It seemed that Kenneth and Colbert had made some fast progress in the past few days. When Guiche approached them mid-afternoon they were standing beside some metallic contraption that had steam pouring out of the top. It was attached to some large tube thing that was causing a long arm to move up and down and that was making a wheel spin. They seemed rather pleased with themselves.
"It's like a larger version of that little toy of yours isn't it, Professor? An amusing diversion, I suppose." Their projects were rather unique but he didn't see the practical applications. Was it meant to be some sort of miller's wheel? Most of those used wind or water power, so he couldn't imagine steam replacing them any time soon when the former options could be run at less expense.
"How little ye know, lad. How little ye know." Kenneth hauled himself out of the safety pit and offered a hand to Colbert. The Professor was grinning like a fresh-faced schoolboy as they watched the wheel turning. "Ah kin start makin' th' parts for th' main engine tomorrow, then. 'S gonna be a bit've a bugger, jus' th' two of us, though. Ain't sure who else ah'd trust to make the stuff t'code, though. Hm… well, ah'll see what ah kin do." He clapped the Professor on the back, and the bald man placed his hand on the dwarf's shoulder in turn.
"A fine bit of work, Kenneth. I daresay your manufacturing skills have saved me decades of work! If I can just acquire proper funding I daresay we might be able to start laying tracks within the month. Even if we use a wide-hitch and oxen to haul a basic rail cart the potential is enormous!" Guiche could have sworn that Kenneth got a bit of a nasty gleam in his eyes, complete with a grin that seemed just a little sharp.
"Bah; Ah couldn't have made this thing without ya working out th' plans. But ah'm thinkin' tha' ah might be able t'secure a proper Royal Comission fer this one. Just gotta pen a little letter." Oh dear. Quite suddenly Guiche decided that he didn't want to know anything more about whatever it was his familiar was planning. "But yer quite right there, Jean. Still gotta make sure th' rails're laid proper to code, o' course, but ah reckon ye kin handle tha' much, no?" The two of them were gleefully grinning at each other, looking like they may well break into giggles at any moment.
"Ahem. I hate to interrupt, but I had hoped to speak with my familiar today?" Kenneth acquired a guilty look and stepped back to give their creation a final once-over before waving a crisp farewell to the Professor. Then he finally moved to give Guiche his full attention. "Ah, finally my loyal partner has deigned to pay attention to me." The young man sighed theatrically, but didn't really mean it. His act earned him a sharp rap on his side as the both of them chuckled.
"Aye, ye've got a point. Ah've nae been th' best mentor these past couple o' weeks, ah'll admit that. T'tell ye th' truth, ah didn't expect these kinds o' results when ah suggested to th' Professor he might like to tinker with a few mechanisms wi' me." They began to stroll away from the site of the experiments. Behind them the Professor doused the boiler; there was a high-pitched whistle as he began to let off the pent-up steam. Guiche did wonder a little as to why they were still allowed to perform their experiments on the Academy's grounds with Old Osmond still absent… then again, when he tried to imagine someone telling Kenneth that he had to go elsewhere it just didn't seem to work. At best it seemed they'd managed to get him to move outside the walls.
"Ah mean, ah've been told how steam engines work inna past an' ah could barely remember enough t'explain it coherently. Man just listens t'me describe wha' ah remember an' then he's already drawin' up plans for th' Grand Snake there." It was interesting to see him like this. Kenneth had always felt like this vast, unassailably wise figure to Guiche; yet now he was rather gushing over his tinkering partner.
"Well, I'm sure that it shall turn out to be a fine endeavour in the end; forgive my earlier incredulity." They were passing through the gates and the guards gave the Dwarf a wary look as he broke into sudden laughter before waving off the apology. Guiche tried not to look at them too closely; there were more than there had been before he left and they seemed a somewhat more… serious sort than the old sentries.
"My mission went poorly. Have you heard yet?" Kenneth had not. Thus, Guiche got to elaborate the entire operation from the beginning. They stopped around the back, by the servants' outbuildings, and about halfway through the dwarf asked him to pause for a moment; he then unslung his slab and leaned it against the wall beside his perch so he could step into the kitchens for a moment. When he returned he had a cask of ale for himself, and some assorted sweetmeats with which he consoled his young charge.
Throughout the entire explanation he was uncharacteristically quiet, however. After he cracked the cask open he drank it slowly and quietly as he gave Guiche his full focus. It was a little unnerving. By the time he was done relaying the explanation of the parts of the fight he hadn't been able to see, as told by Tabitha, Kenneth looked practically dour. Then, at the very end, he finally asked a question.
"Ye saw them clearly, aye? An' ye remember how they looked for yerself?" Guiche nodded, brow furrowing with confusion at the odd question. His answer made the dwarf frown for some reason. "An' ye didnae pick up anythin', did ya? Say, ah dunno, a scrap o' cloth from their cloak or somesuch?" This time he shook his head, still feeling rather perplexed. Kenneth took a deep draught on his ale and leaned heavily against the wall behind him with a deeply contemplative expression.
"Hrm. Sorry 'bout that, lad. Ah must be gettin' paranoid in me middle age. Y'wanted t'talk about them as died, aye?" This time he didn't nod. Instead, he gave the dwarf a close look. At some point he'd rested his hand on the stone slab beside him and seemed to be idly stroking it. If Guiche didn't know better he'd swear that his familiar was… well… afraid. Maybe he was, come to think of it; he'd never seen Kenneth in the grips of that particular emotion before.
"... perhaps that can wait. Ser Kenneth, do you… I mean… do you know who they are?" After a moment, and thoughts towards some of the stories he'd heard from the squat man, he amended his statement. "... what they are?" Kenneth took a moment to finish off the dregs of his ale and wipe the foam from his beard. Then he began to unwrap his slab.
"Ah thought ah might, lad. The look ye described, 'specially th' mask, made me think 'twere somethin' in particular." He finished his unravelling, revealing… a blank stone. Guiche couldn't help but chuckle a little as Kenneth snorted and grasped the sides to turn it around. "Not gonna say it; name alone's enough of an ill omen, t'my mind." He paused mid-turn and glanced over his shoulder at the young man for just a moment. Between beard and hair there was just enough face to make out a haunted expression.
Then he seemed to recover, and finished the motion. "Yer still alive, though, so ah reckon 's just me jumpin' at shadows." For some reason, the way he said that didn't remotely put Guiche at ease. He tried to focus on what he was being shown instead of told. It was more or less what he'd expected, from the one comment he recalled Kenneth making during the Mott debacle. The thick, heavy stone had what seemed at first to be some sort of aesthetic pattern or engraving upon it; right up until you realised it was writing.
There were quite a lot of it, actually, in a precise and delicate runic script. Guiche had to crouch and lean in to get a better look. Then he began to count. Twenty-five rows by seven and a half columns… eighth column had precisely seven rows, now. The runes weren't quiteones he was familiar with but he pressed his finger to the first entry and made his best attempt.
"Askero… the…" He frowned, comparing the symbols to the ones he knew and making an educated guess. "Scholar?" Kenneth leaned in and reached out, laying his palm across the surface. The engravings felt fragile and yet Guiche couldn't help but feel they were anything but.
"Decent attempt. Ah find it interestin' tha' languages're so similar. 'Sage' would be a better definition, ah reckon. As'kherro… the Laughing Sage, they called him. Gave his life t'save mine. Ah still haven't quite forgiven 'im fer that." He pointed at another line suddenly and Guiche began trying to sound it out.
"Laeren. Just a lad, nay much older than ye are now. Lot less bright than ye are, though. Kind kid." Kenneth smiled and it struck Guiche in that moment just how much the dwarf looked like his father did, at times; when he was writing his memoirs of past campaigns. "Part've a local militia. Ah helped 'em repel a Zunali raiding party, right close to th' border, an' he took a stray bolt right through th' eye. Only lethal casualty we took th' whole battle. Ah still wonder what ah could've done differently, sometimes."
He sighed heavily and sat himself down beside the slab; letting his eyes roam over it and drinking in the memories of all of the names. His beads clacked together quietly in the rising evening wind. "Ah dinnae need th' slab. Not really. Every name here's etched into m'memory. Ah've had ten afore this'n, an' like as not ah'll have ten more after it." Kenneth faced Guiche, looking deep into his sombre face and frowning as he did so. "But ah can tell ye right now, lad, yer gonna have a lot more o' these than ah do."
Guiche had not been expecting him to say something quite like that. It snapped him out of his daze as he listened to the dwarf continue with slowly growing horror. "Ye'll be a right proper leader o' men some day. There'll come a time when you'll make a choice, an' there ain't not other choice to be made. Ye'll spend lives to save lives an' it'll weigh on ya fer th' rest o' yer days." He'd really thought that Kenneth might say something to make him feel better, as opposed to even worse than he'd felt before his chat with Wardes.
Then the dwarf stood up and affixed him with a firm glare. The young man could feel his knes weaken a little under the intensity of the expression. "Men shall knowingly go to their deaths for ye, boy. An' the simple fact that y'feel this guilt now means that ye will be the kind o' commander as deserves that loyalty. Ye will treat their lives with respect, an' ye will make sure their sacrifices aren't fer nothing. Guiche…"
Kenneth had used his name. He couldn't recall the last time the dwarf had done that. Had he ever? It felt like his breath had caught in his throat. His eyes felt tight and hot for some reason. As his familiar reached out he gently extended his hand so that the dwarf could clasp it companionably. His knees were still quivering.
"Ah'm right proud of ye, ah am. Maybe ye fucked up, right enough, but yer reaction t'this ain't somethin' ah'd ever shame ye for. Quite the opposite. Ah'd be proud to follow someone like ya into battle." Guiche had to fight the urge to wipe his face. He most definitely wasn't crying; that would be thoroughly unheroic. It just so happened that his eyes were watering due to Kenneh's unique porcine aroma, and had nothing to do with anything else that might be going on in that moment.
"... y'know, once we've got ya a bit more tactical training." The blatant disrespect of the last statement completely shattered any further hope of sentimentality, and the two of them burst into laughter. It was either laugh or cry at that point; although, it seemed that perhaps at least one of them had neglected the 'or' part of that particular equation. Guiche wiped his face, and then punched Kenneth right in the shoulder.
"Good Ser Dwarf, you are just the worst at cheering people up. Please, leave it to the rest of us from now on, hm?" For some reason that just made the little man laugh even harder; right to the point where he lost his breath and began to cough just as heavily.
"Ahh… aheh… aye, ah reckon ye've got a point there, lad. C'mon, let's grab some grub. Y'can take some to yer lady, earn a few more boyfriend points. Goddess knows tha's how me wife caught me. Food 's th' secret to all good courtships, lad, an' never ye mind anyone who says different!" Kenneth began to wrap up his slab again as he appeared to further consider the rather broad statement he'd just made. "Well, food an' killin' giant monsters so y'can give her their corpses. Ah heard there's some sentimental tat o' a holiday comin' up from one of th' lasses; maybe you and I could go giant hunting or somesuch, eh?"
They headed for the kitchens as Kenneth continued to elucidate his plan for Guiche to eternally secure Montmorency's affections by way of fighting horribly dangerous beasts. It was a fairly blatant attempt to lighten the mood but he nevertheless appreciate it after their heavy earlier talk. Besides which, it was just rather pleasant to be able to interact with his familiar like a friend again.
Ah, he ought to let Marteau know how Siesta and Saito were doing; the Cook would surely want to know. Well, perhaps he'd fudge a few details on the last one. Then he could take dinner up to Mon-Mon and let her know things had worked out with Kirche.
By the time they were inside, Guiche had more or less put his failure out of mind; at least for the time being.
At the time the young Gramont had explained the technique he'd used to win the fight with Count Mott most everyone hadn't thought much of it; Matilda included, when Wardes relayed the details to her at a later date. She hadn't cared all that much, of course. Rather, she'd simply been curious as to how a Dot Earth Mage, even one that had achieved Line mid-battle, could possibly have beaten a Triangle Water Mage during a reasonably heavy rainstorm.
She had been vaguely aware of the theory behind reinforcing one's flesh with Earth Magic. It just wasn't very common for some reason. Perhaps because it wasn't so visually impressive as the super speed that could be achieved by the far more widely-used Wind Enhancement? Flashy spellcasting seemed to be a favourite amongst more juvenile Nobles; even she had almost fallen into it herself with her initial plan to steal the Staff of Destruction.
Whatever the case may have been there she was, at that very moment, unbelievably glad she'd decided to practise it a few times in anticipation of the inevitable day where Wardes decided to finally try and off her for good. Mostly because, judging by the number of lightly oozing scratches across her forearms, she'd have have been dead approximately… seventeen times over by now if she hadn't learned it.
They'd used a similar scheme to the boy in order to draw the murderer out of town. That had worked surprisingly well, in fact. Things hadn't gone quite so smoothly from there. She'd managed to catch his feet briefly but he'd quite literally torn himself free before she could get him any deeper than his ankles.
The initial engagement had been fast and painful. He, or maybe it, had used the trees to draw any lightning away while launching blisteringly fast assaults on her anytime she attempted to block his movements with sudden bursts of rock; whatever it might be it didn't seem to have much if any metal on it and so as long as it kept branches between them the bolts earthed early. Something about that had felt odd to her, but she supposed that any lack in combat ability was due to the clone itself.
Speaking of which, Wardes' duplicate could keep up with the main in red and roughly corral him while she prepared the first backup plan. While it wasn't nearly as good as the original, possessing only a fraction of his Willpower reserves and essentially none of his initiative or cunning, it could act relatively autonomously in support of her.
As she carved a path through the forest, carefully focusing her Willpower through the dirt, she had to wonder if this was the very situation that she'd prepared for. Maybe the reason he'd sent her here more or less alone, with only a sub-par copy for backup, was that he didn't intend for her to return. If she killed the problem as well all the better, right? Assuming he'd even been telling the truth about that.
She finally stopped and made sure she was out of the area she'd worked on. This plan relied on making sure the enemy didn't touch the ground at all within the prepared space; if he was even remotely talented he might be able to recognise the spell in waiting. That was why, in the early clashes, she'd on trying destabilising his footing and dragging him under more than anything.
There was no realistic way for her to signal the clone while she was holding the strike and, so, all she could do was wait and listen to the sounds of thunder crashing in the distance. Still using lightning? The real Wardes would've switched to something else by now. The copy might be equivalent in speed and reflexes but its strategy was definitely sub-par. Still, she could tell they were coming back around now.
A flash of light heralded the arrival of the duelling pair. She could see the trail of freshly started fires behind them; Knights might very well be on their way from the Capital that very moment. Even so, she waited. If this didn't trap the target then she didn't think they'd get another shot.
When it all came together it did so incredibly quickly. Right as the man in red hit the rough epicentre of her spell the copy shredded what little remained of its Willpower reserve in order to split itself even further. The two that formed immediately divided again into four and, for just a few moments, the interplay of lightning and fire and ice between them stopped the ridiculous aerobatics dead in their tracks as the killer was forced to dodge unexpected strikes from four directions.
Matilda flung her arms skyward and voiced the last line of her incantation. It barely felt like she was using Triangle magic at this point; she'd poured almost every last ounce of her own Willpower into this. Within a good fifty-metre radius of the two, or five now, rough triangles of earth a good half a metre thick themselves began to haul themselves out of the ground. It was too slow, and she gritted her teeth as she pushed all that she had into it. Trees snapped or buckled or were entirely upended, some were even drawn along with the rising wedges, as she forced them to shoot upright and curve over.
The four clones ascended; they had precious little energy left to expend on any spells but they could block the path of their enemy with their bodies and wandblades alone. It only had to be for a few moments. One went down to a flung spike of ice, breaking apart into nothingness, and the other three immediately closed in before their foe could take advantage; it seemed that, for all of their agility, they just couldn't force their way free in time.
Eight massive wedges slammed together, forming a conical dome around the remaining fighters. Stopping there, though, wouldn't have been nearly enough. Matilda didn't let go yet; instead, she pushed it even further. Down and in at the same time until the entire mass had been crushed down into stone.
As soon as she released the spell Matilda hit the ground. She felt like she might well throw up from the effort that had taken. There was a strange burning sensation in her… well, her everything really that she vaguely recognised as probably being Willpower exhaustion. It had been quite some time since she'd felt that given her usual work barely required much exertion from her at all.
"That was quite impressive." The really sad part was that she didn't even feel surprised. She merely rolled on to her side so she could look up at the figure in red crouching beside her. Their position was so bizarre as to almost be comical; a low squat with their beaked face resting on their steepled hands as if they were sitting behind a desk. Given she wasn't dead yet, Matilda figured it was probably safe to laugh. That was something she quickly regretted given it rather hurt to laugh right then.
"Before… you kill me… ask you… favour…" The figure in red, and she was quite sure it was a man now, tilted their head. It was strange how the golden eyes shone in the darkness. If it weren't for the light behind them they might well just look yellow and monstrous, as opposed to ethereal and monstrous.
"I am not opposed to it. Although, before you say anything embarrassing, perhaps I ought to say that I was not planning on finishing you off?" Their voice was strange as well. Muffled, due to the mask, and spoken with an accent that sounded like it was deliberately mimicking hers. If it weren't for the mask, in fact, it might well have put her at ease.
The way it leaned to one side so it was looking at her straight on didn't help, either. "Really, Matilda de Saxe-Gotha, I had thought that I might like to save you instead." A flicker of white light about its fingertips became a short, transparent blade. "Although, if it is your wish to die then I shall most certainly grant you that."
Her head hurt far too much for this kind of thing. It was undeniably effective, but she just couldn't handle. So she went with the simplest solution; merely closing her eyes. Without the nightmarish visage right in front of her she could properly organise her thoughts and catch her breath at the same time. When doing so didn't lead to her throat immediately being slit she felt it was safe enough to take her time to respond.
"What do you want from me?" Asking how they knew her name had felt a little pointless. When there was no initial response Matilda opened her eyes to reveal an empty clearing. Still nothing. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, turned her head and immediately came face-to-beak with the killer once more. There was no stopping the shameful little squeal that came out, or the immediate flinch that came from finding herself in such close proximity again.
"We shall see. For now, it is a simple choice." They'd shifted back a good metre in the brief moment in which she'd reflexively covered her face. It was quite clear that they were doing this on purpose; the woman that she and Wardes reported to used similarly opaque intimidation tactics. The problem was that when you knew the person doing it could quite probably kill you at a moment's notice they were rather effective.
"You prepared a strategy for me; therefore, you were forewarned. However, your support was inadequate. Taking these factors along with your attire suggests that you are not an agent of this country." She'd have thought that was quite clear. Was this really a member of the Reconquista after all? "Furthermore, your masters have tossed you aside. They intended for you to die here. Do you disagree?"
Matilda nervously wet her lips and slowly shook her head. This person's assessment more or less matched with what she'd been thinking herself. Sending her for a straight-up combat assignment had felt off from the very beginning. Surely Wardes had actual fighters at his disposal? She clearly specialised in stealth and magical thievery.
"You knew this already." They digested her assent in silence for a mere moment before immediately zeroing in on the only reason she hadn't tried to tunnel away from the clone as soon as they were out of sight of the chapter house. "There is something you are protecting. Your masters are aware of it. This thing is so important to you that you would die to keep it from harm. I see."
The thing actually appeared almost human for a moment as it straightened out of its awkward pose and seemed to legitimately consider what it had just deduced. Seeing it almost be a person felt just wrong for some reason. "Very well. The choice remains simple. I can leave you here, or else you can defect." Matilda's only possible response to the voiced proposal, at least at first, was an incredulous stare.
"Please… just kill me. If I do either of those, she'll…" There wasn't all that much hope in her for that tactic. However, it had just shown her what felt like an actual, uncontrolled emotion; thus, she did have some hope that it might be swayed not to just leave her there. Even suicide wouldn't work at this point; they'd know.
"Do not be afraid." It stepped forward and held out a hand to her, glowing eyes regarding her with some unreadable emotion shining in them. Quite literally, it seemed. Hesitantly, Matilda took the hand. It was very strong, and they helped her to her feet with almost no discernible effort. "If you join, then you will be one of us. Then 'she' will be one of us. We take care of our own, Matilda. Should you defect, I swear I shall make sure no harm comes to her."
Founder help her, she almost believed him. Almost. Even if she didn't, though, what choice did she have? For as much as they claimed it was 'simple'... well, she supposed it was merely a matter of choosing her damnation. Whether it be the certainty of failure, or the uncertainty of treachery.
"... okay." In the end, her hope defeated her. If there was a chance, even the tiniest chance, that she could protect Tiffa from the monsters at her back then she'd gladly throw her lot in with the monster in front of her. The masked man nodded, clearly pleased with her choice.
"Very well. This will sting a little." The man reached out and placed his hands on either side of her head. His grip was gentle and serene; like the most cliche gesture of a cheap, sappy romance novel. All of the threatening airs and danger seemed to leak out of him as she felt him completely relax. For the barest instant her own wariness dropped to match his in a transcendent moment of absolute trust.
He was wrong, as it turned out; when he snapped her neck she didn't feel anything at all.