In other circumstances, Sigurd might have been very worried when his Master asked him to disrobe. Esme had to be falling in love with him… and, if Sigurd was being honest, the feeling was not entirely one-sided. There were so many parallels between his Master and his beloved Brynhildr. Soft-spoken women, both of them holding great power, imprisoned and needing his rescue.
Am I in danger of loving another woman again? Sigurd thought as he let his clothing and armor disappear, except for his trousers. Ah, Brynhildr, I am a wretched excuse for a man. It wasn't his fault he'd lost his memories and married another woman. Yet Sigurd could not help but blame himself, bitterly, for loving her. Shouldn't his heart have remembered? But it hadn't, not at all, and then he'd made all the wrong choices… or had there been a good choice? Sigurd glumly suspected there hadn't.
A warm hand on his chest recalled him from morose thoughts and Sigurd watched curiously as Esme began to work on him, gently setting tiny pieces of metal and magic against his skin. As she did, Sigurd let his gaze travel over the room. This was the floor of the tower dedicated to magical work and one thing her family did well, curse their black hearts, was supplying their daughter with raw materials. She had gold, silver, platinum and a plethora of gemstones in various types and grades. Esme also had rarer materials, things that were more spiritual than real, like his crystallized wisdom. Sigurd's hands clenched into fists as he thought about why.
They steal everything that she is, passing off her inventions as their own. Sigurd didn't understand it but he knew it was true. Building their own empire on her discoveries, using her as a hidden resource. Sheer, unadulterated selfishness. It was beyond belief to him. How could any parent use their child this way? How could they not be proud of her, letting her shine? Instead they seemed to be jealous of her!
"Sigurd," Esme's soft voice recalled him to the present and Sigurd looked down to see her gazing up at him with concerned eyes. "This is meant to be a special heart guard." Heart guard? "I've been working on it since you came… it will armor your mana core and possibly save you from a fatal strike." …Incredible! "But to do that, it will… have to… have to burrow… this will hurt. Um… a lot." Ah. Right. Sigurd looked down at the complicated pattern laid on his skin, the way the silver lines glittered. They were dotted with real diamonds, fine ones, all of them glittering with magical energy. Esme did not practice jewel magecraft, precisely, but she could use them as power sources for her true numbers.
"I understand. Please, do it," Sigurd said stoically. If this had to sink inside him, of course it would hurt. Esme looked at him intently before nodding and whispering a single word, setting her hand on his chest.
It was painful. Excruciatingly painful, as the diamonds all suddenly shattered, spending their energy and turning the silver into something more spiritual than real. That web of spiritual energy sank into his energy, causing the agony as it had to bypass structures. Sigurd knew it was inflicting damage, it had to and oh god it hurt! But then it found his mana core and wound around it, curling into place like a symbiotic vine. Sigurd coughed up blood and realized he'd fallen to his hands and knees.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry…" Esme was whispering over and over as she touched him with hands that shook, offering him her gentle healing. Sigurd breathed heavily, tasting blood as echoes of pain wracked his body. It soon dulled, though, as her healing brought blessed relief.
"That was… unlike you," Sigurd croaked out, a bit stunned by the experience. He'd underestimated how much damage that would cause and his princess must have known that. Esme sniffled and Sigurd regretted the words as her eyes watered.
"I knew it would hurt you terribly but it might save you," Esme said in his ear and Sigurd swallowed as he felt the gentle touch of her breath. "I'm so sorry, please, please forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive," Sigurd said, his voice strengthening as the pain faded. He gently rested a hand on her shoulder, noticing how fragile she felt against his palm. "We would have just wasted time dithering." They both knew he'd have made the same choice. Esme nodded and her hair brushed him for a moment. Sigurd could smell her floral shampoo.
"You should rest," Esme said before gently touching his brow. Her small hand felt so cold against his overheated skin. "You have a few hours before you need to meet Archer. It should be enough." Yes, if he forced himself he could even leave now but a few hours of rest would be pleasant. "Let me help…" Sigurd accepted her help to get to his feet, feeling wobbly as he walked. He soon firmed, though, and settled gratefully onto a plush couch. It was meant for reading but was also perfect for a nap. Sigurd let himself doze off, confident he would wake at the proper time. As he dropped off, he felt Esme's presence, warm and comforting.
Even as he slept, that feeling brought Sigurd peace.
Gauntleted hands bit into the dirt, pulling out a fistful to examine it. The earth was heavy and loamy, full of life to mystical senses. A second hand lifted, a black armored finger tracing a delicate sign. The rune of earth gleamed dully and the owner of the hands delicately corrected it, shifting the mystical pattern to suit his needs.
I wonder if this is why I was summoned here? Sigurd wondered as he examined his rune. He said he could not understand Esme's numbers and he thought it was true, but Sigurd could not deny that they had much in common with his runes. In fact, he thought they sprang from the same roots. But then, how could they not? They both came from Yggdrasil in the end. Sigurd was sure that the Root Esme referred to could be nothing else.
There was nothing here though. Moving to his feet Sigurd pulled out the map Archer had given him. Consulting it, Sigurd nodded to himself. The next ley line point that he wanted to investigate was on Abercrombie street. Hopefully no children would be out playing Pokemon Go, whatever the hell that was. A bit unfortunate this all had to be done in the open but there was simply no help for it.
Shrouding himself with his cloak of invisibility, Sigurd moved. As he did, though, he caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. Stopping and turning his head, he saw nothing but a pigeon fluttering away. Dismissing it, Sigurd moved into an easy, ground eating lope. This needed to get done.
The next spot was more fruitful than the last and Sigurd made a note in the map. Caster couldn't help but contaminate the ley lines with her own signature and they would use it to triangulate. Once that was done, they would have a rough idea of where he or she was hiding.
…?! Sigurd's head snapped to the side as he saw another tiny movement. He scanned the darkness slowly, seeing nothing… until a flicker in the streetlight made a shadow dance. Could that have been it? But it wasn't like him to be so jumpy. Sigurd reached up to adjust his glasses, wondering. Could his mind be playing tricks on him? Esme, princess, can you sense anything?
No, nothing, she whispered and Sigurd frowned. Then he sighed and rubbed his forehead. He was probably just jumpy because he was afraid to see her.
Putting it out of mind, Sigurd kept moving. He needed to keep on schedule, even if it was pretty flexible. He and Archer had a window they were supposed to rendezvous in. Missing it would not be a catastrophe but Sigurd could easily envision himself receiving Archer's barbed wit.
To reach the next spot he travelled by rooftop. This one was in a park, a leyline by the river. Sigurd approached it carefully, mindful of ambush, but there was nothing. He knelt by the bank of the river and gazed into the black surface, seeing… no reflection. Ah, invisibility cloaks were special. He could see the moon though, casting a soft glitter on the gently lapping, black water. Sigurd scooped up a handful of water and cradled it, not minding the bits that slipped out of his fingers as he traced a water rune –
And a delicate, gloved hand slipped past his shoulder and corrected the rune.
"!" Sigurd turned and slashed in one move but his sword only cut apart a shade and he heard ghostly, feminine laughter in the air. Sigurd stood at the ready, straining every sense as he tried to find a threat.
Caster, Esme whispered in the back of his mind as Sigurd slowly glanced from left to right, moving away from the water distrustfully. Oh, how did she know? Did she trap the ley lines? What shall we do? Esme sounded distraught. Sigurd took a deep breath to steady himself and put his weapon away.
"A parlor trick to scare us off. We'll find her, princess," Sigurd said reassuringly and regretted it as an alien voice whispered in his ear.
Oh yes, you will. Your wife is waiting for you, hero. Rage flared through is heart and Sigurd traced a rune in the air with the speed of long practice. It burned red for a moment before exploding outward, tearing through the woods of the park and blasting wet trees and branches into wreckage. Sigurd stood in the centre of the destruction, looking at the broken and burning trees and feeling only the rage in his heart.
"I'll kill you for this," he whispered and felt Esme's gentle tug on his mind.
Sigurd, her voice whispered and it felt like her gentle hands were cradling his face, cooling his temper. Please put out the fires, it's wet but they're catching. …Yes, they were. If he did nothing this park could become an inferno. Sigurd closed his eyes for a moment before lifting a hand and tracing runes of water and ice. Go meet Archer now. Eh? They've had problems too, they want to stop. Was Archer hurt? Sigurd grimaced as he pulled out his map, keeping a wary eye on the surroundings. Archer could very well be hurt, Saber was the special bane of the Caster class. Archer just wasn't, they had decent magic resistance but nothing like a Saber.
After tracing a path and fixing it in his mind, Sigurd put away the map and left the park. No more furtive movements distracted him but Sigurd remained alert, scanning the surroundings for any anomaly. His cloak of invisibility didn't work on Caster, it seemed. He would have to assume the same would be true of her mystical lackies.
Nothing befell him, though, and soon he'd reached the rendezvous point. A roof at the corner of King and Main, normally Archer would have been standing on the edge and smoking a cigarette, before turning to greet Saber with a joke or sneer. This time, though, was quite different. Sigurd found Archer huddled in the corner of the roof, his green cloak pulled down over his eyes and an arm tight around his body. If that wasn't enough to tell the story, Sigurd spotted several puddles of fresh blood.
"Hsst, Archer," Sigurd called softly before letting his invisibility cloak fall away. Archer didn't look up and Sigurd saw the grimace on his face. Kneeling beside him, Sigurd gently touched his arm. "Let me see." There was no response but harsh breathing but then Archer reluctantly pried the arm away from his body.
What was revealed was horrendous. A deep slash, it had penetrated Archer's chest before slicing deep through his belly. Viscera were exposed and Sigurd immediately began tracing runes, feeling Esme's mana flowing through his body in a beautiful tide. As he began mending the damage, Sigurd realized that Archer's Master was busily doing the same thing. Well, of course he was, that was why the Servant hadn't died of mana loss. Still, there was only so much he could do at so far a remove. Sigurd could do much better.
"…Heh… a knight like you, taking care of a thief like me…" Archer panted. Sigurd paid his words little heed. They were mostly nonsense anyway.
"As I'm sure you've guessed, I was never a knight. Knighthood wasn't a thing when I was alive," Sigurd said absently as he watched the flesh rebuilding. Servants were so much easier to heal than real men. "It was a rough age, when men took what they could by force and held it the same way. I tried to rule by wisdom as much as the sword but that was the exception, not the rule." Archer laughed, a soft, pained sound.
"I'm sure. Magic runes, a demonic sword, Scandinavian… connected to a female Lancer… I think I can guess who you are." Vexing but all too true.
"Well, I could say the same, bandit with a poisoned bow," Sigurd said blandly and Archer chuckled again before coughing. Hm. "Well, you're safe to move but this will come apart at the slightest blow." Archer… Robin?... couldn't fight like this.
"I know. Will you move on her yourself or will you wait for me?" Archer asked and Sigurd hesitated, weighing it in his mind. Every day he left Caster alone let her gather more mana and buttress her defenses. Yet, a second Servant was nothing to sneer at. Move quickly or wait? Esme? He sensed his Master mulling it over in her mind.
We should wait. We'll need him… also, even if he's hurt, you might be very badly hurt and then he would shoot you in the back. Ahaha, so true, it was better to keep Archer where he could see him. Sigurd came to a decision.
"I'll wait for you. But try not to take too long, Archer. I have this thing about breathing, it's an enjoyable pastime," Sigurd said and Archer wheezed out another laugh. "Do you need an escort?" There was a moment of hesitation and Sigurd was sure Archer was consulting with his Master.
"…Only for a ways," Archer finally said. Sigurd nodded, helping the man to his feet. Archer was cautious about revealing his Master's base. Of course, Sigurd already knew, but he wasn't about to reveal that. Ah, the games we play. It made him regretful. Sigurd would have preferred to have a genuine ally than a guarded companion. I will also regret it when I have to kill him. He knew Archer was a bad man, but Sigurd had been friends with bad men before. It was the way of things, was all. Well, he shouldn't get ahead of himself. Caster might do Archer in, or the tower. In fact, they were banking on the tower. If Archer dare set a foot inside, it would get the job done. It was an awful thing to hope for, of course, but Sigurd still preferred to let the tower do the dirty work.
It would be better than killing a man he'd been allied to, if only for a short time.