[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 17]

Climb saw the moment before his eyes again and again. He could not understand, his blade should not have cleaved Teloran’s throat.

My reach was too short. How could it have touched? It doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand how- I can’t figure it out.

Renner was by his side, gripping his left hand tightly as they walked. They were pathing towards Zanac’s room, trying to take as many lesser ways as they could. They moved swiftly, yet did not run. His thoughts began to drift to her, but he wrenched them away, trying his best to stay sharp and ready for combat. He was alone, protecting a defenseless charge by himself, already having gone through the exhaustion of one melee which almost left him dead, and completely unsure of who his enemy be or what they would look like. The pall of the grave seemed to be trailing him, and he felt a deathly anxiety that he would be slain and his mistress set upon.

Gods, I killed someone. I can’t believe I killed someone. Murdered? I- How? It was in defense of… her, but he- he was a highblood! Are they to hang me for this?!

The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to vomit. Perils to his mistress, the specter of his own mortality, agonies over the station of his first, and interweaving guilt for feeling all three of the previous in the first place brewed deep suffering in his soul. He was afraid, his fears feeling independent of direction and cause. Shreds of more coherent grievance fell apart, he desperately holding onto his mission. He pulled in a two-timed breath, his lungs staggering over themselves. His chest seized, sharp pains at his side. He looked to his left, lifting his arm slightly to view the flank of his body better.

I never pulled out the parts of my armor. They’re still inside me.

He saw glints in his side, metal shards protruding through the lower part of his ribcage. The sight did not hold to inspection, and as he looked closer, he realized he could not discern the spot where the foriegn bodies ended and his skin began. The flesh at joining of the vitreous and vital was rawwed, but not torn. The jagged chunks of metal had been caught in the intraphysio knitwork of healing magic. They were not simply embedded in Climb, they were fused. As he realized what his eyes were seeing, his stomach was tested a second time. He gagged, the involuntary motion provoking worse lacerations on his insides as hard edges swept through muscle and tissue, this causing him to gag more. He steeled himself and bayed back more convulsions, but the sensation was jarring nonetheless.

What was it that Hoylan warned me of? Cuts on the inside? Blood that escapes… something. The veins? Something… Agh, I can’t remember! I wonder if I’ll ever see him again, or any of the rest in the guardhouse. He probably hates me now anyway. If I’m wounded on the inside, and I keep drinking tonics, will I “burn out”? That was something Hoylan said too. I don’t know.

For all he trained it, Climb knew little of the body. Renner had given him an education, but not in subjects of physicality. She had taught him to read and write, the basics of arithmetic, and some crass tellings of history; and wit-permitting, glimpses at what heights she had driven herself too. The active effort by her had fallen off as they aged. He knew not why, but the thought came to him, his anguish over the events of the umbra nabbed at him. His thoughts had been turned from protecting his mistress to her as a person. He allowed himself an absent wonder about his past.

Why did we stop? It was hard, but I did it anyway. What she gave me was better than anyone else in the guardhouse, equal even to Ehkan. I suppose she felt… unprincess-like, reading to me; and I could never keep up. Gods, and I seriously thought to doubt if she loved me. I really am an idiot aren’t I?

He caught himself performing a laxity, and chastised himself. His breath had fallen completely from its rhythm, lost in some earlier eon of the night. He whipped it back into form, making sure each subsequent stroke of his chest was full and broad - at least as broad as he could make it considering the jutting chromes of his torso. They were nearing a junction, Climb filling his lungs.

“Right.”

Her voice was quiet, soft enough to nearly be subsumed by the ambient depth of the hall. Climb nodded. Her taking command of him was a twin-tinged sentiment, halfways ashamed that she would need to take the reins of leadership in a time of martial crisis, halfways grateful she had. The latter emotion won out over his mind, and he simply contented himself to be guided from the rear.

I can’t believe we haven’t met any nightwatch. Are they still lazing on their duty? Or merely distracted. Have there been other… uh, a-attempts? I don’t know.

He crept to the edge of the corner, lowering his blade to avoid it protruding beyond its cover before his eyes could seek what it obscured. He leaned, seeing no one to the left of the joining, nor to the right. He slipped round, Renner following ajoint. There was nothing ahead but further junction.

We’re close now, I think.

They drew closer, now only a score paces distant. A catch of the light dazzled his vision, a thin sliver of metal breaking the static of the joining afield. Four men rounded the corner at speed, three of which had swords drawn. It was a nightmare.

“Highness!”

Climb half bid, half pushed her back, ripping his hand from hers. He dropped himself, entering a blade-leveled stance. His hands tensed, gripping the haft of his weapon tightly. His body alit yet again, tendon and sinew flaring with power as they had so many times previous this night. The men did not stop moving. The front three were not simply armed, but armored. The gloom was laid on too thick - candlelight unable to vanquish it - and Climb could not distinguish the rearmost of the four beyond noting that he was donned in no plate. He knew none of their faces; they were entirely foreign to the palace.

They’re too close!

“Hark! Step no closer or I’ll cut you down where you stand!”

His voice trembled, but he was loud, and carried a serration in his timbre. The four stopped dead. It took Climb a moment to realize he had succeeded, and another one further to realize why. His side was fouled, as was the flank of his mistress. His blade was drawn, and he bore a wild and desperate look in his eye. His appearance told that had killed in defense of her, and he would do it again. The man in the rear broke to the front of the quartet, his clothing fine and filigreed. Climb caught his visage, and realized it was Count Keveleos.

“Your highness, Climb! Thank the Gods!”

Climb felt a wave of relief, half tempted to lower his blade, which he would not do without explicit permission of his mistress. He stayed still, not leaving his stance, nor saying a word. Keveleos pressed.

“There’s been violence, chaos abounding in every corner! My men and those of Rochefort have established a sanctuary. I came to retrieve you!”

He twitched his head back to see Renner hand to her face, her eyes darting across the men in front of her. He and her caught each other's gaze for a moment, and in another thing that did not resolve, her eyes seemed to gain a twinkle the longer they looked. She gave a stunted nod, Climb rising from his crouch as he lowered his blade. She broke the tension first.

“We’ll come with you, Count. Do you know the whereabouts of my brother? This night is filled with horrors, and I fear for him!”

What?! Oh, she’s speaking of Prince Zanac.

She began to walk forward, tapping Climb gently to draw him with. He let her take the lead, feeling far better that she was now flanked on all sides by either the walls of the corridor or those willing to stand as her escorts. For the first time since he had noticed that the guard by her door was absent, he felt that she was protected. Not yet safe, but stood sentry upon. Weight fell from his shoulders, and his inner face showed a slight smile.

“I haven’t seen his highness Zanac- er, unless you're referring to your eldest?”

“Both! Please Count, tell me they’re safe!”

What!? How can she-

Climb’s mind ran against itself. He could not understand Renner’s words. That she could carry concern in her heart not only for her youngest brother, but for the traitor who had tried to slay her. In a thought he quashed near instantly, for the traitor that had tried to kill him. He did not stagger, but he started slightly, and his face froze. Shame followed quickly, a cross of her words and his visible reaction to it wrenching his soul.

“I’m unsure, your highness.”

“My sister, then?”

“Forgive me, I have no knowledge of her either!”

How can she say she wishes for that bastard’s safety? He tried to- tried to have… do rotten things to her. Does she not know? I told her Teloran, but not- no she said her brother’s name after and came close to me. No, maybe she just saw the wound? But she only screamed after. So she did understand? But then why… Agh!

“Where have you made your sanctuary Count?”

Renner and Climb reached the bulk of their force, Keveleos and his men pivoting in place. They all set off at once, Climb having the wherewithal to peer through the depths of his turmoil to mark them as well-trained men in the dry interim between agonies of his mind. Keveleos kept his eyes on Renner, jumping his gaze between her and Climb. Climb realized the meaning of his mistress’s words.

She’s lying for our safe passage. If she says anything otherwise, she could draw the ire of her brother. No, of so many others. Gods, oh my gods! It’s unbelievable that she would need- would be forced to lie like that. It's unfair! That any good word for him would need to leave her lips. It’s so unfair.

“In one of the spare sitting rooms a floor below. I have my physician with me. What happened to you and to Climb? The Fourfold forbid you were caught in the course of tonight.”

What sort of question is that?!

Climb felt his body lock. His teeth ground against each other as he could find no response. The image of his sweeping Teloran’s neck came to him. How he was certain that Teloran was outside his measure. That moment where he was certain he was to die. He could not understand how he had lived.

What can I say? I slew a Knight. Her own brother sent an assassin… and I killed him. How can I say anything? No, no I need to. I- Her own brother tried to have her murdered! Gods I, I should-

Climb heard a muffled and stunted sound. His mistress had her hand to her mouth, and her face cocked and turned back. Her eyes welled as she stifled another cry, beads of liquid slipping down her cheek. Her head was low, and her eyes lingered on the ground. She slowed for a moment, Climb nearly closing the gap before she resumed her pace. Her voice was choked and low.

“S-sorry. I can’t… um.”

“No, no! My deepest apologies! Forgive me, your highness; I asked without thinking! I did not mean-”

Renner nodded slowly, her voice slipping off as Keveleos cut her off. More noise and tears came, but she did everything she could to choke them back. The little gulps of air she tried desperately to quash broke Climb a little inside.

Her own brother tried to have her murdered. I can’t imagine her thoughts right now. The pain she’s feeling.

“I’m sorry.”

The atmosphere had curdled at Keveleos’s impropriety, and even his second apology curdled in the face of her lamentations. She made a few inaudible sounds, presumably her own apology at being distraught. He gave a nod in place of genuflection, unable to make a proper bow until later. They all moved swiftly, Renner picking up speed as she went along. Climb turned his gaze to the rear, satisfying that no one else was in toe. He hit upon a strange realization.

Yet… yet, she still loves him, doesn’t she? She wasn’t lying for her own safety, but for his. No, she never even told an untruth. She couldn’t bear too when he asked. “Caught in the course.” Wasn’t it obvious? The side of my armor is shattered, I bled on everything below that. No point in thinking about it. I suppose he just made a mistake. Maybe she really does care for Barbro’s safety. Maybe she really does want him to be unharmed and unhurt.

His chest torsioned, guilt wrenching deeper in his soul. That he had assigned a worse motive to his mistress than what had actually occurred ate at him. That the meaning of her words was genuine and born from a place of boundless care. Worse, he felt all the more frustrated at this.

How can- No, I can’t let myself be consumed by bitterness. I need to stay sharp… I need to stay sharp and ready until we can get her to safety. I owe her that.

His mind rent a little further. Her crying slowed and stopped, any whines or moans she made falling afield of Climb’s power of hearing.

No, no I owe her more than that. I will protect her. I will defend her. She shouldn’t need to be strong, not like that. I swear by the light of the Gods, I will be your guardian.

Once again, his mind snagged on thoughts of his first quarry. A moment of inspiration came to Climb.

Perhaps it was divine intervention.

—

Her muscles pumped, carrying herself at full speed. Gagaran’s arms heaved a long shaft past her head, a frighteningly large mass on its end. There was a man infront of her, he desperately throwing aside a spent crossbow. His hand crossed the diagonal, trying to grab for his blade. It was a fatal mistake.

Ahh I got you now!

Aided by its weight and all the momentum she kept from bearing it upward, she brought the warhammer down with overwhelming power. The strike was off axis, bucking his neck before striking and shattering his left shoulder. His hand fell away from the haft of his sword, it slipping from his sheath as he fell to the ground. She began to break her speed, boots no longer carrying her forward but rather dragging along the ground. It was a poor drogue, and she struggled to slow herself adequately. She clicked her tongue; the attack was sloppy by her standards.

It’s hard to get good traction on these floors. I thought that tomb in south-central Azerlisia was bad, everything frozen over in ice. These tiles and rugs though; it's almost as bad.

Keeping the momentum, she spun in place, swinging her hammer round in a low arc. She’d have brought it higher, but even with its stouter measure it scraped the wall it swung past, scarring a delicate wooden engraving of flowers as it did so. Her warhammer made a second contact against an opponent, one she rated poorer even than the previous.

Er, carpet? Boss got mad at me when I called what she was putting in a rug. She’s such a prissy girl sometimes.

The second man flew, the upward stroke of her weapon throwing him alight for a moment before he struck the ground again. The angle of impact was wrong, and his foot broke, its back nearly making contact with his shin. He screamed.

Eh? I left him alive?! Pull it together!

Gagaran finally arrested her slide, re-righting her weapon and bringing it down square on his chest. He was in plate, but her hammer dented it deep into his breast. His rib cage crunched, then caved. In a turn of events Gagaran found amazing, he let out a death rattle, somehow not yet content to die. He began to shudder, his body having the power remaining to struggle a little longer

What?! How are you still alive after two of my strikes?

“Good Gods man, just give up the ghost already.”

At her supplication, he stopped convulsing. Blood suddenly spurted from his mouth. Gagaran was amazed.

Wait, what?! Did he just- how- what the hell?

Her confusion amplified tenfold, the seeming lag time of his death making no sense to her. She lost the course of the fight, and felt mystified in a way she hadn’t known before. She had no precedent for any events like that in her years of adventure and battle. She marked it up to another oddity of battle, filing it away along with the other moments where she witnessed loosenings of the world. Gagaran had no time to doddle, and she tore her mind from the sight. Ripping her weapon out of his chest, she turned back and started. Lakyus was closer than she expected.

“You cleared your side-”

“Just two.”

So that makes four in this hall.

They had assaulted around a junction at speed, breaking at the split in the corridor. Gagaran had been forced to close the distance to kill her mark, but Lakyus had bid her floating blades forth, skewering her targets without doing more than dodging a bolt. She had turned in place, and now was nearly by Gagaran’s side. Gagaran brought her weapon up high, wicking the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand as she did so.

“This way?”

“Yes. His majesty’s quarters is around that corner there.”

Four here on the third floor, the two downstairs. How many men did Eight Finger’s send?

Lakyus broke forward, Gagaran following her. It was no more than a dozen paces to the corner; the two rounded it, the entrance to Ramposa’s quarters coming in full view. There was no pair of knights at the door, nor anyone else in the hall.

This is bad.

“We’re breaching. You take point. The space in there is tight so watch your measure.”

“Got it.”

“The columns in there should be sturdy, you won’t be able to blow through them. No breaking through walls.”

“Re- er, Our Friend in the Tower told us that?”

“In the records he provided to Tia. Let's go.”

They jogged to the door, reaching it within a moment. It was closed. Lakyus halted directly in front of it, four of her weightless blades turning parallel to the ground. She leveled Killerenan, holding it out flat towards the door. Gagaran stood to the front-left of her companion, a formation they had standardized for assaults like this.

“On my mark.”

Here we go.

“Mark.”

Lakyus turned her sword on the axis of its blade, a low rumble that sharply bucked as foul energy broke from its tip. A black bolt arced between it and the door, turning the impact point to dust and scattering shards the rest. The blades shot through in a square pattern an instant later, Gagaran bolting through the wreck of the doorframe and entering the space at speed. She shot her head round, trying to designate her first target. The blades had embedded in the wall, catching no victims. There was no one standing in the foyer, two bodies splayed on the ground.

“There!”

Gagaran had been marked first, her eyes shooting to the source of the shout. It came from a stout hallway in the back of the room, a man crouched over another with a chest wound. An azure stream flowing from a vial suddenly scattered as the man aiding his comrade shot upward, drawing his blade. Gagaran rushed, barreling through a chair. She raised her hammer, then hesitated.

Shit! No room to swing in that space.

She let the upward power in her swing die, letting the momentum level the hammer before arresting it. She charged, treating it as a lance as she ran flat out. The armed man stepped from the hallway, his blade humming with raw energy of warrior’s-magic. The wounded man raised his hand, snapping his fingers and producing scattered motes of energy in the air.

He’s in cloth, a caster?!

“Heat Metal.”

The head of her weapon swiftly shifted from its dull color to an ashen gray, then a low red. A jet of smoke shot from the binding, the ferrous wood of the shaft not able to bear the heat and igniting. Gagaran closed the gap, the magical assault doing nothing to bay her momentum. The armed man desperately tried to interpose his blade, swinging wildly at Gagaran’s incoming strike.

You’re fucked.

Her hammer struck his sword, a horrid sound emitting from the collision; metal being wrenched from itself, the sound of aura ramping. The head of her hammer suddenly blew apart, orange fragments scattering across the room. A cone of shrapnel blew backwards from the point of impact, showering him in the hot spew. A piece passed through his left eye, flash-boiling the fluid inside and causing a mix of blood and other biles of the body to spit from the wound. He dropped suddenly, his death instant. Gagaran caught a few, luckily only in glancing blows. What was left of the end of her weapon was a jagged chunk of scrap.

What rotten luck is this?! Shit!

Such was her prowess as a warrior that she did not stop her assault, and she thrust the smote end of her warhammer into the mage, who himself was desperately trying to right, skewering his stomach to the ground. It singed the edges of the wound, and had the vivisection been smaller, the heat of the metal would have cauterized it entirely. She dragged the rough edge through his body anyway, cutting a gash she was certain was lethal, and quickly withdrew its end from him. A warbling noise came to her ears, one she knew as the sound of Lakyus wrenching her blades from the wall.

“Status!”

“Weapon exploded.”

Gagaran imagined that Lakyus would twitch at that response, but she had no time to look back to confirm. She spun the shaft round as she ran through the hall, testing its balance. It was poor, but she had the strength to handle it anyway.

It’ll work as a spear, for now at least. Chalk two up for tonight. Two more men, too.

Satisfied for the moment, she broke to the right, entering the sitting space. Again there was no one, the flaming remnants of an overturned table threatening to catch other objects in the room. She could see straight through to the bedchambers of the king, a pair of men, one dressed in a low robe, another in plate. Both faced the same direction.

“Hey you sons of bitches!”

Gagaran charged, carrying herself through the room and into Ramposa’s private space swiftly. The close man twitched backward, trying to ready a defense. He did not achieve one in time, Gagaran thrusting the tip of her improvised spear straight through his neck. Keeping her speed, she lifted her leg and kicked before the mass of her could collide with her quarry, sending the man into his fellow. The pair of them fell to the ground, the slick knives of the man in the rear loosing from his hands and clattering on the exposed tile near the fringes of the room. Gagaran raised her weapon and let its wetting end dangle over the still-living man pinned under his comrade.

No, wait.

She gave it a half twirl, swinging the pummel round and striking the man in the side of the head. It bounced slightly against the range of his motion, before lying still. Gagaran looked up to see a triplet of men on the other side of the room, one armed and vigorous, two donned in finery, and all three wizened with age.

“Your Majesty, you’re being rescued.”