An Empty Pit

David Brown

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“Oh, shit. Oh, shit, okay, okay, okay. Shit.” David licked his palm and used it to slick his hair back. “Shit. Holy shit. Uh…” He hitched his pants up, cursing himself for not grabbing his belt before bolting out of his bedroom. “Fuck,” he hissed, watching Garen’s swishing robes continue to outpace him as they swept down the University’s corridors. “Don’t know what I’m doing… okay, fuck. You got this, David. You got this.” He took in as deep a breath as his lungs could hold, blowing himself up like he was doing the pufferfish impression he used to use to make Sara laugh, then blew all the air out in one lip-flapping sputter— which wasn’t very close to the routine of calming breaths he’d been trying to emulate, but it was hard to take calming breaths while power-walking down the hallways. He’d just woken up a few minutes ago, damnit!

There was plenty of light to see the pre-dawn corridors by, thankfully. Less thankfully, it was coming from an absolutely terrifying source. Glancing out the tall windows to his right, David was at a loss for comparisons. Maybe it was like… the aurora borealis during a record-breaking solar flare was being filtered through a collection of high-pressure steam vents. But if the vents were more like those pictures of burning oil towers from the First Gulf War or something. And still higher pressure than those, because the riotous colors were absolutely jetting upward. So… maybe if a gargantuan solar flare had hit Santa’s Workshop while a north pole version of Krakatoa was erupting. That was probably the closest analogy he could think of.

It was also utterly nonsensical to everyone except two, maybe three living creatures on this entire planet, so he kept the insane thought to himself. He was at least grateful that Garen wasn’t ACTUALLY sprinting ahead of him. Having the man be concerned enough to bother with moving quickly was already rattling him enough. If Garen had been running? David had long since decided that Archmages followed the same rules as bomb techs: if they were running away from something, you better start running, too.

“Have you figured out what it is?” David asked as he caught up once more. “Fairy? Demon? Really old elf mage? It would make sense if it was an elf mage, I guess, since Sara pissed them off pretty bad-”

“I have not,” Garen tersely cut David off. “It is now close enough that I would have recognized it if I were able. At present, all I know is that it excels at absorption and redirection of energies.”

“Shit,” David said for the umpteenth time. He glanced down, sucking his gut in so he could see his pants. He hadn’t had time to grab a belt, but he thought he’d found a decent-enough way to hold his breeches up while he ran.

Damn do I miss elastic sweatpants.

He followed Garen around the corner to the University’s main entrance, which was currently looking rather inappropriately festive. They’d recently tried for their first ‘open enrollment’ period, where people from across Tulian could come take various tests to see if they’d be allowed into the slowly-growing student body, and David had done all the things which he felt should be expected of teachers. Flimsy tables holding scattered admission forms were decorated with piles of uneaten hardtack (crackers weren’t a thing, so he’d used naval rations— big mistake) and tiny remnants of the much more popular goat cheese slices. Paper had finally become cheap enough for him to nail brightly painted streamers to the ceiling, their spiraling ribbons framing a swooping banner that read “Welcome future students! Good luck on your tests!”

That banner was currently being blurred by the torrent of violent energy that was spitting out into the world beyond. Garen slowed to a stop as he reached the University’s doors, gathering himself.

“It is coming here,” he said distractedly, senses focused elsewhere.

“Just like that dwarf lady did,” David said.

“Yes. But we know she was searching for Sara…” Garen trailed off, two fingers on his left hand twitching for a few seconds before stilling. Nothing visible happened as a result, but David knew better than to think it was a nervous tic. Some weird spell had probably just happened. “However, Sara is not here. I assume that the entity is searching for the source of the wards which have engaged it.”

“Oh, shit. Is it going to be angry at you?”

“We do not even know if it has emotions you or I could recognize, David. Perhaps it is a demon, and has no emotions at all.”

“I thought Amillya’s prophecy said that demons would be the last of the Time Spiders to show up?”

Garen rolled his eyes. “Why do you insist on using your daughter’s ludicrous word for these creatures?”

“I mean, it makes sense. She was talking about the ‘web of time’ and a bunch of stuff crawling on it, so…”

“I understand the comparison. I just wish you used a term that didn’t trivialize the threat they represent. We need to take this seriously.”

David laughed nervously. “I still don’t have a Level, Garen. A tiny little fifteen year old girl working in the forges could kick my ass. There’s no need to worry about me not being scared.”

“Hm. Perhaps. But your enthusiasm often overwhelms your better senses.” Garen glanced at David over his shoulder. “And that was yet another instance of you unnecessarily specifying gender as if it is still as correlated to strength as it was in your old life. Your daughter wouldn’t be happy.”

“Hey!” He protested. “I’m old, I have a lot more habits to break than she did. I’ll get better about it eventually. Besides-”

When Garen held up a single finger, David all but choked in his haste to silence himself. There was a brief pause, then an eruption. He was treated to an epileptic’s worst nightmare as the entryway was drowned in riotous color, apocalyptic energies flashing and twisting and generally making a disorienting mess of everything around them. David squeezed his eyes shut to try and stave off the migraine that threatened to erupt in his skull, but it was so bright he was wincing at the flashes through his eyelids.

Then, all at once, the light vanished. David blinked his eyes open, but kept up a cautious squint in case the flashes resumed.

Garen was holding his right hand out to the side, fingers together, palm facing the floor. He stood rigidly, staring straight through the door, his plain brown robes floating luminously off his skin. He began to walk slowly forward, flicking his left hand to send the University’s doors swinging gently open.

Do I follow him? David asked himself anxiously. Should I? I should be safe, right? I’m too important to risk or whatever, but what’s more safe? The University’s got the most magic protection of anywhere in the city, but Garen’s the most powerful mage around, so shouldn’t it be safer to be by him? God, I can’t even ask him. Look at that! He’s so focused. I’ve never seen him like that.

In the end, David’s nail-biting anxiety was torn from its indecision by the simplest of tiebreakers: curiosity. Out there was something even Garen didn’t know about. An Archmage didn’t know! How was he going to stay inside peaking through the blinds when there was a mystery like that at the doorstep? He may not have been able to cast spells for himself, but David was still in love with the magic of this world. Learning more about it had produced some of the greatest days of his life. He couldn’t just stay back.

David shuffled up to join Garen as the mage exited the University, one hand still held flat, focus razor-sharp. David didn’t go up and stand at the man’s side, of course. Sara would kill him for being so stupid. Instead he stayed right behind Garen’s back, peeking his head out from behind his floating robes like a child too shy to say hi to their parent’s friends. Not very dignified, but he figured it was a lot more likely to keep him alive.

David’s stomach lurched as he saw what had come to a silent hover before the University’s stairs. It was just… black. Dark. A perfect sphere about three meters across that, it seemed, was the antithesis of everything around it. Where the street, the concrete runway, and the stairs all had this indeterminable sense of… David didn’t know what to call it, but they had some feeling of existing. He could feel that they were real. He’d never even known he could sense such a thing, not until this very moment, but the contrast made it obvious. The sphere was nothingness. The very sight of it made David’s stomach roll, his eyes aching as a cold sweat broke across his back. Even as his primitive, primordial instincts thrashed and wailed in protest that he was standing near such a horrible entity, David couldn’t help but analyze it.

Is it… is it like magical antimatter? Or one of the weird Lovecraft type of Other-things that Garen mentioned? I don’t think I’m going crazy just by looking at it, but I’ve got an Archmage backing me up, so maybe I’d be tearing out my own eyes if I saw it without his protection.

The orb didn’t oblige David with anything that could’ve helped solve the mystery. He was left cowering behind Garen as the world’s most bizarre Mexican Standoff continued in dreadful silence. No one was doing anything. The runway was empty, alarm bells echoing softly across the otherwise silent city. No guards approached, no artillery was being fired. There was just a black orb, a man in a glowing robe, and David, resisting the urge to nervously chew at his fingernails.

After maybe a minute of agonizing tension, Garen raised his chin, calling out to the sphere.

“What is your purpose here?”

For a few seconds, nothing happened. David leaned forward, resting one hand against Garen’s back to steady himself, holding his breath.

With the sound of sloshing mud, the edges of the sphere rippled. Irregular sine waves rippled along its surface, waves of texture rising and falling. Every hair on David’s body stood on end as the slurping, shuffling resonance poured out of the entity, growing louder with every second. The nothingness began to expand, perimeter pushing outward to swallow air and ground.

Visions of strange experiences began to dance in David’s mind. Things he’d never experienced, yet felt with such intensity it was as if they had occurred mere seconds before. An endless plain of sucking soil dragging at his ankles, every step fighting against something that wanted to drag him into drowning oblivion. A sunless, starless sky overhead, leaving him with only the sense of touch to guide him— and only needing that, as there was nothing to avoid. Nothing had ever changed, and nothing ever would. Stepping forward. Walking on. One foot before the other, again and again. Suffocating in the open air.

The entity’s reverberation shifted tune. It grew larger, its darkness swirling. For the first time, starlight seemed to reflect off its surface. David could see irregular patterns etched into its surface like scales, and realized that the rippling spikes it displayed were running between those scales, tracing their outline in the pulsing rhythm of a beating heart.

His memory shifted. The sucking, plodding pace, its eternal path lay before him, had been altered. For the first time since he’d last come into being, something had changed. The mud stiffened, calcified, and the texture beneath his bare feet grew firmer. Senses long forgotten were now disturbed, leaving him reeling. Balance, the sense of orientation and that which told him how he stood, began to bite and claw at his ossified mind. Ancient textures pressed to the nerves he held open to the world, joining the barest ripple of stirring gasses that threatened to become true wind.

He felt himself thinking it was revolting. That the blissful agony of eternity was being disturbed. He hated it. So many things he felt lacked a name, but this was hate. He hated it. There was stone and wind and a new scent, and it could not be. It shouldn’t be. He needed to silence it. He needed to find where it was from, and he needed it gone. Eternity was eternity. The divine had never found him there, but suddenly things were changing— and if they were changing, that meant his solace was known. The universe was creeping in. Its laws, its reasons, its nauseating disorder and order and its bickering, chaining, horrible control. Something had changed what should never change. Provided the fuel for alterations. It couldn’t be. It had to be corrected. It had to be stopped.

David reeled backward, gasping and gulping down air. He had to grab hold of Garen’s robes with both hands to stop his knees from giving out, clinging to the Archmage like Garen was the last rope tossed to a man fallen overboard.

The sphere continued to grow. It was maybe ten meters across now, its centerpoint unmoving. It had consumed a sizable chunk of the runway, and its perimeter was fast encroaching the front steps of the University. The sinuous rippling of its textured skin was growing more visible with every piece of matter it consumed, giving form to what had once been formless. He could see true skin, now. Raised bumps and folding lines and swirling patterns that rose and fell like the wheezing gasps of a dying herd. David no longer knew if it was one entity, or if it could even be defined as one thing at all. The dubious physicality of it seemed to have so very little to do with what it actually was.

Definitely some Lovecraft crap, he decided. He was pleased that some deep, well-sheltered part of his mind was still capable of mustering that much reason. That same part of his mind was also consumed by a burning desire to study the creature, but it was overwhelmed and overruled. Too much of David was being consumed by notions that weren’t his. He couldn’t risk being drawn even deeper into the… whatever-it-was that the creature was doing to his head.

Drawing me deeper into its web, he thought with a considerable touch of nervous delirium. Just like the Time Spider it is.

“I cannot speak to what disturbed your realm,” Garen called out. “But if it was here, as you seem to believe it is, the act was committed without Intent.”

A new sound rippled out of the entity. A series of sucking, bubbling squelches, far more anatomical in their timbre than David cared to think about. The new noises were soon joined by hisses and pops, then the chittering taps of something chitinous.

“Is that… is it trying to talk?” David whispered.

“I’m not sure,” Garen whispered back, never taking his eyes off the thing. “It seemed to communicate with intrusive memories, but now it is-”

With the shrieking wail and erupting fury of a burst steam valve, the sphere exploded outward. David let out an undignified yelp as he ducked all the way behind Garen.

The sound was indescribable. Not in the ‘I’m not good enough at describing things to describe what just happened’ type of way, but in the actual, literally indescribable way that David hadn’t really imagined was possible. There were no words for it. No adjectives or adverbs or nouns for the undulating wave of auditory knowledge that forced itself into David’s skull. He’d never forget it, but he’d never be able to describe it, either. He didn’t think he’d want to if he could.

What followed that initial explosion was hardly more comprehensible. The entire world around David seemed to flicker in and out of existence like a failing lightbulb, every source of external information sputtering at the edge of oblivion. Every sense he had, every ounce of his capacity for reason, it nearly vanished in that very first instant.

Garen stopped that from happening. With a twist of his left wrist, Garen flicked the reality switch back to on, returning sense to David. Then the Archmage’s right hand shoved forward, fingers curling and palm trembling with effort.

For the very first time, despite all his efforts to do exactly such a thing, David felt magic. Endless currents of icy riverwater shot through him as if he were a porous screen, chilling his muscles and firing his bones. The wave seemed to carry the world with it; he didn’t see it or feel it, but he knew it. Intrinsic experiences made manifest, living knowledge cradling the beauty of a moment long past. Elegant paintings and beautiful vistas. A happy giggle. A soft hand on a hard chin and a harsh rebuke. The rising sun and its warmth soaking into the melting snow. A thousand other little instances of what had been, what was, and what would be.

David forgot himself for a time. He was less than a conduit for the memories; they trod over him, passed through him. His was but a small slice. He existed in the present alone, and that single second he occupied was so much more insignificant than the hours and days which roared through the night to converge on the sphere.

The thing screeched. It bellowed and roared. David felt a second torrent erupt from its form, far more vast and numerous in their makings, but so… stale. The same. More and more of the same.

Lost and floating between the two currents, David spent a few moments drifting, looking around at all there was, and found himself thinking something nearly as quaint as it was profound.

I guess I know what those astronauts were talking about when they said the world was so much smaller than they expected.

And with that, the interim collapsed. David was still in the midst of his flinch, his head having ducked down barely more than an inch. The darkness was gone, an empty, perfect sphere cut from the concrete. It ended a few inches ahead of Garen, and-

And Garen was collapsing.

“Woah!” David clung even tighter to the man’s robes, leaning back to use his far-greater weight to drag them both away from the edge. “Woah, shit, big guy, get back here!”

Garen didn’t respond. David’s curses grew fouler as he laid the man on the ground and realized the front of his dingy brown robes had been scorched black. He quickly flipped the robe open, cursed again as he remembered that screwing with an Archmage’s enchanted robes was a real quick way to get his soul ejected straight out of his body, then delved further, patting the man down in search of wounds.

“I am fine,” Garen softly rasped. Then he coughed weakly, which wasn’t a combination David usually associated with people who were actually fine. The Archmage’s hands batted weakly at David’s forearms, trying to shove them away. “I only exhausted myself… in a terribly embarrassing manner, might I admit.” He blinked owlishly up at David. “It didn’t like experiences, so I forced it to feel a great many of mine. I’m afraid you were caught in the… blast…” His eyes unfocused, staring into the stars over David’s head. “Worth it, I suppose. It was rather offended that this world… existed. I think. But yes. Terribly, terribly embarrassing…”

“Wait, all of those were things you’d felt?” David put two fingers to Garen’s neck, trying to make sure the man’s pulse wasn’t erratic, only to belatedly realize he had no idea how or where to check for a pulse. He swallowed several times in rapid succession. “Hey, actually, better question: what should I do?” Garen’s eyes were drooping shut. “Oh, hell, you’re passing out, aren’t you? Garen? Garen? Garen!”

The man’s eyes stayed steadfastly closed. David cursed, fumbling in his pocket for one of the healing potions Sara made him take everywhere with him, and quickly uncorked it, shoving the glass vial between Garen’s lips. He hadn’t found any wounds on him and didn’t think the potion would do much, but damn, what else was he supposed to do?

Looking up and around, David realized there was at least one thing he should probably be doing: moving the incapacitated Archmage literally anywhere else. One of the continent’s most powerful creatures was laying unconscious on a dark, empty street, right after his wards had been devastated. Whatever protective enchantments were on his robes had been damaged pretty badly, too, now that David thought about it. The man was probably as vulnerable as he’d been in literal centuries.

With another cavalcade of curses, David took Garen under the arms and began to drag him up the steps, wincing at every thu-thump of the Archmage’s boots hitting another one of the steps.

His attention was drawn up and down the street when, for the briefest of moments, the flickering of a lantern was ever so briefly visible. David froze, unsure of what to do, and the light disappeared before he’d come to any decision.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he huffed under his breath. David set Garen down while began to fumble at his side, eventually finding and tugging free the revolver Hurlish had given him. Checking that it was loaded— and that he hadn’t accidentally thumbed the hammer into firing position in his haste— he kept it in a tight grip as he wrapped his arms under Garen’s armpits once more, dragging him further up the steps.

“God, this sucks,” he breathed, glancing back at the doors. “C’mon, kids. The one night none of you are trying to head for the bars and it’s this one? I bet there’s some speakeasy bullcrap going on around here, right? A big strong one of you popping out those doors would be real nice right now.”

The doors didn’t answer his request, and so David was forced to spend the next long, loooong minutes awkwardly heaving Garen up step after step. So many steps. He was pretty sure the University was growing new ones on the spot, all just to spite him.

Eventually he reached the landing, after which things went smoother. Garen’s right boot was dragged off as David shuffled backward, twinges of awful pain rippling up and down his back with every step. He bumped into the door, creating an echo that went much farther down the street than he would have preferred, and swung it open.

Only once Garen was all the way inside and the door shut behind him did David finally allow himself to collapse, sprawling out on the rug. The colorful streamers still hung above, complimenting the welcome banner he’d spent hours putting together a few days before.

At least I made sure I got my own ‘good job’ party, David thought, wheezing hard. Just need someone to throw confetti over me and we’ll be golden.

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Mui Thom

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Despite the oppressive humidity, Mui found his tired eyes dry and worn out. As was common before a battle, he’d found no sleep the night before, even after he’d sated his curiosity regarding Sara’s guards. He’d lay awake in his tent through the night, staring into the darkness. What was coming would be a battle unlike any other this world had ever seen. Musket against musket, cannon against cannon, and not a single commander on either side who had more experience with such a battle than could be gained in discussion around a table.

The stories Sara told him kept floating through his mind. He had seen thick blackpowder smoke choking the field of battle before, but only in brief, lopsided affairs. Nothing close to what was coming. By all accounts, the enemy had nearly a hundred thousand troops. The First Imperial Blackpowder Army had thirty thousand. What would a hundred and thirty thousand muskets firing at once sound like? Look like? Though he couldn’t comprehend such a thing, his mind kept wondering all through the night, trying and failing to picture what was to come. He wondered if the air would be so thick with lead that it became another kind of fog, as if the gray metal would be so dense it zipped back and forth like a flock of panicked birds.

In the end, he wasn’t terribly disappointed that he couldn’t sleep. The assembly drums began to sound well before sunrise, when the morning rains hadn’t even started. He would have only gotten just enough sleep to illustrate how tired he was. He’d shrugged on his armor, tightening and double-checking each strap, then swung his Hot Rifle over his shoulder, making sure that the leather cartridge case on his left hip was secured well. The musket-rifle’s bayonet was sitting beside it, the polished steel of its machete-esque form glinting in the firelight. His officer’s sword was secured on the opposite hip, hidden within a simple leather scabbard, and he had his short spear and shield settled firmly on his back. It was a great deal of equipment, but it wasn’t without purpose. Though he tired more easily and clanked with every step like a worn-down cart, each tool he carried might save his life in the right circumstances. He had no interest in going into battle carrying less.

The Powdered Lead was already assembling by the time he left his tent. He wasn’t the only one with bleary eyes, it seemed. Few had slept, and fewer still had slept well. They were already on the move by the time he finished getting ready, with Sara’s voice cast with supernatural clarity across the thumping column. All five hundred mercenary soldiers marched in quiet repose, save for the clunking noise of iron cannon wheels bouncing over ruts in the road left by carts further ahead. Mui slowed as he joined the very rear of the formation, ears turning turned toward the Chosen’s words.

“...won’t fuck around, that’s for sure,” Sara was saying. “I’ve heard you guys muttering about the Empire’s commitment to this fight, thinking they won’t care about defending Tulian from an airborne assault, and I’ll tell you all that you’re only halfway right. General Borek might not give much of a shit about Tulian anymore, but he’s damn well interested in smashing the enemy’s first attempt at a blackpowder-wielding army. They’re a threat he wants gone. The rebels have invested an absolutely colossal amount of time, money, and personnel into assembling this force, and it’s only getting more effective the longer it’s left to train. Even if General Borek wanted to avoid this fight, he still would’ve been overruled by the Adjutant, who knows it would be worth burning up as much of the enemy’s resources as possible. So stop worrying about that. The Imperials are almost as committed to the fight as we are.”

In most pre-battle speeches Mui had seen, any group of soldiers being told to simply stop worrying about a problem would have been met with a mighty round of grumbling. In the Powdered Lead’s case, the few who bothered to react at all only offered perfunctory, thoughtful nods. They trusted Sara’s judgement explicitly. It was so unnatural that some might call it disturbing. Soldiers who didn’t endlessly complain weren’t supposed to exist.

“As for our role in the battle…” Sara gestured to one of the lieutenants nearby, who quickly unrolled a large paper containing a rough sketch of the battlefield, holding it and a light crystal on a pole so the column could see. Mui joined the rest in leaning forward to squint at the gridded map.

“The deforestation the enemy has undertaken to provide lumber for their gliders has created a far wider battlefield than any of the Imperials are used to. Unfortunately, that unfamiliarity won’t mean much. The enemy’s had plenty of time to anticipate our arrival. Their glider production areas are protected by multiple lines of fairly robust trenches which, it’s important to note, we don’t actually know all that much about. Griffon reconnaissance has been fairly limited, so these are just rough estimates. What we know about for sure, however, are these hills.”

Sara pointed to the stretch of elevated ground that ran from west to east on the left side of the map, its ridge decorated with sparse symbols of trees, then to the taller and more densely forested hill on the right side.

“General Borek wants our artillery on the west ridgeline, with his own freshly-delivered artillery taking the eastern hill.” This time a few derisive comments were muttered. The Tulian cannon crews didn’t have a high opinion of the untested Imperial artillery. “It’s not going to be easy,” Sara warned. “Even if we’re lucky enough to catch the enemy while they’re still in their camp, they’ll be able to reach the hill a hell of a lot faster than us. We’ll have to throw them off it, drag the cannons through whatever jungle is left on the slopes, and get in a good firing position before they can mount a counterattack. It’s going to be brutal, but if we manage it, we’ll be able to fire into the whole fuckin’ rebel army.”

Sara glanced at the Powdered Lead’s quartermaster, then to the Artillery Lieutenant, smirking.

“In case you’re wondering, yeah, that does mean I’m going to let you bust out the emcotton for the first time. We’ve been firing it as fast as we can from the Star Forts. It’s not a secret anymore, so you get to use the good stuff today.”

Excited hoots went up from the Powdered Lead, loudest by far from the artillery crews. Mui could only vaguely recall what ‘emcotton’ was. His only exposure to the strange ammunition had been watching the recoil of Sara’s massive handheld cannon nearly tear off her shoulder. He didn’t think it would be wise to put something like that in the great bronze artillery guns. Thankfully it seemed that, judging by brief discussions he overheard, the newer ammunition would be limited to explosive shells and rifle propellant.

The rest of the discussion consisted of the strange sort of behavior Mui had come to expect from the Powdered Lead. Rather than moving straight to the dictation of orders, Sara began receiving questions from the ranks. Everyone was allowed to speak, from the Lieutenants at her side to the most junior rifleman in the ranks. Sara answered quickly, factually, and without obfuscation.

“Will we have support from the Imperials while we try to advance to the hills?” A sergeant asked.

“They’re going to be advancing with us, but they’re only covering our flanks. Don’t expect reinforcements.”

“Why can’t we ride our bikes?” A quartermaster’s apprentice called out. “We could beat them to the hill that way.”

“That would mean leaving the cannons behind. The enemy would definitely send their Krapeu or Warriors forward to take them out while they’re exposed.”

“Don’t the Imperials have their own Warriors to cover us?” An artillery crewman asked.

“They’re as outnumbered as the rest of us, so they’re being held in reserve to help patch any breakthroughs. They can’t afford to escort cannons all the way up to the front.”

“If the enemy Warriors get to the hill first, how are we ever going to push them off?”

“Set up our artillery and throw shells into the treeline. They’ll either die at a distance or be forced out into the open.”

“Should we even bother putting solid shot in the caissons? We have enough explosive munitions to get us through this battle. It may take all we have left, but we have enough for this fight.”

“You can keep most of the caissons full of explosive shot, but keep some solid shot handy. We don’t know how strong their Warrior’s enchanted armor will be. I want something that can hit harder in case they’re wearing gear that can bounce grapeshot or shells.”

“What about the wyverns?”

“We’ll be burning enough skywreathe to kill everything that flies in a dozen miles. If they can even take off, they’re not going to be flying over us.”

The questions seemed to come without end, yet Sara’s patience never waivered. Mui understood her philosophy of highly educated soldiers well enough, but still found himself struck by how far she was willing to go. She lived her ideals.

In some respects, at least, he thought with a faint touch of bitterness. I wonder if Knight Renata would agree with me.

As if summoned by the dark thought, Sara appeared at his side. Dressed head to toe in her crude armor, she sounded like a walking avalanche of cutlery. Raising her visor, she flashed him a brilliant smile.

“Have a good night’s sleep?”

“No,” he answered frankly. “I couldn’t sleep in the slightest.”

“I coulda helped with that.”

“Sara, ” he sighed.

“Sorry, sorry. I get it.” Her grin fell a touch. “So… Did Renata explain everything? She was allowed to, but she can be pretty damn stubborn.”

Of course she knows about that. How could she not?

“Yes, I believe she did.”

“And what did you think?”

Mui’s snout wrinkled as he glanced around at the Tulian mercenaries surrounding them. When Sara didn’t respond to his raised eyebrow, he decided she must either not care if others overheard or was somehow masking his words.

“I think you will have to try harder than that to sully your legacy. You’re an agent of Divinity, Sara. If you wish to avoid people worshipping you, this alone won’t do it.”

Her lips turned down. “Really? That’s it?”

“Taking captured enemies as your own slave is far from uncommon-”

“No, not that.” She made a vague up-and-down motion, indicating his entire body, but as she did so the slave’s control band briefly appeared on her wrist, then vanished just as quickly. “What do you think? About me? After learning all of that?”

He blinked tiredly at her. “That for all you talk about culture and values, you don’t understand my people half as well as you think you do. Placing your family’s safety above your own beliefs isn’t some terrible secret to be hidden. It is what is expected of a family head— people are proud of it, even. I can’t speak to Tulian, but there won’t be many Imperials who see any problem with what you did to those Knights. Many will see it as a mercy, in fact. After running mad amidst civilians, they would be considered lucky to receive a mere public execution from an Imperial. More likely they would have been worked to death in some public and important labor. Digging the graves for those they killed before being laid alongside them or some such.”

“So you’re not… pissed? Disgusted?”

He snorted. “In many ways I am still furious about what occurred in the capital. Those Knights, however?” He lifted one shoulder in a weak shrug. “They committed sins that dwarf your own, and you are a Chosen of the Gods. Any Imperial would agree that it was your right to choose their fate.”

Sara made a face he couldn’t decipher. He didn’t know whether it was the early morning exhaustion, the sun casting long shadows as it drew closer to peeking over the horizon, or whether it was simply Sara’s natural inscrutability. Whatever it was, it passed quickly, her smile rising with the light.

“Well, you definitely don’t want to listen to me bitch and moan about shit that’s entirely my fault, so how about we talk about what actually matters? Looks like you decided to stick around.”

Mui adjusted the rifle slung over his shoulder. “I was ordered to, as you well know.”

“Yeah. But you definitely could’ve trashed those orders by telling Borek you thought they were stupid because I could see right through you. That would have gotten you out of it for sure.” Her smile grew almost childish. Her armor clattered as she brought her hands together before her waist and kicked one foot girlishly in the air, swaying from side to side as she spoke in a sing-songy voice. “I just kneeeew you liked me, Mui.”

He stared at her from the corner of his eyes. “Really, Sara? Now, in the short few hours before battle, you return to this kind of attitude?”

She dropped the pantomime, but her smile was still just as brilliant as she laughed at his remark. He thought it was fascinating that she could feel humor in a moment. Another one of her illusory selves continued to answer questions posed by the mercenaries up ahead, while yet another illusion was deep in conference with the Powdered Lead’s officers, and two more were walking silently beside the artillery, keeping a keen eye turned outward in search of potential ambushes. The one before him, though, was grinning from ear to ear.

“I’m always like this before a good battle. Why shouldn’t I be? We’re about to go kill a bunch of bastards that decided to join a war against Tulian for no better reason than the word of some dumbfuck king.”

“And the invaluable industrial and military technology you are sharing with their enemies.”

“And that, yeah,” Sara admitted with a shrug. Her mood was unharmed. “But who cares? Either way, today is a day I’m going to get in a fun fight. Killing people that deserve killing. Are all of ‘em going to deserve it? No, probably not.” She rolled a shoulder, heavy plates clanking and clunking against one another. “But a lot of ‘em will. And nowadays, with the Levels I’ve got, I can even tell who they are at a glance. That’s pretty handy.”

“You are going to involve yourself in the fighting directly? Does Evie approve?”

“As long as I have a guard with me, yeah. They may not have the same Skills as her, but they’re more than capable of keeping people off my back. Even if we’re gonna have to be a bit less subtle about it than usual.”

“I see.” Mui’s eyes flicked from left to right. “But either you don’t have the guard with you at this moment, or I’m simply talking to another one of your illusions.”

Her eyebrows raised, hand going to the sword at her waist with a flourish. “Or, Mui, you keep forgetting that I can do fuckin’ magic.”

Mui winced as it seemed the flesh of her face began to slough off the bone, colorful and bloody streams running down her armor before solidifying, becoming bright green cloth. Behind her, the shell of a half-orc Powdered Lead mercenary blew away like dust in the wind, unveiling Sara’s hulking armor.

“See what I mean?” Sara’s new self asked. “I don’t know why people keep forgetting I can do this shit.”

The two bodies switched with a blinding flash, resuming their original positions. Mui blinked the spots from his eyes, bewildered enough that it took him a few moments to refocus on Sara. When he did, he found a touch of smugness filtering into her smile.