Chapter 67

  Where do I stand?

  Life was a matter of perspectives.

  "Beautiful view, don't you agree?"

  One day you were at the top of the world, the top researcher for the secret branch of an even more secret organization, delving into arcane studies and forbidden knowledge, with the backing of the strongest human country in the region to your name.

  "It could be better…"

  You would just think, with no one putting their nose in your affairs, with the extraordinary tools at your disposal and the renewed Scriptures as your personal guards, that one would be pretty much untouchable.

  And if a powerful undead, the kind of lich whose name was so dreadful as to be unspeakable, offered you an opportunity for power, why would you refuse? The reward was well worth the hazard.

  The world was your banquet, wasn't it? And to take everything, your birthright.

  "So, let's start from the beginning. How did you meet the Night Lich?"

  Now, Khajiit Dale Badantel who had been led to believe he was at that very top could understand what it truly meant, not only in a figurative manner.

  And yet, as Antilene was firmly convinced, life was a matter of perspective. Because if your gaze was directed downward, it didn't matter how high you could climb, your only concern would be how long it would take your body to descend.

  "Let's… Let's not be hasty, Lady Fouche."

  Antilene dangled him from the highest tower of the fortress, letting the scarlet robe fall over him and exposing his pale, skeletal legs to the wind. While what had been one of the most respected and influential sorcerers of the Theocracy writhed like a raving madman, a modest embarrassment prompted the half-elf not to focus too much on his undergarments, currently in plain sight.

  "Have you ever fallen, Badantel? I am not asking you if you ever tripped on some stairs or if some mean classmate of yours made you a nasty trick. What I want to know is if you have ever fallen from such a height that you couldn't distinguish people from ants. If you have ever fallen from so high that you had the time to think about all your life choices, the bad ones especially, and think what had all gone wrong. Twice."

  Sometimes, a silence could speak more than thousands of words. And Khajiit's expression alone was more eloquent than the sermones of an old priest.

  "Should I take that as a no? You are a man of science, Badantel. You know how magic moves this world, and the inner intricacies of cause and effect that regulates nature. So you must be aware that, once a certain strength is acquired, for a greater effect… An even greater cause is required. But don't worry. I am ready to be your companion in study. Together, we will test your limits! Isn't it wonderful?"

  The average Black Scripture member, with no difference between caster or warrior, would have been left unscathed by that threat. Khajiit Dale Badantel wasn't comparable to one of the Blacks, but he was still a sorcerer of incommensurable talent.

  What he defected was cold blood and firmness of nerves. For someone who had bisected and dissected bodies left and right, he was lacking in awareness about his pain threshold. Once spotted the error, it was imperative to apply the correction.

  "I am ready to satisfy your every curiosity, Lady Fouche… Let's just… Find a better place to speak."

  Antilene didn't find amusement in torturing the weak. If anything, the inner conflict caused by fulfilling her mission while showing the difference between herself and those less gifted proved almost exhausting.

  But putting in their places people who abused their position? That didn't prove a lack of a moral encompass, and had the surplus of being hella funny.

  "I can't do that, Badantel. You know how the inquisition works, don't you?" As a preacher, the half-elf was lacking, no doubt. But where the strength of her arguments couldn't reach, a more persuasive homily was spread by her actions.

  "The connection with the Six grants inquisitors the necessary hindsight to understand if the accused is telling the truth, or if not. I don't need to tell you that criminals in the Theocracy have usually forsaken their faith, giving the questioner an edge to expose their misdeeds."

  Khajiit listened to every word in religious contemplation, probably more than he had ever shown during proper services.

  "I can assure that my faith has never wavered," he said, clutching Surshana's amulet as evidence of that daring proclamation. "Everything I did, I did for the Theocracy." Such devotion was well deserved of praise.

  Antilene found herself in agreement with him. "I know," she squeezed harder, but still careful not to crush that leg. Not too much, at least. Even though at that point all of Badentel's blood should have rushed to his head, it hadn't gained any color and remained deathly pale. Not that Antilene was an expert on human autonomy. Not when it was still in one piece. "But, you see, an inquisitor sometimes is faced with a cruxing dilemma: if magic is ineffective, how can I assume, without a trace of doubt, that my accused isn't tricking me? Kindness? Let's be serious. Offering a bargain? What are we, lowly merchants? Charm magic? Like a spellcaster of your skills didn't have countermeasures for it. Torture?"

  The emphasis placed on that last part caused the desired reaction.

  Khajiit moved his arms in the air. A more foolish man put in his position would have attempted to cast a spell in that stage of their amicable dialogue, but if there had been madness in Bedental, itt had long been cast away. "That would be… Unnecessary."

  "Yeah… Not only is it barbaric, but it also never guarantees reliable results. After all, if I put you under every conceivable punishment and beyond, you would attempt everything to make me stop. Torture is fitting as punishment, but extremely inefficient if my goal was to gather trustworthy information."

  It was evolving in a nice conversation on the matter. If the necromancer had stopped moving that much, Antilene would have found it pleasant enough to teach him about the history and ramifications of that noble art.

  Pearls to swines were wasted, though, or so the old adage went.

  "Why don't we talk about it while enjoying a nice cup of tea? Or coffee, perhaps?" That indecent proposal almost made him look human for once. Sure, his now wan countenance could have used a little hotness.

  "That would be lovely… But when duty calls, there is no time to lose. As I was saying, an inquisitor sometimes has to work in less than ideal circumstances. We worship the same deity, so my anti-divination skills are useless. Torture wouldn't provide what I seek… In these instances, a proper trial should be staged. It's a complicated affair, you see. I need witnesses, an impartial judge, and a formal agreement with Queen Draudillon to exercise my jurisdiction over her territory. It could take weeks of preparation. But who has them? In the current predicament, my only alternative is just to kill the traitor for the transgression, and not think much about the rest," the half-elf sighed, already predicting the outcome. "And as I have no time to waste, I'll just have to deliver judgment without a fair hearing. It's far from ideal… But you know how things go."

  Khajiit, still floundering in the air like a fish out of water, begged for mercy.

  "I will tell you everything," he shouted in the sky, clouds the only listeners to his pleas. "I will tell you everything. It wasn't only me! Aderbaal! Ask General Aderbaal!"

  In one swift movement, Antilene catapulted him onto the terrace. The ground was an unpleasant place to land, but certainly preferable to the less concrete alternative.

  "Now we are speaking the same language. Don't worry about the general, the queen herself is sending him to me as we are busy… In this nice chat."

  Nice for her, but wasn't the woman the only one who had to enjoy the conversation? Good manners dictated so.

  Khajiit coughed, while his attempts to get up proved unfruitful. "Our world… Our world is just a poor ship struggling through the stormy sea." The half-elf had not reduced a pair of legs in such a sore state since Windstride's baptism. "Humans are weak… And the Theocracy is nothing more than a bandage placed over a gaping wound, with the vain expectation that it will not bleed to death like a pig sent to the slaughterhouse."

  "Don't tell me about the ship's metaphor. I was there when Cardinal Clement came up with it…" The war against her father had been the perfect raw material from which to weave propaganda hymns. No. Not the war against her father. The war against the elves. "Is that reason enough to work under the undead? Will you sell your soul for that?"

  Khajiit had finally managed to stand upright, albeit unsteadily. His gaze met Antilene's, and then the half-elf realized what had made her uncomfortable from the beginning of that story.

  "My goal is to go beyond what lies in the beaten path of magic… Isn't the same for the Supreme Council? What are the Cardinals, if not seekers of powers? Power for mankind?"

  The man's pupils were consumed by something. Consumed by his own faith in a cause he believed to be just. It was the same faith that consumed every inhabitant of the Theocracy, and that drove them to sacrifice themselves for an ideal even before themselves.

  "There is reason and reason. If what you did was truly righteous, you wouldn't have hidden it."

  Antilene had recognized that look in every Slaine's citizens she had the pleasure to meet. Perhaps for the inhabitants of other nations it was synonymous with religious zealotry, a complete surrender to the revealed truth of the Six Gods, and many times they would have been right. But it was not that simple.

  Even before breathing, even before walking, even before speaking, the children of the Theocracy were taught to sacrifice themselves for something greater. That sacrifice took many names. The sacrifice of improving the world. The sacrifice of remaining faithful to one's ideals. The sacrifice of dying for one's country. But also the sacrifice of slaughter. The sacrifice of pleasure. The sacrifice of death.

  It was as if the will of the Six was transmuted into the virtues and sins of their successors.

  "The Night Lich offered me what we should aim for, as a species. What mankind should strive for… To put an end on our suffering! On our mortality!"

  "So when she approached you, you just accepted?"

  Khajiit nodded confidently, as if he had not committed blasphemy, but simply done what was necessary.

  "Who was our god, if not an undead? You should know better than anyone that we must bow to higher causes in order to achieve our goals. We cannot remain with clean hands once we have dipped them in filth."

  "What is of Surshana shall remain of Surshana. And what is of man, shall remain to man." Antilene decided to drop the theological debate on that rooftop, without furthering indulge in pointless arguments. "Didn't you at least investigate? To know you could trust her."

  "Of course... But, as you may have noticed just now, the gap between my abilities as a spellcaster and those of the lich was considerable."

  It was a perfectly logical argument, Antilene had to admit. Of course, all logic had been thrown away from the window the moment a man had made a deal with the undead. Further investigating that matter would have led nowhere, much to her chagrin.

  "Let's leave all that aside. What did she promise you?"

  "She didn't promise me anything. But she explained what we could achieve together," then Khajiit let out a piercing laugh, which, if not madness, at least showed that not all his wheels were in the right place. "The soul. Dominion over the soul."

  In other circumstances, such a predictable answer would have prompted a loud laugh. But the half-elf's lips remained sealed.

  "And what would you have wanted to do with that?" Leaving aside the practicality of that aim, common to every spellcaster, the subtle difference between visionary and madman sometimes boiled down to the feasibility of their goals.

  The necromancer approached the half-elf, smiling with rare lucidity. "You too, Lady Fouche, wish to have someone to embrace again, do you not? Why do we humans do anything? For love, my lady. Always and only for love."

  Here, Antilene faltered, only for a feeble instant. "Resurrection magic is attainable, with some limitations." Fifth tier was something extraordinary, but nothing that the Theocracy couldn't access already. And with all probability, that man was also aware of the seventh tier.

  But it couldn't be so easy, could it be?

  "That's right! Limitations!" He spat that last word with as much contempt as he could, as if the only existence of that concept was an irreparable offense. "Not all our loved ones can't be taken back."

  State of body, time passed and other limitations ensured that the proceedings could be overturned. Sometimes, things were just meant not to be, and stay as the Gods had decreed.

  "The dead do not return," Antilene said.

  "And yet you are surrounded by them."

  Antilene remained silent, unable to respond.

  "Don't watch me like that. I do not know more than you do. They have been watching you for a lot of time… Here, in this Kingdom… When you were in the Cities States… And when you killed your father… Maybe even before all that."

  "But what was there before that?"

  "This only you can know…"

  It could have been easy to snap his neck. It could have been easy to tear off his torso from the rest of the body. It could have been easy to pull his tongue out of his mouth and let him bleed to death, unable to utter any more nonsense.

  As such violence erupted inside her, the half-elf repeated old teachings in the vein of a calming prayer, putting restraints to her rising rage with the remembrance of her aim.

  "Let them watch my works, then. Let them watch when I delete from existence everyone of their peers, and enjoy my deserved rest. I don't care if they know who I love, and who I hate. I don't care if they will see me in sorrow, or observe me in joy. If my life is such an entertainment for them, I will gladly give them their fun… What I can't allow is them making plans with my life, treating me as another toy in their playground."

  She took Khajiit by the collar of his vest, slowly raising him from the ground.

  "The White Lady… The Night Lich, shares this very sentiment. From the scarce info I could get, she too has been played as a tool by the Fingers. It's an old grudge, or so I have been told. A grudge that goes far beyond mine and your times."

  "I can very much understand who is behind all this… Don't you find it funny? I am reaping the consequences of the actions of individuals who, not until much ago, I considered the greatest sinners in our history. And now their very sins flow in me."

  And there was no way to get rid of them. Was perhaps the secret learning to live with guilt?

  "I would gladly let myself be overcome with joy if my jugular vertebra were not in danger of being crushed. Walking corpses are perfect as pawns, but as conversation companions they are quite lacking." In that brief meeting, the half-elf had come to the realization that even his sense of humor was marked by macabre undertones.

  Antilene complained, while putting him down. "What should I do with you, Bedantal?" There was still much he had to share with her. Furthermore, his skills as a magic caster were indisputable. How much she wished the Cardinals wisdom was her own, and that Rufus' foresight guided her even when apart.

  "Not killing him would be a good start, Lady Fouche," A vigorous voice from afar stopped her considerations.

  A middle-aged man dressed in military doublet and a few other modest finery emerged from the stairs leading from the roof. His gaze was determined and uncompromising. At first glance he was the kind of man who did not like to be contradicted, but who liked flattery even less.

  "Lady Fouche, are you all right?" Behind him, Queen Oriculus capitulated, a worried frown on her face. Her companion helped her up the steps, his attention divided between the woman and the half-elf.

  The rooftop was now getting packed, while the dusk's sunshines covered their shapes.

  "Nothing to worry about..." Antilene waited for them to approach her before making the necessary introductions. "I suspect you are General Aderbaal, of whom I have heard so much."

  Not all flattering, but certain details could be omitted.

  "And you are the new ruler of Evasha. Allow me to say that it is a great honor," he bowed respectfully, but without showing excessive reverence. It was understandable, given that, even considering Draudillon's approval, it was a meeting that had very little to do with an unofficial one between one of the kingdom's shields and a monarch of a foreign land, whose affiliations were still unclear. "You are also a native of the Theocracy, as I have learned. Let me express my gratitude; as a man of arms and the current commander-in-chief of the Draconic Kingdom's efforts against the demihuman invasion I can proclaim that your homeland is a fundamental reason why I am able to stay here to confer with you today."

  Then he glanced sideways at Khajiit, who welcomed it as a sign of salvation. Antilene noticed the exchange, but her attention was mostly captured by something else. Buried beneath austere control and blunt manners, there was a glimpse of exhaustion that had reached its limit in the general.

  "I appreciate that. But those who should be thanked are the men and women who actually risked their lives to protect you. I gather that Bedantal here was one of them, given your intervention to save his life."

  "The esteemed Bedantal and I have had more than one prolific exchange of views on the art of magic and the methods that should be used to save this kingdom on the brink of disaster."

  Draudillon had told the half-elf about the general's origin and his belonging to one of the Draconic Kingdom's most ancient families, who dwelt in the secrets of the arcane arts since the founding. Even if he didn't give the impression of being well learnt in magic sophistry, it was also true that few dared to share their knowledge about the abyss. If that man had peeked there, it was hard to say. But if he had, what had he seen?

  "So did you know that a lich, and not a common one, was aiding him?" The sharp question cut all formalities, exposing the bone of the matter.

  "I did not…" Unlike with Khajiit, her inquisitor skills did prove effective on this occasion. In theory. "But I can imagine who you are talking about. I had my suspicions. "

  He wasn't lying. That truth concealed a total lack of interest.

  "And you didn't do anything about it? Even if that could have meant the ruin of this kingdom?"

  "More ruined than it already is? What should I have been afraid of? That she would turn this land into a death zone? That our children would grow up in fear of becoming adults, because that would mean being sent to the front? She and Bedantal offered something that existed here only in dreams. When I was offered a way out, I ran away, because there was no alternative."

  "There is always an alternative."

  The mask of his calmness creaked, shattering in an uncertain expression.

  "For you, perhaps. You are a goddess, they tell me. Or something close to it. I am just a man. And like me, the inhabitants of this country. Don't impose standards on me that I cannot compete with."

  "But you can aspire to them."

  "Perhaps... But would I have had the time?"

  Time. Time. In the end, it all came back to that. There was no time to be better. There was no time to redeem oneself. There was no time to do anything.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Perhaps that man, who had waged more wars than Antilene, and who had fought more battles than the half-elf had taken part in, despite having walked that earth for much less than she had, was right.

  "In any case," Draudillon interjected firmly, unwilling to continue along those lines, "Your plan to use a relic bestowed by a Night Lich to awaken my powers is outrageous and out of the question. If I could previously give you the benefit of the doubt, general, I am now unwilling to hear any further arguments."

  "So you condemn us all," said Aderbaal. Not in anger or frustration, but in sheer desperation. "The army is exhausted. Supplies are running low, and the demihumans are rampaging across the region. We can only hold out for a short time. It's a matter of weeks, perhaps days…"

  "If we must perish, so be it. There is always something worse than death."

  "Idealism does not save us."

  "But it makes us better than we are..."

  Draudillon would not allow further discussion. We could be persuaded to do anything to save those entrusted to us, but that conviction always encountered a limit that shook our glass certainties; beautiful and colorful on the outside, but so fragile at the slightest touch, only waiting for someone or something to break it.

  Antilene wondered if that queen among men was a rock, eroded by the tide, or a tree that would not allow its trunk to be separated from its roots.

  "Wait, Queen Oriculus," something prompted the half-elf to act. "Maybe there is something we can do."

  Draudillon raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

  "I want to be sure first that the magical object they want to use is not a trick. We cannot be certain of the value of what they propose unless we first analyze what they offer."

  Khajiit, who had approached the general, showed uncontrollable enthusiasm at these words. "The point is that we don't know for sure, Lady Fouche. I myself have conducted many experiments with the orb, but I have not come to a definitive answer. Can it really harness souls within it? And can these be used by the queen here to wield the ancestral magic of the ancient dragons? It is impossible to say until we conduct an actual test." He continued to rub his pointed chin as he recited these musings. Like many researchers, his vice was to get lost too easily in his work, no matter how inappropriate the situation could be.

  "You entrusted that object to Sir Stronoff; it is only a matter of days before he returns."

  And then what? That was the question written on the general's face.

  "We'll wait until then, then," concluded Aderbaal. "Your grandfather created this country with magic, will you be able to live up to him?"

  Draudillon shook her head. "Never..." Then she looked the man straight in the eye, raising her head just enough. "Is that enough for you?"

  "It will suffice. Lady Fouche, let's drop the formalities. What do you intend to do with me and Khajiit?" His tone was decisive, ready to accept any consequences.

  "Khajiit will remain under my supervision until formal instructions arrive from the Theocracy. As for you, it is not for me to decide..."

  "I cannot remove you from your position now, Aderbaal," Draudillon continued, making no secret of how much this annoyed her. "Much of the old nobility supports you, and I cannot risk internal unrest in this fragile and delicate situation. I will convene a conference with the great nobles once this is over to try you for your crimes. Until then, you will answer for your actions under my complete supervision."

  "I thank my queen for the benevolence imposed," he bowed again, but this time showing much more respect. "When this is over, you can do as much as you like..." He paused, before resuming with even more vigor. "May that day come soon."

  He took his leave without further fanfare. As he descended the stairs, Khajiit followed him under Antilene's instruction.

  "Aren't you worried that he might run away?"

  Draudillon watched both men descend as only the two women remained on the roof, a light evening breeze their only company.

  "If he could, he would have already. Besides, Badantel is the kind of personality who wants to see all the way through how far humans can go. I will provide that possibility for him, and that will be deterrent enough."

  The queen understood, and went no further with her questions. Her auburn hair floated lightly, moved by the wind.

  "Do you think we made the right choice?"

  "That judgment defer to when we can draw the proper conclusions..." Then, to fill the silence. "Optics? I haven't seen him since this morning."

  "He accompanied me to lead the general to you, and now he is waiting on the stairs."

  He didn't have to be very far away. Antilene felt a modicum of concern for him and his state of mind. An upset guard was not an effective guard. At least, now she also had Khajiit to exploit to ensure the queen's safety. Should it be needed, the half-elf would use the necromancer in any way she could, as compensation for his transgressions.

  "There is not much left to do… That warrior of yours, Stronoff, has the orb they wanted to use to awaken your powers. When can we expect him to come?"

  "In a couple of days, at most… According to Aderbaal, a giant mass of undead and demihumans is following him. We will get just the time to organize our resources before the last battle."

  "Last battle, uh. Is that how you see it?"

  For Antilene, it was no more than a regular skirmish. But for the Draconic Kingdom's people it could have traced a clear line from the life of yesterday and the one of tomorrow.

  "It's strange, isn't it?" Draudillon approached the corner of the roof, sitting on the ground, moving the legs in the air. She stripped off her heavy royalty, allowing herself a few seconds as a carefree little girl. "Even before I was born, this country had been at war. I don't want to sound disrespectful, but I still can't believe that in a couple of months I could wake up without worries. Well, I guess that my worries will be about reconstruction, for once. And not destruction, massacres and other horrible matters. Would the sunlight shine more brightly in the morning?"

  It would likely remain the same.

  Antilene sat next to her. The half-elf crinkled her eyes as the light of dusk radiated over the horizon, about to herald the evening. "There is still the chance of me losing, and the whole country getting overwhelmed by the undead plague."

  "Was that a joke?" Draudillon stared at her for an intense moment, before cracking laughing. "Dear me. That was a joke!"

  "Wasn't funny?"

  "Friendly advice. When you make a joke, be sure that the main topic is not about the demise of the interlocutor and everything they hold dear. Some people might consider it distasteful."

  A lot of things to take in consideration, Antilene noted.

  "But it wasn't only a joke. It's truly something to take in mind. No one is invincible, and arrogance caused the downfall of more than one empire. And I am just one woman, if compared to all those who came before me."

  "What about those that will come after?"

  What about them? The half-elf had always watched the past, and what her predecessors had sacrificed to protect their future.

  "I don't know… What are you doing?"

  Draudillon took off her heels and let her feet free. "I really needed it. I am not superhuman like you. We walked for days, in impervious and distant places. I was already pretty tired, and now that I could rest, etiquette demands me to put these traps for feet. Don't you think it's unfair?"

  She had a point, but the whole situation had something absurd about it.

  "I thought a queen should always be impeccable."

  "It will be our little secret," she brought her head between her legs, covering a yawn. "You take them off, too."

  Antilene, who had only a pair of black boots, obliged with little conviction.

  "You are right, I feel much more comfortable this way."

  "See?" An expression of triumph came over Draudillon's face. "Nothing better."

  Savoring that freedom was like throwing all problems back. The undead, the Five Fingers, the weight of the crown and any other nonsense that crowded the mind. One's past, present, future. With none of this left, what remained?

  "You should give a reception with these conditions. It would be very successful among the ladies."

  "And a certain kind of man, too," poked the queen. Antilene didn't catch the joke. "But yes, it might be a fun idea. If I become the eternal savior of the country, I could indulge in some extravagance."

  "Isn't that what drives us to extraordinary feats? So that no one pokes their nose into our eccentricities."

  Thinking back to many Black Scripture members, that comment was not far from reality.

  "Time to go," quietly, Draudillon put her shoes back on.

  "Yes."

  Antilene stayed at her place, watching the other woman slowly fading in the distance. With no one to make her company she jumped outside the fortress's walls.

  In her lifetime, Clementine had accomplished countless feats on behalf of the Theocracy.

  Was there a particularly difficult demi-human lord to eliminate? Nothing more to be said. Was it necessary to infiltrate some human nation and take out sympathizers of causes other than Slaine's? There wasn't much to do; it was her favorite method of getting her hands dirty.

  She had risked her skin countless times, and even more she had killed in the name and on behalf of the Six Gods. There were many things she would have objected to, but to this last part she had no quarrel. It was the only thing that made the work almost tolerable.

  There were very few things that she was afraid of. In the heart of Silksuntecks, in the cradle of the gods, humanity thrived.

  Clementine could find no other place on the face of the planet where she could be safer. Yet, placed before the door of a mansion located in precisely one of the capital's most opulent neighborhoods, for the first time in a long time, she faltered.

  The door was made of simple fir wood, fabricated from a tree that had served as a shade for her and Quaiesse's games when they were children. Her father had asked a friend of his, a prestigious craftsman, to use that tree to build not only that door but also many other pieces of furniture on the estate, once the twins had grown too old to distract themselves with childish games.

  As a keepsake, he had said.

  When Clementine knocked, she was almost tempted to break down the door and call it a simple accident. When it came to men and women it worked, after all.

  An old woman opened it for her.

  "Please, come in..." When she could see who was in the doorway, her face lit up with joy, radiating an overwhelming happiness. "My sweet, little Clementine! Gods be thanked."

  The Black Scripture seat known as Windstride had sharpened her senses in endless battles, taking her reflexes to the limit so she could dance around any kind of attack, no matter the creature of origin.

  That long, sweet, honeyed, asphyxiating, uncomfortable, far too long, embrace was impossible for her to dodge.

  "I'm home, mama."

  Her mother hurriedly seated her, pushing her daughter into the dwelling with a sprint unexpected for a woman her age. Clea Adele Quintia was the kind of woman that not even death could stop.

  On this, she and her daughter were the same.

  "Oh, my dear, sweet Clementine. How I have missed you." She showered Clementine with cuddles. Her human rights were stripped in favor of kitty's privileges. Kisses, hugs and pinches like she was still a child, and she had skin a knee playing or got a bruise fighting with Quaiesse. "Your brother told me you were on a mission. I thought it would be a long time before I saw you again. You never get in touch. You drive this poor old woman's heart to exhaustion with these worries."

  Clementine accepted that torment with resignation, and after sitting down, she waited until her mother had finished with her apprehensions before opening her mouth.

  "I've had a lot to do, mama. You know how busy my work keeps me."

  "Of course. Of course. Being ... a diplomat is not easy. I know that very well."

  Again with that old pretense, which wouldn't fool anyone. Not that there was anyone to fool. It was true that the existence of the Scriptures was classified information, and it was also true that of all the Blacks they were the ones to be kept most concealed.

  However, not only were these two women alone in a particularly large mansion, shielded by every conceivable magic attack, but it was also almost accurate that in that part of Silksuntecks, where the most important and prestigious families of the Theocracy lived, everyone in one way or another had to deal with Slaine's secret units.

  So why all the caution?

  "I'm not a diplomat, mama. I have eviscerated many demi-humans in the Draconic Kingdom lately. Then there was cleaning up to be done in the Empire." Was it worth getting lost in the details? Her mother had witnessed her gory events, perhaps even more than Clementine herself, but when it came to maintaining the decorum of the Quintia, she let a vile veneer of lies cover their lives. A blanket of sweetness to disguise the blood. But the dirt did not disappear if you hid it. At most, it would accumulate.

  "Your brother always finds time to send me letters."

  That was because Quaiesse was an idiot. Simple as that.

  "You know I've never had much affinity for writing. I prefer talking face to face." Actually, there were many things she would have preferred compared to… That. A sword stuck in the side. Going without food and water for weeks. Slamming the big toe of her foot against some piece of furniture. Even facing the old fossil was not such a bad prospect.

  "My little soldier, who always preferred action above everything," Clea's vision of the past almost took life, vivid as it was. "You didn't want to play with dolls, or other girly things. You wanted to try on your father's stilettos, and you would sneak into his study to read his mission notes. How many times you have driven me mad with your mischief, I wonder."

  Clementine could not help but smile, thinking of the time she had broken the arm of the neighbor's spoiled child. That brat had cried for days, even though he had been treated on the spot, simply because the memory of the pain was too intense.

  His fault was that he had dared her to do something unexpected.

  "They were just childish pranks. Now I deal with more serious matters."

  With more refined methods. Breaking children's arms, no matter how amusing, was no longer enough. At bare minimum, the legs should have received the same treatment too.

  "You know I'm proud of you, don't you?" Her mother was pouring tea, her fingers trembling. It was undeniable that she had trouble maintaining a steadiness in her hands.

  Clementine did not bother to help her. "You always say that, mama."

  They were words that came from the heart, yet to Clementine they did not matter. Not because she thought they were superfluous, or because there was any antecedent reason for that rejection. Was there something wrong with her? Perhaps. But she much preferred herself as she was.

  Authentic.

  "I say that because it's true. If you knew how proudly your father and I talk about the two of you. Just the other day I was telling the esteemed Lasser about how outstanding you and your brother were in your work. Of course, I concealed the most macabre details. Do you know he has a young son your age? Unmarried. He works for the economy ministry, and could get a promotion soon."

  There it was. Clea sipped from her tea, letting the silence sink in. Her tone could sound gentle as a caress, but in reality was more sharpened than a knife.

  Clementine was prepared. After all, the reason for her visit was all in that confrontation.

  It was impossible for the old woman to have tapped more than was allowed, so there was no adequate justification for executing her on the spot for treason.

  Even someone like Clementine needed adequate justification to kill her own mother, at least as long as she was under the High Council's employ.

  "I have no intention of marrying, mama."

  Some might have thought her cruel, but they both knew that with that simple statement Clementine had hurt her mother more than she would have done by plunging a knife into her heart.

  Meager consolation, for the cruelty of words did not stop the breath as effectively as the cruelty of iron.

  "Mmm..." Clea muttered something as she set the cup down on the table. The distance separating her from her daughter was not much, and now that they were facing each other, their scarlet eyes could exchange piercing glances. "That's not good… And what are you going to do about it?"

  "What I've done so far. Slaughter, kill, have fun."

  Talking to a wall would have got better results.

  "Have a little tea. You haven't tasted it yet. It's a new southern blend. They say trade with desert cities is yielding unexpected results gastronomically. For me someone my age is perhaps too sweet, but for my little Clementine..."

  She slid the cup close to her, but Clementine ignored it completely. Windstride began to laugh slightly instead.

  "You're not really listening to me. Not that I give a damn. I just came to make you aware of my decision so that I won't be bothered in the future."

  "I always listen to you, my dear. I have been listening and paying attention to you ever since you were a child, ever since you were in my womb. Don't underestimate a mother's sixth sense. No one knows you better than I do."

  "You don't know me, mama."

  "I know you better than you know yourself!" Her graceful smile was chilling. It was hard to keep in mind that the puny woman had been a veteran in a profession where people died young. "I know how much you enjoy killing. I know you would kill me here and now, just to gratify your perverse sense of pleasure. I know you defy the Gods, and commit acts of profanity and blasphemy with every breath you take. I know all this, and I don't care. Because I love you. Your brother is already having many marital encounters. And I trust you will follow him before long."

  Quaiesse. Quaiesse. One way or another, it always came back to him.

  "If some idiot is dumb enough to marry that nutcase, it's none of my business."

  "Don't talk that way about your brother."

  Clementine had faced hellish creatures. Monsters from every nightmare and beyond all logic. She had witnessed carnages so gory it made the stomach turn, quarterings that made a visit to abattoirs merry walks in the park by comparison. And she had laughed at it all, found the funny side of it, the extreme pleasure of violence that only a few elected could grasp.

  But when she was put in front of her mother, all that was nothing. She could have killed her parent with extreme ease. Of all the Quintia, none was as strong as Clementine. Not even Quaiesse.

  Everything would have been so simple. She could have made an excuse with the Cardinals. Maybe even her twin could have disappeared on a particularly difficult mission.

  It was just one step. Just one step to take. Such a simple step.

  "I'm not getting married, mama. I won't be like you."

  She couldn't.

  "Like me?"

  Clea and Clementine resembled each other like two peas in a pod. Clea's hair, which was starting to grey, would one day be the same color as Clementine's.

  The wrinkles on Clea's cheeks, under her eyes, above her lips, would one day be Clementine's. Clea's past in the Black was now Clementine's present. An entire existence tailored as an uncomfortable dress.

  Clea's dim light in her eyes, her soft and tired body, the labored and gasping breath would not be Clementine's though.

  "A wreck in a world that has moved on without her. Who has nothing to her name, except having raised two brats."

  "You were one of those brats," she whispered softly.

  And what a great result!

  Clementine rose from the table. "Our discussion has come to an end. I won't stop fighting to bring a bunch of hairless monkeys into the world."

  "My dear, sweet Clementine. We women are warriors. We're not like men, who can't bear pain. Childbirth is the greatest tribulation of the flesh, but unlike all others, it has a purpose. Our war doesn't end on the battlefield, but continues in more suitable places. We serve the Theocracy as is most fitting. Our abilities are recognized here more than anywhere else, first as soldiers and then as mothers."

  That torrent of lies made Clementine sick to her stomach.

  "Say hi to papa for me."

  "You will turn your mind around. You are still my daughter," Clea's last muttering was barely audible.

  Windstride closed the door behind her without looking back. She walked for a few minutes alone, praying fervently for the first time in her life. She prayed that someone would disturb her, that they would give her an excuse to cut their throat, to ensure herself a minimum of satisfaction, something that would help her forget.

  Obviously, in perfect Silksuntecks, such expectations were destined to remain unfulfilled. The only place in the world where neighbors adored each other, where polite greetings didn't hide hypocrisy, and smiles overcame worries.

  At least three passersby wished her good morning first, then two more wished her good afternoon later, as the sun began to set.

  A baker offered her a freshly baked sweet. For "such a beautiful girl who has too many worries to be disfigured by a frown." Then a tailor offered to mend the hem of her trousers, which was damaged, because "it was unthinkable not to be impeccable in beautiful Silksuntecks."

  Windstride accepted the greetings, and reciprocated with more fervor. She ate the sweet with relish, complimenting the chef. She let the tailor fix her hem, praise her beauty, and send her off with a simple wish to see her again as a customer.

  She did all this, and then she touched the stilettos she carried under her cloak. There were enough to pierce the chest, throat, and eyes of everyone who had stopped her.

  "Windstride, you seem down today..."

  Entering the Cathedral of Darkness, she found Cardinal Raymond in prayer. Begging on his knees, the once strong man bent under the weight of his back. And to think that not much time ago he was someone that could rival her in combat ability.

  "It's nothing."

  "Wish to join me?"

  "I'll pass."

  "Don't feel obliged."

  Though irritated, he didn't show it. Raymond continued to mumble for a while longer, leaving her standing there like a fool. In the entire church nave, she was the only one not making a request or chatting with the Gods.

  "Give me a mission, Cardinal." Unable to bear standing there any longer, Clementine went straight to the heart of the matter.

  "You're on meritorious leave, Windstride. Enjoy your well-deserved rest. We can't allow our best resources to burn out from overwork."

  Raymond's gaze remained fixed on the statue of Surshana in the central nave, almost as if that musty skeleton could offer solutions to every problem.

  "You Cardinals don't have a vacation period."

  "You are not a Cardinal."

  He finally stood up. As his figure rose, Raymond showed her he was still imposing. His muscles remained toned and quick; from his height, he could look down on her with superiority, but he tried to lower himself, to be on her level. Unforgivable.

  The Cardinal was, despite his age, still an attractive man. Clementine would have loved to fight him, and carve his figure apart piece by piece.

  "If I remain here withering away, I don't know what I might do..."

  The current Cardinal of Earth's duty was to oversee the Scriptures, and that involved keeping their... eccentricities in check. Both were aware of this. The question was, how far would Raymond go to maintain that artificial peace?

  Defeated, Raymond lowered the already-low timbre of his voice. "Let's not talk here. Follow me."

  For once, she obeyed. They ascended to the higher areas of the Cathedral, those not reserved for the ordinary public.

  They entered Raymond's office. A woman with short blonde hair was tidying up some scattered documents on the desk.

  "Cardinal, is the break already over?" She squinted her eyes, when glimpsed the other figure following right behind him. "And Windstride is with you..."

  Clementine recognized her. "Hello, Delia." The current Vice-Cardinal of Earth was a seemingly firm and pragmatic woman, never discomposed, never a hair out of place. The typical personality who, under torture, would display uncontrollable impassivity. "Is everything alright?"

  If given the chance, Clementine would have liked to play with her.

  "Everything is fine, Lady Windstride."

  "Pay attention. You never know when things can change." Her most adorable smile was gifted with that warning.

  "... I'll take it in mind, Lady Windstride." The vice-cardinal took a step behind.

  "Delia, did you prepare what I asked for?"

  Raymond closed off any possibility of continuing the discussion. It was cute how much he tried to put his subordinates at ease, no matter what.

  "The team to assign as support to Lady Fouche? I've selected the elements I deem most suitable."

  Lady Fouche? This didn't sound good. Clementine furrowed her brow, contemplating how to proceed.

  "Wait a minute. The former extra seat is now in the Draconic Kingdom... You don't mean..."

  Raymond took the list from his deputy, quickly flipped through it, and then handed it to Clementine. "This is the only mission we have at the moment for someone of your level of skills... We know you've been to the Draconic Kingdom not long ago, but this time you'll have adequate support. In fact, there might be a chance you won't see any action at all."

  "As if the monster needs help. We'd be more of a hindrance than anything," she remained annoyed, reading the chosen names. "Infinite Magic? Wasn't Four Great Spirits available?"

  "Don't speak that way about your comrades," Raymond wouldn't tolerate any more disrespect, which made it all the more satisfying to try and make him lose his patience. "Delia, can you leave us alone?"

  "But..." The vice cardinal was about to retort, but a sharp glance from her superior made her desist before she could even begin. "As you wish, I'll be outside."

  Once again alone, Clementine couldn't help but tease him. "You chose a pretty girl as your assistant. She keeps your desk warm... And something else too?"

  "Windstride, I remind you that I am married. And I remind you of the sacred place we are in now."

  "Isn't that what everyone says?"

  The Cardinal remained fixedly staring at her, with an air of seriousness that wouldn't waver before anything. "If you're not interested, you can leave."

  "I was joking, just joking... Anyway, I really don't understand why the half-elf needs support. What could our presence change?"

  From any angle, it made no sense. It was true that some seats had peculiar abilities that went beyond mere brute force. But if it was a simple clean-up like in the Draconic Kingdom, they could do very little. And if there was an enemy capable of defeating the old fossil, they might as well pack up and hide in a hole, hoping not to be found.

  "Not even the extra seat has eyes everywhere, and something could still escape her. Your task will be to help her keep everything under control and, in the extreme eventuality, do your duty to ensure her safety."

  When had one ever heard of bodyguards much less powerful than the one to be protected? That contradiction was far more insidious than it might sound at first.

  The Cardinal's honest brutality unfolded into a simple axiom: "The life of the extra seat is more important than the others." And so, if it came to that, even the precious heroes of the Black Scripture were nothing more than sacrificial pawns.

  "Is there nothing else?"

  "Your brother is on a secret mission in Re-Estize. I can ask him if he needs some help..."

  Played like a fiddle. An infinite list could be drawn up of things Clementine would prefer rather than working with Quaiesse.

  She found herself forced to accept. Anyway, if the game was to be played, she wanted to know what hand her opponent held.

  "That's not all, is it?"

  Raymond stroked his goatee with his fingers, granting her the grace of satisfying her curiosity. "It's also a request. A request that comes from above."

  That was an interesting detail. "So even people like him can feel concerned. And here I believed it was against his nature."

  "Windstride!" The Cardinal didn't shout, but for the first time, he lost his composure, letting emotion show. And what emotion! "No. Clementine. Fragment of Quintia. Everyone's patience has a limit."

  Clementine's blood boiled. But if she attacked a Cardinal, even she wouldn't be able to escape the consequences. Silksuntecks overflowed with members of the Scriptures, and Raymond himself would prove to be a formidable opponent.

  Patience. She had to have patience.

  "My apologies. It was disrespectful," she put on the good girl mask, which fooled no one. However, maintaining appearances was, in that circumstance, sufficient. "But I have a request."

  "What is it?"

  "I will express it upon my return."

  The Cardinal accompanied her to the exit. "Upon your return, we'll discuss it."

  "Promise me you'll do everything in your power to grant it."

  "...I promise."

  In the end, Raymond was an old romantic fool. He saw all the members of the Scripture as sons and daughters, and the fulfillment of his thankless task also materialized in granting his children's whims. An overly accommodating father.

  Perhaps there was hope for everyone. Perhaps one could truly change. Become better, if people like him trusted you. There was a lesson there, somewhere.

  "See you then."

  Or perhaps not.