When the bright sun gleamed against the side of the mountains, the light cascading down the scree was white enough that for a moment the colorless jags appeared as though they were pillars of marble, broken yet grand in their ruin. It was a splendid moment, and then it was gone, and the company turned back to the path ahead, Cecilia the last to linger and look behind at the drab rocks briefly made remarkable by sunlight, now mere stone again.
It was a clear cold noon, indifferent to the sunshine, and Cecilia’s bloom-sisters did not find that weather quite as agreeable as she did. Accustomed to the winters of Eschenstadt, these winds did not trouble her, but both Triella and Ise seemed to rue not having packed thicker clothing. Mantling ought to make the cold more tolerable, but mere shoots like them could not maintain a transformation for long. In time, Sieglinde explained as they traveled, your Mantles will manifest with more perceptible substance. They already are part of you, but years must pass before we can part the noumenal veil and truly comprehend that what we do not see, feel or understand may yet exist and that to be a Blossom is to live that contradiction. For what is magic but contradiction? And what are we if not magical girls? Sieglinde and Yawen offered their cloaks to their pupils, and were unbothered by the winds. They carried the warmth of transformation with them in a way that these buds fresh from Efflorescence could not yet. This was beyond Cecilia’s understanding as of now, but she hoped that in time she could uncloud these mysteries, like a wintry sky whose light westered towards nightfall.
A waystation awaited at the end of the path, though that was a generous assessment of the state of the tower in disrepair, the structure full of gaps where masonry and lumber had been pillaged over the years. Only a poor stable remained, housing half a dozen mules and a single horse. In times of favor there would be many more steeds, both to aid in the journey to Agaepsonia and through the Dreighern Range and to supply Blossoms and knights with horses to swiftly traverse Loclain. Now it was a wonder that even this little was made available, that a guard was spared to man this post. He was a Dawner, too, exchanging a nod with Taysia and Valentin, whose company was requested by Sieglinde. Even in their weakened state, the Red Rose commanded enough respect to make most reluctant to defy its will. In truth, it would be far safer and more pleasant to remain in Agaepsonia, which was precisely why Sieglinde did not want them to maintain enough numbers in the fortress to dwarf Prishia and Millicent in strength. I did not say we should trust them fully, she had said. We will welcome their aid and reward their service justly, but shan’t forget basic precautions.
The sole remaining horse was, at least, a fine courser, well-bred to ride lengthy journeys. Horses did not come cheap in Loclain, least of all one of this caliber. So, keeping him here, caring for him while waiting for a Blossom to travel by, was not a meaningless gesture, without cost. In better-guarded lands, the Red Rose could maintain countless stations such as this, but larger and with many spare mounts for a rider changing horses. Loclain was not one such kingdom, and this was not such a horse, but he was amiable and hardy enough. Sieglinde took it as her steed, and rode on ahead for scouting, her experience most valuable and reliable in determining threats and safe roads. The company was not yet so weary as to need repose, and so they carried onward until the stones of the Eoanroad, timeworn and marked by moss, but of faultless craft, many-faced shapes fitting one another like a mosaic. Centuries of disuse saw the gaps overrun with weeds, but Cecilia found that nature only complemented the beauty of the stones, as though the two were in effortless harmony. It is still stone, after all. Whether sculpted, beaten or shaped, the seed remains the same.
It was a mostly silent journey for the next hour or two, their shadows shifting to the sway of the sun, broken only by sporadic conversation between Ise and Yawen, seemingly unwelcome by the former, given her sighing and groaning – or maybe that was just the way she was with everyone, all the time. Triella had not told Cecilia what it was that Ise said to her the previous night, and she knew better than to pry, but it had made Triella unusually silent and sullen, as well as distant. Cecilia made an effort to comfort her, but it amounted to nothing but empty words she did not want.
The woods to the sides of the road were sparse, mainly thin yews oft stripped of some of their bark. We are not far from people, Cecilia understood, and her assumption was confirmed when hoofbeats hailed Sieglinde’s return with news of a hamlet not far away. The sun was not yet going down, but a brief respite was nonetheless welcome, as was the opportunity to stock up on ingredients more palatable than the bland rations they’d been enduring since they left Tesmaria. Cecilia was not one to complain about deprivation, but neither would she fail to appreciate a fine meal.
The farmlands just outside the village were promising, the first spots of color seen in quite a while. A fine variety of crops sprouted from fertile soil, and a rivulet ran through the village, cutting its way towards the fields. She never heard about such places in Loclain, as the only tales that spread were those of squalor and strife, of plunder and bloodshed, but now that she saw this before her, she felt foolish for never having imagined that there was peace here, and if not prosperity, enough for a pleasant life. If Loclain was only wretched poverty, she understood, then it would not be a realm so contested, would not stir the greed of the Gairning Host. She should have known better: she loved her home of Eschenstadt, though outsiders knew only of its Arrant Orlay and the doom-driven curses bound to the fatherland. Eschenstadt knew peace, though unearthly magics wreathed it in an almost perpetual winter, turned the very heavens against the realm; Loclain bore no such scars, yet there had never been a time where some part of the kingdom was occupied by cultists, ablaze with deviltry.
Everywhere – everyone – needed the Blossoms. This peace and harvest were made possible by the toils of the Red Rose. The sight of this beauty and life filled her with pride and purpose both.
She was the first to step towards the village, alongside Sieglinde, Triella not far behind; Cecilia’s gaze drifted to laborers with loys, water buckets or grelinettes in hands paused their work to observe the passing magical girls, though the shepherds could not spare more than a moment’s attention. Subtle scents of honeysuckle and comfrey came from the garden of a herbalist drying plants and working poultices; at the sight of magical girls, she quickly took down a banesnagger doll hanging outside her window, its overlong limbs of felt and straw swaying comically at the slightest motion. Sieglinde did not fail to notice, but pretended to.
A burly man received them by the sheep pen, his eyes weary and blinking a bit too forcefully. The village’s hayward, he was what passed for authority here, but this far west it seemed his wooden cosh sufficed to keep the peace. Sheep, as it happened, were not inclined to break any laws. But with the refugees recently past, mayhaps there was cause to whack some heads.
“Be welcome, Ladies Blossoms,” he attempted courtesy, bowing awkwardly and stretching his speech as he thought through each word. “This’s been a lively place, more than’s usual, with the drifters as gone to the Range, but we hosted them best we could, and those Dawners too, so I hope our hospitality won’t shame us before the Ladies.”
“We are grateful for your welcome and your kind words,” said Sieglinde. Cecilia hoped Yawen still lingered a good distance behind. “Never would we wish to impose upon you and yours, but we would be charmed to partake of the distinguished hospitality of Loclainites.”
Few people came to greet them, most villagers either preoccupied with their work or blatantly trying to avoid the gazes of the Blossoms. Though Sieglinde gave assurances that they would not be demanding, straining guests, the village was ill-prepared to house two separate groups of travelers in so brief a time frame. They were paid quite handsomely for the supplies they could spare, as refugees quickly found that in their urgent need, they had no choice but to part with coin, the only alternative being their lives. Of course, that merely saw the problem change hands, as now this isolated village had an abundance of ryals but no easy way to spend them. So, it scarcely mattered that Sieglinde was open-handed when it came to payment; the journey to the closest market was one not taken without effort and time.
Still, they knew better than to deny the Red Rose. All that they could offer, they did, and perhaps a bit too generously. Cecilia was surprised to learn that they were free to sleep in the village’s inn; this was not exactly a path often trod, with Agaepsonia practically abandoned for so long. No merchants or wayfarers had cause to follow this route to and from Loclain, so an inn appeared to be entirely without purpose… And, as it turned out, it was far too charitable a manner to describe the old building in the far-off side of town, where most surrounding homes had long been vacant.
“My apologies, my Ladies,” said the man that, for lack of a better word, served as innkeeper. Tall, strong and scarred, perhaps he had been a soldier, once. Or perhaps something less lawful. He would have hardly been the first brigand to settle somewhere far from the world, and far from the laws of men. He did not have a criminal face, though, Cecilia thought, but if asked what a criminal face meant she would not have known what words to use. “This is poor lodging for the likes of you, but then again this is a poor village.”
“Many abandoned houses,” Sieglinde remarked. “This place is too large for its population.”
“Long ago, before anyone here was born, that huge fortress had plenty of comings and goings, and this here road saw some use. But that was who knows how many decades ago, maybe centuries. Over time the village emptied. Or so I heard. This is not my birthplace, but I made it my home some eight years ago. I offered to, hm, care for this inn. Not that there was ever any need. I’d just look if the structure was solid enough and not like to fall apart with a storm.”
“A lonely place,” Cecilia remarked, more to herself than anyone else. “Are you… informed about the happenings in the rest of Loclain, the world?”
“Tidings arrive a bit late, but they come. We’re not entirely isolated, there’s a larger town not a day’s ride from here. Some who leave this village try their fortune there, and we do some trade. And with all the people passing by, trying to get the hell out of Loclain, we learned much that was troubling.”
There was no need to ask for clarification.
“I see,” Sieglinde said. “These are trying times we endure. Never do we dare, even in our most tormented nightmares, to think of ourselves living these days. And yet here we are.”
“And yet here you are indeed,” the man concurred. “Will you stay the night? It is still not so late in the day, so you perhaps could carry on, but you’ll reach no other settlement before sundown.”
“We’ll spare you the trouble of cleaning rooms for us,” said Sieglinde. The man did not appear especially relieved. “It is not for the promised comforts that we set out from our Tower. But I am certain that all of us would be happy to partake of a warm meal, for the price you judge fair.”
“Of course, of course…” He stepped inside, making himself look busy again by sweeping the floorboards of a dining hall unused for many years. “I will procure fresh ingredients, see if I can get some of the women to help with the cooking. Be comfortable.”
An unlikely prospect. The innkeeper’s broom was of little help against the dust of decades, and all the decent wood had already been salvaged long ago, leaving only carved lumps of wood that could be taken for seating by squinting. Some of the splinters were large enough to impale someone, and Cecilia was determined that it would not be her.
Instead she circled the village, hoping perhaps to find something of note. A lone horse awaited at the inn’s stable, saddled, carrying some bags which likely belonged to the innkeeper. This is some considerable wealth for a village so paltry. The animal didn’t appear to be a workhorse or sumpter, but a riding horse.
“You’ve noticed it too, right?” Asked Valentin, whose approach Cecilia had utterly failed to spot. He had boasted of being a fine tracker, but he could hide his own quite aptly, as well. Though that realization startled Cecilia, it also made her feel relieved to have him on their side.
“I take it that the horse was not an exchange on your part when you and the refugees passed through the village,” said Cecilia. That would have been the simplest conclusion.
“The villagers offered their aid freely, sharing what they could afford. It was little, they said, but that only made it all the greater. Nor did the innkeeper strike me as a man of means, so a fine horse like that appears out of place.”
“He did not act as though he had anything to hide, though,” said Cecilia. Valentin’s smirk made it clear that she must have said something naive. “You disagree?”
“I find it’s a fool’s errand to determine whether a person is trying to hide something. We all have secrets great or small, and sometimes the best-kept ones are harmless, and ones plain to see are perilous indeed. I cannot say whether this man is a brigand who keeps a horse at the ready just in case he must abandon this calm life to evade justice, if he stole the horse, if the steed is the last remaining memory of his old home now burned to ashes by Gairnites… We can say only that it is out of the ordinary. It is good that you don’t jump to conclusions, but don’t dismiss your intuition out of convenience. You’re perceptive, but deliberate. You did not speak out against me and my men. I appreciate that.”
“To pass judgment is always the easiest path to tread,” said Cecilia. “There are ways in which it’s the safest path, too… Those are the thoughts of travelers who find themselves attacked, robbed, slain. Our paths are safe until they suddenly cease to be, and for most people that’s the death of them. Erika and Stel think they are treading the surest path. They may well be right, and think they were always right, but we cannot yet see the end of this road.”
“That’s a thoughtful way of putting it,” he smiled. “Would you care to accompany Taysia and I in getting the measure of this hamlet? Your companion, Ubami, has asked Taysia for some insight on tracking. She has unkind eyes, though. It almost looks like she hates us.”
She likely does. Even before her ruinous loss, Ise had rarely been one to express any fond sentimentality. Now…
“I don’t think she’s unkind,” Cecilia spoke diplomatically. “Her bluntness merely takes time to get used to,” she had no idea how much time it would take, but there was no need to mention that. “That she asked for help at all is a favorable sign.”
Probably.
Nevertheless, Valentin was satisfied. Soon Cecilia had joined Ise and Taysia, though it was mainly the Dawners who talked, showing them how the village was surprisingly safe and well-situated, far more secure than Cecilia would have thought. It had no walls, and multiple points of entry, but it was in the middle of a pass which, though somewhat wide, was on high enough ground that approaching troops from the east would doubtlessly be sighted early in their march. And at the mouth of the Vale of Dreighr a far larger town made for a more tempting target.
“Walls are fine,” Taysia said, “but not the only form of security. A fortified position is inherently limited to that specific position, while what may appear to be defenseless in fact allows for a greater freedom of movement.”
“I would still rather be behind Agaepsonia’s walls were I to face an army,” said Ise.
“The Gairning Host is not an army in the traditional sense,” said Valentin, “and traditional methods of war will not suffice. The Gairnites are indifferent to you taking refuge within the most secure fortress, because a fortress cannot move, and thus their hordes can divide into groups that pillage and kill and harass divisions which, though more organized, don’t have the right sort of organization to face such an enemy.”
“I take it that you’ve learned to fight in such a manner,” Cecilia remarked. “As hunters, not as soldiers.”
“It is difficult to cultivate such a mindset within an army,” said Valentin. “Our Order can rely only on limited numbers, but we’ve driven back vampyres from provinces in Graufor they’d held for centuries. Loclain has competent generals, but a soldier’s doctrine has its limits when facing a foe that does not aim to conquer territory.”
“I see,” Cecilia looked towards the gentle waters that divided the village. “This village is secure not only due to the visibility it offers but because even a river as small as this can hinder horsemen. And it is close enough to Agaepsonia that its sturdy walls are not too distant should the populace need to flee.”
“And close enough for the fort’s garrison to relieve an assault,” said Taysia. “Sitting behind walls lets your enemies do as they will. You don’t want to limit your options when you engage with your foes, and certainly you don’t want to offer them a wider range of possibilities to exploit. We have always been weaker than our enemies,” she said, although it was doubtful that the victims of the Order’s pogroms could be said to be stronger than armed men and women. “But when you don’t allow them to determine where you will meet, when you are able to have that initiative… That can be safer than the sturdiest, tallest walls.”
“People have no desire to abandon their homes,” said Ise. “That is why walls are built. It is not as simple, retreating and leaving your life behind, as you make it sound.”
“It is better than being butchered,” said Cecilia. “Thank you for sharing your insight. You have more experience fighting the Gairning Host than anyone here save for Stelmaria. We’d best take that into consideration, Ise.”
“I suppose,” Ise said. Her brow furrowed, it seemed that, despite her reluctance, she was inspecting her surroundings, taking note of clusters of trees nearby that might serve to conceal enemies at night, paths less often trod than even the barely-traversed road.
She did not speak, because Cecilia knew that her thoughts would not be too distant from her own natural reflection. We may mislike it, but we’ve no choice but to fight differently. Their military training had always presumed that they were part of the Red Rose in its enormity, in its limitless resources, their command over the loyalty of all humanity, from the most powerful princes to the most wretched of paupers. Now they could not count on that.
The Blossoms gathered at the inn when it was time to eat. Inviting scents drew them in, meats likely bought at great cost, spices subtle but savory. The innkeeper had readied only enough seating for the Blossoms, so the Dawners had to eat outside, but at Sieglinde’s insistence they at least had been provided with an abundance of dishes. That spared them from Stel and Erika’s outrage if they were forced to eat together. Inside, the hayward accompanied the innkeeper, to the latter’s visible discomfort.
“We are grateful for your hospitality,” said Sieglinde. The other Blossoms thanked them as well in turn, save for Yawen, who preferred to remain silent and sullen. “We understand that it came at a cost to you, who have already had to receive crowds.”
“It must have been quite frightening,” said Cecilia, “seeing dozens and dozens of people fleeing from peril, far outnumbering your own population.”
“We didn’t expect the folk coming eastwhence,” the hayward admitted. “We’re not as foolish to not know the Gairning Host, but this is so far from their haunts that we were unawares.”
“Might be it was sheer terror that drove them this far west,” the innkeeper suggested. “They started running and they just kept on running until there was no more west to run to. We could not possibly turn them back, though there was probably no need, in truth, for them to abandon Loclain entirely, when they could have remained within the Vale. We are too distant from everywhere else to ever be in any danger, nor do we have anything worth plundering.”
“None ever expect to be attacked,” said Sieglinde, “else none would ever be caught unawares. Before safety is shattered, we all think we are perfectly safe forever… And it is that false certainty which renders this inviolability no more than a mirage. Do not disdain the winds that waft your way; they can no longer be fled or endured if they become hurricanes and you find yourselves ill-prepared.”
“But we are safe,” the innkeeper insisted. He was quite confident that this unwalled, undefended village was perfectly unassailable. Cecilia supposed it was easy to feel that way when you owned an agile, healthy horse. “Humble as we are, we’ve naught worth plundering. But we’s still better than the desolation of your old castle. Even more unexpected than the arrival of refugees was learning that you Blossoms meant to garrison Agaepsonia. Having seen what you have seen and learned what you have learned, do you mean to take that plan forward?”
“We shall reflect on the matter amongst ourselves,” Sieglinde said, not unkindly. The man did not react to the dismissal of his question. Cecilia, however, found his words quite odd. He’s trying to speak like a peasant, but his speech betrays him. It is an imitation of the churlish quotidian, but it makes for a poor mimicry.
“Have you been to Agaepsonia?” Cecilia questioned him. “Or is it such common knowledge that it’s old and desolate?”
“I think everyone knows that,” he said, but the hayward contradicted him almost immediately.
“I knew its grandeur was behind but as the Good Men and their wards were headed towards it, I believed that at least some of the garrison remained…”
“It’s quite alright,” said Cecilia. Sieglinde’s eyes were fixated on her, and seemed to urge her to carry on with her questions. “Some of us are simply exceptionally curious, are we not? Lady Imorial, I think that, considering our circumstances, it is fine to confide in friends, in the people we are sworn to defend. They deserve to know where the Rose goes from here.”
“Cille, what-” Erika began to question her, but was interrupted by Yawen’s words so gentle, so cold.
“True enough, wintry floret,” she said, stepping towards her bloom-sisters. “We need the support of the populace, for these are desperate times. Let pride bar not our way towards the illumination we so dearly seek. Loclain is a land of unparalleled importance to our Ruby Blossom,” she turned to the innkeeper. “The Host shan’t long astand, and their boldness in the months past has only brought them towards our briars. Our Rose must show its lingering strength now, and it shall. A hundred Blossoms will restore Agaepsonia to its glory, and a hundred more will make their way around the Dreighern Range to reinforce Heedseylond.”
“Is this true?” He asked. “If you’ve the strength to wipe out the Host, why only do it now?”
“Because it was never extermination which we sought,” said Yawen, “until now. To pacify the Host, to contain them… No more. It has been decreed that not one is to be spared. Swiftly the Blossoms will cleanse the land of its rot, and slive the fell weeds root and stem. Wherever they are hidden, no pit will hide them, no port will abscond them from blood-red war and ruin and heinous death, for the Red Princess and her captains, their soldiers and all who have ever given them aid. Word must spread, and soon it shall. Loclain will know that it lies under the wardenship and authority of the Rose.”
“That is a relief,” he said. “A miracle. Yes, the good news must be spread, the people must know that their once and future guardians are unhindered by their tragedy. I’m certain that some of the common folk know rumors of the Host’s movements, whereabouts, their hideouts… Would that we were not so isolated and could share any information.”
“You have been more than helpful,” said Cecilia. She struggled with the words whereas Yawen so naturally spun a tale with no preparation. “You are the first we see of Loclain, and your generosity and hospitality warms our hearts and swells with hope our souls so wracked with the sorrow of our loss.”
“Then I hope you will continue to taste of our hospitality,” said the hayward.
“Yes, yes, perhaps you ought sleep here after all. Spend the night, I’ll have someone fix your beds and there’ll be folk to gather round, might be they’ve something to share.”
“No,” said Yawen. “We’ve no time to linger in warmth and succour. We shall depart as soon as this meal has settled.”
“I see,” the innkeeper appeared nervous. More than he already had thus far, that was. Most curious. “A pity. I think we would all be loathe to see you leave with only the memory of our cordiality, and nothing material. Enjoy your meal, my ladies, while I’ll head to a friend’s home and bring you some of her bread, perhaps talk her into parting with a bottle of wine…”
He bowed clumsily, then, turning his back, walked away without looking behind. If he had, perhaps he would have seen Yawen’s piercing eyes, startling in their scorn. Cecilia accompanied her, approaching the door outside, just in time to hear hoofbeats on straw, on dirt. How unsubtle. The Blossoms stepped outside behind Cecilia and Yawen, in time to see the innkeeper ride in great haste towards the eastward road, shrinking into the distance.
“Do you suppose it was the promise of agony that sent him into panic?” Yawen shrugged.
“When you make such promises,” said Cecilia, “they are frightfully believable.”
“None of my words were lies.”
A gentler Blossom perhaps would not have so convincingly sworn such malice, but the madness was in Yawen, that much was evident to all, as was her experience in butchering Gairnites.
“I don’t understand…” Said Triella, to a groan of distaste from Ise.
“He is a Gairnite, Triella,” Sieglinde explained calmly. “Or a Gairnite asset. It makes no matter. He must have gone to inform his fellows about the hundreds of Blossoms come to wipe out the Gairning Host… Men are prone to folly and haste when their secrets and lives are threatened, and they’re given no time to think rationally, to prepare.”
“Ah!” Triella said; by her side, Erika’s cheeks were flushed. So she took our words at face value, too. “Well, what now…? Will we let him go…?”
“Of course not,” said Sieglinde. “We shall question him. Though he’s plainly insignificant within the Host, he at least would know where to find more of his peers. Stel, bring my horse. The fool knows not what haste truly is, but he will learn.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Yawen. Patiently, calmly, she stepped forward, gesturing for Erika to pass along her bow, a small but well-fletched weapon adorned with roses blooming on its ends.
Yawen extended her hands, light flowing from her fingers and coalescing between her palms, shaped into a long thin luminous line, sharp and cruel. She was in no rush, and each passing second saw the man disappear further into the distance. She cannot mean to take aim from here… But she did not. With one swift motion she slashed the back of her own right leg with the arrow’s edge, drawing blood which did not spill but follow the motion of the arrow, like a paintbrush spreading crimson upon the very air. The red settled into the harsh point of the arrow, darkening its light. Yawen whispered words of no language to the projectile, and briefly did the red light shift. Then, she took Erika’s bow, and without even wasting a second to aim, Yawen let loose the arrow towards the sky.
It did not fly straight. Hissing, it bled the wind in ugly, misshapen scars, changing its trajectory like a bird. Its movements were sharp, graceless, violent. And when its bleeding head pointed straight towards the shrinking figure in the horizon, it rushed towards it with a hideous shriek. Yawen returned the bow to Erika, and walked towards the road where the supposed innkeeper meant to make his escape.
They found him crawling on a pool of his blood, his steed having fled in a panic when its rider was struck by a spike that nearly rent his right leg to pieces. It struck exactly where Yawen drew her blood from. The arrow that was not an arrow split his flesh from his bones, muscle and sinew blooming grotesquely from the wound, his leg bent in an unnatural angle. As he dragged himself, splinters of reddened bone and chunks of meat were left behind. If nothing else, this is not a man to give up easily. Perhaps he should have. Somehow Cecilia felt almost guilty for her part in this.
“Rushing to share the news to your Host, is that it?” Sieglinde questioned him. “It will be best if you speak quickly and honestly.”
“Please, I… I’m not… You do not…”
“Look at me,” Yawen spoke with such authority that the man actually obeyed. “Speak. I will know if you try to deceive me. You are a Gairnite.”
“I am,” he said, quivering. “Was. I haven’t fought alongside them in… In so long. Agh… I was just… Just a watcher. Meant to relay information to the Host, but no more than that. I’ve left that behind me, I was just… Afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Afraid… Of you…” He struggled to keep his head up. “Afraid of the Host. I’ve always been afraid. I only… I only fled… I fled because I saw no better chance to survive than under the Gairning Host.”
“See now where it has led you,” Yawen placed her boot on the man’s wound, and though she pressed lightly, his shrieks were such that he spat blood onto the dirt road. “Our magic may yet save you, if you find your honesty soon enough,” a lie, but what choice did the man have but to believe? If he were a man who did not fear death, he would not have found himself in this horrible situation.
“Please! Please, I’ll… I’ll tell you. I meant to ride towards… To Leyr… To Leyr…” The name was too long for him to utter it in his current state. Leyrvallti, the town he had mentioned before. “Galm, a… A tanner, a tanner there. Not a tanner. With the Host. He knows more than I do, far more, he knows all the… All that happens here, all hidden Gairn…”
“All?” Sieglinde asked. “Your tendrils reach this far?”
“Everywhere,” he said, crying. “We’re everywhere. We are… We are people, the people, Loclain, the first Loclain. You cannot… Cannot kill all of us. Not when we’re everywhere. Not when there’s so many of us.”
“Not as many, now,” Yawen drew her sword.
The blade fell like mercy, piercing his heart, his body still after one final twitch. Yawen’s arrow had faded into nothing, leaving only the hideous wound behind, like a rift on flesh. She cleaned the blood from her sword, and sheathed it.
“Leave him there to nurture beasts and frith,” she said. “His life given purpose at last. Leyrvallti, is that it…? The man he mentioned ought to know more than a mere watcher. And he in turn may know even more. They are everywhere, the fool said… That only means that, wherever we are headed, we will find work that needs doing, weeds that need uprooting.”
The Rose's Torn Petals 