Chapter 5 – Ruins
With nothing else pressing on the agenda aside from the threat now being posed to the kingdom, Regina hones in on finding a solution. The first order of business is to visit the garrison posted within the castle and speak to its commander. Being that Red is asleep, she realizes the opportunity present for her to do something proactive. Transporting herself and a small squadron of troopers to and from the outpost that was destroyed fit the bill perfectly. A personal inspection is in order to best assess the current threat level.
The effort will severely deplete her stores of energy, as the outpost is far away, thus making her vulnerable should the witch choose to attack once more. All variables considered, it is a calculated risk she deems worth taking. The need for information is dire and she is fairly confident in making an educated guess that the witch has strategically abandoned the vicinity. The dramatic tragedy in the throne room was arranged solely for show, as was the destruction of the garrison, which draws inescapable parallels to the troubling events in Drakkenhall. In light of recent events there is no disputing Mulan's prescient assessment about sorcery being involved in those attacks, as it is equally certain that the same witch perpetrated all of the recent devilry afoot.
Taking all of this into account, a quick trip to the garrison poses little danger to her outside of the threat of death by bug bite, the region being an infamous year-round breeding ground for all manner of disgusting creepy crawlies. There will be no direct confrontation just yet, having already sent a clear enough message. Mind games will likely be played for some time rather before the witch dares show her face. Frankly the entire situation makes Regina feel like a mouse at the mercy of the cat who is drawing amusement from toying with its food, and she doesn't like it one bit.
Well, I'm no one's prey, least of all some upstart pretender. She harrumphs matter-of-factly at her own internal monologue. I'm the Evil Queen dammit! So if that witch wants to have a go at me, she can bring it on. I won't be tucking tail and running. Nor do I plan to hunker down and hide. No, no, indeed. Mother taught me to always face my problems head on, and that is exactly what I am going to do. And when I'm through, that smug bitch won't know what hit her.
The thought of her enemy broken before her brings a smile to Regina's blood red lips.
After consulting with Captain Rodrigo, who remains to date one of her most trusted and highly valued officers, she has him summon his five best troops to the courtyard. There, she instructs the assembled men stand in a circle pressed in tightly together and near enough to her so that they can touch her.
"Once I've summoned my magic, I will give the command for you all to place your hands upon my shoulders," she tells them, out of habit more than necessity. These men all know better than to cop a feel and plead an accidental slip of the hand. That said, she is not about to take any chances with her current mood. Such an accident will most assuredly result in violence. "The barest contact will suffice," she adds. "Don't get handsy. Offenders will be relieved of their appendages. Every last one of them." They all gulp in concert and then nod that they've understood both the instructions and the implication of the threat attached to them. Satisfied, she meets the gaze of her garrison commander. "Captain, are you ready to depart?"
"Yes, your Majesty," Rodrigo diligently replies.
"Very well, let us begin." And with those words, Regina draws up to her full height and raises her hands to the heavens. That place inside her chest that holds the well of her magic begins to pulsate with life. Tapping into it, she draws the required amounts of energy to transport herself and her men across the relatively vast distance between the Dark Palace and the remote garrison on the border of the White Kingdom.
As she gathers magical energy, the wind begins to whip around her, and her skirts begin flapping at her ankles. Purple magic swirls around her arms and in her eyes, and she grins with glee at the feeling of omnipotence that floods over her, inundating her in the ecstasy of so much primordial power at her disposal.
Upon reaching the required threshold, she returns her focus to the men tightly gathered around her and shouts over the din of wind and crackling magic, "Make contact now!" As instructed, they touch their hands to her shoulders as one and the second the final hand joins the pile, Regina closes her eyes, thinks of the garrison in her mind and commands her magic to transport them all there.
A great burst of sound and energy goes out in waves from the epicenter of her body, radiating outward to fill the entire courtyard, and then in a flash of bright light, they are swept away. A blink of the eye later, they are standing outside the garrison in exactly the place she had imagined. Pride fills her at her display of sorcerous skill. She has not always been so adept at transportation spells. Offensive magic is her specialty, so utility spells such as those that move matter both animate and inanimate from one destination to another did not come easily. But years of practice have sharpened her skills to fine edge so that she is now able to transport masses of people – incidentally the most complex of all organisms to transport – over short distances or small numbers over very large ones with perfect accuracy.
And Rumple said I'd never get the hang of it. Shows what he knows. That crotchety old crocodile. I don't much care for Killian Jones after he helped Mother, but his little nickname for the Dark One is one thing he got on the nose...
While Regina turns to inspect the charred and smoking ruins of the garrison, she allows her men a moment to recover. Half of them are keeled over at the waist, emptying their stomachs and groaning while some of the others are shaking their heads to restore their sense of balance. Vertigo and nausea are a common side effect from such matter displacement spells, though for whatever reason, the effects are dispersed over greater numbers of bodies. Had it just been her and one of the others, her passenger likely would have passes out.
Only the Captain remains wholly unaffected by their asymmetrical mode of travel. No matter how affected one is by their first time being transported via magic, the human body grows accustomed to it over time. Rodrigo is an accomplished veteran after so many faithful years in her service and has traveled with her many times since his appointment to her personal guard so many years ago. Stalwart and dependable as always, he helps his troops to regain their balance as best he can.
Once recovered enough, Regina intends to order a sweep of the area to scout for any tracks left behind. She doubts they will find so much as the slightest imprint of a feminine heel, but it never hurts to look. It is always possible the witch blundered during the assault and left behind evidence in her overconfidence at securing such a successful opening gambit. Assaulting entrenched positions or enemy fortifications is a messy endeavor no matter how experienced the magician. Powerful or not, spell-casters are still human beings with a penchant for making mistakes under pressure. Sloppy incantations or magical projectiles hurled awry are not uncommon during a pitched battle, and that is when the odds are significantly better than the fifty to one this witch took on without a second thought.
Such hubris says much to Regina about this person who has dared infiltrate her territory, destroy her property, and slaughter her soldiers. Glancing about the area, she can see the main thrust of the witch's attack, marked by a charcoal pathway of scorched earth leading from the front gate all the way to the barracks some seventy-five yards away. No building was left unscathed. The mess was reduced to cinders. The officer's quarters were utterly annihilated down to the last brick. Even the armory, the most highly fortified installation in the entire garrison, is now little more than a husk of blackened beams and smoldering floor panels. This enemy, whoever she is, adopted an approach that made Regina's typical flagrant aggression appear tame in comparison. No fear whatsoever could reside within the stone cold heart of a woman capable of brazenly assaulting such a heavily defended encampment. That she then proceeded to rain down death and hell onto a stocked garrison of trained fighters who could kill a human being in a hundred different ways without breaking a sweat makes her an even more formidable opponent. Certainly not one to be taken lightly...
Rotting carcasses lay strewn all about the courtyard, some in piles of two or three, some in halves and others in too many pieces to count. The carnage is unspeakable, and Regina's nose curls at the stench. Death shrouds the entire site, a pall that hangs in the air, seeps into her lungs, and would have robbed her of the ability to breathe deeply or think clearly had she not spent so much time in it's pitiless presence. Though most of these men and women are relative strangers to her, at the very least she knew them all by name. Heartless as most believe her to be, she is not untouched by the sacrifices her soldiers make in her name on a daily basis, nor is she ignorant – or unappreciative – of their loyalty.
Families of the slain are well cared for out of the well-stocked royal coffers, and have been since Red so delicately coaxed their Queen's caring, nurturing maternal side out of exile. It now pains Regina to think of how she will soon be writing so many letters of condolence, whereas before she would have either shrugged off the duty to an underling or dismissed the permanent consequences of her choices as causalities of necessity or collateral damage in her endless pursuit of vengeance. Ignoring the wives, husbands, sons, daughters, mothers, and fathers of these poor souls who have all been bereaved of someone precious and irreplaceable to them is virtually impossible now that she has someone like that to lose as well.
A fair few of the lost not charred beyond recognition are identifiable as spouses of noble ladies who were inspired by her marriage to Red. Bucking tradition requires far less bravery when the Queen is the one who set the unconventional precedent. These ladies, while far from trailblazers, made the most of the new opportunity to marry for love rather than to advance the family name or estate by joining a higher social strata. Regina cannot fault them for being coattail chasers when she is glad for others to have avoided such an odious fate to which she was once condemned, and not just because she is in a position to offer genuine sympathy born of her having failed to escape the conspiring clutches of her mother and Leopold. Since the wedding, she has come to know each of these women personally. She even lunches with a number of them on a biweekly basis and dines with their families at least once per month if her – and Red's – hectic scheduling permits. They have formed a club of sorts, having been initiated into it by an unspoken oath to support fellow nobles who refuse to let tradition dictate the future and so irreparably damage their hearts. She counts them all as friends. What is she supposed to tell them? That some stranger appeared in the dead of the morning like a wraith unleashed from the pits of Hades then went on to mercilessly slaughter their loved ones for an indeterminate reason? That would not do. Not at all. Especially when she is already personally invested due to Robin's demise. Red is not the only one who lost a friend in him...
Burning for answer, not only for Red's sake, but for her friends' and her own, Regina squares her shoulders and takes a steadying breath. "Fan out," she says to her troops, now all recovered from the instantaneous magical trip. "Search the perimeters first then spiral inward. I'll start in the armory." Rather than argue as he might have on any normal occasion his Queen orders him to leave her defenseless, Rodrigo merely nods gravely. Either her expression is one brokering no argument, or he is, himself, as desperate for answers as she is, which is not unlikely as Robin was his comrade in arms. Whatever the case, Regina is grateful for the easy deference. There is little time to waste if she's to pick up any sort of magical trail left behind by the assailant.
As Rodrigo begins barking more precise orders to his men, Regina enters the wreckage of the garrison. Careful to step over the still-smoldering corpses, many of them relieved of all vestiges of flesh, she makes her way to the armory at the center of the sprawling circular compound. As she trudges through the sheer devastation, she marvels that this place was once a living, bustling hub of activity.
When the garrison was built some time before her marriage to Leopold, the village nearby was too small for a proper marketplace, thus the garrison became the de facto center of commerce for this remote region of Misthaven. Soon enough, the two became inextricably intertwined, especially since most of the rank and file soldiers took spouses of the villagers and settled there after their discharge or retirement. Since, the village now designated Tamerlon has swelled to thrice it's previous size and now houses a market of it's own for immediate essentials such as perishable produce. Meanwhile the garrison has remained the primary location of trade for textiles, arms, tools, and beasts of burden, meaning the repercussions of its destruction will be far reaching. Rebuilding could take years, too long for an economy with such a fragile underbelly to subsist on its own. Emergency measures will likely have to be deployed, though what exactly those are, is uncertain. Such decisions will just have to wait.
Inside the blackened, skeletal remnants of the armory, little remains of consequence save for metallic objects whose melting point was too high for the witch's fire to liquefy them. There are still a few shields and swords hanging from the walls upon weeping hooks that, while disfigured by the heat of the fire, are nonetheless in salvageable condition. Tragically, so far as she can tell at a glance, no books, scrolls, or parchments survived the inferno. Nearly two decades worth of records lost.
So unnecessarily wasteful.
"Whoever you are, whatever your reasons for this travesty, I swear you'll pay," Regina sneers angrily, heated glare skirting over the shriveled geist of a once proud and noble edifice. Robin's face flashes through her mind then, his features twisting grotesquely as his heart was crushed, frothing blood leaking from his lips as his eyes glassed over and the light of life was snuffed out of them. Her friend was dead, his family aggrieved as payback for a petty offense she has no clue about perpetrating. Caustic rage bubbles up from the seething cauldron of her heart.
"Will I now? That's a bold claim I'm dying to see you try and back up."
The distinctly accented voice that replies to Regina's rhetorical statement is the same she had heard back in court – the voice of the butcher who committed this dastardly crime. A woman she has every intention of torching at the stake, unwritten rules of dispensing justice among fellow witches be damned.
"Who's there?" she poses warily. Although painfully aware with whom she is speaking, her better self desiring to exercise some measure of caution wins out. Best to probe carefully lest she expose herself to needless danger.
"I am, of course. Who else would it be? Mother Gothel? Climbed any towers lately to save your very own Ra-pup-zel?" Mockery infuses the witch's reply, who is obviously having a grand time at Regina's expense. Her haughty accent only makes the purposefully obtuse response all the more infuriating.
Growling in irritation, Regina adopts a pose meant to intimidate and bares her finely polished teeth. "Show yourself, fiend. Or are you too afraid now that a fellow witch is here to stand up to you?"
"Oh, pish posh! Your quaint parlor tricks are naught but a nuisance to me."
A self-assured answer to be sure, and lacking no confidence. Still, there is an inflection in tone that indicates Regina has scored a point in their game of verbal sparring.
She smirks smugly, making a show of turning in a slow circle to search for her adversary's appearance. "If that's true, why don't you come out and face me? Surely if I'm nothing but a nuisance, you should have no trouble dispensing of me."
The witch tuts audibly. "Would if I could, your Majesty, but I'm currently indisposed. Complicated business to attend to elsewhere, you see."
Taking the witch at her word, Regina narrows her eyes and begins to pace. The wheels are already turning in her mind, making connections from her years practicing and studying magic. A disembodied voice can only emanate from so many sources. Summoned wisps, for instance, can be used to deliver audible messages, and some vaguely discernible conversation can be conducted via scrying bowls. The most reliable and effective method, however, and thus her personal preference, is through any glass with a reflective surface.
"You're speaking to me through a mirror somewhere, aren't you?" she guesses, and is immediately validated by an approving cluck.
"Clever girl. Brava. You're not a total wash, then. It seems Mummy Cora wasn't entirely wrong about you."
The personal reference stops Regina in her tracks and distracts her from searching for the mirror through which the witch is speaking. The back of her neck prickles in alarm as does the fine hair on her forearms. Few living individuals know her mother's identity, and all of them save Red and her Father she considers to be enemies.
"How do you know my mother?" she asks, or rather demands.
"All in due time, Queenie," says the witch, who to Regina's fury is apparently not keen on revealing her hand just yet. "For now, I just wanted to take this opportunity to make you a one-time offer. If I were you, I'd listen. It's a good one."
Regina grinds her teeth together before responding. "Is that so? This ought to be interesting." She folds her arms across her chest as if bored. "Go ahead, then. What is this enticing offer of yours?"
"Abdicate first thing tomorrow morning. When I arrive in person, kneel before me in worshipful submission. Surrender all you have to me, all of your wealth and power, your lands and estates, and I may be persuaded let you live. It depends on how sweetly and effectively you grovel, really."
Ebony brows shoot straight up to Regina's hairline, not only at the absurd suggestion she grovel before this ridiculous woman but that said woman has just contradicted herself. "Surrender and I live? I thought you wanted to destroy me? To, what was it you said, 'end my miserable life'?"
A brief pause ensues before the witch sighs in resignation, then says, "I did say that, didn't I?"
"You did, indeed," Regina retorts drolly.
"Well, I admit can be a bit rash at times. Father always said my constitution matched my hair. I am not without some semblance of reason, though."
Regina scoffs in disbelief, eyes flitting over the carbonized ruins of the garrison and its inhabitants. "Could have fooled me with this totally unprovoked display of aggression."
"What can I say? I'm a woman who takes what she wants. Of all people, I thought you'd appreciate that attribute."
"Oh, I do. Just not when what's being taken is mine."
The witch's laughter rings out, an awful sound of hysterical madness that Regina recognizes all too well. Used to, she'd hear it from her own lips on a daily basis. Sometimes, on very bad days, she still does. Turns out it sounds so much more deranged coming from this woman, which is somewhat of a relief to Regina. However deeply she'd descended into madness after Daniel's death, at least there is one person crazier than she ever was.
"Touché!" says the witch, lilted with amusement. More calmly, she then adds, "I have to confess my surprise to find we are more alike than I'd previously thought."
Regina balks at the suggestion. "I'm nothing like you!"
Much as she'd like to believe that forceful declaration, the words ring hollow before they even pass her lips. She has changed since Red came into her life, quite drastically from all reliable accounts, so that many say the Evil Queen is no more. Sadly, nothing could be further from the truth. That old malefic persona is merely dormant now, much like her innocence and goodness had been before a leggy brunette dared to slaughter her best troops and then proceeded to defiantly sass her on a bitterly cold mountain pass. Red awakened the woman trapped inside the monster, helped that wilted waif build strength enough to gain a dominant foothold even. But who's to say the roles could not reverse again should the stars properly align? 'The fall,' Rumplestiltskin liked to say, 'is always much more expeditious than the rise.'
As if privy to Regina's very thoughts, the witch crows with insufferable delight. "And yet you've slain ten times the souls I have and persecuted an innocent, if not annoying, princess for a transgression beyond her control." Unable to formulate a response, Regina stews silently, hating that the witch is right and wondering at how the woman could possibly know so much about her. "Ooo. Hit a nerve, have I?" the annoying woman continues gloating. "No witty retort? No sarcastic barb to fling? Have you exhausted all of your venomous verbal ammunition?" Again, Regina can muster no response except to glare in the direction from which the voice emanates. "Oh, come now. Don't look so put out, Queenie. It's quite alright. No one is perfect. Not even little old me."
Hands going to her hips, Regina's lips curl as her anger levels begin to rise once more. "Obviously. Because you're sorely mistaken if you think I'll ever go to my knees for you or anyone else."
The witch giggles suggestively. "Well, that's just an outright lie now, isn't it? You do it plenty for that supple brunette tart of yours. Not that I blame you in the slightest. Such a pretty thing, she is. I have to wonder if she tastes as delectable as she looks..."
The obscene reference to her intimate relationship with her wife catches Regina off guard for a moment. But when it sinks in, she feels the vein in her forehead start to throb as her anger transforms into something far more sinister. No one in the kingdom has dared to openly speak of Red in such a way since she had a lecherous cad flogged for giving a grossly detailed description of what he'd like to do to Misthaven's junior Queen. Red hadn't been pleased the man was punished at all, but Regina insisted it was a fair compromise considering her preference was to order certain important body parts to be removed with the dullest knife in all the realm.
This witch would receive no such leniency. Having murdered Robin and slaughtered a garrison without a cause was reason enough for her to destroy the woman without having crossed such an intensely personal line.
"You'll never find out as long as I'm breathing," Regina says after a moment, fury boiling over into her speech. "And for that matter, I invite you to speak of my wife with such vulgarity again in my presence. For starters, I'd be more than happy to relieve you of that obnoxious, wagging tongue of yours. We'll see where we go from there."
The witch laughs again, this time with more subdued humor. The threat had translated, even if the effect was more subdued than Regina would have liked when she is riled up and itching for a fight.
"Fair enough," says the witch. "I suppose your hostility means I have my answer, then."
Jaw set, Regina nods curtly, knowing she can be seen. "I suppose you do."
"Well, in that case I'll be seeing you soon, Your Majesty. Very soon, indeed."
For effect, Regina leans with unveiled malice toward the voice of her new nemesis. "I'll be waiting with bated breath."
"You shouldn't be, Regina," the witch says, and her tone carries a confidence that nearly causes Regina to falter. "You really, really shouldn't be."
In retrospect, Regina will wish she had paid heed to the warning.