Queen of Embers

VII. Worse than Witches

"Still got the old goth attitude, I hear," Vridash said as he strolled into the mage's quarters, stepping over the broken pieces of floor that had once bore warding glyphs. Sorne and Vipsania had brute-forced their way in when they realized the ward hadn't died with its creator. The orc's unstrung bow was in one hand, resting against his shoulder. "Ekaitz went on a little rant. It was not in your favor, by the way."

"What did Katalin say?" Sorne asked, watching as Vipsania sorted through the documents. The only language the warrior had learned to read was Giant, and most of that had been troop movement reports, orders of battle, and requisition requirements. The gap in her knowledge and ability to help made Sorne self-conscious, but there was nothing she could do about it.

"Nothing much, but she did laugh," the orc said. "Much to Ekaitz's disappointment, I think. Not all bad, for a noble. A little ambitious, behind those pretty eyes, but there's some good in there too. What are you and our new demon-kith friend working on?"

"I am not kith," Vipsania said as she looked up. "Some Genevais missives. The seal is a wolf, which I assume signifies the King. The rest I cannot read. It is the language used by mages, judging by the alphabet." She held them out to Sorne.

"You're going to have to tell me what they say," Sorne admitted. "I...spent more time learning combat than letters."

There wasn't a second of hesitation or judgment. "Of course, domina. They are responses to requests for components and bodies, with some inquiries into how the mage's research was progressing. One of the letters is half-finished and in our mage's handwriting." Vipsania cleared her throat slightly as she looked down at it. "The first part reads: In response to your concerns regarding the consumption of the sunlit shards used to create the polemistís, I can report great improvements. However, the creatures my associates and I have been experimenting with are difficult to control and appear to exert will of their own. Mageía is unpredictable by its very nature and this application magnifies that risk. I lost contact with my version of this creation process, when its course veered unexpectedly north towards Sakana."

Sorne sighed. "So they were experimenting and they made a monster."

"Of a sort," Vipsania confirmed. "You said that what you encountered was like a ward, and this is conformation. Mageía is the sophisticated word for raw magic. What you encountered was unfiltered power given its own mind, rather than the flesh golems the Leyan mages seem so fond of. How did they even harness it? And what is a sunlit shard?"

"Raw magic running around as critters seems like a problem," Vridash said, taking a seat in the overstuffed armchair at the corner of the room. The mage's quarters were more laboratory than a living space. There were several tables covered with notes in messy handwriting of a different alphabet than any they were accustomed to. One also had a dissected, but perfectly preserved, small animal. It would likely rot now that the mage had died. The bed was an unmade afterthought. There were also stacks upon stacks of relatively fresh tomes, undoubtedly copies of venerable texts from Leus.

"An understatement. One of them almost took me down, and I have the benefit of the chants," Sorne said with a grimace. "I don't know how they managed it or what those shards might be, but I have a feeling it might have been divinely inspired. How many more are there? The letter mentioned associates."

"I suspect those are the other three mages you spoke of," Vipsania said. She leaned back against the desk. "From what I understand of magic, the knack for it is rare even in the east. Even rarer, the ability to exert this kind of power. If the creatures are as...headstrong...as the letter suggests, I doubt they would be able to manage more than one each. Amets might have an idea of where to look or how to combat them."