From the desk in her quarters, sipping tea in her nightgown in the early morning, Élise tried again for the right words in her letter.
Mon cher papa, depuis si longtemps j'ai
She heard yelling outside and put down her quill. The guards in the yard were no stranger to long distance communication, but this felt different: disconcerting. She stood up and went for her balcony door.
Amid the foggy morning there was a young, wavy haired National Guard officer on a horse with six others in tail. Some were in uniform, others were not. The young leader bore a pistol in his hand and sheathed sword. The others all bore musket rifles with bayonets. Dread rushed through her.
"Timothee-Abbé Chobat, we know you've taken what's most precious to us! Surrender it now!"
The Illuminati had come, after so many years of the chateau being a safe haven! She rushed back in, getting her sword and pistol which she kept by her bedside! Should she changed into something more mobile? Should she go down to the armory and get the rest of her gear? She decided no to the first, and yes to the second!
Lifting her gown, Élise bolted out of her room and pounded her feet down the stairs. A muffled exchanged continued outside. She barged through the backdoor towards her equipment in the cellar. The cellar door was already open, and as she entered she nearly bumped into Arno. He, already in his day clothes and now armed, nodded and passed her.
Among her belongings was a second pistol in her holster, a small medical pouch, a couple of smoke bombs, her two wrist pieces, and a dart augmentation for said pieces. She picked up the holster and pistol, arm pieces, and attached the dart shooter. She hustled back up the stairs with her sword in her left hand and the pistol in her right. Her bare feet back the stole tiles of the outdoors, she looked towards the front yard. Arno, was standing at the corner, his own sword and pistol in hand.
"Louis-Antoine Saint-Just is it?" she heard Chobat say. "You're mistaken, sir! We've shipped the treasure far away from here. It's protected -"
"Surrender it now and you and everyone here will be spared! Keep hold, and my men will kill every man, woman, and child on this premise!"
Élise placed herself next to Arno. Two of their guards were visible from where she stood: Rolf and Alphonse, halfway between the front door and the main gate. She assumed all six were at attention by now. The enemies were barely visible against the tall front wall. Only Saint-Just, at the main gate, could be seen in full.
"Monsieur Saint-Just, our two orders have endured this long and bitter war. Do we really think anything will be solved with more bloodshed? Even if you win here, how many of your own men will be lost? Don't their wives and children deserve -"
"Enough! Monsieur Chobat, I give you a simple ultimatum! Surrender the Apple, or face the wrath of the righteous!"
"I told you, we've -"
"Attack!"
A couple of his tallest men fired their muskets over the wall, one hitting Rolf in the chest. Two shots from their side crackled back to no effect. Then in an impressive and clearly rehearsed display, all the men stood on their horses' backs and began leaping over the wall, as more gunfire erupted from the chateau grounds. Thinking like an Assassin, she focused on the most important target: Saint-Just. He stood too. Élise aimed at him.
She fired.
She missed. Élise discarded her first pistol and promptly went for her second as he leapt and landed on his feet. Saint-Just got his bearings just as she lined up her next shot.
She fired.
Her shot hit his poor horse in the flank on the other side of the gate. It whinnied and fell on its rear. Musket pistols were notoriously unreliable at all the but the closest range.
This was an inglorious start. Now she was out of rounds. He took out his pistol and aimed at her. The barrel standard at her a split second before she ducked to shrink her profile.
He fired.
She stood back up, uninjured.
He put his pistol back in its holster. Now both of them were out of musket balls. However, he likely did not know about the dart on her arm which would still give her an edge, and she would wait until he was closer so as not to miss again.
She switched her sword to her right hand. He seemed to understand the challenge, and unsheathed his own. He charged forwards. His face was determination. Saint-Just was young and small, but bold and large in spirit. She raised her arm, taking aim and planning to fire just before he could register what was about to happen. She aimed for the head, the only likely place the projectile could kill.
She let the dart fly. He seemed to understand what was happening last second, and a quick flinch of his head saved his life.
Shit.
Their swords met. Steel clashed. Élise had put down worse than him, but she was caught off guard after three projectile failures. He attempted a stab but she lunged away. She went for a slice and he intercepted. He pushed forwards, sending he back pedaling. He was aggressive, and better than she expected. She parried, and parried again. And then he made his last mistake, leaving an opening. She stabbed her sword into his gut.
She withdrew her bloodied blade and his face bore shock. He fell onto all fours, and blood dribbled onto expensive tiled grounds.
Élise spoke. "You aren't getting the Piece of Eden back, Monsieur. And without it, the people will see you and Illuminati for what you really are."
"Va te faire foutre, putain!" he spat. "Have you ever considered what you rob from the people of France, from humanity?"
"A blood thirsty lunatic's opportunity to pose as a false messiah. Your Robespierre and Weishaupt are no better than Al Mualim," said Élise, her words taking them back to the first schism of the Templar Order, so long ago.
"The Man on the Mountain? You've seen how the atheists of this country operate! You've seen how the men of the old faiths treat the world! A new form of belief was the only path to justice and peace! A meeting point of God and...and education...reason..."
"Robespierre and Weishaupt are nothing special in this world. Every man thinks his reign can bring utopia."
"Va en enfer!"
The zealous young man collapsed.
She turned to see a soldier charging her with a bayonet. Right before her chest could be breached, a strike from behind buried itself in his side. His bayonet was inches from her sternum as she stopped and dropped his gun with a clatter. The sword withdrew, the man fell, and Arno was revealed behind him
"Arno!" she cried in relief. Her soul was rattled by the close call.
"You still amaze me how you fight," he said.
"And you still amaze me in how you save!"
She looked around. It seemed that man was the last of the battle. The front yard was a hell scape, full of smoke, blood, and bodies, at least three of whom were theirs: Rolf, Isaac and Alphonse. Some kind of explosive had breached the portside wall, where more enemy soldiers had poured in. She had not even noticed in the heat of battle. Didier was slumped against the same wall, about five yards from the breach, being attended to by Doctor Grimaldi.
"You both fought well,' Denis said. "I think that damn lâche Armand ran away."
"As did you, Monsieur Dupuis," Timothee said. "Fought well, I mean." He then called out, "Doctor Grimaldi, do you need anything more?"
"Thread and needles!" he said. "Get them from my office!"