The Gala of Machinations
by Wind Tempest
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"Stop traitor!" Guiche de Gramont shouted as he chased the man pretending to be Lord Mortimer. That Reconquista would attempt to weaken Tristain came as no surprise – no doubt the assassin was acting with their support. "Your efforts to escape will be in vain! I can see your exhaustion – soon it will accompany your demise!"
Reaching the river bank, the assassin turned to face Guiche. With a flick of his wand a massively proportioned Golem formed from the mud and stone at the river's edge. Standing over 5 mails tall it towered over the lithe Tristanian mage.
'Crude' and 'sloppy' were Guiche's only thoughts as he responded with a flick from his own wand. Four feminine statues of bronze armor formed before him, great-swords and shields raised high as they advanced against the Golem.
Thus the duel between the two earth mages began.
The four bronze Valkyries moved in concert, worked in unison to bring down the bulky colossus. One was parrying the Golem's blunt strikes, keeping close guard to prevent it from using its greater mass to cause harm. The second stood close to Guiche himself, interposing its shield to deflect the air needles and hammers sent towards him by his Foe. The final two were darting about in tandem, striking at the Golem's weak points whenever its attention wavered.
Had it been a fight against an honorable opponent Guiche would have rather enjoyed the battle of constructs. On this occasion, however, he felt only anger and disgust. His foe was an assassin, without principle or nobility, and there was no way to tell if other traitors were about.
Despite its rough construction, the false Mortimer's Golem was tough and it was doing its job well, protecting the assassin standing on its shoulders. Guiche, however, had a plan. He had practiced hard to refine a technique that he had first come up during Operation Dunkirk, when he fought against the Faeries revived by Lord Cromwell's vile necromancy.
Taking a rose stored in a pouch behind his belt, he threw it in the air as though celebrating the end of a performance. The traitor saw the rose and shattered it with an air needle, scattering the petals in the air. Guiche raised his wand and chanted. The swirling petals unraveled like ribbons, splitting and straightening into a flight of dancing blades; swords of bronze made real. With a downwards sweep of his wand, they rained down upon the traitor and his Golem.
The traitor used his wand with some aplomb to deflect the oncoming barrage of death, suffering several minor lacerations but escaping certain death. The Golem was less fortunate. Scores of blades impaled it, slowing the already lumbering giant still further.
With a gesture, Guiche ordered the four Valkyries to drop their shields, replacing them with a second sword drawn from the blades strewn across the ground. The ballet of blades commenced, the four bronze warriors closing quickly with the Golem, each slashing it several times before darting away to let their partner take over, repeating the action around and around. The golem buckled, losing its balance as the onslaught continued. As the Golem stumbled the traitor lost his grip on his unsteady perch. With a final lurch he was tossed forward off his platform, his hand grasping futilely at the Golem's head as he fell. Guiche took the opening without hesitation – swiftly severing the traitor by the neck. The Golem crumbled as the animating force departed, unable to maintain its form it quickly returned to the mound of dirt from which it had been born.
With Golem and assassin gone, Guiche dispelled the Valkyries and swords. There was no sense in further exhausting his willpower. Around him, fires still raged within the streets of Tristania, set ablaze by the misdirected fireworks. Shouts of command and wails of despair added to the pandemonium. He turned to face the Gala, his face filled with anger and grief at the chaos he had left behind in his haste to track down the impostor. Traitors had attempted to weaken the crown for their own selfish gains! Such a blight on their titles of nobility, they shamed themselves, and their Houses. With heightened urgency, he rushed back to the Gala.
~A bright light fills the room~
A young Imp lass hissed, blocking the light with her arms as she placed the open book on her lap. "What is that day star doing in this room, Cirrus?"
"Oh, don't be such a Puca, Lyrica. It is called the sun," the Sylph remarked after hearing her name. "You are not a Vampire, so don't pretend you have never seen it before!"
Lyrica blinked her eyes and slowly adjusted to the light. The young Sylph stood near a window, curtains drawn apart to allow the light to come streaming through. Unlike Lyrica she was dressed for the day, wearing a tan blazer and dark colored shorts under a pleated tan skirt. The uniform didn't cover her back, leaving her wings free to gently chime as the sun charged them. Crisp morning air flowed from the open window, causing them to sway with a certain gentle cadence.
"You can call it a 'Dragon's Main Course' for all I care! Just get rid of it already!"
With a sigh, Cirrus withdrew her wings and closed the curtains around the window once more. Making her way to Lyrica's side of the room, she took down the coat hanger which held another uniform of similar style and cut to her own garb. Over the breast pocket was a patch containing the World Tree sprouting out of an open Book, the Seal of the Hyuuga Academy of Natural Philosophy.
"Come on, get dressed. We have classes today."
With a sigh of her own, Lyrica took the uniform, setting aside the book she had just been reading. As she got dressed for class, she checked once more that their plans for the morrow were still in place.
"Tomorrow is the festival, correct?"
"Yes. The 53rd anniversary of the Transition," Cirrus replied with glee, "there'll be so many treats, and games, and music, and dancing, and parades, and food, and-"
"Yes, yes. I remember that from last year's festival," Lyrica interrupted for her roommate's sake, stopping the pressured speech so she wouldn't have to watch her friend hyperventilate. "Please start breathing again. CPR is intended for emergency use, not for annual use every time we have a festival!"
"It got you out of those books and this room, did it not?" With a lively, but dainty giggle, common among the nobility, Cirrus laughed as she watched Lyrica straighten the bow on her uniform.
As the two left their dorm room, the young Imp finally shelved the book she had been reading. On the cover a young blonde man was portrayed in a dramatic pose. His puffy white shirt was unlaced at the neck, revealing a physically fit chest, while a rose was held firmly between his gritted teeth. In one hand a wand pointed towards the reader, while the other supported an injured Tristainian Noble slung over his shoulder. The title was elaborate and boldly written. "Guiche De Gramont: Hero of Tristain. Volume 2 - Guiche De Gramont and the Gala of Machinations."
