(1180)
Day 16 of the Horsebow Moon. Cloudy.
Goddess bless Manuela Cassagranda and every healing hand she trains.
I can hardly think how close I came to losing-
And now Rhea knows.
1183
Wyvern Moon
The Mockingbird's foul mood, the extra acid edge to Constance's words, the splinters left behind in Balthus's wake; these were noted by the inhabitants of Abyss. The savvy few who thought they understood why kept their heads down, well down. Abyss was not a place of consolation, of friendship. Everyone had too many of their own troubles to listen to yours, especially when Yuri and his closest were in such a black mood.
So the patrons of the Wilting Rose spared no attention to the petite mage who had arrived to be Constance's assistant. If they had it would only be to wonder that it had taken so long for her to find her way to this dismal watering hole. She ordered with a scowl and took an almost defiant gulp before slamming the tankard down on the bar, some of the contents sloshing out over her glove as she did.
"Dads suck!" Annette announced, to anyone who would listen. They all turned a deaf ear, except for one hooded figure at the bar next to her her.
A snort escaped him, followed by simply; "Welcome to the club."
"Felix!" She exclaimed, whirling on her stool to face him "You're here! Why are you here? Oh no, you're up to evil aren't you? You waited until my guard was down and now you'll expose me! Oooooooooooh, well we'll see about that!"
"Truly, I admire your imagination, but, no, that's not why I'm here." The swordsman answered, finishing his own drink and throwing a couple of coins on the counter for another "I'm here for the arena, and to spar with Commander Eisner, nothing else."
"Felix, you're here." Annette repeated, but much quieter, her eyes wide and something that sounded like fear in her voice "You can't be here, you need to be with the others!"
"What others?" Felix asked, wary of her sudden shift in tone -that wasn't unusual for Annette, but this edge of fear was.
"The -All of them!" She answered only to be met with a raised brow and a look of incomprehension "You don't know!?"
"Evidently." He answered with some impatience. Annette quaked, all the colour draining from her face.
"Felix, the -the lords are marching on Duscur. U-under the King's banner."
"What? That can't be-" he cut himself off as Annette nodded shakily, eyes still wide. In one hand he caught the handles of both their tankards and in the other the back of Annette's elbow, pushing her over to a table in a far corner. "Explain." He demanded as they settled.
"An enemy arsenal was found," the mage answered, voice dropped to a whisper "in Duscur. A whole host of magical weapons, constructs, like demonic beasts only made of metal. Dimitri sent out summons and everyone is rallying. There are reinforcements marching up from Enbarr and Arianrhod and -everywhere!"
"What? When?"
"Right at the start of the month, the summons came maybe two week ago?"
Something uncomfortable tightened in Felix's gut. The last argument with his father, the one that had driven him from their territory out to the Monastery, had been recent -Rodrigue would have already received the summons when -Felix pushed the thought away with a scoff. The old man had been intolerable, as usual, so Felix had needed space to cool his head and that was all there was to it.
"They can't mean to push into Duscur. The snow will have started. Even the Boar isn't that stupid."
Whatever Annette's response in that moment might have been was interrupted by a sudden commotion in the middle of the room. A table overturned and three of the previous occupants ranged against the last. One of them reached out and sharply tugged down a bandanna tied around the fourth's arm. An electric silence buzzed around the room when the cloth pulled away to reveal a scorpion tattoo. Without knowing why Felix's hand dropped to a sword hilt, but the man only grinned, raising his hands and backing out of the room with a few more words.
The tense silence remained. A sharp nod from the barkeeper sped a scrawny boy out the door at a fast pace while the men righted the table. Felix's hand lifted from his blade but hovered at the ready. Conversation rose up again in a belligerent swell which hushed down to discontent murmurings as Yuri appeared in the door, the boy scampering through ahead of him. The Underlord didn't need to utter a word himself as the three almost-combatants made their way before him, he only had to turn on his heel and lead them out to whatever conversation was brewing.
The anticipation in the air faded. With the matter, whatever it was, in Yuri's hands, the bar began to return to the normal depressed state. Felix turned back to Annette, who was still wide-eyed and a little pale. She didn't belong down in this grimy place.
"Why are you here?" Felix asked, perhaps a little sharper, a little more accusing, than he had intended.
"I want to be at the front." Annette answered, taking no offence at his tone, "I was in Fhirdiad, trying to persuade-" she cut herself off "I was recommended to be Constance's assistant, to help the Mage's Enclave. I know it's important work, but, well... My Uncle agreed, so, here I am. But I'd rather-"
"Don't." He advised, interrupting her. "Don't wish yourself there."
Annette's cheeks puffed out in indignation, but she held her tongue until the worst had subsided, releasing it in a heavy sigh.
"Will you go?" She asked, quietly.
Felix scoffed, but didn't answer.
~o~*~o~
Red Wolf moon
Despite taking the role of Acting Archbishop, Seteth continued to occupy his own office. It served as a reminder to all that this station was only temporary, that Church affairs were yet in flux and while he preached of the new liturgy it was not yet complete. By and large the faithful had proven themselves resilient, well able to weather the uncertainty that had followed the Revelation and Rhea's long absence. Even under the shadow of a new enemy set against the Goddess, the people looked forward to the coming Millennium Festival with cheer.
Most of them. There were exceptions. Such as the Three Counts; Gloucester, Rowe and Varley.
Following the attack at Rhodos the Knights of Seiros had returned to the Western Church and all but dismantled it. The subsequent investigation had borne out what Seteth had suspected; the Western Church had been infiltrated by the Agarthans many years previously. Count Rowe himself was cleared of suspicion, but it was only with grudging reluctance that he allowed the Central Church to re-establish itself in the territory and every communication with him felt like a battle. Even more so since Rhea had taken sanctuary at Teutates.
Of Varley, the less said the better. Seteth had neither grace nor pity to spend on the vile, grasping man. The Count knew Edelgard's ministerial reforms would being with the Minister of Religion; already the ministry with the least influence in Adrestia. Therefore he was doing all he could to thwart those plans; raising dissension while simultaneously setting himself up as the solution to the problems he created. Even demanding Rhea give up the Archbishop's mantle entirely and suggesting other candidates that were clearly beholden to him. Seteth had received three thinly-veiled demands that he attend the Count in Enbarr this year alone.
In none of them did he enquire about his daughter.
Gloucester was a headache of a completely different nature, and the one Seteth was dealing with now. The Alliance Lord had always been pious, and his patronage was generous; but it brought with it a sense of entitlement. Seteth had to devise new ways of telling the Count that he would not have input to his sermons -let alone the scripture, or access to Rhea, without offending the man nearly every other moon.
It was growing tiresome.
He sighed heavily as he closed the door behind him. The candles were not yet lit, only moonlight filtering through the open window illuminated-
-he had not left the window open.
Seteth jumped forwards, almost tripping, the rasping sound of tearing fabric filled the air as a blade rent it's way down his back, a scant breath from his spine. He rolled across his desk to put a barrier between himself and his opponent.
He realised his mistake as a ward flared to life beneath him, his feet immobilized.
"Oh Professor, Professor," Kronya crooned, flipping her knife over and over in her hand "you shouldn't have given up the escape route, Professor Seteth. Should have stayed by the door. Who was it who taught me that? Oh, of course," she laughed "it was you."
A phrase, harsh and sibilant dripped from her lips and Seteth tensed as the dark magic took hold of him. His blood pushed through his veins and began flowing out through the air to a set of heavily inscribed stone jars that Kronya set on a side table with a coquettish flounce and a wink. Seteth forced himself to breathe, to keep his cool, to think. The spell slithered under his skin, unsettling and- and familiar.
"This spell! What -this is-"
"One of Solon's greatest works" Kronya agreed with a sad sigh "and you beasts bastardized it into doing laundry."
Seteth closed his eyes and counted his breaths. Over twenty years he had inspected and marshalled every working corner of the monastery. He may not have known the origin of the spell the laundresses used to pull blood from cloth, but he did know the spell itself. He knew how to end it.
Kronya was monitoring the jars, so he took the chance to mutter the ending-phrase under his breath.
It had no effect.
Seteth grit his teeth and dredged through eon-old memories; Indech's vast array of cantrips, Macuil's knack for ensorcelling steel, transforming a spell into an enchantment and changing the very nature of magic. He had not shared the talent for spellcraft they possessed, but the lifeblood literally flowing out of him was sufficient motivation to apply himself!
His second attempt was no more successful than the first. On the third he felt the spell respond to him, but no more than that, a curious noise escaping Kronya as she leaned in to look closely at the jars. On the fourth attempt, as he began to feel light-headed, the spell ceased.
He gasped in pain as a throwing knife sliced across his chest, shredding cloth and drawing a stinging line of fire over his breast before thudding into the opposite wall.
"Now Professor, if you wanted me to attend to you personally, you only had to say so."
Kronya stepped over to him, feet staying carefully clear of the ward that was immobilizing him. She pushed his desk aside so she had clear space to work with and before Seteth could brace himself had driven one of her profane daggers deep into his bicep. She danced behind him and twisted both arms up, pinning them against his back and pressed the stone lip of a jar just below the wound so his blood would drip thickly into it.
"Feel free to struggle," she encouraged him "really gets the blood moving."
"No time for games, my sweet." Metody announced, flipping in through the window. "Mockingbird's on his way. Seems like one of the Scorpions slipped."
"Tch, messy, messy" Kronya sighed, knocking against Seteth conversationally, the knife in his arm casting him into agony when she did "why do other people always have to ruin my brilliant plans? I'm afraid we don't have time to do this the fun way, Professor."
In a moment she had cut another strip from Seteth's ruined tunic, stuffing it into his mouth as a gag. Another followed, this time binding his hands. Kronya stepped back, wrenching her dagger free with a painful twist and resumed the spell that leached the blood from him.
It was too much. He was barely able to concentrate as the room spun around him. He could hear Metody rifling through his desk for any pertinent information, but had no strength to turn his head to look, nor could he make out the words that passed between the pair any longer. His knees gave out and he crashed down heavily. He slumped to the side as Kronya closed the last of the jars and ceased the spell. He could only watch through dimming vision as she stalked towards him, unable to lift his head to see more than her boots passing one in front of the other. Those last moments before he lost consciousness seemed to be an eternity.
Felix and Yuri burst through the door just as the last shred of awareness left him.
~o~*~o~
Hubert had not received word of the attack before he arrived at Garreg Mach. It was left to poor, trembling Bernadetta to inform him that the expected briefing had been postponed, but he was requested to report to Seteth in the Infirmary when he reached the Coalition Office. She shrieked and cowered under his glare when she got to Kronya's involvement, but to her credit, kept talking as though getting all the information out in one go was the only way to assure her own survival.
That wasn't the case at all, but he did appreciate the effort.
"What were they after?" He asked, trying to keep his face clear of his usual foreboding mien, when she came to a halt.
"I-I-I don't know," she answered "I-I wasn't briefed that far."
"Hmph, very well then. I suppose I shall have to venture up to the Monastery. Thank you, Bernadetta." He concluded and turned to make his way when Bernadetta called him back.
This was so unusual an occurrence that he halted immediately. His astonishment was complete when she suddenly thrust forward a bit of embroidery towards him.
"H-here, I… I said some unkind things about you before and I wanted to apologise. I hope this will help you let go of all the grudges you're probably holding against me."
"There are no grudges, but as you've gone to the effort anyway I'll accept it… This is quite lovely." He added, examining it; a large red rose supported by several smaller black ones beneath it. "That said perhaps it doesn't quite suit me."
"No, it -it does." Bernadetta assured, finding bravery enough to step forwards and pin it carefully to the high collar of his coat. "It looks great on you! Heh-heh..."
Hubert raised an eyebrow "I can't say I like you laughing at me but it is at least preferable to you fleeing in terror. Therefore, I will wear this when I am around you in the future."
"Really? You will? You don't hate it?" Bernadetta asked and Hubert found himself teasing in response;
"If you're going to question me about it, perhaps I'll change my mind."
Naturally Bernadetta back-pedalled from that notion immediately "No-no-no-no-no! I believe you. You're a lot less scary with it on."
"That is what's most important. Now I suppose it is safe for me to return to my usual strict methods."
Bernadetta's shriek of "I'm not ready!" echoed through the building as she did, at last, flee in terror. Nevertheless Hubert's darkly amused grin curled over his lips; progress was progress after all, perhaps they may yet depend on her to return to the Empire and unseat Varley, fulfilling Edelgard's plans...
That same amused grin was foreboding enough to the rest of the population to assure him uninterrupted passage through the grounds of Garreg Mach right up to the threshold of the infirmary, where he encountered the fiercest guardian to ever stand sentinel over that door.
Flayn regarded him with a stern glare, hands on her hips, even as her head craned back to keep eye-contact with him. She did not falter for a moment. Only waited for him to approach to a respectable distance for conversing before stating: "My brother is resting." As though that were the end of the matter entirely.
"And yet, he left a message at the gate requesting my presence." Hubert countered.
"I assure you it makes no difference." Flayn answered primly. "Even if I were to let you pass, which I most certainly shall not, he is in no state to be working."
Hubert considered his old classmate; though they had spent little time together he had seen for himself her determination. Likely she was correct as well (though perhaps not in the fashion she meant to be) and whatever Seteth could tell him would not be worth the cost of obtaining that information. Not presently at any rate.
"Very well." He conceded "I hope the Professor -the Archbishop I should say -I trust he was not too grievously injured?"
Flayn's defiant posture wavered before crumbling entirely "It is awful. Just like when they took me… They drained his blood -but so much more and so quickly."
"They?"
"Kronya and that traitor Metody." Flayn spat.
Hubert's head lifted just a fraction on hearing that Metody had also been present. Though otherwise he gave no indication that the news meant anything to him. "Perhaps if I cannot speak with your brother it might be a better use of my time to investigate the scene and speak with -I understand it was Yuri who interrupted them?"
Flayn paused for a moment then nodded her agreement, gesturing down the hall "That may be for the best. I'll have Yuri called… the attack took place in my brother's office."
Hubert bowed graciously and stepped back, Flayn watching carefully to ensure he really was heading to the office before stepping aside from her post to send someone to alert Yuri.
The window had been closed, but otherwise Seteth's office was as it had been the night before; his desk pushed to the side and thoroughly plundered and a suspicious dark stain on the floor where he had fallen. Considering the grim task that formed it, the stain was a great deal smaller than might have been expected. The Agarthan's certainly knew much about blood magic if they could be so efficient even behind enemy lines, as it were.
That stain, and the disarmed immobilization ward that contained it were little use to Hubert directly. Instead he made his way to the desk.
Fortunately, troop movements and intelligence reports were kept under Coalition guard; locked away and heavily cyphered in the secret spaces of Byleth's office, even the reports of the Knights of Seiros. It was only Church matters that might have been found here -but those could be harmful enough in the wrong hands. The lists of donations and charitable outgoings seemed innocent enough, but there was one letter not in Seteth's hand.
Two words had been hastily circled in blood. Hubert dared to assume it was Metody's own, a finger quickly pricked on a knife, rather than any of the distressing spillage from Seteth. No, that would have drawn attention to his actions, to the message he was leaving -what little there was of it anyway; "shambles" from a section the the middle of the letter and "Gloucester" from the signature were the words highlighted. There was no other mark that Hubert could detect and given that Metody was certainly aware of his schedule he could only suppose this had been left for him.
Was "shambles" supposed to stand in for "Shambhala"? Unless this was a very straightforward commentary on the state of Alliance nobility it must do. Did that make Gloucester the location? The next target? An associate? A doppelgänger?
It was a lead regardless.
Hubert considered; they, the intelligence division of the Coalition, had an agent (a superior agent) investigating the Gloucester region already. There had been too many Giant Beast attacks in recent years, too many caravans disrupted, too many Riegan heirs killed and not enough of the enemy's movements through Leicester accounted for. Not since the Agarthan Blood Mages had left Ordelia and Tomas had surfaced at Garreg Mach. Above all that; Gloucester was key to defending the Great Bridge of Myrddin, allowing trade, troops and vital supplies to pass between the Alliance and the Empire. The thoroughfare must remain uncompromised. The last update from the agent had been…
…Too long ago.
Far too long ago. In this case Hubert was not inclined to think of no news as being good news; she was not the sort to leave things to chance.
He took stock. It would take days to summon Shamir from Teutates; too late if Metody had left any sort of trail to follow. Their intelligence agent in Garreg Mach was positioned securely enough that even their allies did not know them -giving up that position for fieldwork was inadvisable at best.
But Hubert himself was free to act. He had allies in the Monastery who could serve as his back-up, and he always kept on his person that one Agarthan "in case of emergency only" trick they had granted him before the revelation…
Yes, he was going to have to investigate this himself.