Chapter 68

  When do the curtains close?

  After long days of marching, being exhausted was almost a given. Gazef bit into a piece of bread, suppressing his disgust. Magic could create fundamental nutrients, but as for the taste... that was a whole other story altogether.

  "It makes you want to fast," Brain spat, not letting go of his katana. One hand on the katana, the other on the bread. And so he remained content. Just content enough. "Finally we are done with eating this shit."

  To disagree would have been hard.

  "They were long days, but long days end too. We've reached the fortress. Just a few more small steps."

  Gazef finished his meal with little enthusiasm, wondering when he would be able to savor the true texture of food again. His stomach, theoretically satisfied, ached with pain. Mental stress accumulated in his temples, making it difficult for him to think clearly.

  One of the company members handed him a clean cloth to help him wipe away the sweat that had accumulated during their trip back. Too tired to stop him, he just accepted the kindness of the gesture without too much fanfare.

  "They say food produced by higher tiers is exquisite. So much so that you can't tell the difference," Brain returned to rambling about his stories of the floating city. In recent days, he had done it more than once. Speaking of marvels and wonders was another way to keep the mind busy. "Of course, if someone were capable of learning spells of such power, they wouldn't waste time studying something so unnecessary. The Eight didn't conquer the world offering tasty treats… I am quite sure of that."

  Yet many would have preferred enchanters capable of filling granaries and materializing laden tables on the spot. Logistics was another kind of war, different from that of the battlefield, but no less insidious for it.

  In any case, they were losing both.

  "There are still many things we don't know. The sages transmit knowledge that even they cannot fully comprehend..." Like that minotaur who could describe wonderful devices and at the same time believed that to heal was to butcher.

  "Perhaps you could stop the demi-humans by offering them synthetic meat," Brain joked, well expecting no one to laugh. "But with the undead, you won't fare so well."

  "Speaking of undead. We lost them a few days ago, but I still have the strange feeling of being watched."

  Gazef and Brain dismounted their horses, while the rest of the men awaited orders. He looked at them one by one, counting the casualties that retreat had reaped. Arthar would not embrace his children again. Clodette's elderly father had outlived his daughter. Marcielle's fiancée's wedding ring was the only heirloom of her lover she would have left.

  Every name etched in his memory could at least keep living with him.

  Not for much, but could it be enough.

  "Liches have powerful divination magic. It wouldn't surprise me if they continued to keep an eye on us."

  A bad omen surfaced in the captain's mind. "Did they use us as bait? To figure out where our forces have gathered?"

  Brain gave him a light pat on the shoulder, to dispel his worries, in a manner that could sound gentle to him and him alone. "Relax. The map of the Draconic Kingdom is already known. No, I think they simply want to be sure we're exhausted before destroying us. But for that, there was no need to use spells to understand."

  The swordsman maintained his optimism, despite their precarious conditions. Death did not scare him, and he smiled in the face of adversity. A certain well-rooted belief in the Theocracy dictated hardships as an anvil on which to forge military strength. Specialization blossomed in difficulties, and those who survived tribulations would face worse ones to emerge even better.

  Brain embodied that philosophy perfectly.

  "Still looking at that magic item? What's so special about it?"

  If he hadn't been roused from his musings, Gazef would have been lost in contemplation. Unbeknownst to himself, he had pulled out the orb given to him by General Aderbaal and the adepts of Surshana. The brilliant violet light it emitted was now blinding, like a lighthouse in the night.

  "No, nothing. It's just that... It should be the keystone. Our way to win this war..."

  In recent days, they had managed to escape the undead. But if troubles didn't know solitude, it could also be said that difficulties were never unaccompanied.

  Their small group had dwindled after every horde of beastmen that crossed their path. Direct encounters had been avoided, but small skirmishes, here and there, relentlessly, had demanded their toll.

  "Hmm... There are certainly many magic items that can overturn even pre-written results," Brain, in any case, was skeptical. Gazef didn't blame him. He was already grateful enough to the swordsman for his help. Without his providential help, less than half of the current survivors would have made it safe. "But I am not a mage, and I can't tell you if there are spells enclosed within to sweep away the armies we've seen gathering around here. Give me a sword that knows no fatigue, armor that heals my wounds, and enough potions, and I alone will end this conflict."

  Beyond the arrogance, that boast wasn't entirely baseless. Of course, a single demi-human stronger than Brain would have been enough to throw that proclamation into the mud. And Gazef knew that wouldn't be so unthinkable. And perhaps Brain did too.

  "You'll have all that. And more."

  Gazef chuckled. Brain followed suit.

  "Stronoff, do you really put your hope in that orb?"

  Not knowing whether what he was about to say was true or not, Gazef could only conjecture from what he could decipher of his feelings. "I want to believe it. All our sacrifices are placed here. If I didn't, what would have been the point of pushing ourselves so far? What for, all that death?"

  Brain took a few steps forward, letting his back cover the fortress gate they had arrived at. "This is your problem, Stronoff. You desire to give meaning to your actions. You seek the consequences of your deeds in a higher position. If that justification were to fail, your fragile castle would collapse. If the foundations are not well-trained, no matter how much power he has, even the warrior with the most formidable strength will fall like a twig before one who has learned true technique."

  And that warrior, left alone, what would he have to console him?

  "There's truth in what you say, Unglaus... I change, and that's what I tell myself. My doubts are gone now. And I've accepted my role as protector. What I fear isn't that my sword isn't strong enough. What I fear is that once I put it back in its scabbard, I'll be tempted to draw it again."

  "Then do it..." From inside, they opened the fortress gates, letting them in.

  Gazef allowed his men to finally breathe the air of a place that welcomed them. They could at last rest and close their eyes, postponing their problems until tomorrow.

  "What will you do, once all this is over?"

  "I'll look for another battlefield. Those like me only prosper in violence. What about you? Will you stay here?"

  Gazef thought about it. He had no other place to call home, and the expectation of a hearth where he could find solace after a long day left him confused. "There will be other wars to fight. The only positive side of being a soldier is that it's a profession where demand is always high."

  Queen Oriculus had many reform projects. Perhaps he could lead a new generation, or embark on a series of administrative challenges. One day, the Draconic Kingdom could be the scene of tournaments, chivalric challenges, or other jousts, as celebrated in the Re-Estize Kingdom or the Baharuth Empire.

  "A soldier serves as a deterrent. An excellent soldier fights so that one day he'll find himself unemployed... The more diligent you are, the higher the risk of ending up with nothing."

  "That wouldn't be bad."

  "Do you really believe that?"

  Gazef took a few steps forward, passing Brain. He gave some orders to Iovino: to deploy the men, prepare an adequate reward for their recent hardships, and arrange suitable rooms where rest would be the order of the day.

  "The men aren't as tired as you think... They're eager to break some demi-human and undead bones," his second's shaky movements, his short, labored breaths, and fleeting thoughts betrayed the falsehood of those hopes. "Captain..."

  The Theocracy did not tolerate mistakes. And ignoring the physical, but especially mental, exhaustion of his unit now would be a mistake.

  "I have no reason to doubt it. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

  Iovino nodded and left, obeying Gazef's orders. He was a good lad, who one day would succeed him, becoming an even more extraordinary captain, that was to be expected.

  "I'm surprised he's still alive," Brain commented. "People like him die young."

  "Have you seen many?"

  Unglaus shrugged. "Ideals and devotion are a poison that corrodes you from within. Yours is a clique of skilled and talented men, cultivated and trained to be the best, and to contend with others even more exceptional. In such a competitive climate, you're driven to always keep moving, knowing no bounds."

  "You also have an ideal you strive for, that of the sword."

  For Gazef, the truth perhaps lay in the middle. The Theocracy pushed them to reach their limits, but was also cautious not to bring its resources to a breaking point.

  "Oh, I'm aware of it. But I am already poisoned, rotten to the core. Don't take an example from me, Stronoff." It was advice to take to heart.

  Entering the fortress had still left them brittled. After days of silence, where every noise could conceal a danger, and the talks were reserved for orders, the more mundane nature of that small society was both comforting and off-putting.

  As this pondering collided with the fatigue accumulated, some servants hastened once noticing their presence, leaving the two warriors to be showered with attention.

  "No, there's no need. I can do it myself," Gazef said, addressing a woman who was trying to help him remove his armor. Another one was taking away all his items to store them away, while a young boy brought some fresh drinks to enjoy under the sun.

  This last part wasn't unappreciated, but for the rest…

  "The Queen, upon learning of your arrival, gave precise orders that you be treated with the utmost regard," the woman replied, with an expression that would not tolerate a no for an answer. And Gazef Stronoff, who had passed the last days fighting monsters and undead, had no bravery to contradict her.

  "This is what it means to be famous, Stronoff," Brain was clearly amused by the situation. The swordsman, who sported more light equipment and had not much packages remaining with him, was just content enough to observe the scene from afar, accepting with gusto what was offered to him.

  Gazef surrendered, and allowed them to attend to his every need. He and Brain were led to some rooms on the ground floor of the fortress, where they were made to undress. Linen tunics were provided and their bodies washed with clean, fragrant cloths. There was nothing luxurious, at most a decency just above the ordinary, but after days spent living like savages, those small attentions were a divine intervention.

  "You look like a different man, Stronoff."

  Brain's comment wasn't out of place, given that the two had only ever known each other on the battlefield. But what was true for Gazef was also true for the other.

  "I could say the same about you. These civilian clothes don't suit us."

  "Speak for yourself. I could easily get used to the good life."

  An innocent lie, whose only purpose was to ease the tension. If Unglaus truly yearned for a life free of hardship, he could have offered his services to any high-ranking noble as a personal guard.

  Of course, comfort had its own allure. Being well aware of it certainly didn't make it easier to renounce, but it gave a different gravity to the path taken.

  "I certainly won't be the one to stop you."

  "Not that you could, in the first place."

  A challenge, while they were both disarmed. These weren't the most suitable circumstances, but perhaps that's precisely what tickled Brain's fancy in the first place.

  Gazef's muscles tensed. The servants followed a short distance behind them. Would they intervene in a clash, even a friendly one? Where had he put his sword?

  "I almost fell for it," after relaxing, Gazef decided to put an end to that foolish conversation. "Come now. The queen is waiting for us."

  "She's waiting for you."

  "Aren't you coming?"

  "I'm no longer the warrior-captain of Re-Estize. Just a vagabond like many others. Her highness might find a bumpkin like me an unwelcome guest."

  Certainly, the difference in etiquette between the two men wasn't that pronounced. Gazef couldn't tell a meat fork from a dessert one. And he never would, in all probability. For the first time, the swordsman beside him, whose trust in him had grown with impressive speed, did something that surprised him.

  He invented an excuse. One out of fear. That fearless warrior, who scoffed at injuries and refused all help, was terrified at the idea that a woman might look down on him.

  "Queen Oriculus isn't that kind of woman. She'll be very happy to know that an exceptional individual has joined the cause."

  "I don't see any exceptional individual here."

  Such self-loathing was out of place. Would ignoring it have been the best choice?

  "Hey, Stronoff," a friendly voice called out to him. A female voice. "Long time no see."

  Gazef turned and instantly recognized the newcomer. "Lilianne! It's been a long time indeed!" The woman approached and wrapped the captain in a vigorous embrace, leaving him breathless. "Weren't you with Cerabrate and the rest of the adventurers?"

  After pulling away, she answered frankly. "Yes. We preceded you here by a few days," her amethyst eyes gleamed with sadness. "It's hell out there, but you know that better than I do."

  "Is it that bad in the east too?"

  "Even worse..." She let her silence speak for her. Gazef understood without inquiring further. "A couple of demihuman kings have been mysteriously slain, and there is uproar in the enemy's rank. Violence will be the nectar they will use to quench their thirst of revenge. Now, towards whom is the thing we have to find out…"

  In short, either the beastmen would start to be wary of each other, or they would raise the intensity of their assaults. No need to specify which one was the best alternative.

  "You're one of the members of the Crystal Tear, if I'm not mistaken. The famous ranger Lilianne Nelevi, the Forest Arrow." Admiration leaked from Brain's tone, something quite unusual for him.

  "And you are Brain Unglaus, the former royal guard of Re-Estize. Your renown has reached even these lands, just as easily as your presence here has been discussed." The woman stood straight, shifting her gaze first to Gazef and then to Brain. "Someone like you will be useful to our cause." Still, her stare betrayed a submissive distrust.

  "It's not every day you meet an adamantite-ranked adventurer," the swordsman said, with genuine respect. "Songs of your deeds have reached Re-Estize. I still remember how you obtained the material for your bow from a terrifying elemental at the border between the Draconic Kingdom and Baharuth."

  When was the last time a bard had gladdened Gazef's night with some marvelous tale? Turning back with his memory, the captain turned back to the day he attended with Queen Draudillon at that famous singer's show from the Draconic Kingdom, a couple of years ago.

  In that instance, Queen Oriculus had wept tenderly, so tender was the story narrated, and he had sworn that the only tears he would see from that day would be tears of joy, not grief. Promise that had remained unfulfilled.

  "That was a long time ago," Lilianne showed the bow in question with a certain pride. The craftship was truly outstanding; the wood gleamed like a precious gem and the string was both flexible and robust. "Of course, if my teammates hadn't been there, I never would have been able to take the elemental down alone. By the way, Stronoff, let me also thank you for recovering Imilcone that day in Gelone. Without your contacts, we never would have found someone capable of bringing him back to life."

  "No need to thank me," in reality, he had only recovered the decapitated head and body, and then delivered them to the Sunlight Scripture. The re-stitching and subsequent resurrection ritual had occurred outside his attention. "Rather, Lilianne, if you're here, it means Cerabrate isn't far away."

  At the sound of her leader's name, she recoiled, licking her lips to moisten them. "Yes. He's resting... We were attacked by beastmen during our return. If we count the losses and the survivors who decided to give up, we lost at least a quarter of our numbers."

  "We also suffered significant losses."

  The ranger was surprised, or pretended to be. "Did you also encounter the white lion?"

  "White lion?" Brain asked, intrigued.

  Gazef, on the other hand, had a sense of who she was talking about. "I remember a demi-human who might match that description whom I met years ago, as soon as I arrived here," the terror projected by the mere presence of that formidable adversary still made his blood boil. "But no. We haven't met him."

  Lilianne laughed scathingly. "Lucky you. Just thinking about it still makes my fingers tremble," and it was true. A slight tremor ran through her phalanges, making the firm and sure grip of that unparalleled archer insecure. "This is the second time he's clashed with the Crystal Tear. And for the second time, we emerge humiliated. Cerabrate would never admit it, but the only reason we're still alive is that an unexpected event saved us."

  "Is he such a formidable adversary?" It was easy to guess what Brain was thinking. "I've faced many demi-humans called invincible, but where they were overwhelming in brute force, they lacked strategy and precision. A well-placed blow, and they fell," and then he quick-stepped in the hallway, using air as sparring partner for his demonstration. Brain made even something so daring seem extremely easy.

  Lilianne scoffed at that confidence. "Unglaus, he'd tear you to pieces. Imilcone's magic didn't scratch him, and he was too fast for me to hit him with my arrows. Cerabrate could barely keep up with him, and I'm quite sure he wasn't going all-out. The most dangerous demi-humans are called Lords, because only they are capable of governing civilizations built on the law of the strongest. But even among the lords, the white lion is an anomaly."

  Nigun of the Sunlight Scripture had warned Gazef how, during the siege of Gelone, one of the higher-tier angels invoked by the Theocracy had been eliminated. In the veteran of the Sunlight's opinion, it had been the work of a well-assembled group of exceptional demi-humans. But now the feeling was that it was, in all likelihood, a single individual.

  "And how did you survive?"

  "A simple coincidence... In fact, it would be more correct to say an absurdity. A horde of undead diverted the demi-humans' attention, giving us a chance to escape. Pure luck."

  So, not everything was harmonious among the enemies. Could they capitalize on those dissensions? Controlling the undead couldn't be easy, and it wasn't impossible that unsatisfaction had arisen among some demi-humans. The more honorable ones. Or, more correctly, the wiser ones.

  "Were you able to understand how that second clash proceeded?"

  "Unfortunately not," Lilianne was discouraged, shattered by that failure. In her self-deprecating smile, there was much more than she wanted to show on the surface. "Cerabrate led the retreat in confusion, forcing us to make our way through a river of blood. Mostly our own. The only thing I managed to see, shortly after finding an opportunity to get away, was the white lion approaching a... lich? It was different from the ones I'm used to."

  As an adventurer with some experience, the ranger could recognize humanity's most terrifying enemies with extreme ease. That insecurity emanating from her memories was a bad sign.

  "I've encountered many undead with a terrifying aura. It wasn't simple murderous intent, but more an accumulation of negative energy they carry with them from their birth... The greater the intensity, the greater the danger," Brain explained, visibly excited. "So-called Night Liches are named that way because they swallow all light with their mere presence, bringing night and darkness. Or so the stories go."

  Gazef had also heard of that particular species of lich. Facing such an adversary would certainly be a reckless undertaking, although a certain someone might have been of a different opinion. With a little luck, however, those terrible enemies might weaken each other.

  Yet, Lilianne wasn't convinced. "It could be, but that's not the strange thing I noticed," she was reluctant to open up, almost as if she feared that showing what gripped her would make it even more real.

  Gazef did not try to urge her. When someone was gripped by doubt, insisting could only prove counterproductive.

  "If you're not sure, or don't want to tell us, it doesn't matter."

  "No. It's just... That lich was very similar to the white lion himself."

  "Huh?"

  Given the clear confusion, without delay Lilianne delineated the matter with more precision. "It was a nevayuu, just like the white lion. So similar, you could say they were brothers. But the second one had missing patches of skin, revealing bones in the sunlight."

  Beings called liches weren't simply deceased who had embraced a new existence, but rather memories. Negative energy, born and grown from resentment or other despicable emotions, ascending to a new form. Usually skeletal. Rarely, with vestiges and ornaments of a forgotten past life.

  "What you're describing is more akin to a process of transformation... A not-so-clean break with the past," Gazef observed. During his days as a mercenary, he had seen more than one madman dabble in the most forbidden arcane arts, seeking a false immortality that the flesh could not grant. These cases, when they didn't end in disaster, almost always resulted in failure. But it wasn't a written rule. "Are some demi-humans trying to achieve this transformation? To renounce life, to become something else?"

  Something that didn't need rest, food, or water. But also no love, friendships, or affections. The state of undeath was obsession taken to the extreme, with little space for anything else. There was a reason it was considered taboo in so many different cultures. For what it was living, if not many different things?

  "I have no idea," the ranger broke free, crossing her arms over her chest, as if they were protecting her. "All of this is continuously gaining more and more meaning, a precise, however aberrant, pattern. The Crystal Tear won't be able to defend this kingdom for much longer. It has already achieved only poor results in recent years."

  Gazef wondered if there was a way to help her regain her confidence, but he forsook that idea. As a comforter he didn't stand out.

  "You and Cerabrate aren't alone. Unglaus and I are here to reinforce you."

  "Cerabrate? He'll never admit that anyone can beat him. The white lion will cut him in two next time," Lilianne didn't give much weight to that bland attempt at consolation. In fact, she seemed almost amused by the macabre prospect she was illustrating. "Until now, I've deluded myself that to fight monsters, we had to use even worse ones. But the problem is that this method will one day fail, because it cannot but fail, and you will realize the snake you raised has already devoured you."

  "Excuse me, I don't understand."

  The woman was surely referring to someone specific. Someone they both knew. Gazef had noticed something out of place, but...

  "You know. You've always known, Stronoff. But you are good. You see good even where there is none. Or perhaps you delude yourself into thinking so." She caressed his cheek, leaving both him and Brain stunned. "Next time we see each other, perhaps I'll be dead. Or perhaps you will be. In that case, may the survivor shed tears for the fallen."

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "So that the other won't be forgotten."

  Lilianne smiled at him. "You've changed a lot, Stronoff. Once, you wouldn't have cared about something so venal."

  "Perhaps I've just remained the same. The difference is that I've understood who I am."

  When Lilianne left, leaving them alone there, Gazef was sure they would meet again under less pleasant circumstances.

  "You could have said goodbye to her."

  "A 'see you again' will suffice."

  "Stronoff?"

  "Yes?"

  "The Queen is waiting for you."

  Brain waited outside when he entered. Gazef knocked three times before he was given permission to cross the threshold.

  The room was lit by an amiably crackling fireplace. Although it wasn't particularly cold outside, it helped create a welcoming atmosphere.

  "Stronoff, it's a pleasure to see you again after so long!"

  Queen Oriculus wore practical and comfortable clothes. Trousers that fell loosely on her legs, and a soft, warm yellow wool sweater. For Gazef, who had always been accustomed to seeing her move with a certain elegance and dignity, covered in colorful and precious drapes, that sight was more surprising than any garment with gold or platinum embroidery.

  "My queen," he bowed with as much emotion he could muster. More than what he had expected.

  "I know, I know. Not befitting for a queen," the queen pointed at her clothes, maybe unaware that such modesty fit her all too well. "Every now and then, I also like to remember that I am more than that."

  "I've come to report," in any case, those thoughts had to be left in a well-hidden corner of his mind, so as not to incur disrespect. "The situation..."

  "I already know the situation," Draudillon cut him off, with a scathing grin that hinted at how accumulated stress was nothing more than an embellishment to her beauty. "In fact, it's more correct to say that we know."

  As expected, the queen was not alone. In a secluded corner was a swordsman in crimson armor, his arms crossed, which might give the wrong idea that he wasn't alert and ready to draw the long sword he carried at the slightest sign of danger.

  "Let me introduce yourself. Ser Optics, Ser Stronoff. Ser Stronoff, Ser Optics."

  "I've already heard of his reputation," Gazef addressed the warrior.

  Optics. Cerabrate had spoken to him at length about the renewed worker, often with admiration, even more so with regret. A man who could have been a hero, if he had abandoned his vices and embraced his true nature as a protector of the defenseless.

  However, when he offered his hand to Gazef, the only thing the Slaine captain could notice was the amiable and gentle grip, a stark contrast to his solitary demeanor.

  "Only bad things, I imagine," he said without consideration, reciting a formula he had learned by heart.

  "Is it true that you wield the fire of a dragon you yourself slaughtered, extracting its ribcage to forge a sword from its bones?" Gazef couldn't stop himself to ask, curiosity having taken hold of him.

  "The stories about me are greatly exaggerated. Firstly, it wasn't a dragon, but a gigantic wyvern, which even the lords of the wyverns living in the nearby mountains haven't managed to tame. And secondly, I tried to use its bones to have equipment made, but the craftsmanship was... quite lacking. I got more out of it by selling the remains to a strange collector. One of these weirdos that loved everything that had to do with giant reptiles."

  Gazef nodded, understanding the situation. Optics gave the impression of being a very approachable and kind person. If he was there as the queen's bodyguard, Draudillon was in good hands.

  "If you're done with pleasantries, there's one thing I'd like to know from Ser Stronoff..."

  There was a fourth person in the room, one Gazef knew well.

  "General Aderbaal, I'd like to say you look in excellent form."

  The old man's hair had turned gray, and his beard had grown thicker. His skin couldn't quite hide the wrinkles.

  "The same goes for you, Ser Stronoff," Aderbaal cut short every other attempt at worthless chats. "Let's get straight to the point, because there are many things we need to update you on. First of all, however, I want you to hand over the item entrusted to you to our Queen."

  There was no occasion for pleasantries. Their time was short, after all, and every second counted.

  "Here..."

  Gazef opened the bag where he had placed the orb, as Draudillon Oriculus prepared to take it into her hands.

  "What an intense light."

  "It makes you want to own it."

  Gazef held the object in his hands, admiring its splendor. The violet light was the last color of souls that had not been lost, but had been trapped inside the sphere. It enchanted like a siren's song, while the swirling silvery vortex made it impossible to look away.

  "Ser Stronoff," the queen called him, concerned.

  All the sacrifices of the past weeks, from both sides, had been brought before her. Gazef, with an effort that surprised even himself, let go of the orb, and with it the weight of the lives he had sacrificed.

  Unlike what he expected, he didn't feel lighter.

  "Well?" Aderbaal couldn't restrain his impatience.

  Queen Draudillon admired what had been handed to her; now, in Gazef's opinion, it was not so different from a particularly colorful piece of glass.

  "I feel a power flowing within it," Draudillon said, enchanted. "The souls enclosed are a breath that blows to my heart. A very sad breath."

  "Try it," the general urged. "My Queen, if it works, the Dragon will roar again. And you will be that dragon!"

  There was no dragon among them. Only a woman who wandered uncertainly towards what was her destiny. Gazef was about to grab her hand, foolishly deluding himself that it would give her courage.

  Draudillon Oriculus was not a woman who needed courage or hopes. Draudillon Oriculus was a queen, and a sorceress. And now, perhaps, she would be reborn as the dragon she already was meant to be.

  "I'll try," she held the orb tightly, breathing deeply to find concentration. "My usual mutation spell."

  The magic item began to glow, and with it the queen. That vortex of souls within it escaped, no longer held by the curse that had anchored its last memories to it.

  And with it, Draudillon also began to change, returning to the childlike form with which Gazef had known her.

  "Well, I'll be damned..." Optics commented.

  "It works!" Aderbaal shouted, abandoning all traces of control that still remained. "It works! My lady, how do you feel?"

  He grabbed Draudillon by her now slender shoulders, taking minimal care not to damage her with his impetuosity, now that she had returned to such a fragile aspect.

  Gazef was perplexed. The queen's magic had achieved the desired effect, and that test had yielded the hoped-for result. Yet, there were no signs of satisfaction in Draudillon, who remained staring at the orb without any emotion.

  "It worked, yes," she repeated, her voice dull. "I didn't have to use my soul as fuel for the spell. A success on all fronts. Or almost..."

  "What do you mean?"

  With her small hands, Draudillon raised the magic item to the sky, so that everyone could realize the change. The violet light had disappeared, replaced by a vacant dullness.

  With a swift movement, she let out the orb, which fell down, shattering in many pieces, as it had never been more than common glass.

  "The souls, they've all been consumed," she proclaimed, dignified and regal. "It was enough to perform a low-level spell-like transformation."

  Gazef was about to burst out laughing.

  Blood spilled, memories desecrated, and vast sacrifices. All to obtain what they deserved.

  Antilene placed Charon's Guidance on her lap, sitting on one of the many corpses around her, while the Spartiate arranged themselves in a circle to protect her persona. The battered bodies were uncomfortable, but definitely better than the alternative of bare earth.

  The half-elf wondered how long it would be until their arrival, as she sipped water from a canteen. Looking up at the sky, it darkened.

  "Now what?"

  She wasn't tired, not even a little. She had cleaned up in the last half hour, remaining somewhat dissatisfied by the lack of action. Needless to say, the blood covering her wasn't her own.

  The Spartiate made to move, alerted by the danger descending from the sky.

  "Calm," Antilene ordered as she focused on the sun returning to shine. A deafening crunch of bones shattered her eardrums, leaving her irritated by the commotion.

  The reptilian figures glided near her, raising a cloud of dust as they approached. The Spartiate continued to hold their position, awaiting her command.

  When the dust began to clear, a dozen dragons snorted at her. Dragons not made of flesh, but a simple amalgamation of skeletons and dark energy, whose roar was a distant lament of a life they never had.

  "Skeletal dragons, huh."

  For Antilene, the number didn't matter. They were insignificant creatures that didn't deserve more than a second glance. Suppressing her disappointment, in any case, the realization that such adversaries, in such numbers, could be a tough opponent for many, made her decide to get rid of them on the spot.

  However, Charon's Guidance remained in its place. As did Antilene.

  "Half-elf, we salute you."

  The skeletal dragons did not have the gift of speech. The decadent, rotten, and corrupt voice that paid homage to her was the welcome sign of one of the beings riding them.

  "A lich? I'm surprised," she lied.

  The sorcerer commanding that expedition was adorned with magical objects of exquisite craftsmanship. Every finger bore a ring that sparkled so much as to dispel darkness, the necklace around his neck was pure platinum that stood out from the shadows invoked by some foul spell.

  "I am the Revenant in Yellow," he introduced himself, pointing his scepter, studded with rubies and emeralds brimming with power, towards her. "I am the night."

  The Night Lich threw back his hood, revealing a face covered in golden bones, even more splendid than all the priceless jewels he adorned himself with. Following his example, all the other riders of the skeletal dragons revealed themselves.

  Liches like their master, inferior in magical ability, but no less dangerous for it. A couple were not spellcasters, but skeletal swordsmen. One in particular accompanied the Revenant as his presumed commander, judging by the pressure with which he tried to overwhelm her. Two serrated swords on his shoulders waited to be unsheathed at the slightest command.

  "The night?" Antilene kept the scythe on her lap, toying with its pommel.

  The cabal of sorcerers to which the White Lady belonged had finally shown itself, at least in part. But there was only one Night Lich, from what she could gather.

  "We are the Abyss," the Revenant continued, unperturbed. "We are the night that darkens all. We are the arcane that conceals all. And we want you, half-elf."

  An infernal clamor arose; obscene formulas and profane invocations. Made to intimidate her, recited to frighten her. A torrent of unrepeatable sounds composing songs of blasphemy, led by the yellow chorus of the revenant directing them.

  The Spartiate remained silent and still.

  "For what?"

  The skeletal dragon extended its head, almost as if to sniff her. The reek of decay embraced Antilene, until the miasma mingled with her breath. Then instinct, or whatever impulse guided that aberration, caused it to recoil. The Revenant in Yellow pulled hard on the reins to prevent it from flapping its wings further and taking flight.

  "Our liege needs you," the undead finally said, once he had regained control of his creature. The bottom holes that were his eyes shone with malignity; a malignity that attempted to shower in contempt and hate all that lived.

  "Your liege could show themselves in person if they cared so much about me," Antilene rebuked dauntless, facing that hatedom head on, spitting on the foreboding threat.

  "Do you not fear death?"

  Evening began to cover the sky, and the moon introduced itself sparkling faintly. Strange, for it had not been long since midday.

  "I fear it," she replied with frankness. "But if you are death, then death fears me more than I fear it."

  The skeletal dragons began to retreat, moved by the half-elf's simply bored gaze. Their masters tried in vain to prevent them from being moved by terror. And even more in vain was the attempt to try and make them attack her.

  In truth, in the end, even the dead knew the fear of death.

  "Heheh," the Revenant in Yellow laughed, baring his teeth with a sharp sound. "It's no surprise you managed to get rid of Kunivela, one of the greatest among us."

  "If he was one of your best, I can't imagine the worst."

  "Insolent!" The skeletal chevalier moved to draw his swords, but two Spartiate had already pointed their shields at him.

  "I advise you not to move," Antilene said. "It's true that spears have little effect on your kind, but a shield charge from my Spartiate is more than enough to reduce you to dust."

  The chevalier was not intimidated, and would have followed through with his attack, had his lord not stopped him on the spot.

  "There will be no need," the Revenant interjected. There was something weird about him. His voice was different. Calmer, less hostile. Almost friendly. Even the skeletal appearance was marked by a more wan countenance. "At least we meet, fragment of Hougan."

  Few had managed to make Antilene's anger rise to that point. A single epithet was enough to put it at the top after centuries.

  "Be wise with your words, Five Fingers," the half-elf warned the newcomer. "If you want my friendship, you'll have to show a minimum of respect."

  "I apologize for offending you," the voice was genuinely regretful. "Should I perhaps call you fragment of Surshana? Or fragment of the Six? Fragment of the Eight? Or perhaps simply Antilene, as if we were friends?"

  "Antilene will do. We're among friends, aren't we? Or, at least, you've known me for a long time now."

  "Ah, I'm pleased to hear that," a mixture of joy and contentment leaked from the puppet. "Yes. I've been observing you for a long time. A very long time. I'm so sorry, but I need you. Even among anomalies, you are a unique case. The closest thing to my father's abominations."

  The Five Fingers continued to speak in riddles; if their goal was to offer clarity, they were failing miserably.

  "I still don't understand why you're so obsessed with me."

  "I'm not!" the voice thundered, with a distinctly feminine intonation. It was a woman, or at least something close to that concept. "I'm not," she repeated, regaining her composure. Not that the coherence of her discourse followed that trend. "I, I must atone, you see? My father stained this world, you see? It was a perfect canvas, and he soiled it. My mother tried to erase his mistakes, but she made the situation worse in her folly. And my brother... He sacrificed himself to block the problem, condemning himself to an enormous sacrifice just to contain the bridge, the connection. Sooner or later, in a few centuries or a few millennia, that sacrifice will be in vain and the bridge will reopen. And I... I hate him, I've always hated him. But I must put an end to all this. That's my duty. That's my vow."

  Antilene could sympathize with a complicated family, but her understanding stopped right there. The blabbing of a madwoman remained as precious as shit.

  "And what does that have to do with me?"

  "It's very simple. I need your soul, the soul of those like you to recreate the original magic. I have conducted many experiments over the last centuries, some not very ethical I'll admit… What does your kind say? To make an omelette, you have to break some eggs. Now I have come to the conclusion that I alone could not do much."

  "So you want my help?"

  "More than that. I need your soul, and the souls of all like you. If you would grant it to me, I'd be more than ready to ensure nothing happens to your loved ones. Your siblings will be spared. Your home will be spared. In exchange for so little... Your soul, that of your friend the captain, and others you'll help me convince. Together, we can save this world before it's too late."

  An offer with no advantage whatsoever. Nothing more than meaningless nonsense.

  "First you threaten me, then you ask for my help? Weren't you taught good manners? Those who tried to kill me at least had the courtesy to offer me dinner first."

  "Joke while you can," the voice of the Five Fingers ignited with uncomfortable pain, almost like every word, every sound, was the worst torture. "Killing you would be useless. Even if it would be so easy... No, I need your soul. It must be a spontaneous gesture... And if I don't get it nicely, I'll use more persuasive arguments."

  Antilene, who had heard far too many baseless boasts in her life, for the first time grasped the seriousness of those declarations. She gripped her scythe tighter, standing up, facing the danger. Shivering.

  "Go ahead and try, then. The Theocracy has survived for centuries. It has survived demi-humans, dragon lords, and even the Eight. All who have tried to destroy humanity have found themselves defeated at the end of the story."

  "Like those who now lie at your feet?" The lich gestured to the piles of corpses behind her, moved by the will of his owner. "Those weren't warriors. Those weren't sorcerers, heroes, monsters, or legendary creatures. Civilians, armed with everyday tools. Batons, not swords. Sickles, not scythes. Children, mothers, fathers. Your massacre didn't distinguish... How could you? Like them, for you all of this is nothing more than a game."

  Five dazzling columns extended from the ground following that accusation. Antilene wasn't blinded by them, but she had to squint her eyes to avoid being overwhelmed by that rainbow of flames.

  "They attacked me," she protested, reminding of the time spent in the Union.

  A demihuman child had offered sweets, whose taste was all but good. More than a human child, in the Draconic Kingdom, had seen their father slaughtered by the beastmen, their mother pulled away from their home, their siblings brought as vulgar cattle.

  And as nothing more remained, Antilene remembered that sweet whose taste was all but good. Antilene remembered the stories of the human children before the Six, and the soreness in her throat dried.

  "Does it matter? Even if it were true, you could have endured their attacks for months and years, without flinching."

  Not entirely correct. Not entirely wrong either.

  "A lot. I don't have a duty to protect them. I fight for my people, and anyone who threatens them suffers the consequences."

  "How selfish!" the voice thundered, letting the five columns merge into a single, brilliant beam of light. "Just like him. Just like the one you call father, and who hides. Ah! There's no agreement with those who don't accept their responsibilities. Like father, like daughter indeed. Antilene Heran Fouche, for now, I bid you farewell. Next time we meet again, you will beg me on your knees to grant me what I need. Or he will pay for you."

  "Don't you dare touch him," her father was already alone.

  It was impossible to kill Rufus. Such certainty filled the deep of Antilene's heart.

  "Together, we could have brought music back to the world. Together, instead, we will sing a funeral march..."

  And with that inauspicious promise, the Five Fingers said goodbye, disappearing among the stars that were beginning to lose their brilliance. Antilene was left there, alone, pondering about what she had heard.

  For every answer, she received twice as many questions. There wasn't a breath of wind, and with her thoughts plunging into the sea of doubt, even the moon above offered no comfort with its dim refulgence, soon lost in the correct flow of time.

  "So, what do you want to do?"

  Freed from their mistress's yoke, the undead had returned to exhibiting a semblance of free will. The Revenant in Yellow, back to his old self, hurled his contempt, cursing her.

  "We can't kill you! That doesn't mean we can't drag you in chains before our mistress."

  A mistress who had evidently abandoned them to their fate. And yet Antilene was the cruel one.

  Her muscles relaxed as the swarm of skeletal dragons approached to challenge her.

  "You can try," the half-elf urged, motioning for the Spartiate to hold their ground. The howling wind heralded something new. They had arrived, at last.

  "My lord, may I eliminate her?" That irritating undead chevalier took an assault stance, dismounting from his steed. Alas, Antilene judged him stronger than a Spartiate with a more inquisitive glance.

  "No, we must strike her all together," the Revenant in Yellow commanded, preparing his spells. Spheres of fire, ice, and wind materialized behind him, and the same happened for every other lich accompanying him. "We must not be hasty..."

  "Don't you understand? You're already dead..."

  "If this is supposed to be a joke..." The chevalier took a step, and the comet that fell upon him obliterated the undead and his skeletal dragon, reducing them to shreds.

  The tremendous fury of the impact raised a fierce roar, as the ground was gouged into an enormous crater, whose dust gradually revealed a clearing shadow.

  Some liches lunged, drawn by that fury, raising their arms to unleash their accumulated power. But if they had started their move, Antilene had long done hers.

  The Spartiates' shields intercepted most of that force, letting the echo silence all other sounds, while the battle ensued.

  "I swear by the Six!" Someone complained, amidst that chaos, cursing and swearing with such fervor that Antilene was forced to ignore most of those words. "Tenth Seat, this is the last time I travel clinging to you!"

  The shadow gained substance, revealing two figures clinging to each other. The first was a man whose stature and size challenged giants, his body a hymn to muscle and physical strength. Of comparable size was the ax he had hurled at the chevalier, reducing him to a pile of dust in an instant, and which now lay embedded in the ground.

  "Astrologer, you're the one who wanted to come here as soon as possible, without waiting for the other three," the strongest man in the world pulled out the weapon, making that same world itself rumble with his gesture alone. "Hmm, there are a lot of insects around here. And this..." He observed the crumbled remains of the undead beneath him, before delivering his fair judgment. "Disappointing."

  The second figure was a girl, seemingly fragile and cute as a button. After regaining her balance, she dusted herself off, adjusted the bow adorning her short brown hair, and pushed up the glasses that had slid down her nose.

  One of the skeletal dragons lunged at her, opening its jaws to devour her in one bite. That, at least, was the plan…

  "Ugh, I'm going to throw up. I should have listened to Windstride!" Astrologer didn't flinch, raising her voice completely unperturbed by what was disclosing around her, while the man next to her forced the attacker's mouth shut.

  "A member of the Black Scripture shouldn't be so delicate," the Tenth Seat clenched his hand forcefully, pulverizing the dragon in a vortex of bones and entrails. The undead riding the skeletal dragon, a skeletal warrior wielding a sharp machete, didn't miss the opportunity to aim a blow at Strongest Human's neck. "In my day, we did worse, and without complaining."

  "I beg you, not another lecture about the good old days."

  The machete didn't reach its target. The Tenth Seat of the Black Scripture blocked it with a finger of his right hand. "How rude," he commented. It was hard to tell whom he was addressing. "If one dares to interrupt, one should have the decency to be able to afford it. Now I'll show you how it's done..." To give credence to that strange philosophy, he brought his ax down on the assailant. It was a very slow, but excellent nonetheless, blow that descended skilfully. "Already done?"

  Torn to pieces, that undead had no way to respond, leaving Strongest Human to twiddle his thumbs alone in the chaos.

  "What did you expect?" The Seventh Seat kicked the scattered remains away, bored by that rapid commotion. "Ah, Lady Fouche! We're so happy to see you!"

  Antilene had remained completely silent, letting the Spartiate protect her from the liches' attacks. Actually, three of them had attempted to cast woes directly on her, arcane curses and unblessed stench. Now, where their pieces rested, was impossible for the eye to witness.

  "Is it just the two of you?"

  Astrologer hadn't managed to take more than a few steps when one of the surviving undead blocked her path, placing himself between her and the half-elf.

  "Oh no... There's also..."

  A thrust of light cut the undead in two, while a young blond boy didn't even look back before continuing with his task, running over the blasphemous horde.

  "Shiny Blade," Astrologer continued, almost as if nothing had happened. "And then..."

  A shower of magic arrows fell on both women. They would have hit them squarely if a girl with a funny hat hadn't countered them with an even greater number of bullets.

  "And Infinite Magic," Astrologer resumed, returning the greeting to her companion with long blue hair, gathered in two equally voluminous braids. "Hey! Where's Windstride?"

  The Eleventh Seat of the Black Scripture sat bored on her floating orb, offering her greetings to Antilene with a frightened nod. "She's over there," the woman pointed to a distant spot, having to make an effort not to mumble her words given the agitation. "Windstride doesn't want to deal with the undead for now. Says it's pointless to waste Lady Fouche's time, while she could just stomp everyone with one blow."

  The large hat, too large even for that cascade of hair, moved as if it had a will of its own. A large hand extended from the fabric. For every spell that approached, twice as many were prepared: one of equal power, so that the effects would cancel each other out, mostly resulting in small pyrotechnic displays, another of greater intensity of the original, so that it would strike the enchanter bold—or idiotic—enough to try to overwhelm them.

  "I see her," Antilene turned her head and saw Windstride a few meters away, observing everything from a nearby cliff with a bored expression. "I imagine this is the kind of opponent where she's at a disadvantage. Nothing can be done about that."

  Normally, a reprimand for such unprofessionalism would have been appropriate, but the day was almost over, and Antilene felt lenient enough.

  "I'm sorry, Lady Fouche," Astrologer hastened to apologize, almost as if she had committed the infraction herself. "It was a tiring trip."

  Teletrasportation magic could be quite vexing on the body, indeed. The sensation of nausea was difficult to graze off, no matter how accustomed to it one could be. Antilene could sympathize with Windistride, to a certain extent.

  "It doesn't matter. I am not your superior, but your comrade," a concept that was very difficult to instill in those stubborn heads. "I'd say it's time to clean up."

  Only a few minutes had passed, and most of the undead had been annihilated. The few remaining put up a strenuous resistance, their hope fading whenever one of their own joined the ranks of the fallen.

  Soon, the result was a desolate seven to zero for the Slaine Theocracy.

  "It's inconceivable!" Overwrought, the Revenant in Yellow burst into an incandescent scream, filled with contempt as his personal army dwindled under his sight. "I had screened the area with numerous spells. Intruders weren't anticipated."

  "Oh, those?" Astrologer retorted, whistling nonchalantly. "A spell to make your presence invisible: third level. A spell to unleash lightning bolts and other magical traps in case anyone tried to break into the area: fourth level. And numerous second-level spells to expand the area of effect and to mislead intruders," the Seventh Seat began counting on her fingers, rattling off the long list with utter disregard. "It must have required a lot of preparation. It took me more than a few minutes to draft a plan of all the different and tangled layers of precautions, but in the end, I was fortunate enough to have everything I needed with me to prevent you from noticing our arrival."

  She displayed a purse overflowing with first-rate magical items. It wasn't simple arrogance; when it came to divinatory abilities, Cassandra, as the official diviner for the Black Scripture, could easily match or even surpass some of the Miko princesses. In that specialized field, not even Antilene could be compared to the Seventh Seat.

  "I see..." Any malevolent intention the Revenant was harboring was suppressed by a newfound interest, born of an obsession that triumphed over all other emotions. "You would be an interesting subject to study."

  Astrologer recoiled in disgust, almost puking at such a prospect. "Hmph, no need for an oracle to intuit that you have no future, monster."

  "That remains to be seen," the undead raised his scepter, which glowed with energy. An undertow of darkness was summoned by a malignant call, cleaving the air in half with its sheer pressure.

  Antilene moved gracefully, one light step after the other.

  The Tenth Seat tried to interject: "This one seems stronger than the others. Can I take care of him?" The giant ax was pointed to the undead, in wait of the eventual legendary clash that would have been born from such an encounter.

  But Samson would have to wait for his chance to show off, Antilene decided. They had already wasted too much time.

  "The outcome could be uncertain. I need you at your best."

  The man huffed but didn't dare protest. If he wanted to carve a legend in his death, he would still have many opportunities.

  "You will regret underestimating me."

  The skeletal dragon vibrated in the air as its rider unleashed every part of his arsenal.

  The abyss of magic itself opened, summoned by the one who had mastered its every art. A wave of scorching flames propagated with such intensity that one might say that area on the border of the Draconic Kingdom was the crater of a volcano, which had planned its explosion, its masterpiece, for centuries, before erupting in a fleeting instant.

  Antilene was engulfed by that heat, and continued to advance, implacable.

  A flash heralded the beginning of the storm. Thunderclouds folded in on themselves, giving rise to a turbulent tempest, cumulonimbus imbued with power gathered by the order of the Revenant in Yellow. Sparks of pure electricity were the only light in a fog that covered the world with its grey veil. Lightning bolts poured down on the half-elf, while the cyclone accumulating around her sucked in everything that could be, alive or not, in the closeness.

  Antilene leaped into the center of the cyclone, and as she continued to advance, heedless of everything else, it was as if the eye of the storm itself hastened to follow her pace, such was the calm that accompanied the half-elf.

  "How is this possible? She remains undisturbed by every one of my blows!" The undead exclaimed, incredulous, continuing to unleash blow after blow that had no effect whatsoever. The futility of these attempts was an automatic mechanism, incapable of producing something worth of note. "In centuries, no one could afford to not even dodge my spells!"

  Simple madness that refused reality, and repeated the same attempt, again and again, expecting a different result, unable to accept what had already been set.

  "Yes. It's a bad habit of hers," said Infinite Magic, from afar.

  Antilene ignored that comment, for with a single leap she had reached the dragon's head, leaving the Revenant in Yellow shocked and the mount enraged. The undead raised his now opaque scepter again, hesitating on which spell to cast.

  Hesitation that proved fatal. The skeletal dragon began to writhe, trying to shake off the unwanted intruder. Antilene raised her leg...

  "Dismount."

  And like a hammer striking an anvil, her foot crushed the skull of the flying creature, not even giving it the chance to realize it was being annihilated.

  "Teleport..."

  As they plummeted, the Revenant in Yellow finally made his decision. A cowardly decision for sure, but nonetheless the wisest... And he would have succeeded in his intent, had the half-elf not grabbed him by the lapel of his cloak before he could escape, pulling him too close to her.

  "There is no escape, I'm afraid."

  "Please, be merciful..." For one who had already made the acquaintance of death, it was difficult to believe there could be anything that rivalled the grim reaper. The limits of knowledge were being shattered in unexpected ways, and the desire for wisdom could be sated in the worst possible manner, if greed was the only appetite.

  "As you wish..." Antilene let go of Charon's Guidance and delivered a hook. Her knuckles pulverized the bones of the undead sorcerer's ribcage, resounding with a sharp crack. Any malevolent energy holding that mass of bones together fractured, dispersing like sand carried away by the tide.

  The half-elf pirouetted gracefully in her descent; the Revenant's remains were not as fortunate, shattering disastrously as they met the ground.

  The other members of the Black Scripture had also diligently carried out their tasks. The first to approach Antilene was Windstride, fretting to the spot to greet the half-elf.

  "I thought he'd be stronger..."

  "I imagine you've said something like that more than once," the ninth seat said, half-amused by that display. Bewildered by Antilene's strength, traces of ancient fear showed by the sweat staining her forehead. Envy was running through her jealous gaze; and envy that wished to make that unmatched might her own, incapable to make that ambition something more.

  Windstride's wishes would have to remain unfulfilled, while Antilene shrugged with annoyance, unsatisfied by that quick clash. "The Night Lich I eliminated in the past was tougher. Well, maybe I've gotten stronger too."

  Clementine's mouth opened as if to say something, but then she decided to remain silent. An exemplary demonstration of how silence always prevailed over an unrefined comment.

  "How splendid..." She finally muttered, after a long meditation. The result was not comparable to the effort, but was still worthy of praise.

  Antilene collected the mishmash of magical objects and dust that had been the lich just minutes before. "By the way, in your report, you said you encountered one of the Night Liches, if I recall well. Was it this one, by any chance?"

  Windstride lifted the remains of the crumpled cloak. "No. I don't think so, at least. That one was particular, dressed like a dandy from a ballroom for high-nobility brats. This one didn't particularly care about style." Realizing it was worthless, she discarded it like trash.

  Antilene quickly scrutinized the magical items. Their craftsmanship and potential were excellent, far superior to anything found in specialized shops. But otherwise, the plundered equipment didn't shine for elegance or a particular cosmetic sense.

  "So there's at least one more out there..."

  "Cheer up! I hope they offer you an interesting battle, Lady Fouche..." As an attempt at ingratiation, Clementine's wasn't subtle. But, at least, could Antilene appreciate her frankness? Hard to say.

  When the others joined them, she tasked Astrologer with precisely cataloging the loot, including what was left by the followers. "Lest there be a treasure of extreme value. In any case, I doubt there's anything that can enrich the Theocracy's treasury, but they could provide excellent support for the other scriptures."

  Antilene scratched the back of her head, thoughtfully. And then Samson highlighted something that utterly dumbfounded her.

  "You're starting to sound like a Cardinal."

  "Huh?"

  "Since you're no longer confined to the treasury, your gaze is more fixed on the future."

  It didn't seem so to Antilene, but that opinion was evidently shared by the other Black Scripture members.

  "Yes, indeed. By Surshana, sometimes I even see the Guardian Deity," Astrologer said.

  "Huh???"

  Now that was truly absurd. But, deep down, she didn't mind it much.

  "Okay, let's go now. There's a lot of work to do!"

  The half-elf began to walk away, so the others wouldn't notice her embarrassment. The only thing Antilene could think was: 'Like Rufus, huh?'

  It wasn't so bad after all.

  A couple of chapters ago I quoted Stephen King's. That doesn't seem to have aged too well. Oops. Oh, well…