… really suspicious.
Well, they wanted her help, she was one of the sneakiest of the lot of them, and she didn’t mind helping more friends, and of course they wanted Oboro because of his Eastern knowledge. She had to get back to Castrum Oriens soon, Raubahn was planning a new mission that needed all available Scions, but she still had another two days by her reckoning.
The Easterners were not hard to track, and soon the rogues and ninja came to a camp on the beaches of Bloodshore. A small band of men in strange clothes were sitting around a fire, drinking excessively. The three companions crouched in cover, watching them. “This garb…” Oboro said in surprise. “Why, these men are samurai from Hingashi! Whatever is the meaning of this?”
“Why don’t we ask ’em?” Jacke said. “Rinala, ye’re a right sweet-lookin’ little mort, nip out there and whiddle where that scroll’s at, will ye?”
“Fear not, we shall back you up if they draw blades,” Oboro said.
She nodded and popped out of hiding, approaching them with a friendly wave and what she hoped was her cutest smile. “Um, e-excuse me! I’m looking for some people with a certain scroll and you match their description…”
The men jumped up – some more unsteadily than others – and reached for their swords. “Heh… You just had to poke your nose in our business, eh? You leave us no choice…”
She squeaked and threw down a startled smokebomb; Oboro did the same from the back of their group, and in the ensuing confusion, the samurai were easy marks. As the smoke cleared again, Oboro quickly searched the ground around, and the bodies. “The scroll is nowhere to be seen, nor is anything resembling a ship. If I did not know better, I would say they were a simple group of ruffians enjoying their ill-gotten grog.”
There was a snicker from right nearby, and they turned to see a robed and masked man observing them with folded arms. How’d he gotten so close without any of them hearing or seeing him? “The dim one sees, but does he truly see? No – these unfortunate men were but pawns in a grand scheme, as disposable as the bottles that now litter the shore. Meanwhile, your true quarry has boarded a trader and sails for Kugane even as we speak, under the auspices of the East Aldenard Trading Company, no less! So cunning a scheme, I wish I’d thought of it myself – or did I? Ahahaha!”
Jacke raised one of his daggers warily. “How do ye know all – bugger me, ye’re the cove from the House o’ Sticks!”
The man giggled again and dramatically cast off his cloak, revealing himself to be Karasu, Oboro’s… rival? He posed in his quirky way. Rinala thought he rather enjoyed pretending to be crazier than he really was.
“Karasu Redbeak!?” Oboro exclaimed, no less startled.
Karasu grinned happily and gestured with great drama. “Childhood friends turned bitter enemies, then friends once more – reunited after far too long! Our hero returns, and the audience swoons! O, what a joyous day – or is it?” He dropped his pose and wagged a finger at Oboro. “I’ll say this much, dim one: for once, you’ve managed to surprise me. To think that the oh-so-serious Oboro would lie to his elders to avoid having to make the journey home – only to find he wasn’t welcome to begin with! Oh, the irony of it all!”
Oboro glared. “Enough of your preening and prattling, Karasu! I want answers. How did you know we were here? Just what is your connection to the thieves we pursue?”
“Ahahaha! You mean the thieves who already eluded your clumsy grasp – just as I am about to do? I fear that is a story for another day!” Karasu disappeared in a puff of smoke.
For a moment they stared at where he had been. Rinala didn’t bother looking around for him; Karasu was probably the stealthiest person she knew, including all three of them.
Jacke turned to Oboro. “Say, is there anywhere we can have a few whids – ye know, secret-like?”
“Bah! Ever the slippery bird, that one.” Oboro scowled, as the trio entered the Doman hide-out by the river. Jacke looked around, appraising the building’s shabby appearance, and seemed to approve of what he saw. “Karasu Redbeak… Of all the places I thought our search might lead us, never in my wildest dreams did I think it would lead us to him!”
“What do you think he is doing, how do you think he’s involved in this?” Rinala asked.
“He all but admitted to masterminding this false trail for us to follow,” Oboro said. “Which then begs the question – why would he give us a hint, after we were led astray so neatly?”
“He’s such a jerk!” she exclaimed. “Why is he so mean to you all the time!?”
“That is… another matter,” he said, looking confused. “One that has little to do with our mission.”
Jacke frowned, crossing his arms. “Come square with me, Oboro. Just who is this Karasu cove? Can we trust him, or is he like as not to stick us his stabbers in our back the moment we turn a blind eye?”
Oboro flinched. “N-no! I mean, yes! I mean he’s neither – or both?”
“He tries to kill us, and then he helps us!” Rinala said, putting her ears back. “He always does this, and I can never tell what the purpose is.”
“Perhaps I should say… it’s complicated,” Oboro finished lamely.
Jacke chuckled a little. “Judgin’ from yer reaction, it sure seems as much. Anyway, if our men have set sail for Hingashi, I reckon we’ve no choice but to do the same. I wasn’t exactly preparin’ for a long voyage, but damned if I’ll leave this job half-done.”
“All the way to Hingashi?” Rinala cried. “That’s so far! I guess I won’t see you for a while?”
“Aye, Limsa’ll have to muddle its way along without me for a spell – and I might just as well bring one or two o’ the others for backup. That said, ‘shamed as I am to admit it, this is ol’ Jacke’s first journey to the Far East – I wouldn’t know Kugane from a rum doxy’s arse, and I don’t know a rogue what can do his work without knowin’ the lay of the land.”
Oboro brightened. “Worry not, Captain Jacke! I have travelled there on many an occasion to procure the tools of my trade from the finest Hingan artisans. It would be my pleasure to serve as your guide. Kugane is a city where anything can happen, and there is no telling what dangers await us there.”
“Too bad you won’t be joinin’ us, Rinala, but we all know ye’re a right busy mort. And you ain’t honour-bound to see this through. …I hope this scroll’s worth the job.”
“It must be, or else Karasu would not have bothered to appear to us,” Oboro said. “I think.”
Pipin had taken Alphinaud, Alisaie, Achiyo, and Kekeniro to reconnoitre Castellum Velodyna in preparation for their assault. Raubahn was assembling and training his forces, but they needed to scout the place so the strategists could make battle plans. The other Scions were divided between helping out at Rhalgr’s Reach, and assisting in Raubahn’s preparations.
It was a long, quiet evening, as the sun sank into the west and the silent sparkle of stars began to glow through the heavens. Achiyo watched them rather than the fort – there were enough people observing, and she and Alisaie were more there to provide a guard should the group be discovered by an Imperial patrol. Somewhere in the Northwest, Aymeric might see those same beautiful stars… if it were not cloudy in Ishgard, and if he were outside and looking up. Which he probably wasn’t. So much for romantic thoughts.
Pipin, Kekeniro, and Alphinaud were comparing notes on the Imperial strength present, when suddenly booming explosions rent the quiet night. “Cannon fire!” exclaimed Pipin. “Where did it come from?” The bangs echoed from the cliffs of the badlands, back and forth, to and fro… but the strongest echoes had come from the north. Everyone jumped to their feet, heedless of the danger of discovery.
“Smoke! There!” Alisaie cried, pointing. “Is that- Oh gods, it’s Rhalgr’s Reach!” There was a scarlet glow over the valley, illuminating the underside of rising plumes of smoke. There must be large fires. Cannon blasts boomed again.
Alphinaud had a hand to his linkpearl, but he shook his head. “It’s no use – I think someone’s jamming our communications.”
“From this distance?” Kekeniro said. “How would they… Unless they’re covering this entire region… But that would take more power than…”
Achiyo reached out to Teleport, but she could feel that the aetheryte in Rhalgr’s Reach was disrupted, its aether too confused to permit safe transit. “We cannot Teleport, we must ride.” Their chocobos were still to hand, and she swung herself into the saddle. Kekeniro summoned his carbuncle at riding size.
“You don’t think… Could this be part of a coordinated attack?” Alisaie exclaimed, turning to her own chocobo.
“Too early to draw conclusions,” Pipin said. “We must abort the assault and return to the Reach at once.” The small group bolted northwards.
They reached the mouth of the canyon trail and found a ragged flock of refugees fleeing with Arenvald, who was supporting a wounded M’naago.
“Krile!” Alphinaud cried, dismounting and running to her.
“Alphinaud!” Krile replied, relief in her voice. Achiyo reined in her chocobo impatiently, silently waiting for the news. She was burning to get inside the Reach, to see what had happened, to help however she could.
“We saw the smoke and heard explosions. Are we under attack?” Alphinaud asked.
Krile’s eyes were wide with shock. “The Imperials were all over us before we realized what was happening. No one knew where to run or what to do – it was chaos. Lyse and Master Kemp rallied the guards and bought us enough time to get some of the wounded to safety, but I haven’t seen either of them since…”
“Confound it!” Pipin cried. “If we lose the Reach, this will all have been for naught!”
“We are going in,” Achiyo said. “We will save everyone we can. Kekeniro, we await your orders.”
“Arenvald, will you be all right to escort these people to the Wall?” Kekeniro asked.
Arenvald nodded grimly, tightening his hold on M’naago. “Aye, sir.”
“If we can hold back the Imperials until Father sends reinforcements, we may yet turn the tide…” Pipin said.
“I’ll join you,” Krile said. “I’ve done all I can for these people, and you’ll be crying out for a healer in there.”
“I fear you’re right,” Alphinaud said. “Come, there is no time to lose!”
Coming out of the canyon into the valley was like stepping into one of the seven hells. The tents were burning, and the stench of smoke and blood was heavy in the air. Screams echoed from the walls of the valley. “Gods help us, they’re killing everyone!”
“We have to stop them while there’s still someone left to save!” Alisaie cried, dismounting from her chocobo and immediately charging ahead with her rapier. Her passion was going to get her killed.
“Wait, Alisaie!” called Kekeniro.
“It’s worse than I feared…” Alphinaud breathed.
Achiyo took a deep breath as she dismounted and almost choked. “With me! Stay together and press forward!” She brandished her sword high, casting Flash both to blind her enemies and to mark her position for allies.
Everything became a blur in the night. She almost couldn’t hear Kekeniro’s tactics. Kami, how she hated flames and blood and screams at night! Once more it was happening… but now she was on the other side, and the view was no better. Her heart hammered in her chest – but Imperials made distinctive targets, and she charged at them with a shout. Her friends beside her were shouting in horror and shock at the things they saw. She had no words, she could not allow herself to truly see what was before her in the moment, torn between fear and fury.
She left the hostages to the others, trying to focus on rallying those who could fight, providing cover to those fleeing, making a wall against the Imperials. Gradually, their corner of the Reach came under control, a bulwark of order, and Kekeniro formed a line to sweep through, counterattacking though they had no cover against Imperial gunfire. Despite their progress, her heart did not quiet against the helpless feeling of too late, seeing all the Resistance bodies lying scattered across the sandy earth.
A semi-familiar face stepped into her path – Fordola, the Imperial Ala Mhigan, commander of the Skulls. “Well, well. A rescue party, is it? We’ll see about that.”
Achiyo was not stopping for her; she was going straight through them all until they were out of the Reach. She set her blood-stained sword and shield and charged. Fordola met her blow for blow, her teeth gritted with determination. Achiyo did not care about her determination, where it came from or what it signified.
“Who in the seven hells are you!?” Fordola grunted, rapidly falling back from offensive posture to defensive posture; Achiyo was faster than she was, and stronger. Achiyo’s grim silence seemed unnerving to her, and her determination was fraying in the face of such cold fury.
Achiyo parried her next thrust and smacked her away hard with her shield, knocking her to the ground. She heard her friends shouting in the background – there was Lyse’s voice, thank the kami, and Krile calling for Alphinaud’s aid in healing. Fordola scrambled away before Achiyo could kill her… to the safety of a huge dark shadow.
“See to your men, Pilus,” the shadow said to Fordola.
“Uh- As you command, my lord.” Fordola got to her feet, saluted, and backed away.
Achiyo stared; she had not expected Imperial Crown Prince Zenos himself to be here. She remembered when she had seen Varis in the Sea of Clouds; his son was like him in height and build, wearing armour that made him seem twice as large as an ordinary man, but instead of a crowned helm he wore a frowning horned mask like a legatus. His long strawberry-blond hair blew in the wind behind him. Illuminated by the fires, he seemed stained in blood.
The armoured figure towered over her; she watched him warily. She had heard stories of his coldness and his cruelty. This would be the fight of her life. “Your friends were a disappointment,” he said, his voice cultured and calm. “But you… You will entertain me, will you not?”
“I am not here to amuse you, my lord,” she said.
“If we kill him, here and now, we can end this!” Alisaie cried, stepping up beside her, Pipin on the other side.
The giant made a contemptuous noise. “I have no need for this rabble.” He raised his sword. “Begone!” With a bright magenta-tinged flash, they were all thrown back.
“Seven hells… Not even Father could do that…” Pipin was clinging to his sword to stay standing, completely winded. Alisaie had been knocked further and was lying still – unconscious, Achiyo prayed, not dead. If they were taken out so easily, then not even the Warriors of Light should stand much of a chance if they were not assembled! If she could have but Vivienne and Aentfryn at her side… but they were not there. She had to do this alone.
She herself had been knocked to the ground on her side with a clatter of armour, but she was only a little bruised, and clambered to her feet again. What had been that attack!? She had never fought a mortal who could wield power like that, only primals. Was he not Garlean? How could he use magic at all, let alone such strong magic? There was no way to dodge it that she could see…
Well, if she must weather attacks like that to protect the others, then she would. But hopefully other Warriors of Light would arrive soon… Her rage could not sustain her through this battle alone. She set her House Fortemps shield before her and readied herself to fight.
Zenos put his head to one side, considering her. “Hm. You yet stand. Mayhap you have potential.” He chuckled. “Give me something to remember!”
She had to dance around him and his long reach; he fought with a katana, like a samurai of her homeland. Unlike the samurai of her homeland, he knew how to fight with Eorzeans, so she had no advantage like she’d had against such samurai. And he was armoured like a battleship. And yes, somehow he was using magical attacks; he had not repeated that bright flash of an attack, but with wind and lightning, he struck at her, testing her reflexes. His blows were heavy, and she tried to save her energy by dodging, but he would wear her down quickly that way too.
Slowly the reality of the situation made itself clear to her. She could fight as well as when she had fought Ravana, or Nidhogg, or Zurvan. But it wasn’t good enough, not on her own. And most of the others wouldn’t be able to stand up against the attacks he was dealing out. Her anger was being subsumed by her fear. She could fight him all night, but she could not kill him. She wasn’t strong enough to penetrate his defences, to break his guard. To take revenge for all the lives he’d carelessly destroyed.
He seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “Better… But lacking nevertheless.” He spun his blade and – that bright flash again! She cast Hallowed Ground and yet it still flung her back, her sword torn from her hand and flying somewhere behind her. How…? Had her spell failed? Was he truly that strong?
He loomed over her. No, she would not die here either! She might not be able to kill him, but she would not let him kill her! No matter how many times he cast that spell, she would always stand again. She staggered to her feet once more, weaponless, but she backed away with her shield. She could not panic, could not allow her movements to become desperate, desperate though she was. If she could keep him occupied until someone could come to help her…
He nodded to her. “It would seem I misjudged you. This ends now.”
He swung, and his sword cut through her shield – through her breastplate – she went skidding across the ground in agony, splashing blood in her wake.
She faintly heard him spit the word “Pathetic.” Faintly heard a metallic thud, as if he’d dropped his sword. Then she didn’t hear anything for a minute.
“Achiyo! Achiyo!” She heard Kekeniro calling her and her eyes fluttered open. He was channelling aether into her frantically, terror in his wide grey eyes. “I’m so sorry – I messed up! I thought you could hold against him – I’m so sorry!”
His healing was barely staunching the blood that flowed from her chest. He looked up and stepped aside; a brighter healing flash lit up the space around her, and Rinala appeared, shaking. “Achiyo, are you okay? What happened?”
“I…” Achiyo slowly pried herself from the ground to sitting. Her injury was cured, the pain gone, but she felt as heavy as lead. “What are you doing here, Rinala?”
“I got here with Raubahn and the others,” she said. So the reinforcements had arrived. “Thank the Twelve that wound didn’t make it to your heart! You’re going to be all right now. I… I have to go keep healing!”
“I should too,” Kekeniro said, wringing his hands. “I… We’ll debrief later.” He ran off. There was Aentfryn, R’nyath, Lilidi, even Tam was there, dim in the firelight but recognizable.
Achiyo sat, whole in body, if not in spirit, and contemplated her shield. There was a thick steel bar from top to bottom in the centre of the back, and it was notched near the top. A few yalms away lay Zenos’s katana, broken in half. She touched her healed wound. It had crossed the scar left behind by Zurvan. She would need to get her armour and shield repaired again. Re-enchanted. She had to be able to take a blow even from the Imperial Prince.
And then she had to become stronger. Never before she had come to Eorzea had she imagined she would end up fighting gods on a regular basis. And after she did, she would never have imagined that it wouldn’t be enough against a mortal.
Armoured sandals in front of her. She looked up to see Raubahn staring at her in concern. “You all right, lass?”
She couldn’t answer. She had failed again, and when it mattered again.
He knelt down beside her. “To best the likes of you… Zenos is not what I took him to be.”
“He is as strong as a primal,” she whispered. “I… I cannot fight him alone.”
“Next time, you won’t be alone,” he said. “We’ll see to that.”
Black boots now, and Vivienne was there, holding out Achiyo’s sword with a grim, reassuring smile.