Chapter Sixteen - 016

Chapter Sixteen - 016

In the grey light of dawn, on the sixteenth day of summer, Magda Aren found herself on the Haarwatch wall overlooking the approach to the Foglands. Here it was summer only in name. Thick, land-bound clouds drifted and swirled amidst the shadows of winter-bare trees, ominous in what they hid. She leaned against the crenelations, feeling somewhat naked without her shields. But being armed and armored for war at all times wasn't something she could afford, not anymore. She fingered the silver medallion hanging around her neck, symbol of her prestige and authority. Chains as far as she was concerned, as good as any manacles.

It was saying something to her state of mind that she didn't notice the man until he was nearly on top of her.

"Ye can't go, Maggie. It be too dangerous out there, now. The fog blinds us, and the beasts be gettin' worse." A heavyset dwarf with a short, bristly beard growled nearly in her ear, while his two bright blue eyes creased in concern. He was dressed in a combination of leathers and mail, effective armor for defending the wall of Haarwatch or wading into an army of monsters. Magda stood up, towering over him by over a foot as she crossed her arms in front of her fine silk tunic and embroidered tabard.

"The Culling be only six months past, but we've yet to see a drop in the chimeric hordes. They've retreated, aye, but our scouts say the wilds are full to bursting. Ye enter there, ye ain't coming out," the dwarf said, brows turned down.

Magda smirked at the dwarf, her hand on her belt. "That sounds like a challenge, Rory."

Rory groaned. "It ain't, ya loon. It's a warning, and a fair one too." Rory turned toward the heavy mist that rolled across the wilds, the area of the Continent folks called the Foglands. "I've been up here for close to twenty years now, and I know how these things go, Maggie. The Culling shoulda cut back the mists and chimeras both, as it always does. But they only went quiet, leavin' us alone in our turtle town. I know they're out there, getting stronger while we wait."

"Then why wait? Take the fight to them, beat them back like you have before." Magda's eyes twinkled, her mouth curved upward in a slow grin. "Don't tell me Raging Rory is afraid of a little fog."

Rory grunted, frown deepening. "It be more than that, and ye know it. Politics, fah," he spat off the side of the wall, and they both watched it disappear into the roiling mists. "The new Governor in Setoria wants a show of force at his festival, a display o' Haarwatch's best. So I'm left with the dregs to man this fog-cursed wall." Rory sighed, a deep bellows gust of air from his sturdy lungs. "Truth be told, I'd rather wade into it with you than watch over a bunch o greenhorns who know the hoe better than their pikes."

"We can't all go walking into the lion's den, someone's got to keep them safe," Magda replied with a smile and a jerk of her thumb backward, toward town. "And besides, I've got greenhorns of my own to shepherd."

Rory grunted, this time smiling. "Oh aye, I heard you've been lugging some dead weight. Who hired the Guild to powerlevel their brats this time? Who had money enough to earn the services of the Shieldwitch herself?"

"My sister, for one."

"Little Evie's old enough to face the wilds? I must be losing track o time; last I knew she weren't any taller than me."

Magda snorted. "Everyone's taller than you."

"Aye aye, laugh it up human," Rory grumbled, grin still not gone. "So Evie is going out, I assume to earn her Omen? Who're the others?"

"Atar V'as, some prodigy from Tethys," Magda's expression soured. "And Vessilia Dayne."

Rory's eyes widened. "Yer shittin me."

"No shit involved, dwarf. Not unless I fail to bring her back in one piece," Magda laughed, but the humor was gone.

Rory leaned against the crenelated wall, armored gauntlets scraping against stone. "Twins' teeth, woman. Here I am, complain' about monsters at the gates and you've got em in your lap." He slapped his thigh and let out a sharp bark of a laugh. "That's some damn luck, Maggie."

Magda's eyes hardened, her mouth a grim line. "Don't I know it."

A dozen blocks east of the wall, a grizzled and scarred man sat in a well appointed office, lounging in an expensively crafted chair in a row of near identical copies. He wasn't much to look at, wearing rumpled woolens and a sweat-stained jerkin. But at his waist were two exquisitely crafted hand axes, and around his neck was a silver medallion. Two heavily armored guards at either end of the room kept eyeing him, as if he were a dangerous animal, both of their hands hovering near their weapons.

A desk carved to look like gryphons held it up on two corners was across the room, and a woman in a pale green dress worked silently on various piles of paperwork. Suddenly, she raised her head, curled hair bobbing in place. "Sir? The Lady is ready for you now."The inaugural upload of this chapter took place via N0v3l-B1n.

"That went well," Lady Eliza DuFont observed. Her secretary (either Vera or Tera, she was never sure) stood up from her desk and sprinkled sand over her parchment.

"The meeting is fully recorded in the Guild Logs, as you requested, my Lady."

"Good," Eliza stretched her arms, feeling her shoulders cramp from exerting her aura. It was not a tool used often in polite society, but it had its uses, shutting down belligerent fools being one of them. "Have the Logs taken to the record keepers and notarized."

"As you wish, my Lady."

Tera (or Vera) left the room, a bundle of parchment in her hands. The moment she exited, Eliza let loose a sigh that had been building for the past twenty minutes. She was just about to sit back down in her chair when a soft scraping noise grabbed her attention. Immediately, Eliza had her arms up, yellow light flowing around her limbs as she activated a Skill. "Who dares!?"

A shadow detached from the edge of her office, neatly forming from cast off scraps of light until a figure about five and a half feet tall materialized on her expensive Denarian rug. Wearing flat plates of boiled leather and dyed variations of grey and black, a half mask of featureless matte black porcelain covered their upper face, leaving plump lips stretched over a generous smile. The figure took an elegant bow, white eyes never leaving Eliza's own.

"I bid you a good morning, Elder DuFont."

"Illia, you fog-touched wretch," Eliza breathed, her Skill fading as she lowered her arms. "You are as unnerving as ever."

The pale woman smiled even wider, if that were possible. "The Lady is too kind."

Eliza composed herself, straightening her silk brocade and tugging on the edges of her custom gauntlets. Their presence always helped ease her mind, a weapon constantly to hand. "You saw the whole thing, I presume?"

"It was quite the show," Illia said. "I could have sold tickets."

"A necessary fiction, if our plan is to work. I can't been seen supporting a decision to take the Duke's only daughter into the Foglands." Eliza shook her head, still marveling at the audacity of the adventurer team's plan. "That the Duke and the Guild green-lit this contract is pure madness. I aim to be on the correct side of history."

"With some help, of course," suggested Illia.

Eliza smiled. "Of course. And you are prepared for your part in our arrangement?"

The woman in black flexed her shoulders, an impressive array of blades secured across her torso. "Always. I'll shadow the team the entire way, keep the Duke's brat safe, extracting her once the team falls."

"Good."

"What if they don't?" Illia asked.

Eliza raised an eyebrow. "What if they don't what?"

"Fall."

"They will," Eliza promised, sipping her wine and turning toward the picture window behind her. The Guild Hall was the largest building in Haarwatch, and she could see clear to the walls. Men and women patrolled them, clear as day to her enhanced Perception.

"One way or another."