The majority of the Black Fang leave me on my own aboard this ship. They have other things to do than answer the questions of a slight-figured creature like myself. Even the drones assigned to work as sailors have added muscle and endurance, which I myself did not foresee, despite my endless tinkering with their capabilities.
Denning recites a passage of Ingald from memory to the other drones and myself. His voice still mimics Uhai's, and I close my eyes, leaning against a corner in the dark, stinking room Ephidel has shuttled us into. I can remember reading it aloud two or three times for Denning to remember. Repetition has made him a quicker study than other drones.
"We don't want the sailors getting curious about you," Ephidel explains this isolation, but I cannot help but feel he just does not want to deal with me.
I sit with my back against a shifting wall, knees curled to my chest. The phenomenon of boredom takes its swift hold, and I must force myself to listen to Denning's voice. The Grey Knight's exploits fill my mind, accompanied by scenery and understanding. It is far more entertaining, to know exactly what the Great Knight Barigan is galloping across (fields) upon his steed, Perseus (horse) to defeat the demonic dragon Nonaleen and save Aglaia (woman), the mother (life-giver, which is the closest definition I can coax out of anyone, including Uhai) of Ingald, the Grey Knight.
By the time we reach the dragon's lair, though, Ephidel barges through the hatch and charges down the steps to me. His expression betrays him. Instead of humbly beseeching me to stand, Ephidel would much rather grab me by the hair and shake me. Something has sparked his ire. I have nothing to fear, but Ephidel is most tiresome to deal with when mad.
I bid Denning to cease his recitation and stand before Ephidel can request it. I am silent, awaiting further instruction from Lord Nergal.
"Limstella, gather your things," Ephidel gestures to the clutter of drones. He means nothing else. Other than my tomes, I have no other possessions. "We're in a place called Badon. This is a port, where ships dock and load."
Ephidel, despite his distaste for my questions, has comfortably falling into the pattern of conveniently telling me every detail before I ask. He has his uses.
I gesture to my drones, and they stand as well. Denning walks close behind me as I mount the stairs to the deck. The rest of the hooded drones and then Ephidel appear from the hatch, a congregation of black clad figures, almost indiscernible from each other. Ephidel has put up his hood. I frown in displeasure, copying the woman Ursula's expression as well as I can.
"I don't have a hood," I prompt Ephidel, and he hushes me rudely, with a wave.
"You don't need one, Limstella," Ephidel hisses, disguising his voice as something sweet and cloying. Again, to fool the Black Fang humans.
"Why do I not require one, Ephidel?" I ask, as is usual of me. His eyes glare at me, shining from under the shadows of his cowl.
"Because you do not need one, Limstella. Don't argue with me. Do you understand?" Ephidel repeats. His false voice is waning to his irritation. "Come, we must prepare for the next leg of our journey."
He pushes me toward the plank the sailors have laid out. I cross it, trying with some difficulty not to look down upon the sea below me while keeping my eyes on the shifting plank. My balance had accustomed itself to the rolling waves and jolts a ship succumbs to out on the open ocean. The gentle dock, and even worse, the land . . .
I stagger about for a second or two before Denning appears, and I grip his dark robes and shoulders steady myself. Denning is wholly unaffected. I am somewhat envious.
Ephidel also descends with grace. I don't think he would allow himself to descend any other way. I release Denning, gaining my own balance at long last. I allow myself to behold the world before me. It is breathtaking, overwhelming, beautiful and stinking, all at the same exact instant. And that same instant continues, but constantly changes.
I am fascinated. If Ephidel were not here, if Nergal's orders didn't hang over my head, I would be dragging Denning through each and every facet of this incredible place, interrogating each and every human here. Humans! I am fascinated with every aspect of humanity. It is so enrapturing. How can that woman frown so passionately, handling fish I have never seen, not once in my life, but have read and poured over endlessly in the confines of my island library? I even envy her frown, her meaty face doubled over, creasing her cheeks, pursing her lips.
There, a boy is piping away, a merry tune like the ones Nils often sang aloud when he thought I was unaware. A young girl with flowing blue curls is toting a gaggle of children with her, a basket of fruit in her arms. Her figure is thicker than mine, her arms more muscular. She calls out to a little girl, with similar blue hair winding around her head in plaits; her voice is sweeter and harsher than mine, both at once.
Ephidel's impatience reaches new heights, and his jerk on my arm very nearly dislocated the joint. I do not yelp, as the little girl does (my eyes are still on her, the older girl has tugged at her wrist the very same way), but I feel that I should. The reaction is delayed, although I.
"Ow," I say, making sure Ephidel can hear me clearly. His frown is a little dull compared to what marvelous expressions of disgust that I have seen in the few moments I have been in the land of Badon.
"Be still, Limstella," he mutters. We are alone now, despite being surrounded. I can only assume that the humans are so involved in their fascinating lives to pay attention to our words. I know that I would pay no heed to Ephidel if I could.
"It hurts," I continued. My voice does not convey the same quality as the little girl's, I can tell that right away. I try again. "It hurts, Ephidel. Do not handle me so."
Ah! My voice is too bland, to much of a straight line to compare to the wavering voice of the little human. I cannot copy it just yet. I resolve to at least try.
"Be still, Limstella, or I swear I'll leave you here," Ephidel replies coldly, his hand clenched around my wrist like a vise. I wish he would, but if I were to lose my way or become consumed in learning (however preferable that option is) I would not be able to serve Lord Nergal to the fullest, which is my purpose.
So I follow Ephidel. He's been this way before, tracing his way through the edifices and makeshift stands. I trail after him, pulled along by the hand. By now, we're all getting strange looks from various humans. Although I enjoy examining them, I feel my muscles twitch when their eyes pass over me, my face, my body, all constructed in a manner much different from theirs. Without a hood I feel exposed. My hair is my only cowl, so I tilt my chin to my chest and let that shield my face from view.
I once thought of cutting all my hair away, so it could not drift in the pages as I read. I do not think I will ever consider that option again.
When we finally stop, it is before a shabby building sunk deep between two others, both much taller. Ephidel raps on the door once, then twice. He waits a moment, and then raps again. The door opens, a tiny bit, allowing for an eye to peek through. The crack widens, revealing a mangy looking drone, who admits us in. My own drones file in, occupying a good portion of small space. They shuffle around, searching for a feasible formation.
Ephidel nods to the drone, who stands outside the door, guarding it. The tiny room provided a space to conjure the teleportation spell for multiple people, I now understand. Ephidel specialized in it, but I could barely transport both myself and Denning five feet before losing concentration. Humans, apparently, could not witness this.
A wide circle appears beneath our feet. Ephidel chants monotonously, his true nature as a drone revealed. I say nothing, and we disappear in a flurry of draconic runes.
Teleportation makes my entrails swirl inside me. While I recognize the practicality of teleportation, I cannot help but detest such disconcerting feelings. One moment continues on, seemingly forever. I cannot describe the sensation fully, not in words; it is like quintessence, that sense. It is old magic, old as the dragons, this business of moving about.
We arrive in a shroud of similarly blinding light. To greet us is a impressive figure in painted yellow-green armor, a sickly sort of color. His cape reaches the rich carpet of what resembles, in part, Nergal's grandest study, the one I am only allowed in by invitation. There are more maps, though, here, and far fewer books, and no sketches of drones' anatomy and runic circles. A crest adorns the wall, matching the one on the man's massive ring.
The ring clings to Marquess Laus' finger jealously as he extends his welcome to Ephidel. He hardly glances my way; I am just another drone to him.
"Ephidel," he greets, his voice thick with ambition. He wants something from Ephidel. This is greed, I suppose. Greed is not an emotion I envy humans of. It sounds cumbersome, and almost always contributes to one's downfall.
As the Marquess Laus and Ephidel spoke, I recollect the day, standing stolidly off to the side. I have no interest in the political machinations of Ephidel and this Marquess disappoints me. I follow his eyes as they dart around the room, quick and alert. My drones' eyes do not waver so much. Their gaze is steady and slow, analyzing everything, each possible detail.
So is my own stare, I suppose. I look just like my drones, with my long jet hair and golden eyes, set into a white complexion. Ephidel's eyes are a little quicker, from his exposure to humans, and Sonia's, now that I have reference, move fastest of all, darting and narrowing with astonishing celerity.
My slow eyes are fast enough to catch sight of another pair of eyes, peering from a door on the far side of the room. I fidget to get a better look, but those same eyes—and an overlarge nose, matching the Marquess'—see me, too, and disappear. I return to my attention to Ephidel and the Marquess. The two of them are crouched over a map on desk, made of a pretty red-brown wood, enthusiastically pointing at locations and muttering names.
One name strikes my interest.
"Marquess Pherae only recently sent his approval," Laus says to Ephidel. His voice has eager overtones. "I have it here, if you would like to verify it yourself."
"No, I do not think it necessary," Ephidel waves a hand, the first sign of white from the folds of his black cloak. "Pherae's support will sway many others. They trust that fool Elbert."
Trust, over and over again. They talk of it like a disgusting flaw. What does it mean in this context? All I know is that Nergal seeks quintessence, and quintessence comes from humans. He seeks dragons, with that quintessence. This conspiracy that I do not fully comprehend, although Ephidel has taken pains to explain it to me.
Laus is weak. Or at least, the Marquess is. Some humans succumb to their greed more easily than others, and this Marquess Laus is one such man. With Ephidel's saccharine promises of power, control of all of Lycia, Laus is moving towards rebellion against Ostia, the most powerful of the Lycian territories. To do that, they must involve more territories in complex, secret alliances . . .
I do not want to call it boring. The movements of human government interest me only to a degree, as Nergal provides all the authority I need.
Ephidel continues this for hours at a time, neglecting me and my drones. I stand with my back against a wall, immovable. I am thinking.
I left Uhai in confusion. I cannot explain this in words, nor more than old magic or quintessence, but I feel it strongly, so strongly it would rip me asunder if I were to let it. I was wrong, to call Uhai a friend, and to care to leave him gifts. I don't know how. But there is an old voice—ancient, creaking, decrepitly old voice—whispering to me, telling me that I am wrong, that I am an obscenity, a travesty, a curse, an abomination. For once, it is not Sonia.
I carry this thought with me as we exit the war room, the name of that tedious place, and move into more relaxed spaces. Ephidel allows me to wander as I please, provided I do not leave the castle, and that I do not take a drone, other than Denning.
The room he deposits me in is well-decorated, if not ornate, and sunny. There is a window, wide enough for me to stand in alongside Denning and another drone and tall enough for none of us to bump our heads. I am only interested by the wonders of this small room for so long; there are no books, but a bed that I will not use and a desk that I will not write upon. I turn to Denning and motion for him to rise.
He follows me through the door and through the spacious halls, which are rather drab and cramped compared to the cavernous Gate. The sunlight I see through the narrow windows is brighter than that of the isle's. A human woman passes, carrying a load of folded, thick sheets. She stares wide-eyed at me, alert to any danger, much like Uhai and the others did.
All the humans I meet do so, although I only pass one more after the woman. There was variation in humans. Color. Uhai's dark skin, Ursula's blue hair. All the eyes in the world were different, as far as I could tell; of every shade conceivable . . . humans were put together in fascinating ways, so different from the drones of the isle, which were clumsily manufactured in their image. Although the halls are mostly unoccupied, I can hear dim sounds. I take smaller, quieter steps. I hear voices.
Creeping around a corner—I can hear Ephidel's voice—I slowly inch my head to spy on him. He speaks in hushed tones, to a human woman. I am immediately fascinated with her hair, wrapped in a magnificently complex braid at the back of her neck. It is as green as Uhai's. Her dark body is tough and coiled in places where my own is thin and brittle. But there is something wrong with her; I stare at her for several seconds before realizing her right arm does not move of its own accord. The appendage hangs loosely by her side, and every jostle causes her face to tighten.
I hear Ephidel call her Aesha.
"Are you sure, Dame Aesha?" Ephidel speaks softly. I can almost see his brow furrowing, beneath the hooded cloak, from behind his back. "Why did you not go immediately to Ursula? She's the one concerned with these matters."
"Dame Ursula is already in Araphen, sir," Aesha reports. Her voice has a smooth, low quality that I like, in spite of the tension. It reminds me of my Sacaen friend on Valor, despite the different stresses of the vowels. "It would take days of non-stop riding for me to reach her from here. I assumed you would have a faster method of contacting her."
The mention of Ursula's name intrigues me. The last I had heard of her, she'd been sent to track the siblings' routes through Lycia.
"Where did you hear this information?" Ephidel asks. I am curious, too, especially since I have heard nothing of Ninian and Nils since they escaped me. Secretly, perhaps even to myself, their condition concerns me. I wish they would return. Ninian is so fragile, I feel she might break in strong sunlight like this.
"In the court of Caelin," Aesha says, her voice firm. Ephidel does something to make her continue with her speech. "The Lord Lundgren there has heard word from his spies."
"I last heard Lundgren was only concerned in matters of ascension and his grandniece."
"He seemed attentive when I informed him of brewing rebellion. Perhaps he is longing for more, just like the Lord Darin. I persuaded him to send his network after the lost ones too. Just recently they returned."
"And?"
"The two are posing as minstrels, in Khathelet. Heading north."
"Ah," Ephidel chuckles. I can see his lips curl into a grin of satisfaction, the only real emotion he's mastered. "Just as we predicted. Good. I will contact Ursula immediately. She will give chase. In the meantime, return to the base and receive your dues."
"Yes, sir," Aesha bows. Her face angles like Uhai's, but her eyes are too round and her nose too large.
"And Dame Aesha?"
"Yes, sir?" she repeats the same two words, but as a question. Fascinating!
"Give my regards to the Hurricane."
They break away, and I dart back to the safety of Denning, pushing him down the hall at a quicker pace than he, mindless thing, would go. Ephidel rages enough when I do what I am allowed to do. I doubt eavesdropping would reinforce his limited patience of me. I do not, however, return to that little room. Instead, I follow the hallway until I meet another human, and then utilize the skills I have practiced with both Denning and Uhai.
"Good day," I begin. My subject is a skinny male, very young, and perhaps not fully mature. He has hair that looks like grass, except dull and brown. His lip curls up in one direction and he looks up and down at me.
". . . good day," the boy says back, unsure of how to address me.
"Would you please direct me . . ." I pause. I do not know how to word my request. I complete it as best I can, regardless. "Outside?"
"You mean to the courtyard or something?" he prompts. This is another human ability, the suggestion of the unknown. I find it useful.
"I suppose so," I reply. Perhaps Denning is standing too close to me. I push him a little further back, discreetly.
"Uh, just down that hall," he points down the adjoining corridor. "Then turn left. Just out the doors."
"Thank you."
He scurries away from me as swiftly as possible, eyeing Denning suspiciously. Ah, the bow. Denning is carrying a bow half as tall as he. This must be the reason behind the boy's suspicious looks. For a moment, the boy had reminded me of Nils.
I have not thought much about Ninian or Nils, now that I sit and think, now that I am not called to be at anyone's side. In comparison to all other events, the two dragon children seem to have been overlooked. The courtyard is busy. I hide in a shadowed corner and watch.
My thoughts are clouded. I shift my weight on each foot accordingly. Dame Aesha and her report sit first and foremost in my brain. I cannot ignore a sort of sinking pit in my belly.
Ninian is in no danger, I tell myself. The Black Fang will be under strict orders to take her alive and whole, along with her spiteful brother. I have never been fond of Nils, and he openly detested me. But Ninian was always kind.
I close my eyes. The noise of human daily life continues onward. Ignoring the talk of men and women going about their business, I sink down into myself, and bring up something as old as time.
To my mind's eye, quintessence is never a set color, but now I see it green. Wispy threads are collected in my body, twisting around in on their own selves. They have to, to stay together. I open my eyelids, and peer at the courtyard.
Green threads curl lazily around the humans as they walk, unaware of the ghostly trails their quintessence leaves behind. I know how many people are here, in this castle. Not a number, precisely, but something else.
I dip into the curled pit of my quintessence, and unravel a solitary strand, all with within my mind. I bring the string of power forth, pushing it onward and outwards. I feel more souls, more power, scattered across the fields surrounding the castle in cluttered patches. Pushing farther and farther, I can feel all of Laus. I can do nothing to them, so far away, but I can observe. Khathelet is north. I move the thread north, rapidly diminishing the store in contained within me.
I brush against a familiar soul, and then collapse. When I awake, the connection is broken and I am very weak, lying stretched across the bed in the room Lord Darin granted me. Ephidel scolds me, but I do not listen. I have too little quintessence to even move properly, but I know what I felt. Ephidel gives up and informs me that my return to Valor will be quick; Nergal will be vastly displeased, if I am dead before he has finished with his use for me.
I do not see Uhai, when I return to Valor, for I am too weak to go searching for him, and he is incredibly busy, too busy to visit me in the Gate. It is forbidden to him anyway. I suspect he is made busy by Sonia, who I am hearing much more from and seeing much less of, at the same time. Perhaps Ephidel cannot stand me any longer.
My trip to the Marquess was a disappointment; I tell as much to Nergal, almost two weeks later, when I am recovered. He is not surprised.
"He has weak quintessence," Nergal says, simply. I am helping him concoct his elixir, the magic potion that sustains him, alongside endless infusions of quintessence. "I promise you that one day you shall meet a real Marquess, one of outstanding quintessence; we have found him. I shall send you to retrieve him. You will perform most admirably, dearest Limstella."
"Yes, Lord Nergal," I say obediently. His words please me. I hesitate, before continuing. "Lord Nergal, I do not feel I am serving you to the best of my ability."
"What?" Nergal replies absently, absorbed deeply into a tome of ancient magic.
"I do not feel I am serving you to the best of my ability."
"Why do you say that, my pet?" that strikes his attention, and he closes the old volume gently.
"I—Sonia says that Ninian and Nils escaped our grasp again," I say carefully. I must choose my words wisely. "She says we cannot find them now."
"That much is true, yes," Lord Nergal is looking at me curiously. I sense his impatience.
"I think that I can find them, my lord," I say hurriedly. "But I need . . ."
He cuts me off.
"Quintessence," he murmurs, stunned and wide-eyed. He understands me. He always has. "That's why . . . you must have more than your regular feed, much more, if you are to survive, my precious Limstella." Nergal begins to cackle as he talks, hope renewed with him. "Oh, Limstella! We must hunt!"
"Of course, Lord Nergal," I say.
Ninian, I will soon find you. Make no mistake.
..0..
Alrighty then. I introduce you to the weakest chapter yet.
TheOneAndOnlyT—Dude, it's a celebrity sighting! I'm totally a fan. Thank you for reviewing!
elven-girl10—Thank you so much! There are actually earlier Limstella fics out there. But none like this! . . . at least, I hope not.
R Amethyst—I'm glad you thought so. Uhai is one of my favorite bosses, very noble. Ugh, I'm not so sure I handled characterization so well in this chapter.
Snoopy6458—Thank you. I'm glad at least some parts of my writing are within the lines.
Ivan the Terrible—Anne! (I think.) I never got around to your req, I'm sorry. Thank you for taking time out to review.
Miss Krux—"This mind and body are constructs. Yes, as is this sorrow."
Rouge Warrior—No, I was never flamed. I just think it's kinda fun. I guess I'd have to be nutty to write about Limstella.
laFia—Omg, so am I. It's like that chapter can't come soon enough. Thank you for the review.
Cool-chan—Ooh, it's Matthew and Legault. Thank you (all) for commenting! It means quite a bit to me.
JSB—Don't worry, I have the LimstellaxEliwood thing all worked out. And—omg—it's only partially one-sided!1! Yeah, I get too excited about stuff . . .
Wandering Cat—Uh, sorry for tricking you? Most of my fics do tend to fall into one-shot categories because I'm too lazy to do anything else. Everyone loves Uhai!
Evergladelord—Thank you for the compliment! I hope you haven't forgotten about this fic . . .
Phew! That's all of them. By the way . . . none of you are squares. I am proud to say that every single last one of you is triangular, the best shape ever.