A/N: Missed my goal of getting this out by New Years, but it's the same week, so close enough.
Stop talking about Goblin Slayer in the review section. If you are a fan of it, fine. Go be a fan in the Goblin Slayer section. Crusade for the righteousness of GS over there, where it belongs.
Reviewers:
RedRat8 - Louk's a HEART BREAKER, DREAM MAKER, LOVER TAKER... (music continues in background). My opinion on Celeste was always that while as a ruler she is familiar with the suffering and pain of the wars, as a person she would still be very naive and innocent. The first crush is always the most brutal.
Ronmr - What? It will be fine. Fiiiiinneee. All's well that ends well.
chronotimeguard - GS is the 50 Shades of Gray for anime. End of conversation.
Vatican Templar - Their background will be thoroughly explained in the upcoming chapters. There will be so much sniping you could call it Battlefield Kuroinu.
DanteInfernus - Well, Prim did have her own escort of knights. And you have to remember there was a company of mercenaries with them, and these people aren't used to the concept of betrayal. Look what happened to Ferus Manus at Isstavan V. It totally looked like a good idea at the time.
Guest - To be fair, Grace didn't know about Olga being there when she and Louk did the dirty.
Guest 2 - ...yes... Mandeville will get his comeuppance.
Disciple of Ember - Louk being in the center of a harem-style Love Duodecahedron was inevitable, but he's still Louk. About as tactful and suave as Dunk'er, but without the retard charm. Alicia is going to have her moment in the sun, because at the end of the day, Louk aside, she is still fairly competent as a warrior. Just not composed as a ruler.
EnriksD8 - Slaanesh approves this review. When the Black Dogs drop, the Murder-orgies don't stop.
Donaldus Trumpus - Clam down there, Guilliman.
The Storm Master 567 - Alicia is obviously seeing conspiracy where there is none. That being said, it's about to get real on the western side of Eostia.
ManwithaPlan113 - Aren't they all means to the end?
SomeGuyOverHere - Grace and Olga are going to have their past explained. I really liked how StaffSergeant had their relationship in The Night Unfurls, and didn't want to copy it so while the concept is somewhat similar, the details are wildly different. It will not be boring, I assure you.
Disciple of Ember 2 - NO FORGIVENESS! YOU DISHONOR THIS SITE!
Abdiel Amaro - I might look into it eventually. Probably won't. The first game(s) were painful enough to dredge through for lore and info.
zaraki99 - good
Scarred Tooth Fort
It was cold.
The stone floor tingled with the winter chill seeping through the broken fortress. Drafts of air flowed through unbarred door frames, whispered through the windows. Each puff of vaporish breath reminded her, in case her mind slipped away from the ever present cold.
Prim moaned softly and lifted her feet off the stones. They were icy to the touch, the heat having bled dry against the fortress floor. In their place, she leaned on her back, shivering at the sensation that she had not yet become accustomed to, and likely never would. This cell was worse than a prison cell. Everywhere was cold. There was no heat, no warmth. Not even a blanket to cover herself with.
Exhausted eyes glanced at the empty doorway. The yawning portal taunted her, inviting in its emptiness, threatening in the implications of what lay beyond. The large brutish leader had warned her thoroughly. Inside this cell, she would be safe from harm. If she so much as set a foot outside, her life and body were forfeit.
It was a threat she understood he would make good on. The distant commotions of the fortress reached her easily enough through her window. Screams of pain, tortured groaning, loud crowds roaring and jeering. Prim had not had the courage to look down and see what sorts of horrible things they were doing down in the courtyard. The remainder of her knights, fewer today than there were yesterday, were also held on this same floor. Speech of any kind had been forbidden. One of her knights had been made an example of for doing it.
The awful sounds still echoed in Prim's ears. She was not sure exactly what had happened, but her imagination had run wild enough.
She still could not understand how it had happened. After parting with Mikhail at the border, her party had journeyed another few hours until they reached a suitable spot to spend the night. Prim had gone to sleep resting in the comfort that she lay surrounded by her knights and hundreds of mercenary warriors. When she awoke, it was to the sound of battle, of confused shouts and clashing blades. There had hardly been time to gather her wits before a mob of men forced their way inside her tent and took her hostage. Khoros the Axe's men.
The mercenary leader ambushed her knights, killing many and beating the rest into submission. Only a handful survived, the others brutally murdered or having fought to the death against the horde of mercenaries. She dared wonder if those who had died had been the lucky ones. The mercenary commander had unleashed something in his men, a dreadful wickedness none had expected. He had become a man possessed, the glint of wicked desires ever present in his eyes.
The sound of approaching feet warned her that she would have a visitor. Shifting her position to rest on her knees, Prim adopted a careful neutral expression. Whoever this was, they would not see her cry. Sometimes his men would come to gawk, to leer and make her uncomfortable. Their intent was to draw a reaction from her. That would not happen. These men would not get anything from her. They could stare, they could mock her. But they would not break her pride.
Bracing herself for whatever was to come, Prim took a slow breath and flexed her fingers against her lap. Rescue would come. It had to. Mikhail and Alicia would notice her disappearance quickly, and come with an army. Khoros had brought them to the Scarred Tooth Fort. It was an obvious choice, in her mind. The first place they would look. The superstition regarding the place made it a prime location for disappearing. It was too obvious. Eostia would come for her soon.
The footsteps ceased just outside her cell, and a tingling chill swept over her that had nothing to do with the cold. Her teeth clenched tight, fighting against the shiver that crept involuntarily up her spine. For a horrid moment, Prim heard the echoes of the agonized screams of her knights, and felt the ghostly sensations of pain her imagination had filled her head with.
A strong hand knocked twice against the threshold. Prim willed her voice to calmness and offered the simple invitation to enter, struggling to hold back the fear that gripped her.
Her visitor strode into the cell, his massive frame filling the door like a dark cloud. Prim gaped up at him, her fear swept away, replaced with a surge of confusion, and hope. Heart leaping into her throat, she sprang up to her feet, heedless of the sudden loss of composure as the man regarded the cell with appraising eyes.
"Vult!"
She was halfway to him when his eyes turned to her, and her surge of excitement shattered. Belatedly, she considered the warnings, all the words that had passed back and forth at the White Citadel; the stories of what had happened to Vult and his men. Apprehension stopped her feet, and she wondered why he had come here. How he could be standing so calmly here, without a sound of battle in the background of a rescue force.
The mercenary general turned slowly to inspect her, and any hope Prim might have had drained away, like body heat sucked out by the cold of the stones she stood on. Vult stood as tall and proud as he always had, his posture was relaxed and he carried that scallywag swagger that had enamoured Prim from her youth. From a distance, there was nothing amiss with the man.
Close to him, the difference was horribly apparent. It was not the slightly asymmetrical grin on his face, or the painfully perfect smoothness of his bare arms. No, it was the brightness of his eyes. A horrible, blinding light that shone from his eyes. From inside that light, buried deep in the shadow hidden inside, a creeping darkness slithered out, spilling an invisible fog of warmth around her. Prim felt it creep between her feet, caress her shoulders. The cold in the room rapidly bled away, and Prim found herself wishing it back as this new sensation enveloped her.
"Hello Prim" Vult uttered, his voice low and sonorous. The words laced the air in a sweet fragrance, a sickeningly pungent aroma that set Prim's head spinning. "It's good to see you again."
-v-
Thorn
Kaguya studied the bared trees as she made her circuit of the inner courtyard. It would be a harsh winter, judging by how quickly the elegant branches had shed their leaves. A rich, carefully cultivated carpet of reds, pinks, and browns covered the grass on either side of the walkways, left to spread evenly so as to not plague the courtyard with unsightly piles or uneven displays. When the time was right, the leaves would be raked and gathered and disposed of. For now, the added color instilled a sense of calmness in those that came here to meditate. The cacophony of color so silent and unassuming. She found it quite peaceful.
Yet the peace the courtyard brought could not shake the unease and questions running circles in her mind. Strange tidings had crept into Thorn, news equally bizarre and unnerving. Mysterious riders had been spotted all throughout the region, cloaked in black and riding wildly across the roads and through towns, never seeming to stop but always in a hurry to reach their destinations. On the outlying villages, disappearances had arose, and not just on the border of Garan. It was all around Thorn. Some of the more vulnerable villages had debated moving deeper into the region, and some indeed already had.
Kagya had studied the map of disappearances, and noted the exodus of villagers coming into the cities. The image of a tightening noose sprang to mind, but she had dismissed it out of hand. The only threat lay to the west, in Garan. Under her orders, a portion of the temple guard had ventured east and south to investigate the disappearances. With luck, they would find it had merely been bandits or vagabonds. If otherwise, she would hand the matter off to the ronin that patrolled the region.
Despite what outsiders believed, Kaguya put significant effort into watching over her people. It was hard to tell, naturally, because she so rarely left the temple. But Kaguya worked through proxy, through servants and officials. It was true, she had little personal experience of the hardships of the people, but she understood the nature of their troubles, and shaped Thorn in a way to ease those troubles. Unlike some of the other Shields, notably Princess Prim and the Goddess Celeste, Kaguya had no position of rulership. Her first and only aim was to serve her God. Anything else was additional to that duty.
A pair of young priests passed her by, bowing their heads in unison by way of greeting. Kaguya offered a nod in return, gracing them with a soft smile. There were few priests in the temple at the moment. Most had ventured out to lead the yearly festivals for winter. Those that remained were mainly initiates and pilgrims. It was a lonely time of year for her. In the past, she had her prized pupil Shamuhaza to keep her company. But he had vanished not long ago, leaving the temple in a fury after a…
Kaguya frowned, and turned her thoughts away from that memory. No good came of dwelling on unfortunate past. Instead, she needed to look to the future, to the needs of her God. Communion had been silent since her return from Ken. Her God had grown detached, retreating from her senses. It was the first time since her childhood she was without his presence, and that disturbed her greatly.
It was related, she knew. To the occurrence in Garan. To the dark riders in Thorn. Truly, she did now understand the scale of the evil unleashed in the blighted lands. Nor did she know what would happen in the coming months. But Thorn was vulnerable.
Ahead of her, across the courtyard, a young initiate stumbled into view. His face was flushed, and his eyes scanned wildly about until settling on Kaguya. Hurrying to her, he shouted for her attention.
"Mistress Kaguya! They need you at the entrance."
A frown creased her expression, both at the initiate's lack of decorum, and the unspoken urgency behind his words. Nodding firmly, Kaguya swept up the long sleeves of her robe and strode towards him, indicating he should lead. She knew where she was going, of course. The poor child seemed so out of sorts that a bit of instruction would hold him steady. Even the simple acknowledgement of his presence could soothe a little of his worries.
"There is trouble?" Her voice maintained its soft, demure tone. Often that tone could calm the most agitated person. With this child, it showed no success. Save to bring an answer forth with less stumbling speed.
"A sick man. He says he must speak with you. The temple guards have him at the entrance, but he insists. Says it is very urgent."
"Is he contagious?"
"The guards think his sickness is of the mind."
"I see." Kaguya paused a moment, glancing to the right as they crossed the temple proper's threshold. The temple portico often was filled with supplicants and priests attending to them. Today, it lay entirely bare. That too troubled Kaguya. The people of Thorn had always been devoted to her God. It was uncharacteristic to see them all vanish so swiftly. There were other factors at play, factors she could not see yet.
Ahead, she saw the commotion at the entrance to the temple grounds. A half dozen guards were there, far more than the usual two, restraining a twitching man that bucked and strained against their grasp. Frantic, uneasy voices passed back and forth, too distant for her to make out, but Kaguya saw immediately the confusion and uncertainty in them all. The man was a peasant, clothed in rough and dirty worker's clothes, with wild hair and burning eyes. A true madman, mind lost either to the sun or to horrors. Kaguya felt pity for him as she approached.
On spotting her, the man went suddenly still, his efforts to free himself ceasing so unexpectedly that one of the temple guards stumbled away. Two held him in place, pinning his arms at his sides. Hurriedly arranging themselves, the rest greeted her with formal bows. The leader stepped forward, placing himself between Kaguya and the man.
"He has not given us his name, High Priestess. But he calls for you, and demands to speak with you."
She smiled reassuringly to the man and bade him step to the side. Approaching the silent man cautiously, she eyed his blank, empty expression. One that just moments ago had been filled with life and energy.
"I am Kaguya" she informed the visitor. "You said you need to speak to me?"
"They are coming" the man mumbled, his voice so low she hardly caught it.
"They?"
"All of them. They are coming here."
There was no life in his voice. His words were hollow, empty, defeated. A creeping dread brushed against Kaguya's spine at the man's behavior. She dismissed such thoughts easily. Her temple was well-protected, and she had the favor of her God.
"Who are they?"
"They want you."
Her guards shifted angrily at the man's words. More than one reached down to threateningly hold their weapons, still sheathed. It might have worked on a sane man, the threat implied, but this one ignored them all as if they were not there. Or, as if he could not see them.
"I am afraid I do not understand."
"They cannot have you" the man muttered. A spark filled his eyes suddenly, a pale violet light. "They are coming for you, but I will not let them have you."
"Speak plainly, you doddering fool" the guard leader barked.
"You are mine" the man hissed suddenly, a flood of wrath and jealousy exploding onto his face like a river bursting a damn. He lunged, throwing the temple guards aside like dolls. Hurtling forward with inhuman speed, he tackled Kaguya even as she recoiled away, shock freezing her mind at the animalistic hunger spilling across his face. His hands gripped her shoulders and drove her to the ground.
"They cannot have you" he roared, spittle flying from his mouth. The burning violet light poured over her, gleaming like hellfire in his eyes. One hand pushed her to the ground, the other grabbed the front of her dress. "I will have you first!"
Kaguya slapped at the man, pushing weakly as he straddled her body and tore at her clothes. He was strong, far stronger than she could expect from his thin build. Temple guard launched themselves at the man, struggling to tear him away. He threw them off like a man pushing children. Nausea surged in her belly as he ripped her robe wide open, exposing her tender skin underneath.
"You will be mine" the man bellowed triumphantly. "I will cla-"
A spear erupted from his chest, spraying her in scalding blood. Kaguya flinched, a shrill scream caught in her throat as another spear took the man from the side. Pinned in place, he went still, his face contorted in a horrifying rictus mask. The light in his eyes faded away, cooling to the dull black of his natural coloring.
"Mistress Kaguya" the commander intoned, hurriedly ordering his men to throw the body to the side. He knelt beside her, hastily covering her with his cloak as she groggily sat up. Her whole body trembled with adrenaline. It felt like she was not quite in her own body, but rather watching from just a step behind.
"I… I an unharmed" Kaguya whispered, struggling to collect her thoughts. She stared about in horror, first at the dead man, then the broken bodies of three temple guard strewn about the entrance. The man's wild strength had snapped bones and crushed ribs. "What… what was that?"
"I don't know" he answered, offering no comfort. "But it is dead now."
Kaguya looked past the man, past the gates, and her horror paled, overwhelmed by the sight in the distance. A gentle cloud rose above the road, seeming benign from afar. Kaguya knew well enough the amount of bodies it required to raise such a dust cloud, however.
They are coming
Her commander turned, saw the cloud, and cursed. Helping Kaguya to her feet, he passed her off to one of his men.
"Close the gates" he ordered, not bothering for permission. "Summon all the temple guard. Something is coming this way."
Something, Kaguya wondered dimly. In the explosion of activity, temple guards running this way and that, one rushing for the bell, another team heading off to grab a cart to barricade the entrance, her attention settled on that one word. The dead man gaped up at the empty sky, his mouth parted in a keening wail she swore she could hear in the faintest whispers around her ears. Not something. People were coming.
"High Priestess, you must retreat" her commander begged.
"I will go into the temple and pray" she agreed. Turning away from the corpse, she swallowed down her unease. Prayer alone would not stop creatures like that. They needed reinforcements. The war had come to Thorn.
-v-
White Citadel, Capital of Ken
Louk set down the report and pinched the bridge of his nose. A pile of similar reports, all hand-inked missives written on soft vellum parchment, spilled over the desk. He had read some of them. In truth though, he had forgotten which. It was hard to tell the difference between them. They were all so shoddily crafted and devoid of details. With such lack of organization and structure in the world, it was a marvel they could even field a standing army. These reports were at best uninformative, and at the worst, misleading. But universally they were undetailed and unhelpful.
He had never thought he would miss the painfully detail-oriented and sprawling tactica reports of the Imperium. They could turn a simple unit ammunition requisition into a thirty page essay. It was superfluous, it was unnecessary. But damn it if they didn't give every pertinent detail in the end. Here, in a world of country bumpkins and barely literate peasants, their recruitment reports barely amounted to more than how many bodies were signed on, and how many reported for training.
It told him nothing about capabilities, about tactics, training regimen, equipment. He might as well not bother reading them.
Breaking into Claudia's room to check them had not been worth it in the slightest.
Turning away from the desk, he let his gaze wander to the quietly waiting dark elf. Grace perched tiredly on the end of the bed, legs crossed one over the other as she leaned slightly back, resting on her hands. It was not intentionally provocative, but the pose brought her sensual figure to full bear. He allowed himself a minute of appreciation as she blushed and looked away.
The haunted rings under her eyes spoke of her visit to Anna's room next door. Grace remained their as often as she could, watching over her friend, leaving only when the physicians demanded privacy and space. It was naive to think that the change of scenery and care would have an instantaneous effect on the high elf. Grace knew that, but knowing the truth did not make it any easier. The truth was often the most bitter of pills, and this particular truth was one Louk had a sense the dark elf knew far better than she was willing to admit. When it came time to leave her friend's side, she retreated here, to rest and recuperate from the nerve-fraying torture of watching her friend's suffering.
His room brought her no reprieve from her worries. Ever since their night together, she had been shy and nervous in his presence. At some point in their ecstasy-fueled hysteria, Grace was convinced she had confessed her love to him. He did not know if she had, his awareness had been somewhat limited by that point, unable to focus on anything beyond the consuming desire for satisfaction. But she was certain she had said it, and the memory of it horrified her. She had spent almost an hour the next day apologizing, and begging him to ignore the confession he had not heard.
Louk understood her well enough. She had said it herself. It wasn't love. Grace had a need, and he fulfilled it for her. It was easier that way, simpler. There were no ties to be cut, no attachments to hold him down. Grace did not come with responsibilities, or duties. She was a spot of relaxation in a tense and urgent war. An immensely pleasurable spot of relaxation, he mused, grinning faintly when her eyes slinked back to look at him.
"Those reports do not encourage you" she noted. Choosing to leave the bed, she slipped past him and approached the desk. His hand came up to brush against her arm as she passed, his fingers barely touching her skin. She flinched away, her blush darkening, a bashful smile forming for a half-moment. Using his reports as an excuse, she picked up one at random and skimmed through it. "These numbers are good, are they not?"
It had not taken Grace long to accept and understand the changed situation of Garan, and the tumultuous events that had occurred. Her mind was sharp, far sharper and more learned than a simple barmaid's should be. That, and the blatantly obvious altercation she had exchanged with Olga Discordia, pointed to an origin far more complex than she let on.
Neither Grace nor Olga had offered an explanation for the heated exchange, and Louk was not going to ask. It had nothing to do with him, and so long as it did not impede his plans he had little need to understand it. Their behavior had been… intimate. The instant familiarity they had shown did not pass his notice. Nor did the abrupt change in Grace's meek attitude when confronted with a powerful sorceress. Judging by Grace's timidity since coming to his room, the dark elf was entirely aware he had noted it. She tiptoed around him, as if afraid she had stumbled into a predator's den. Either she was ashamed of her behavior, or she feared that he might side with Olga over her should it come to a head.
Women were truly mystifying creatures. In hundreds of years, he still hardly understood them. Then again, he had never spent time around 'normal' women. He had not spent time around anything normal. Cults, Inquisitors, Assassins, Daemons… Normal life did not suit him. It could not anymore. And the rash times he had attempted it had only brought suffering and misery to those around him.
Well, his every action brought suffering and misery to those around him.
"They tell me nothing of importance. Bodies alone do not win battles, and if they did then these reports would only make me despair."
"It is a start" Grace acknowledged. She began picking other papers, scanning each in turn. "I heard a figure once for how many the Black Dogs had possessed. These numbers are adding up to that fairly quickly."
"A trained soldier is worth many times his weight in conscripted peasants" Louk replied. "And that is before they are infected with the powers of the creature leading them. If there were a way to level the field, then I would take heart. But you people haven't invented automatic firearms yet…"
"Fire-what?"
"Exactly my point." He walked up behind her. She stiffened slightly at his nearness, not out of fear but anticipation. A distorted reflection of her face showed in the thick glass windows. Eyes low and to the side, lips parted in a halted word, chest rising in short, harsh breaths. Gently, he placed his hands on her waist. The tension drained from her body, and Grace slumped into his grasp. His fingers kneaded into her hips, gently spreading his heat. The tightness in her shoulders felt hard as braided rope against his chin.
"So you are saying we are doomed?" Her words did not carry fear or anxiety. There was almost a playful edge to them, as if she were expecting him to tell her a joke, or that his words were meant as a jest. "I wouldn't say we are without hope. We have the Shields, and we have you."
"There is always hope" he countered. The soft fragrance of lilacs rose from her hair. She had availed herself to Celeste's bathhouse, and taken a liberal helping of the various soaps and perfumes back to his room. Unlike a true low-born, she yet knew the appropriate amount of perfume to wear, and this was neither overpowering nor weak. The little details gave away more of her past than she ever intended to offer.
"Something the matter" she asked, shifted her position to look up at him. An expectant sparkle lit her eyes as she twisted in his hands, pressing her body close to his. He could taste the rising excitement in her body; he could hear the pounding of her heart as her mind began to play out the next moments in her imagination. There was a touch of fear in that excitement, a deliciously savory terror he had smelled on her each time they stood close. Grace had admitted that he was far more… everything, than her previous lover. It terrified her.
A pair of forceful knocks thudded against the door. Grace flinched, her eyes widening slightly as she disentangled herself from his arms. Easing back a pace, Louk released her and turned to the door, ears twitching as he listened to the silence that fell in the room. Outside in the passage, the distinct shuffle of two sets of armored boots ground against the stones.
"You may enter" he told the person on the other side. "Olga" he added in a whisper so soft that even Grace could not hear it.
An armored gauntlet pushed the door open, revealing the sour-faced grimace of a White Guard. Surveying the room with a cold sweep, he nodded respectfully to Louk and took a step back. Quickly replacing him, the deposed queen of Garan padded into the room. Her amber eyes flicked past him, hesitating for a moment on the flustered form of Grace beside the desk, before landing on Louk. A hint of disapproval glittered in those vibrant orbs, but only for a heartbeat. She shifted slightly, lifting her hand to dismissively bid farewell to her guards. They did not move immediately.
"You may leave" Louk told them, a sharp edge to his voice that sent the veteran soldiers on their way without so much as a word of argument. The guards were new to him, something that had not been in place when he left Ken's capital. It made sense, he had been surprised to not see it before. Likely a move advocated and enforced by Claudia Levantine. It was the smart option. Insulated Celeste from divisive rumors, and kept Olga safe at the same time. Louk doubted Claudia cared as much for the latter, but as an advisor to her Goddess, she did a decent job. If she survived long enough to fully adapt to this new threat, she would be a great asset for his work.
"Olga" he greeted. "Make yourself at home."
"Louk" she replied, her listless expression unchanged. It was a peerless mask, worthy of a genecrafter's study for the poise and elegance she maintained at the most straining moments. "Grace. I see you have made yourself quite at home."
The dark elves remained silent for a moment. Though Olga's face did not so much as twitch, Louk could feel the glare emanating from Grace behind him. He sidestepped, ostensibly moving around the bed, but in reality placing himself between the two women to break their link. The moment he did, Olga drifted over to the vanity and the bottle of wine Grace had brought up from the kitchens. Uncorking the bottle with a dextrous maneuver Louk did not follow, she sniffed inquisitively and made a soft noise that may have been approval.
"Old enough to be found in a rich man's home, but cheap enough to not draw attention. As expected" she murmured. The unspoken recipient of her analysis stiffened at the judgment. Filling two of the glasses, she took one in each hand and closed the distance to Louk, one outstretched in offering. It was clear she had no intention of pouring a third.
"You told me you needed to speak with me." he accepted the glass and tasted the wine. It was a solid choice, a light and refreshing white that stood well enough on its own without need for an accompanying meal. "I apologize for not making the time yet."
The faintest chuckle spilled from her monotone expression, easing out under the influence of the wine on her tongue. Thin lips quirked towards a smile, the corners of her mouth pulling just slightly in a teasing hint of approval. The power she held in such a subtle gesture stopped his train of thought for a heartbeat, just long enough for him to register the hesitation. Olga Discordia, like so many others in this strange world, was an immensely beautiful creature. She did not need her magic powers to bend a man around her finger. Even so, Louk understood there was no foul play at work here, no ulterior motive. That hint of a smile was genuine. And that made it immeasurably more attractive.
Throne, this place would be the death of him, in more ways than one. He ached to have blood on his hands. To tear himself away from this city of temptation. Even Olga carried herself with an innocence that defied rational thought. The people here were too clean, too vulnerable. Had their arrival here been truly random, or had Virtuoso been drawn to this world for all the delights it held ready for him?
"You are a busy and important man, Louk. I am merely a woman with too much time on my hands and too little to fill it with. When the time is right, I knew you would come to my side."
"I have the time now" he answered. Beckoning to the chair beside the desk, he moved out of her way. Grace, he noted, had retreated to the other side and applied herself to reading through all of the reports. Whether that was to remove herself from the conversation, or to appear more involved in Olga's eyes, he did not know. But if she could translate those useless reports for him, then maybe there was a job for it in her future.
"This matter is best discussed in private" Olga murmured, tipping her head towards Grace. "The air is quite brisk tonight, and the view over the capital is lovely. Would you join me on the balcony?"
"The balcony will be fine" he answered. Draining the glass in one swig, Louk set it down carefully and motioned for Olga to lead the way. Her guards had disappeared from the passage, no doubt standing in the grand stairwell or retreated to the kitchens for food. This would be a private conversation. His curiosity was roused, he could not deny that. Olga had not fully abandoned the title and privilege of a queen; she could not be seen to show weakness in the face of others except a trusted few.
It was indeed brisk out. As Celeste had told him before, the air was clean and soothing this high above the city. No industrial pollutants plagued their breath, no acidic rain scorched their clothes. This was a scene he vowed to never forget.
They stood in silence for a while, surveying the city and the lands around. Louk braced himself, wondering if her words would be directed at Grace, perhaps an explanation of their history.
"Chloe is ill" Olga stated, the words bursting from her calm demeanor unexpectedly.
"Have the physicians seen to her?"
"Her malady is not a physical one." Turning slightly, Olga caught his eye and put a hand over her heart. "I thought it first a simple desire to protect me, that Ken had her off-balance and panicking for lack of ability to defend me. But I fear it is something much more insidious. Something plagues her. Her moods are morose, her smiles far between and poisoned by exhaustion. I cannot bring myself to demand an answer from her, yet I fear that this thing will be the ruin of her."
"You want me to ask her?"
"I want you to discover what hurt her" Olga confirmed, a hint of steel rising in her voice. "And if it is a mortal's machinations, I want them dead."
"Fair enough." Shrugging aside the ease with which she announced the death sentence, Louk let his memory wander back to their arrival in the city. Chloe's attitude had shifted abruptly at that first convocation, the meeting where Celeste had announced the loss of Vult and the Black Dogs. That was where to start. It was not so long past that he could not question the White Citadel's servants and guards for news. Odds were good it came from outside the Citadel's walls; enough men and women came in that Chloe may have had history with one of them. Or perhaps been shaken by a similarity or run-in.
"What was his name?"
Olga frowned at his question. She knew who he meant. "Sir John Mandeville."
"The merchant?"
"It happened some time ago. I am uncertain if the one in the capital is the man himself, or his spawn."
"How long ago?"
"Forty years" she answered. The brooding recollection of that time soured the air. Memories best left forgotten. Louk knew the kind well enough, just as he now knew that elves could not let such memories fade without effort.
"It could be him, then." Louk ran a hand over his shaved chin. "He's a powerful man, with influence. Getting a confession from him will require more brute force than skill, and it will create a havoc in the city."
"Will you see it through?"
A hint of disbelief shadowed her words, the pessimistic expectation of a woman used to the failings of mankind. Olga expected him to back out, he realized. Her previous interactions with humans still colored her opinion of him, to an extent.
"I said I would" Louk promised. He lifted a hand and offered it to the dark elf. "Just have to find the right way to go about it. But I promise you, Olga Discordia, that if John Mandeville is behind Chloe's moods, I will set it right. Kill him, if I need to."
The Dark Queen fell silent, turning her head away. She did not take his hand, but gripped the railing and took a long, calming breath. "I am indebted to you, Louk Shannegh."
"No, you are not. I will never hold you to a debt." His hand dropped to his side. "A good parent looks after their children. Chloe may not be yours by blood, but the relationship between you is as close as it could be. I know I would want the same for my…"
His words trailed off, bitten back by instant regret as that dangerous line of thought summoned spectral faces in his vision. Two alien, exotic faces, slender and thin, with breathtakingly bright blue eyes. One's face softened in a mournful frown, her hair black as the void. The other's expression cold as laser-cut marble, framed by a mane of pure white. The sudden aching in his heart pressed against him, the desire to see them again overwhelming his senses.
"You have children" Olga asked, her tone neutral and unassuming. Her attention had returned to him. This time it was Louk who turned away.
"Daughters" he answered.
"Do they look like you?"
He forced a chuckle he did not feel. "They look nothing like me. Take after their mother completely."
"Their… mother. Of course."
The silence passed over them again, and Louk willed their faces to sink back into memory. Thinking of them would only distract him, confuse his purpose. He needed his full faculty for this war.
"Is she waiting for you?"
"She died in childbirth, or so I was told" he answered. "When it happened, I was nowhere near her. I was… locked away for a crime I had committed."
"I am sorry." Her slim hand pressed against his shoulder, a simple but powerful gesture of solidarity from such a woman.
"Happened a long time ago" he grunted. "Immortality is a cursed thing. Watching others life, grow, and die while you are helpless to bring them along with you."
Louk changed the subject. He did not like where it had gone.
"I doubt Chloe will give me an answer if i asked her directly. Tomorrow I ride to Geofu to meet with Claudia Levantine regarding border security. I can take Chloe with me, see if a trip outside the capital loosens her tongue."
"That would be acceptable. The fresh air would do her mind and body good."
What was left unspoken was Olga's desire to accompany him. It had less to do with being by his side and more to do with gaining freedom from her prison. The White Citadel was a nice prison, the nicest equivalent he had ever seen, but a cage is a cage no matter how gilded. The restlessness that bled into her posture for a fleeting moment registered in his mind. He could do nothing for her there. Celeste could not afford to let her out; it would undermine her standing with the land, and explode the rumors swirling darkly around Olga and the Goddess.
Louk regarded her expectantly. He had found, oddly enough, that Olga was a much easier woman to look at than Celeste. The high elf Goddess exuded such raw innocence and beauty he struggled to stay in her presence alone. She was a light against his raging darkness, and it made him uncomfortable and ill-at-ease. But Olga, she was a dark, sultry wonder, a stunning figure with that mesmerizing caramel skin and haughty air that tickled his fantasy. The earnestness of her spirit, and the hard-edged bitterness of her soul, it struck a familiar chord within him. So much so that he found he could easily take in the staggering beauty of her tightly-clad body without becoming lost in her sensual curves or inviting eyes.
She was the closest thing to his home he had seen yet in this virgin world. Gorgeous, bitter, powerful. So very unlike those around her. A being out of place and out of time.
"Why did you tell me that" she asked him, returning his gaze with fearlessness, the listless expression fixed. It was an unnaturally becoming look for her. On any other being, it would be arrogant and off putting. Somehow the Dark Queen made it as attractive as an inviting smile.
"Tell you what?"
"That you have daughters. You are man of secrets and mysteries, Louk Shannegh. I would wager that is the most revealing truth you have given any in Eostia."
He did not have an answer to that. In all honesty, he was not certain why he had admitted so much of his personal life. Was it because of the familiarity he felt for her soul? Or was Eostia wearing down on his defenses, smoothing the harsh walls he protected himself with? For a brief moment, his thoughts danced over to Grace. That relationship was purely physical, a simple case of gratification. But it had been so long since he had bedded a woman. Had that chipped a crack in his will? He knew painfully well how quickly a chipped wall could crumble.
A slight, barely perceptible prick of fear danced across his thoughts. If someone on this world were to bring that wall down, they would all be doomed.